Festival in the times of Famine

So how many of you are all set to have playing with those vivid colors? As the Holi or Rangapanchami (whatever you call it) approaches I can see most of you all set to enjoy the beautiful colorful festival.

But wait, I can hear someone stammering something! What? Drought? Where? Water scarcity? What are you talking about? I can’t see it anywhere! Can you? The taps are dripping continuously, containers are overflowing, we drink little sips of water at restaurants and the rest meets the drainage. Someone must be lying man! Where the hell is the famine?

Well, it’s just a few hundred kilometers away. It’s happening now. Rivers are drying up, the dams are losing their waters quickly, the government is busy assuring that things will be brought in control, the nation doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation, and people are dying. Now some of you might just come up with a point, “No man, we’re playing a dry Holi this year. We understand and care.”

To all those who say this, I’d give you a big LOL. You won’t se water? You think that’s possible? Won’t you need some extra liters of water to take those colors off your body? In case your white car gets stained, what are you going to use for washing it? But then this is quite a further thing. Let’s light upon some basic things first.

In the first place tell me, how would you feel if your friend throws a lavish party on the day of your breakup? And how would you celebrate your birthday when someone close to you dies? Sounds sick, doesn’t it? so how would you like to play a fucking ‘only colors’ Holi when there are lacs of people clueless about how to survive?

And it’s not happening in some other part of the world. It’s happening in your very own Maharashtra. Yes, I agree that we can’t whine over everything in the world. If that happens, we would live in gloom forever. But there are certain things that should be taken care of. When our own state is in trouble, we have to get up and do things for ourselves.

I don’t how much would it help the drought-affected people if we don’t celebrate this festival, but you know there’s a little thing called morality and it matters a lot. You don’t have to donate lacs of liters of water or tones of fodder to make the difference. But you have a small part in the play, part of not celebrating. And it is as important as the other things are. I am not some government officer or a politician or any celebrity who would ask you to save water and promise you that ‘each drop you save will reach the famine affected people’. I am just one guy who is really concerned about things happening out there asking you not to ‘celebrate’ at all. It’s not just the material help that matters at this moment. A raped woman doesn’t feel relieved with an i-pill. What she would really need is a moral support. The same rule is applicable everywhere. If we don’t celebrate for their sake, it will raise their morale which is I think a big thing. We are anyway going to have a great Holi, let’s at least make their Holi bearable then. If we overlook this factor and celebrate the festival anyway, at the end of this summer everyone will be carrying out candle light marches for the dead famine victims. And that would be a great show-off. But look, if you’re really concerned, think over this. After all, prevention is better than cure.

And I know many of you would just read this, call it shit and celebrate anyway. But I also know that there must be a few handful of people who would really do something over this to make that difference. Go for it, all the very best.

Ah, looks like I forgot to say something.

Happy Holi.


From Boys to Men.

So I’ve been watching a lot of guys lately who call themselves ‘a man’, or at least crave to be one. A word about what a man is.

See, it’s not that you finish eighteen years of age and become a man. It’s certainly not that easy and it will never be. A lot more goes in the making of a man. And because sexes attract, here are some things which you should remember when you deal with women.

Men never chase girls. That’s just not a man’s thing. Yeah, I know how strange it sounds but a man of some class will never run behind women like a dog chases a cat. Yes, Barney Stinson is a man, but you’d never see him running behind a flock of chicks. He’s got a class and he makes his women come to him. On the other hand, a Stifler cannot be called a man. He is just one over-horny, lucky-about-women guy. But he lacks class. And that’s why he is far away from what you call ‘manhood’. So if you really want to be a man, the first thing you gotta do is forget about running the Naked Mile and get back to reality. Learn to earn your women (if you are a womanizer of course).

And since we are talking about women for the moment, another important thing you should know is, never talk to a woman about her problems with her girlfriends. Catfights are not at all our things. Never, never indulge yourself in a catfight, no matter how much you care for the girl. You certainly don’t want to be called a ‘stinking nose poker’ by women, and certainly don’t want to be laughed at.

You know, men never have a technique or a knack to impress women. They don’t follow a certain ‘pattern’. So the next thing you need to change is riding a bike putting your life at risk. The Ajay Devgn days are gone boys. Women never get impressed to see you riding a bike at some breath-taking speed. A man always rides in pride, slow. And it’s not just about the bike. All those little things you did as boys to make women fall have failed. It’s time grow up now.

