Will You Write About Me?

There is this cutie whom I have met a few times pretty coincidentally. So once when we bumped into each other at a bar, one thing led to another and – no, we didn’t have sex – just in case you’re a pervert surfing the internet for porn-literature, I haven’t raised the bar yet. I still talk about petty things like life and ambition and dreams. So you’ll have to look for your erotica somewhere else. So yes, one thing led to another and two hours later while we were sitting by a table and talking about all the things a desperate single girl and an opportunist bastard would talk about, she said, “It would be so much fun if you write about us on your blog. I’d totally love it!”
“How do you know about my blog?” I asked.
“I read it often. Will you write?”
“Sure”, I muttered.
Obviously I never wrote about her or about ‘us’ because there was never anything between us that could be termed as ‘us’ and by the end of this post, which she is obviously reading, I’m sure even the remotest chance of ‘us’ happening between us would also be thoroughly destroyed.
Its always good to know that people recognize you for your work right up to the point where they demand you to do something for them. Then it gets annoying. I come across many people who ‘would love it if I write about them’ on my blog. And write what? Right from a girl who wants me to write about her relationship because she thinks it’s the nicest in the whole world to a guy who can’t even fill a college application form without someone’s help and yet wants me to write ‘something good’ about him, this list of ‘write about me’ enthusiasts includes many odd people.
So while it can be understood that they want me to write about them because they know that I write, I want them to know that they don’t know me. This post aims at helping them know me. Hi, I’m Shivraj, I write a free blog and you read it. But that doesn’t mean I’m writing to make you or anyone else happy. I write for myself, for all the people who are genuinely interested in reading and for my love towards literature. And as much as I’m not here to please you or anyone else, I’m not here to annoy you either. After all this, if you’re still interested in a genuine blog that doesn’t take your shit but gives you it’s own to laugh at, keep reading.


Fat Girlfriend

A couple of hours ago Neha asked me the most difficult question: “Have I grown fat?” First I thought it was a rhetorical question because she has a huge mirror that reflects whatever it sees, but it turned out that she really wanted me to answer.
Some days ago she had asked me where was her younger brother’s PSP that she had last seen in my hands. It seriously was the most difficult question until I made a deal with her brother that if he could forget about his PSP, I could forget telling his sister how he gets stoned in his friend’s garage. He sobbed and swore and did many things but finally he concluded that the PSP was after all, not more important than keeping his marijuana consumption a secret. That saved me from answering the question back then.

This time however, I didn’t know how to tell her the truth. Although Neha isn’t like the Sphinx from some ancient Greek mythological tale who would bite off my head if I don’t answer her questions, she sure is lethal in her own manners. So very cautiously, I told her, “Err.. Yes, you seem to have grown fat, around the waist especially.”

That resulted in her 15-minute drama of feet-stamping and crying that I wasn’t interested in her anymore, then she accused me of being an insolent bastard because I didn’t know how to respect women and the whole thing  concluded with, “You’re not a real man. Real men go for curves.”


So this is one thing I want to get straight – not just with Neha, but with all the fat girlfriends in the world – putting on some weight isn’t a crime and even if you’re wearing a jeans two sizes plus, it won’t deter your boyfriend from taking those off in the bedroom. Also, no one in the world withdraws their interest in their girlfriend just because she’s grown fat. Except Hugh Hefner – because he has got a lot of choices. On the other hand, the choice-less insolent bastards that comprise the rest of the world won’t even observe that you have put on weight unless you begin to scoff about it. So you see, it would be appreciated if you decide to hit the gym and burn, and even if you don’t, it won’t be such a problem (as long as your belly button manages to hide under your t-shirt. That’s the limit). But please spare us from playing the whole ‘oh-baby-you-don’t-look-fat-and-I-am-a-real-man-I-like-curves-anyway’ drama. That is irritating and even if your weight doesn’t repel us from you, this will. Plus, expecting to hear that you’re ‘not fat’, you’d be living in a fool’s paradise. Don’t. And on a enlightening note, real men go for what ever they like. Period.

Guilty or Not Guilty?

