Let Out, Let Go

Back from the hospital after an hour of small talk, M tries to find a parking space near the canteen while I stand around making more of small talk. A long gone friend once told me that it was not my burden to keep everyone around me from getting bored. May be I would accept it someday and learn to keep mum, but, for now, I talk some.

I notice Smokey Eyes' (SE) tee through the window pane. She is inside. The red tee looks good, looks good on her. And then I see Fluorescent Adolescent (FA) sitting opposite to her, and then the two guys sitting by them. No, M hasn't yet seen what I see, but I feel the making of a disaster in the air.

I look around and make small talk about the menu items, comment on how they have only Pepsi every day, and more of this and that. M isn't listening to me now, that means he too has probably seen FA having lunch with another guy. As far as I could recall, it was only yesterday when FA was too busy to spend some time with M. I feel sorry for him. M is wearing a blank expression, I am a little angry at him and his persistence with FA too but I realize I am supposed to be just sorry right now. I act accordingly.

A minute later FA leaves hastily, as if been caught stealing, trying to call someone frantically, but clearly not calling anyone. The rest of the group follows her out. 'Terrible day', M manages to say something finally, J at hospital clearly playing on his mind too. Nice of him.

I realize I am a little sorry to see SE with another guy, but what soothes me is the fact that she doesn't know about my little crush on her. She isn't running me over or anything. Also I realize it is more about seeing her with another guy than her not being with me. Kind of jealousy, more of narcissism. May be it's M, not me, who needs someone to talk to right now, or at least my selfishly generous small-talk-side thinks so.

Over lunch we talk about the usual stuff- dope, masturbation techniques, merits and demerits of circumcision, pronunciation jokes, how firemen are overrated and nurses are totally not, South Park and Seinfeld, Shining and Jack Nicholson, a little bitching too; the regular boys' stuff in short.

The fullness of stomach and nothingness of mind lead us to the cigarette shop eventually. Not sure about the brand suiting the mood, we settle on the new king size Navy Cut, the duotec filter clearly dominating the thoughts of the the red and fluorescent tees by now. Soon we settle in the bright hot sun looking at the sparse traffic, watching people getting to somewhere, some of them making frantic calls.

I let out a puff and watch it go nowhere; I don't feel like talking now.

Karee-na galat baat

How often does Kareena K write to you? She wrote to me today trying to sell me a ticket of her latest flick.

I wonder if someone I happen to know who happens to know her happened to talked about me and then about me not having watched any Hindi movie for last six months. You know, as they say in the film industry, word-of-mouth publicity of my sort-of-vow. And she, like an Apsara, decided to break my vow and lure me to the nearest cinema hall. And after the three hour ordeal, I wonder, it would all come back to me, a la a thriller, and I would go- Ms. Kareena K, you are trying to seduce me, aren't you? Too flimsy, eh? Exactly.


I mean what the fuck is wrong with this new generation of spammers? Where the fuck are they studying Online Advertising? What the fuck are they thinking? It would have taken me much more time to realize it was a spam, had the sender's name been Reena R or Sheena S or Heena H. But Kareena K, I don't know what to say, I mean what the fuck!


Also, trying to sell a movie ticket? For the sake of god, at least ask me to provide you my credit card details for you want to transfer a million dollars to my account because the black government of your Zimbabwe is taking over your million dollars, for you are white, and you want it to be safe with another sort-of-black guy in a third world country. That makes much more fucking sense than trying to sell me a movie ticket as Kareena K.

Or may be even try to sell me some ten dollar medicine that would ensure me performing as a tiger in my bed, though I am not sure what exactly does that mean as I have never seen two tigers having sex, just because once I entered my email id on some lovely website trying to download the latest nude celebrity pic or some mms, and you decided to put my id in the list of sexual deviants of India. Even that makes much more fucking sense than trying to sell me a movie ticket as Kareena K.