Falling for a woman is one of the most natural attributes of a man. If you love a woman, make sure she knows it, make sure you understand how much you mean it, and make sure that you win her. You know, the ‘fucking around for fun’ days ended with the last part of American Pie. Banging chicks may make you a stud or a playboy, but after a point, you’d see how immoral that looks. And when you finally fall in love with a girl, she’ll turn out to be the one who sleeps with other ‘playboys’. No she’s not a bitch, you were the dog first. Remember, what comes around goes around. And even if she cheats first, never stray for other women. You’ll eventually earn respect. As our mentor Barney says, ‘Behind every awesome man, there is a bitch who broke his heart once’ you’ll be awesome too. Loyalty is a man’s greatest attribute. And that’s where manhood begins in the first place. You want to be a man? Then be her man first.

Now, let’s forget about women for a while and see the other sides too. Money comes first. Earn a lot. Money won’t bring you happiness, but it will surely bring you pride. Just wearing suits and ties won’t be enough. Take up all those qualities first. Men shouldn’t dream. Dreams are for boys, work is for men. A man works towards his dreams. Yes, the foremost thing a man should do is he should work. For his aspirations and for his family. It’s time to get up and start off.

And above all, being a man learn to be proud of who you are. However corny it sounds, be proud and true. Men are made of sterner material than what you think. Respect your family. Spend time with them, love them. Little things matter. And these very things will make you a bigger man than what you aspire to be. It’s a long way to go, I told you just a bit of the whole thing.

But for now, get your ass off that chair and begin working towards these things. And you know what I’ll call you then? Attaboy! 😉

A Game called Football!

From a long time a friend wanted me to write about football and since he was insisting me, I thought I’d give it a shot.

To begin with there is really nothing much that I know about this sport. They say writing without knowledge can be harmful. Well, the gamble is on, let’s see what I’ve gotta say.

I was never a football-guy. Right since my childhood’s earliest memories, I don’t remember a moment when I kicked the ball and felt delighted. You know, a boy is basically either a football-boy or a cricket-boy, especially in India. So, I grew up loving cricket. But honestly, I’ve always envied the football guys, infact I still do.

The majority of boys in my school were lured by football, and so evidently, I had to play it. I never played bad though. I wasted all my football-time looking around, observing if girls like to watch it.

And that’s one of the important things which keeps the game going. Women love football when they watch it. The game is fast, action-packed, and every woman longs to see a bunch of men fighting to gain supremacy over the ‘ball’. And apparently every man on the field wants to play more fiercely to impress them. Now you know why Cristiano Ronaldo takes more women to bed than others.

Football players are rough and look strong in their outfits, and every time I look at them I feel quite lesser like a man.  I know how funny that sounds, but that’s the thing I feel. They concentrate on their game and never lose focus. That’s another thing I respect the boys for.

But I love watching football. It’s on the TV all the time and ends in mere 90 minutes. I feel like a school kid telling this but Spain and Barcelona are my favorite teams, David Villa and Oliver Kahn, my favorite players. But yes, there are quite a few things I know about football, generally. Things like Manchester United are the English giants of the game, Real Madrid is the biggest rival to Barcelona, Brazil is scary shit for other teams, India sucks big time in this game and, there lives a legend called David Beckham.

For a guy like me, football ain’t a big thing. I don’t love it, nor do I have any passion towards it. But looking at people who ‘live’ this game, I can imagine what a glorious thing it must be. And honestly, at times, I regret not being a football-boy.

One very important thing about this game is that everyone gets to play it. Every member in the team has an equal opportunity. Go, kick, score. There’s a lot of brain work in it too. The way you guys plan how to play, the formation of the team, the passing, the co-ordination, counter-attacks, tackles, and the moment when you show the ball the back of the net. It’s all wonderful.

But I keep on repeating, it’s not for me. I’m just a spectator, an outsider to this huge, round world of football and I’m already charmed looking at it. The game, the players, and yes of course, the fans, it’s all spectacular. And I bet, from where I stand it’s not even half awesome as much as it is for a real football-fan. And now as I look at it’s extent, I wish I was a football-guy too. But some things are just not meant to be.