He sat on the bench shivering as much with fear as with cold, and not guilty of what he had done. Guilt seldom bites one as much as cold does and when one is almost in the state of nature, guilt seems to be of little importance anyway. But this gentleman who happens to be the leading character of our story won’t have cared a fig for guilt even in the warmest of the clothes.
He had been beaten black and blue by the police and his brown body bore the fresh wounds in fleshy red, but that shouldn’t let you stray in the region of colors for that isn’t our concern and now, please control your thoughts and allow the story to pick up pace. So, as the wretched beaten soul sat in an anxious state of mind on a bench in the police station observing the bustle of the men in uniform around him, he sensed a quick, uniform movement about the place. The voices paused in a certain discipline and the shoes stomped the ground. The Police Inspector had arrived.
A shoal of police constables, yes a shoal – for they hold a certain fragrant similarity to the  fishes, rushed to the Inspector’s desk and arranged an already arranged litter of a numerous things. As the Inspector had his seat, a sub-Inspector walked forth and handed him a file.
“What’s the matter?” the Inspector asked burying his head in the file.
“This man is a boot-polish guy at the railway station. Last night, he had a customer who refused to pay him his money after getting the boot polished. There was a brawl over it and this man killed the customer smashing a small stone against his skull. Strange was the fact that after committing the murder, he hadn’t fled far away. We found him a few hours after the incident had taken place. He was eating peacefully near a grocery store a couple of kilometers away from the railway station. We had his medical check up done. No consumption of liquor or any thing else that would numb his senses. He is perfectly normal but his body is weak. The doctor said that he must have been hungry since a few days. We have had this man’s statement taken in written after a little effort”, the sub-Inspector said.
The Inspector looked impressed.
“Strange”, he said, “how much does a boot polish cost?”
“Around five rupees probably, sir”, the sub-Inspector answered.
The Inspector looked at our man and said, “Five rupees, is that the cost of a man’s life? Don’t you feel guilty?”
But our leading character, the man held guilty, was not guilty, and the biting cold wasn’t the only reason.

The Branding of Israel

A terrified girl eating a loaf of bread in the rubble of her house would be a heart-wrenching sight. So would be an injured toddler, or a father with his son in the midst of fallen buildings and so would be the countless other photos of these and such people who are the residents of the Gaza Strip.

Look around on the internet and you’ll find myriad photos and news reports of people from the Gaza Strip before you blink twice. All of these stories are touching and will leave you doubting the existence of humanity. It is hard to believe that some people can do such things to other people and it’s harder to digest that it won’t stop for a long time to come. Reading about collapsed schools and therefore abandoned by the kids, and UNICEF workers trying to put them together again makes you pause for a moment and feel pity for the whole situation. Reading about kids who have lost their parents in fractions of seconds makes you feel terrible. Look around on the internet and you’ll probably see more than I have been seeing since a long time. It will break your heart, scratch your conscience and lead you to a question – Who is doing all this? And why? Then, if you look around just a little more, you’ll find your answers – Israel is doing all this for a land that belongs to them. Then the photos will break your heart again and you’ll eventually wonder what right does Israel have to destroy the lives of these many people over a petty land dispute?
And if your mind successfully brings you to ask this question to yourself or to anyone else, or on a social networking site, you will have been a victim of the insidious branding of Israel which is an outcome of all the Gaza Strip news in the world put together.
The debate over who is right and who is wrong is altogether a different story. The choice of taking sides with one of the two conflicting nations is also a matter of your own beliefs, but the prejudice against Israel on the basis of the touching Gaza Strip coverage would be, I firmly believe, an error of judgment. When one person is hapless and another is more hapless, you tend to quickly compare both of them and call the former guy a lucky bloke. On similar grounds, not calling Israel a nation in a wrong position and at the same time, showcasing the Palestinians in wretched conditions, the media from around the globe seems to be unknowingly sending out a message that Israel is after all, despicable. And that certainly isn’t the case. I just want all of you to understand that a war tears apart everyone engaged in it and this time, it’s no different. You can take sides, you can sympathize with whoever you find right and you can defend your opinions, but before going there, kill that prejudice against Israel.

Four Perks of Not Using a Multimedia Phone

I don’t use a multimedia phone because I cannot afford one. If you find this funny, fuck you. But if a remote part of your heart feels pity for me and is saying, “Let’s help this poor bloke get a good phone”, we got to talk after you’re done reading this post because even if I’m writing about the perks of not using a multimedia phone, I’m tired of not using a multimedia phone, but let’s save that for our conversation. First, allow me to tell you the four perks that I think are perks of not being able to use a multimedia phone.

