What The Fuck Was I Doing?

For those of you who don’t know, this what this is about, it’s nothing related to my life’s awakening prior to which I was doing some really fucked up job. Or it is. But it is also about what was I doing all this time when I was away from the blog.

So let’s see, this hasn’t really been a hiatus or a sabbatical or whatever I would otherwise call my time spent rubbing the sweat on my ass until it turns to a mound of dirt. Literally.  I guess that’s how the word rubbish came into existence. You see it’s because of rubbing something that is originally liquid and turns to many semi-solid pellets when you keep rubbing it for a while. So since we don’t really know how to define things that are incomprehensible but do exist, we found the idea of putting an -ish after them. However since the motive of this article isn’t lighting upon obvious facts that you don’t know because you don’t rub the sweat on your ass, I think I’d move on. When I come to think about what really is the motive of this article, I realize that there’s nothing particular I want to speak of. Perhaps this is just one really desperate attempt to get started because I have spent a lot of time not writing. There were times when I saw something or happened to be in a situation and thought “Hey that can go on the blog!” but then I was also obligated to devote my time to typing product descriptions for Amazon and Snapdeal. One time I wrote 37 descriptions of 200 words each, save the calculations 7400 words in all about what? Toilet seats. That kind of work burns your brains like acids burn, well I am not  very well-versed with chemistry but you get the idea right?

Funny how I now realize that even getting to work in your favorite (I hate the fact that when I type favourite this WordPress editor puts a red line under it) field is not always as rewarding as it may seem to someone who is not you. People always tell me that I am a lucky bastard because I am getting to work in the writing industry like I always wanted to and I want to tell them that this was not what I was looking forward to but then too much complaining makes you sound like a cunt. Of course I am placed with a good company now where my work primarily consists of sipping free coffee and typing words in the computer whenever I feel like, which is good because it gives me a lot of time to follow up people’s lives on Facebook and see how they are getting married or getting jobs or just doing something that is better than sitting and drinking free coffee. However my days with the product descriptions were really unpleasant. Then again, I guess more or less, that’s how it begins for every person. And since I am almost over that phase, I thought it would be a good idea to go back to what I really love to do – write this blog. For most of the times, I have been pretty mean with all the words and glorious abuses (this editor just did it again with humour) towards you, but I would really love to try and do something different this time around.

I know what you’re thinking but for once, I am not going to be a fucking jerk and make some really inappropriate remark because if you come and see me in person you will also see that I don’t use penis-metaphors all that often. That would be fucking crazy which reminds me, I do use the word fucking as much as you would use the loo if someone turns the AC to 18 degree Celsius and makes you sit in that room for nine hours (describing my office, nothing personal). So yes, without being abusive of the fine person that you are – something I otherwise love to do, I’d like you to know that I am here now, and I am going to try and write again and this time, I am going to be a little nicer.








No, I am really not going to say “Fuck off.”








Okay, fuck off.


“Why Don’t Clothes Die?”

Kids ask all kinds of amusing questions. And although I don’t have any, unlike others who would begin the sentence with ‘Although I don’t have any,’ and end it with ‘I love kids and spend as much time as I can with them’, I would end it with, ‘I don’t spend my time with any either.’ Kids are too stupid to understand my humour and anyone who is too stupid to understand my humour is fucking bad company.

So yes, kids ask all kinds of amusing questions and had a kid asked me the question in the title, I’d have laughed it off and called him stupid or cute which would have relied entirely on whether is mother was hot or not. However, the most amusing part is that the question in the title wasn’t really a kid’s query. It was Isha’s.

A few days ago, we were discussing about what clothes should we pack for a holiday.

“I don’t have anything to wear”, she frowned after pulling out her whole closet.

“What?” I asked, because for one thing I knew there were at least sixteen dresses of one kind and thirteen of some other kind, and myriad tops and a lot of implausible stuff that looked too odd to fit around a human body but she said it did.