But some day, maybe in some other life, I’d like to be a part of this glorious game. Till then, I’ll just sit back and cheer, for the game, for its spirit, for the players and the fans.

Have fun.

Regretting and cheering,

A Boy who couldn’t be a part of the game.

Far Away

[Verse 1]


You want to know stuff about me?

Did you just talk about me?

Did you just say some shit you thought I’m gonna be?

Really? Are ya’ll jerks? Goin nuts about what I am?

Stop messing with me! Ya’ll deedee and am I Dexter’s laboratory?
I don’t even want you to make me


Can’t you just fuckin see?
I try showing I don’t care a fuck, I don’t give it a pee,

But this shit’s creepy, it’s creeping up my brain,

I’m fuckin goin crazy!


Haters can write a whole new thing about what I do and what I don’t,

Which bitch dumped me and what poison I ate?

How I tried to kill myself and my fate?

What was the footnote, how I survived and what the fuck was the antidote!

Heck, you can even make up a story of where did I steal from when this shit I wrote!

Let me tell you now,

I don’t give a damn to you and your shitty mouth,

Fuck it,

Else you’d find me spitting at you and swear on this shit you won’t be able to duck!

Better stop fuckin around with my name, I don’t care if you are a dude or a dame,

From where I stand I see ya’ll the same,

I don’t need no fame, I’m married to my game and I’m playing it right!





I’m gonna grip my life and hold it tight,

Take it away, away, far away from your sight.

I’ll shine then and blind your eyes,

So stay, stay far away, it’s my rise.

Yes, I’m goin far away from you,

Towards a life, up, up and above in the skies blue!




[Verse 2]


You want to know how I got laid? Was it on the sofa? Or how am I in the bed? How long was my tool? How was the dickhead? Was it red? How she screamed and what she said?

Come on hoes, ask me, don’t be afraid,

I’ll kill ya’ll and the spree will be spread!

Ya’ll faggots wanna know which bitch got on me and I climbed on whom?
in which hotel? What room?

Try askin me again and swear I’ll create a goddamn doom!

You keep askin about all my women,

What was her name and,

Where did she come from, what was her accent?
why do you douchebags care,

About what do I do and where?
dare ask me again and I swear,

I’ll tear your face and smash your balls, ya’ll be Iraq and I’ll be Blair,

And by the time you won’t be able to bear it all,

You’ll know you just messed with a Player!

Ypou call me dirt and feed on my shit,

Ya’ll a bunch of flies meant to die in a pit,

I’mma hit and run you in the steet!
drive a truck over you and crush your mouth,

You don’t think? Better don’t doubt!

I’ll do it for sure and sure I’ll shout,

That you finally died under my fuckin ride!


Better hide your face and ask for my forgiveness,

Else I promise, I’ll hurl you in a mess,

At a place where you’ll find Loch Ness ready, sayin grace, all set to make you vanish without a trace,

Don’t swim and pace and run and race,

Else I’ll slip into my battledress and destroy your face!
it’s all a possibility, but just in case,

So you better know this,





I’m gonna grip my life and hold it tight,

Take it away, away, far away from your sight.

I’ll shine then and blind your eyes,

So stay, stay far away, it’s my rise.

Yes, I’m goin far away from you,

Towards a life, up, up and above in the skies blue!

To Mathers, with love

Man Slim,

I’m clueless about how to begin this letter. Because I really don’t have anything specific on my mind to tell you. I’ve just been wanting to talk to you big time because your verses have been with me when I went through shit phases of my life. And man, I idolize you.

I don’t know much about your life, nor do I know how you began your career, what matters to me is what you are and what you are going to be.

The most important thing you did to me was, you shaped a man out of a boy. I began listening your songs in my early teens and I wanted to know if all that you spit is true. I wanted to see it all. Now as I look back upon that thought I see how silly it was. You’ve been through a hell of pain and I won’t ever want even half of it.

I don’t know who Kim is, and I don’t know how much you loved her, or if you still do. I just know that since you call her a bitch, she must have been one. And yes, she is one woman who gave you the strength to spit your verses with this intensity.