1. I come across many people who look at my Nokia and say, “Sheesh! You’re using that?! Get a good phone man!” In the very beginning, that is the beginning of the time when people began to abandon their phones that belonged to the fraternity of the one I use now, I used to feel ‘sheesh!’ about my phone too. But with time, I learned to live with it in the same exact manner some fat people learn to live with the dough around their waists instead of exercising. And that, I believe, is the first perks of not using a multimedia phone. Learning to live with something without despising it is quite a thing. (Doesn’t mean I’m encouraging the fat douchebags. They should find a gym. )


"Sheesh! You're using that?!"

2. Not using a multimedia phone means not having to receive and send silly photos and videos of all the weird things in the world to thirty thousand eight hundred and eighty people without a reason. This has made me quite a reasonable man.

3. Not using Whatsapp, Between, instagram and SnapChat has made me fall in a deep, dreary hollow from where there is no access to dirty talks and apparently to banging chicks. Many would rather see this as a disadvantage and me as a hapless bloke, but I see this as a balancing act of Karma, and me as Ted Mosby from the last couple of seasons of HIMYM. I’m hoping to find my yellow umbrella soon. Till then, I’ll just fap?

4. And finally, not using a multimedia phone has led me to distinguish the very few people who are genuinely interested in talking to me and who take efforts for it by talking over text messages and phone calls from the many who choose to avoid a ‘hi’ from a person who doesn’t use a social networking app.

This is my true story and if it has melted your heart and you think I deserve a multimedia phone, buy me one. If it hasn’t, I’ll have to try something else. Damn.

4 Great Tips for Great Sex

People love sex. So do you, because you are one of those polygamous animals who keep browsing the internet to get sex smart and acquire the knowledge of pulling whoever you want in your bed. And therefore, here I am helping you my bit with these tips on how to become a great sex magnet:

1. Honestly, if I knew how to be a sex magnet, I’d be banging women right now instead of writing this post, but…..

2. ….. since you’ve begun reading this now, finish it as well, I won’t take long.

3. Besides this one, I’ve begun writing another blog since yesterday. Here is link: http://ahundredpeople.wordpress.com/ If you’re bored of being a pervert and looking for sex tips, read my blogs some time. They’re not bad.

4. Use a condom. Always.


Two Many Blogs

How many times has it happened that you have done something with an agenda and it has turned into something entirely different? Apart from drinking a whole bottle of Resolute Pink with a girl because both of us wanted to know what drunk sex is and ending up cleaning the bedroom floor full of her vomit for a good three hours, my list of such things also includes this little break that I took from writing this blog to come out with a new theme and ending up coming out with a new blog instead. Yes, you read it right – a very new blog.

I’m quite excited with this whole ‘writing-two-blogs-at-the-same-time-while-balancing-the-turmoil-of-engineering-and-a-girlfriend-who-asks-me-to-do-fifteen-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-little-favors-for-her-everyday’ thing. But I’m also anxious. Partly because starting something from scratch always seems to be a Herculean task for me and I’m not Hercules, and partly because the central idea of the new blog is pretty vast for my vision – I don’t see where would it lead me. It is basically about looking in the lives of a hundred people. Spending one day with each of the hundred people, of whom most will be the men and women of the lowest working classes, I’ll follow their lives throughout that day to see what they do, how they work, live and think, what they believe, and finally, what they want out of life. It won’t be a questionnaire though, lest you believe I’ll be interviewing them. Nope. I’ll be only observing them, and talking to them.

Now further if you look at me and ask why am I doing this? I’ll look back at you with the same inquisitive face as yours. I don’t have an answer to that because I’m not doing this with a motive and I don’t expect it to take either of us – the people I write about and me – anywhere. It’s just an idea that struck my brain, and it struck well unlike all the other ideas that only manage to brush against my skull gently and fall on the bathroom floor. (new ideas come to me only in the bathroom you see). So trusting this idea along with my instincts, I’m only going to shape things as I see them in my head and hope that in this process, I’d begin to understand people in a better manner, and looking at them through my spectacle, you would too.

It won’t however keep me from keeping up with this blog because as long as you keep reading my rubbish around here, I don’t see one good reason why should it stop. It won’t.