By the way, Ms. Kareena K, if you really happen to know someone I happen to know and have happened to learn about my sort-of-vow, and if you really are trying to seduce me into buying a ticket to your movie, I must tell you why I haven't watched a movie for six months-
I really don't have that kind of money.

The week, Bloggers' block, Lots of links

A week without any posts, even from the cute co-author about her PMS, is a rarity on Summer Diary. Especially if it's summer.

It's just that I haven't been busy at all and therefore have nothing to blather about. Also I haven't been reading anything worthwhile, that is, reading neither anything funny or anything so pseudo-serious that it can be satirized. Unless you think Indian constitution is funny.

The high point of the week gone by is reproduced here without M's consent:

The security guard enters the bus.
M: Act terrorist.
S: How to? I shaved my moustache today, I guess that should do.
M: No, you racist. Look terrified.
S: I don't think a terrorist is this easily terrified by a private security guard with no gun.
M: Hmm, look suspicious.
S: I think that must be the first thing they teach in the 101 course in a terrorist training camp- how not to look suspicious when carrying a bomb.
M: What's wrong with you? We are not shooting a movie. Do you see a camera somewhere?
S: I am just doing what you asked me to do, acting terrorist. Calm as a coconut.
M: Coconut???
S: Rhymes, no!

Although we couldn't reach at a consensus on how to act like a terrorist in public places, one thing we agreed upon, after the two co-passengers were scared beyond their wits, is we shouldn't smoke pot before making public appearances.

And, the low point of the week was the rest of the hour-long bus journey with M.

By the way, here is the Summer Diary version of the Delhi High Court homosexuality debate:

M: Me lord, over the past few weeks there have been plenty of social and scientific evidences presented by me in favor of legalization of homosexuality. May be it's time my esteemed colleague puts forward his arguments so that we can wrap this case and amend the medieval law accordingly.
Judge: Let's not go that far yet. Do you have anything to say Mr. S?
S: Yes sir. Mr. M is a faggot.
M: What the fuck did you just call me?
S: F-A-G-G-O-T.
M jumps over and punches S.
S: Is India really ready for this, your honor? I rest my case.

PS: Screw SD if it's on bloggers' block, instead catch the best Inglourious Basterds trailer, if you haven't yet, for God's sake.

PPS: Summer Diary is in contention for Indian humor blog of the month at Indiblogger. The five posts nominated in this category are:
A Letter to No one, Twenty Eighty Four, Hostel Alone, The Twittey, Uncomfortably Numb

If you think these are good enough, you can find the link to vote for me here.
If you think these are okay enough but you aren't signed up at Indiblogger, too bad for me. Though good for you, they spam a lot.

In The Parlance of Our Times

The Twittey

In The News today, a 21-year-old guy said to Mr. Tharoor, the Indian minister of state for external affairs-
"You know what, you are a Twittey."
The guy was later arrested under the NSA, the National Security Act, which is what Indian police nowadays does when Not Sure of Action.

The Oxford dictionary of slang defines the word 'Twittey' as 'an online Phoney'. It further explains that in this cyber age it is fairly common for the inflated egos of the otherwise mostly humble people to show up in form of status messages at social networking sites such as Twitter, Facebook etc., and hence the terminology. The earlier term for an online Phoney, the dictionary says, was Bloggey, but the use is mostly archaic now.

Mr. Tharoor, it is to be noted here, had been very active on Twitter lately, updating people about every other 'good' thing he had been doing. From the usual rants about elections, to cribbing about the need for reforms and punctuality in India, to his generosity, he has been even reported in an unconfirmed report to have once woken up in the middle of the night and tweeted-'the headless alien' to the horror and surprise of his eight thousand followers. The rest six hundred-odd followers had lives and were sleeping.