Perhaps she didn’t understand the fact that my “What?” was rhetorical. So she repeated, “I don’t have a fucking thing to wear!” then very sadly, in an almost-morbidly-fascinating Billy Holiday voice, she added, “Why don’t clothes die?”

“W-haat?” I asked again.

Just a few days prior to this incident, she had once asked me why isn’t my father a drug lord. Her logic was that, if he was a drug lord she would have then married me and got drugs on the house. Although her obsession with murders, drugs and other criminal activities isn’t surpirsing for me anymore, this type of question was fucking weird.

“Yeah, think of it! What if clothes could have died and given birth to new ones?” she said.

I like being witty in such situations and although you can’t be something just because you like it in the same manner I can’t be William Shatner although I’d fucking love to be him, I still asked in a witty tone, “Wouldn’t that require your clothes to have sex between themselves?”

Perhaps I wasn’t really witty after all because she then said, “Why do you have to think of sex all the time?! I meant what if the clothes died and like a Phoenix rises from its own ashes, they rose as new ones?”


I have a powerful imagination. This is how I saw it in my head.

“What then?” I really couldn’t understand what the fuck was the whole point of it.

“I will murder my clothes then! So they’ll die and give birth to new ones and before we go on this holiday, I’ll have new ones!” she exclaimed.

That was creepy as fuck, so before it could any creepier, I said, “Isha listen, go shopping.”

After she had bought ten tonnes of clothes, I said, “Hey listen, the whole Phoenix thing is a myth, you know that right? And so when you said that thing about murdering your clothes, that wasn’t really valid either, right?”

So then she snapped, “For God’s sake I was kidding, you fucking asshole.”

Why I Keep Coming Back? (This Time With a Pout)

So while sipping some coffee in a coffee shop this evening I was wondering why some girls look like they’d go down on their knees any moment and no, not propose you but blow you till you feel heavenly and stop feeling heavenly and Mr. Wild Willy goes to sleep again (which by the way, is better than any kind of proposal.) The prime reason why this thought jet-skid across my mind was the two let-me-go-down-on-my-knees-and-then-down-on-you enthusiast lookalikes who sat a table away from me which was making me sad because if they really were what I thought they were, only the fittest would come up a winner in the battle to go down which would deprive me of the other’s blowing skills.
So anyway,  after wondering what could possibly be the reason that they looked like how my judgement anticipated them to be, I finally concluded three things:
1. They look like that because they do. It doesn’t really mean that they’re, let’s say, hoes. Some people look very shady and villainous in Agatha Christie’s books but they’re not what they look. On similar lines, even if these girls looked hungry for something that would be inappropriate to be given to them in a public place (read dick) they were actually only hungry for some French fries and tomato ketchup on their table. It’s a degrading treatment to think of a woman or moreover of any person in an inappropriate manner just because they look inappropriate. You cannot judge anyone on some thin evidence of judgement like a damn face.

2. Since I already judged them girls anyway, I must be half misogynist (a person who hates every bone in a woman’s body except his) and half whatever the fuck is it’s opposite.

3. If I write about this insignificant thought under the title ‘Why I Keep Coming Back’, which I just did, and if someone reads it till the end which God forbid, is going to be you, you have again been conned into reading something completely ordinary under the veil of extraordinary and as unrelated to the title as is Justin Bieber to the XY chromosome.
But then, you, dear reader, are also the reason why I keep coming back. You read this blog regardless of what a dick I am and regardless of whatever the fuck I put up. So keep reading. I love you.

And since you read it till the end, here is a little compesation for you, something to laugh at.


Some total asshole trying to pout. Haha.

7 Easy Steps to Get Away With a Murder and Write an Amazing Crime Novel

1. Join a gym.

2. Send a facebook friend request to your victim.

3. Like all their posts and comment all the nice things on their photos (basically suck their dick) and chat with them and keep doing all that until you guys become real friends.

4. Call them over for a couple of beers. Then in a casual conversation tell them how has fitness become the need of the hour in this age of electronic technology where machines do all our works.