Love hurts man. Yes, I’ve been through things too. It did hurt, but then I had your songs to get consoled. You know the right words to say things, and you know the right tone. 25 to Life is one song every man out there should listen. It relates. It connects. It may not be a big song, but it’s just enough. Then there’s this quite horrible thing you sang, ‘Kim’. The bitch sued you for that, and many people found it scary. Honestly, I am one of them. But it has one awesome thing in it. The time when you say ‘bleed bitch bleed!’ it comes right from within you, and strangely, honestly, it relieves me every time I hear it.

 There was a time, I remember, I felt like a bum. Useless and hopeless. I never thought a song would help me walk outta that phase, but it did when you said “don’t worry ‘bout what they do and do Shady!”

Your songs reflect something, and it ain’t just the pain. It’s something more. It’s the strength you get out of that, and it’s the strength your fans get on listening your verses. That makes you stand out of the crowd. You RAP to express. You always have a reason for every fuckin word you use. A story to tell through every RAP. Your own story. It’s ceaseless, and we love it that way.

You have taught me a lot of things. You made me a man of substance. The firmness with which you speak gives me the courage to do it your way. The moment I heard you say “I’m a man of my word so you fuckin’ heads better nod!” I was a man of my word too. And the most important thing you implied on my mind was that, love a woman with all your heart and even if she turns out to be a bitch, never go for another woman.

People find drugs and sex in your RAPs, I find honesty and pride. They think you are violent, but I guess it’s just the inner side of your mind that you put out. After all, people find what they look for. You are true and I respect you for that.

You are the crowned King of RAP and you are awesome. Looks like I’m falling short of words. Partly because I have nothing to say, partly because I don’t wanna sound sick praising you all the while. That ain’t what you taught me.

So I end this with one last word, don’t ever do anything that would let me down on you. You know if you ever do anything like that, you’d lose all this respect and get a raised middle finger instead. I know you’d never step outta the line anyway. Keep spitting.

Idolising you,

A Stan, forever.

The Player’s Story



Once upon a time, there lived a guy,

Who played around with chicks since junior high.

‘Breaking up for fun’ was his favorite game,

He was known as The Player, though that wasn’t his name.

Facebook was a thing that gave him a delirious joy,

For there he would find every single chick, who would later be his toy.

Little did he know, that his spree of games would end there,

When a pretty girl would defeat the great player.

His game was a ceaseless hunt,

Where love and passion was brutally burnt.

But a stumbling hurdle lies in every great run,

And so in this game, there was one.

It all began with one beautiful girl,

Who was soon going to make his world twist and twirl.

She had that fiery spark which could ignite all the guys,

And so her charm made the player’s curiosity rise.

He began setting up a trap with his clever brains,

It looked harmless, and the danger she could never sense.

But as the game caught pace,

He could no longer play around with that pretty face.

For she was a girl, smart and sound.

She belonged to the species, rarely  found.

All his life, the player had seen pretty faces with empty heads,

Who looked good only in edited photos and his beds.

But this girl was what he had always been looking for,

And so began within him a royal war.

The Player fought with the romantic him,

And none bagged the victory, until her words turned his days dim.

She said, “I have my love, I have my guy,

And so Mr. Player, you won’t get it here, you shouldn’t try.”

His romantic dream was shattered by her words,

Inside him, the Player rose again, to hunt hot chicks and pretty birds.

 And sure did he feast on one of the prettiest birds he knew,

But it lasted just for a while, and away his catch flew.

He was back on a hunt, back on a trail,

Of chicks and babes who would fall for his dreamy tale.

But he knew, he couldn’t play it any longer,

For brainless preys had killed his hunger.

He knew what he wanted to go after now,

But he didn’t know where to begin and how?

Soon he began talking again to the girl, who had in her hair a star,

This hunt would be fun, he knew, for it would be a chase very far.

She told him that her relationship wasn’t working and she wanted it out,

And the player grinned, for now he could fish his trout.

The baits were thrown, the trap was set, with all the care and perfectness,

The horny beast crouched in silence, waiting for her to step in the mess.

But she did a flutter, that sounded witty and smart,

And it appealed the beast right at his heart.

And for a moment, he shed his role of beast, walking out of disguise,

He looked at her with his very own eyes!

And there he could see a girl, flawless in all her beauty and soul,

Stunned, he knew, she was the better half that would make him whole.

As he took a step towards her, he stumbled in his own trap of the love game,

And she still stood there, smiling in all her charm, the beautiful dame.