Mohan Pundit, the famous cyber-psychologist explained-"In today's India, where almost half the population is young, it's important for an aspiring politician to be techno-savvy and hip. And of course, he doesn't want to end up being Number Two. Again, I mean. [here he fell off chair laughing only to get up, regain his composure and continue] However, after a point, Twittermania- a compulsive desire to tweet- begins to arise and one loses sight of the initial goals, if any."
He further elaborated Twittermania and his famous five phases of it, with the following example:

Phase 1: Before going to dinner, one updates his status as- 'Going for dinner'.
Phase 2: Retarded spelling creeps in - 'Goin' 2 dinna', and goes off for dinner.
Phase 3: The ego quotient of status shoots up- 'Plannin' 2 go 2 dinna, wat shd I hv?', and then insteading of leaving for dinner, waits for comments.
Phase 4: The needless details creep in- 'No dinner 2day, hvn' loose motions. Yellow mostly.'
Phase 5: Tricky phase, the likely result- 'It's better to burn out than to fade away', while some prefer to delete their accounts rather than themselves.

Mr. Tharoor wasn't available for comments to the SD In The News correspondent, but we managed to catch up with some of his followers online which mostly asked why his display picture bore an uncanny resemblance to that famous picture of Rajiv Gandhi, except the famous wrist-watch obviously.
Penguin India publishers have meanwhile decided to publish his tweets in the form of a book- "The Great Indian Updates" amid great rampage by VHP who were twenty years late in protesting against Mr. Tharoor mocking at the Mahabharata.

The way I see it

John Lennon- "Nothing is real."
Woody Allen- "In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet."


P.S.

1. In case you didn't notice (or care), SD is back and with a co-author this time. Check out the sidebar.

2. SD has been featured at the Blog of the Day Awards, which is my humble way of saying- Nanananana Hehehhehehe.


3. Keeping in mind the views of Shrey on Feedjit widget, it has been duly deleted (the widget I mean). Of course, Shrey knows better. Okay I give up, this was a filler post.

Twenty Eighty Four

This just might be the biggest piece of news of your life. In a tragic set of events the Union of India has been dissolved by the World Bank group, sometimes also called as the USA, claiming it has failed state of affairs.

As the news spread, there were surprisingly mixed reactions from the different parts of the erstwhile union, and an even more mixed reactions from the eminent personalities of the former country. We, here at SD, bring you the choicest of the lot.

His Highness Lalit Modi, the erstwhile king: "I assure you this would make no difference to the IPL, we were anyway moving the event to England. Also, I hope the term 'India' is open for copyright now. Apart from retaining the name IPL, we can charge institutions, newspapers, websites using the term. A shirt-cuff calculation tells me that would garner a profit of two billion dollars. At least."

The erstwhile president, Sheila Dixit Pratibha Patil: "My signature on the bill is due. No, that doesn't mean anything. I would be signing it on Friday. You are invited."

The erstwhile PM, Simpu Manmohan Singh: "Ask the Pankazzz Madam."

Meanwhile, the royal Gandhi family wasn't available for comment as the speechwriters were on casual leave after the hectic General Elections.

Raj Thackeray, human rights activist: "Why do these people from Pune always come here in Mumbai and take errrr jobs? And these people from Nagpur and Aurangabad too. One has to get his hands dirty and put an end to it once and for all. Jai Mumbai."

Mayawati, the CM of the synecdoche state Uttar Pradesh: "As the first PM of UP, I think I deserve a golden statue of mine in every district, err state. I think this would go a long way in the upliftment of the Dalits. I am .... I think..... I would.... By the way, the courts are dissolved until further notice."

Lalu Yadav, the eminent social scientist: "I think MuYa (Muslim-Yadav) combination doesn't work anymore. Aye kaun halla kar raha wahan pichhe, hatt, hurrr. How about COnDom(Chamar-Onir-Dom)? Or BraPanTi(Brahmin-Pandey-Tiwari)?"

Brinda Karat, the communist: "Hail Castro. Nandigram, we are coming."

APJ Abdul Kalam, the rocketeer: "Penguin has already got me writing 'Tamil Nadu 2020'. I hope this one makes a lot of dough too."