5. Keep sending them screenshots of Laser Angelo’s Instagram page and keep doing that until they say, “Man I want to join a gym.” The moment they say that, ask them to join your gym and pester them until they actually do.

6. Go for regular steam baths with them.

7. After a few days when you’re actually going to murder them, carry a pointy piece of ice in the steam bath and stab them before the ice melts.

Now the person you wanted dead is dead and since ice melts in the steam, there is no evidence of what murder weapon was used which apparently means no fingerprints which again apparently means you have gotten away with a murder.

Also, adding six more guys in the steam bath and making one of them look very shady is how Agatha Christie would have made a novel out of this post and earned millions. Just saying. You can try too.

माय मराठी

अगदी परवाची गोष्ट. कोण्या एका पारश्याच्या घरी मला ‘हाऊस वाॅर्मिंग पार्टी’चं निमंत्रण आलं. पहिल्यांदा हा काय प्रकार आहे ते समजेना. तिसरीत असताना बाईंनी ‘वाॅर्म’ या शब्दाचे दोन अर्थ सांगीतले होते. एक म्हणजे उबदार आणि दुसरा म्हणजे कोमट. पण घर ऊबदार किंवा कोमट करायची पार्टी हा काय प्रकार आहे तेच उमगेना. शेवटी मित्राला याचा अर्थ विचारला तेव्हा तो म्हणाला, “मुर्खा हाऊस वाॅर्मिंग म्हणजे व्हाट यु मराठी पिपल काॅल वॅस्तुशांती.”
“यु मराठी म्हणजे? तू मराठी नाहिस का?” मी घाबरुन विचारलं.
तेव्हा तो म्हणाला, “शी! ओल्ड लॅन्गवेज! आजच्या ग्लोबलायझेशनमध्ये शी डझन्ट वाॅक!!”
“डझन्ट वाॅक?” मी बुचकळ्यात पडून विचारलं तेव्हा कुठे मला हे ज्ञान प्राप्त झालं की हा ‘मराठी चालत नाही’चा स्वैर अनुवाद आहे. एव्हाना माझ्या मित्राच्या जिभेवर शेकस्पिअरने एलिझाबेथ ब्राऊनिंगचे केस ऊसने आणून, ते मोकळे सोडून तांडवनृत्याला सुरूवात केली होती. तेव्हा मी त्याचा नाद सोडला आणि वीचार करू लागलो की काय धाड भरली आहे आपल्या मराठी भाषेला ज्यामुळे तिला इतकं तुच्छ समजलं जातंय?
याचं कारण म्हणजे पश्चिमेचा वारा आता वादळ होऊन आपल्या मराठी संस्कृतीलाच नामशेष करू पहातो आहे. ‘शुभम्करोति कल्याणम्’ हे पूर्वी घराघरांत ऐकू येणारे शब्द आता इंग्रजी गाण्यांच्या गोंगाटामध्ये विरु लागले आहेत. महाराष्ट्राला लाभलेल्या थोर संत परम्परेची दखल घेणारे लोक कमी होऊ लागले आहेत. एकदा एका स्नेह्यन्च्या घरी जाण्याचा योग आला. त्या स्नेह्यांनी आपल्या मुलाला माझ्यासमोर उभं करून त्याला वेगवेगळ्या इंग्रजी पोएम्स म्हणायला लावल्या. ती अखंड वटवट ऐकून मी काहीबाही विचारायचं म्हणून विचारलं, “बाळा ज्ञानेश्वरांची एखादी ओवी येते का तुला?”