He had lost, but the defeat gave him utmost joy,

Now, he was no more the Player, he was just one love struck boy.

Love had entered his life in the form of this girl,

Yes, who finally made him twist and twirl.

He loved her and she loved him too,

It had happened between them, without him having to woo!

And thus, the predator was hunted, the Player was played, and the Stifler screwed,

By a girl, who did it too good!

And now, let me tell you the names,

Of that dame, and the Player who used to play games.




She is Mrudula,  in whose love he always wants to be,

And the boy? Aye, aye, look at Me!!

INDIA: A Bunch of Imitators



So here’s a little word about something that I’d been thinking since a while.

You know there was a time the American culture was taking its roots in our nation. Haha. I can see that look on your face, funny. Don’t scoff. I ain’t talking about the invasion of cultures and the uprooting of our great Indian values. Plenty of mouths to brag over that. Not me. So, here, back to what I was saying, yes, the American culture.

You know, back then was a time when boys had begun listening Michael Jackson and singing ‘Beat It’ in the streets, back then was a time when girls gave out there hearts to George Michael as Christmas gifts, back then was a time when Top Gun made many young men want to get in the uniforms, and exactly back then was a time when America laid the foundation of it’s influence in a nation of great values known as India.

This was quite a while ago. It was the time when our parents had just been doing their colleges. And soon after that, things progressed quickly. Maddona sang her heart out and movies like Grease became popular. It was the very time when India was being exposed to the richness and glamour of the western world. It blinded our eyes; we could see nothing but them. We praised them and spat at our fate that we weren’t born there.

But soon enough, a thing of great pride happened, for India, for our women. Some beautiful young ladies of our nation went on to become the Miss World/ Universe/ Earth (whatever it was) in a row, and shook the world. The world suddenly saw India in the spotlight.  We were happy, we went crazy. They were looking at us, and that’s when we decided to act foolish.

Everyone wanted to please the crowds by doing what the westerners did. And so it happened. There was an Alisha Chinoy for every Maddona. A desi version for every western star.

English medium schools boomed, all the parents wanted their kids to talk English, and be a part of the new, upcoming elite groups. And the schools did their job fine. They produced some of the best English speaking tongues. Bang! That was it. A new class was born. People who loved gossiping over the new Backstreet Boys album, and people who were concerned about how would Tom Cruise succeed in his new movie. No one wanted to see what was going on in the nation; no one had time to look at the rising talents of India. And why would anyone want to do that anyway? For every singer, actor and all the people out here were busy imitating the west. This was the evil cycle. We imitated the west because the youth loved it, and the youth loved the west because we had nothing new to give them, we were plain copy cats.

And so we evolved with a mindset. As we dropped jaws for Britney, and fought with our lives for Eminem, our own music and film industry saw this and began copying. We still do. Shahid Kapoor copies the styles of Tom Cruise, Anurag Basu copies The Notebook to give us a Barfi, and Pritam copies everything that he sees. We have a shit load of imitators.

And this is what I’m talking about. Why do we have to imitate? Why do we follow every fucking American step? LOL. Look at our own language, my own language up there. Where did the F-word come from? It came from the great, mighty America!

You know what is being trendy? Trendy is doing something new, and setting a pattern for others to follow. Why can’t we do that? Why have we always got to be the followers? Why do we do weed? Because Bob Marley did it? Why do we see more guitar classes and lesser sitar ones?

Look, I don’t have anything to say ‘against’ the American grandeur, but I have a lot to say ‘for’ us, Indians. Looking at them and learning is one thing, imitating is altogether different.

Why is there no one in our nation who would set an example to follow? You know where the answer lies? It lies within us. We are blindfolded by the American Dream. So much that once you’re done reading this, you’d mock at my thought and say, who can overcome the west? We can, with a little effort and a lot of confidence.

If someone is going to rule the world, why not it be us? We have a lot many things of our own which are outstandingly awesome. Dance, music, art. Its myriad.

I don’t know why I feel so agitated over this, but I’m sure, at some point you’d feel it too. I’m just spreading the word. Let’s be ourselves people, let’s be proud of who we are.

In a very American way, always keep this little modified Levi’s tagline on your mind: Originality never goes out of style.

Give it a thought. Best regards.