Sheila Dikshit, the CM of Delhi: "Personally, I think this is the best thing that could have happened for Commonwealth Games right now."

Narendra Modi, the CM of Gujarat: "We, the people of Gujarat, declare war against Pakistan. Sieg Heil."

A random Bengali: "We were anyway more intelligent and cultured than them. Honestly, we should have been called ISI- Intelligent State of India. "

Aamir Khan, the rainmaker: "I have a lot of views on this topic. But since no movie of mine is lined up for release right now, I don't give a muck."

LK Advani, the celebrity blogger: "What would RSS do? What would Jinnah do? What would Vajpayee do? What would Brian Boitano do?"

Prakash Singh Badal, the CM of Punjab: "In heaven Canada everything is fine."

M S Dhoni, the leading model of the country: "That's fine with me. We played with sincerity, that's victory for me. (on question being repeated again, in Hindi this time) What do you think, should I grow a beard?"

Varun, the real, Gandhi: "Hey Ram."

Stop the press. Robert Zoellick, the president of the World Bank, has just issued a press release saying- "With reference to the document F/14/K/U, the phrase 'Union of India' is hereby corrected as 'Union Bank of India'. Any inconvenience caused is entirely your fault."

Flog of the Week

In a new series of posts on SD (at least I hope to make it into one) called "Flog of the Week" I would be telling you about blogs that you should avoid reading. Yes, I know there are millions and billions of blogs out there and you probably run into a lot of bad blogs very often, like you did just a minute ago, and there is no point of such mudslinging. But that's exactly why I am doing it, in fact, that is why I do things.

Another reason why I am doing this is it's like showing middle finger to a goat. It has only two toes, it can't flip me off in return. That is to say, comment, report abuse, write long mails to Google, do whatever you like, even (try to) trash SD on your blog, but you just can't delete what I think of you.

Another thing to keep in mind is review is a very subjective piece of writing, just like any other form, and is bound to carry the commentator's personal prejudices and opinions. But I assure you the blogs that would be mentioned here really stink, very objectively.

And on that note, unarguably, the first ever Flog of the week is: Kaapiwithsudar.

Why this blog gets precedence over a lot of other bad blogs is because apart from being a bad blogger, this person happens to be a masochistic bastard and wanted the distinction of having a full post about his blog on a page rank 3 blog just for some extra traffic. Talk about self-respect.



A young Sudar escaping from Jaffna during Eelam War II


Now, somehow after Karan Johar started his talk show, Coffee has become the insignia of the homosexuals for the homosexuals. Needless to mention why, you can see how on this blog. And if you don't want a page long trashing, the verdict is- It's gay. Period.

The blog revolves around his interests- men, cars, men, sports (or rather sportsmen), constipation, men, Southpark. And even with his limited interests, creativity and imagination, he has managed to churn out 19 posts over three months while using the word 'gay' and its derivatives (?) exactly 20 times. Similar words and the references to the gay culture are obviously uncountable, for one would have to read all the blogs first.

Now, I am not against gay blogs. there are funny gay blogs out there, and in case you have never read one, check this one out- Briyanshu. What makes this blog funny is that the blogger has come to terms with his perverseness sexual orientation. On the other hand we have Sudar, still hiding in his closet- Out of the 20 instances of the use of 'gay', 15 are invariably as- "I am not gay."

Yeah, well tried.

The cherry on the cake potty is the 'Love Hexagonal', a series of 3 posts, (I know it should be Love Hexagon, but the guy's English is not good anyway. He would be joining IIM Shillong next year), where he comes all guns blazing with his own brand of humor which he thinks is British, but is actually Tamil just not funny.
No links to the posts will be given here, that's the whole point- you don't have to read them to realize how bad they are. If you insist, sample this- parodying 'Fight Club' as 'Tight Club'. And the best one- the name of his gay partner in the story arch (?) is Carlos. Still better... yeah you get the idea.