तेव्हा त्या दिवटयाचं उत्तर असं होतं, “ज्ञानेश्वर वॉज आय गेज अ रिनोन बुलफायटर. ही मेड अ बुल स्पीक!”
रेडयाच्या तोंडून वेद वद्वुन घेणाऱ्या त्या संत ज्ञानेश्वरांच्या मी मनातल्यामनात लाखो वेळा पाया पडून क्षमा मागितली. इथे चूक मुलापेक्षा जास्त आपल्या मुलाला इंग्रजी शाळेत घालायचा अट्टाहास करू  पाहणाऱ्या बापाची आहे. इंग्रजी ही काळाची गरज आहे हे जरी खरं असलं तरी त्या  इंग्रजी भाषेसाठी आपल्या मात्रुभाषेचे हाल करावेत हे खरं नाही.
बरं इंग्रजी भाषा आपल्या वडिलधार्यांचा आदर करायला सुद्धा कमी पड़ते. उदा. ‘ही इज माय फादर’ या वाक्याच्या स्वैर अनुवाद ‘तो माझा बाप आहे’ असा होतो. बरं आता ‘दे आर माय फादर म्हंटलं तर आणखीनच अनर्थ होतो. मराठी भाषेची शिकवण जन्मभर पुरुन उरते आणि म्हणूनच एखादे डॉ.ना.गो. नान्द्पुर्कर लिहून जातात,
“माझी मराठी अशी ही मायभाषा
हिच्या कीर्तीचे तेज लोकी चढ़े
गोडी न राही सुधेमजि आता
पळाली सुधा स्वर्गलोकाकडे.”
मराठी भाषेमध्ये इतिहासातील कित्येक घटनांनी मौलिक शाब्दिक भर घातली आहे. उदा. पानीपतच्या लढाईत भाऊसाहेब पेशवे भयंकर गर्दीत घुसले ते कधीच न परतण्यासाठी. म्हणुनच मरणाची गर्दी असेल तर तिला ‘भाऊगर्दी’ म्हणतात.
इंग्रजी आणि मराठी शब्दांच्या बऱ्याच उच्चरान्मध्ये साम्य आहे. मागे एकदा माझ्या एका मैत्रिणीने स्वतः केक तयार करून थोड्या मित्र-मैत्रिणींना ‘टी पार्टी’ला बोलावलं होतं. यावेळी टी पार्टी म्हणजे चहा पिण्याची पार्टी हे माझ्या लवकर लक्षात आलं आणि मी पार्टीला वेळेवर पोहचलो. केक चविष्ट होता. तेव्हा त्या मैत्रीणीचं कौतुक करण्याच्या हेतूने मी , “तुला…” एवढं म्हणतो न म्हणतो तेवढ्यात माझा जीभेचं इंग्रजीकरण झालेला मित्र चित्कारला, “वाउ!” तसा मी म्हणालो, “हो हो तेच सांगत होतो की तिला टीव्हीवरील खाद्यपदार्थ करण्याच्या स्पर्धेत भाग घेण्यास चांगलाच वाव आहे. पण त्याला वाव म्हणतात, वाउ नाही.”
तेव्हा कुठे मला हे मौलिक ज्ञान मिळालं की इंग्रजी भाषेत एखादी गोष्ट आवडल्यास लगेच तोंडाचा चम्बु करून “वाउ!”असं चित्कारायचं असतं. आम्ही लहानपणी दाराच्या मागे लपुन घरात येणाऱ्याना “भाव!” करत असू. हे वाउ मात्र मला नवीन होतं. असो.
आपल्या या मराठी भाषेचे इतके अगाध शब्दसम्पन्न रूप पाहून आणि त्यात मोलाची भर टाकून संत ज्ञानेश्वरानीं आपल्या या माय मराठीवरील प्रेम,
“माझा मराठाचि बोलू कौतुके
परि अमृताते ही पैजा जिंके
ऐसी अक्षरे रसिके
मेळवीन ”
या शब्दांत सांगितले. या चार ओळीत ज्ञानेश्वरांना जे साधता आलं ते मला पानेच्या पाने लिहूनसुध्दा साधता येणार नाही. पण मी लिहिलेल्या हे शब्द वाचून ‘अम्रुताते पैजा’ जिंकणार्या माय मराठीने एकाचं तरी ह्रुदय जिंकाव हीच इच्छा मी करतो.

“We Had So Crazy Fun Ya…”

Nope. I didn’t say that. One of the two girls who are my friends did when she was talking about how much fun she had at this house ‘paaaady’ the other day.
Last week two of my friends called me up to go on a long drive with them. I was reluctant to go because seeing one girl driving and another girl sitting beside her to help her is the worst thing that can happen to a guy in the back seat. But one of these pretty ladies was hell-bent on proving how good she was at the wheel and I had to go.
Amidst too much gossip and too many near-death experiences, I was sitting like a fool but I like to think it was rather stoical so yeah, I was sitting like a stoical guy listening to everything right from “That guy? He is such a despo ya.” to “That girl? She is so bitchy ya.”
I memorized some stuff from their conversation and here are some of their opinions about random things.

One Way Traffic
“Why are these people driving so stupidly ya?”
“Seriously! (In a sardonic tone) Why are all of them coming towards us like they are running away from something?”
“Hahhahaha you’re so funny ya!”

Yamaha R15
“See there’s a R15!”
“Gosh! Yeahhh!! I love that bike! But they need to elevate the back seat ya.”
“Hahha why baby? The heater touches your feet?”
(I interrupted here)
Me: “Bikes don’t have heaters.”
“They have ya! Like R15 has at least!  Its that large thing near the driver’s feet! The odd shaped heater. You dunno?  And you call yourself an engineering student?”
Me: “It is called the engine of the bike.”
“Will you shut up? I’m tryna drive okay?”

“I don’t feel like marrying guys these days.”
“Why sweety?”
“They’re so boring ya! All Indian guys are like, so boring.”
“Awww. Why don’t you look for the Danish guys in your college?”
“They’re boring too. I dunno ya. I’m like, am so bored.”
“You need some change I’m telling you.”
“Hmmm. I wanna get married ya.”

My Ex-Girlfriend
“I saw Neha the other day.”
“Look at him! (Pointing towards me like I am 2300 feet away) Look how he is blushing!  You still like her dude?”
Me: “Nope. I am not blushing. I got over her long ago.”
“You’re so stupid ya. You should get over her.”
Me: “I said I am over her.”
“You’re such an emotional lil baby! I’m telling you,  you should find a new girl and forget her.”
Me: “I said I am OVER HER!”
“I’ll hook you up with one of my friends. She’s superrr hot and single! Okay? I’ll help you get over her dude!”

Getting Drunk
“I boozed! I boozed!! I boozed!!!”
“Yippee! But you didn’t tell me ya. That’s so mean!”
“Awww sowwie hunny, I was at a house paaady on the 31st December and some people insisted and I was like no and they were like yeah and so I got a liddle drunk.”
“Hmmm whatall did you drink?”
“Two vodka shots and cranberries.I was so high! We had so crazy fun at the paaady ya!”

Road Turns
Me: “U-turn from here.”
“Don’t teach me how to drive okay? ”
(Then she took left)
“Where we at gosh! I dunno this road!”
Me: “I told you we had to go back.”
“No you didn’t!”
Me: “I told you to take a U-turn and you told me to not teach you how to drive.”
“Damn why had you gotta say you turn? I turned dang left! What’s my mistake?! It’s your mistake!”

What These 10 People Are Saying With Their New Year Wishes

I came across these blokes on facebook.  They’re fun. Or rather, funny.



“Hi I am batshit crazy. Weird even. And this is probably your last new year celebration because I’mma kill you like Ozzy Osbourne killed the bat.”



“This is my desktop wallpaper. Isn’t it beautiful? The world is beautiful. You are beautiful. Eiffel Tower is beautiful. Umm, that is to say, I’m beautiful, ain’t I?”



“I chew tobacco and smoke cut size cigarettes and I think that’s cool cuz I’m cool.”



“Happy New… ugh, I look so pretty but no one asks me out damn.”



“I am bad at photoshop.”



“I am worse.”



“I’m the bully.”



“I’m the asshole.”



“YOLO. I don’t care who you are.”



“I don’t care who I am.”