Shit man, I didn't realize the 'gay' count on my blog was also going up. Oh fuck, another.
So, that's it. Say no to 'Kaapi', clear your browser's history lest anyone find this and the real you, block this blog lest your parents, siblings, friends run into it.

And gear up, your blog just might be the next one next week on SD. Tada!

The Best of Graham Lope

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The next time you type 'jokes apart' in your blog, follow these steps:
#1 Look up,
#2 Read,
#3 Analyze,
#4 Make sure there is a joke up there or delete the 'jokes apart'.

If you don't, I swear in god's name, I will kill you.

Jokes apart, I won't kill you.

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Here is a sincere biological advice for the chance sculptors visiting this page. Next time you get an order for a Maharana Pratap or a Shivaji statue for town halls, crossings, school buildings et cetera, kindly do NOT carve out the horse's balls.

I am perfectly sure that balls are god's gifts intended solely for the 'mankind'. Unless the use is metaphorical as in- Mary's got some balls.

Also, I am pretty sure that horses, however agile, historical or brave, never got erections in the battlefield. Unless, of course, the use is, again, metaphorical as in- Come on boys, let's fuck them.

Or is it some kind of sick professional in-joke?

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Even if you don't like to brag about your beauty, just write eyes, lips, hair, or whatever fricking part of your body that comes to your mind in the Orkut best body feature column. But please don't choose the option 'not on the list'.

Everybody knows that, choose the next best.

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Graffiti of the Year:

Mandir ke ANDAR gaanja peena mana hai.
[Smoking pot is prohibited INSIDE the temple premises.]

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Overheard some bored parents talking outside an entrance exam center:

Technically speaking, people who fall asleep in examination hall should receive the harshest punishment, at least harsher than those who cheat. Both didn't care for their studies, okay, but the cheaters at least care for their results.

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Fake IPL Fan

"Man, he looks high."
"What??? Who?"
"Rohit Sharma. He looks high."
"He is not running well, alright, but definitely not high."
"Looks high to me. Anyways what do you think they do in strategic break?"
"I don't know. Eat?"
"Definitely not 'eat'. I thought you, being a KKRetards fan, would at least say they plan. "
"What do you think, eh, RCBooze fan?"
"They get high."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, what else does one do in 450 seconds! And haven't you observed there is always a batting collapse right after these mini-breaks. Can't you see, his eyes look so hazy and dazed after the strategic break. Not a surprise to me, Warne and Smith used to do that before toss last year."
"Really? I thought they had had just cigarettes. How do you know?"
"Talk to the man."
"Who else looks high to the man? Yusuf Pathan?"
"No, he eats red meat, red bull or soemthing in breaks, be it 450 seconds or 30 minutes. Preity Zinta looks pretty high."
"Ganguly?"
"Bong on bong. Hahaha."
"Sachin?"
"Fuck you dude. You don't fucking talk about fucking Sachin like that. Nobody fucking talks fucking shit about fucking Him. You get fucking that?"
"I am sorry. Umm, Pietersen?"
"Nah, he is just stupid, high on testosterone."
"You mean Adrenaline?"
"Nah, testosterone."

"Did you notice that Cross painted on Robin Uthappa's back?"
"Yeah, he must be Christian."
"Duh. So is half the IPL, nobody does that. I think he should change from RCB to KKR."
"What???Why?"
"KKR is the closest it gets to KKK in IPL."
"That's not funny, seriously."

The Shoe Incident

I am calm now.

But when in morning the humanities lecturer was trying to propagate her feminist views in class, I couldn't resist throwing my shoe at her.
"Get out of the class." She said calmly.
"You hurt my dude feelings, mam."
"Get out of the class. RIGHT NOW."
"Mam, I am really sorry for that. Please forgive the chauvinist act of mine."
"I forgive you. Now get out."

Another moment of insanity prevailed as I threw the other shoe at her.

"What now?"
"What what? Do you want me to go back to hostel in one shoe?"