Lights out

'A tube-light resembles a sarcastic quote. And math too. It takes time'  

(no idea why the search engine came up with this when I entered tube-light. maybe because of the halo)

The previous tube light that had served me well for over four months gave way way back in October. Then, I had tried to resuscitate it. I twisted it, turned it, abused it, coaxed it, reversed its positioning, but to no avail.

Four months! I mean, c’mon! That’s like the duration of two State Assemblies. So, naturally, there was a certain level of affection/laziness which meant that I continued holding onto it, in much the same way as I continued with my ex’s name as my laptop’s password. So, I took it down and placed it vertically in one corner of my room. It still stands there and looks eerily like my ex giving me the finger.

Well, then, few days later there were exams. And you just don’t fuck with exams. So, I put down a request for a new tube, but the authorities gave me sweet fuck-all, which meant I had to take care of preparations in my neighbor's room who gradually got pissed off on me because he wanted privacy to do some stuff. I respect that. I do. (He don’t have no girlfriend though. Just saying)

I decided to take matters in my own hands. A tube costs 50 bucks is what somebody prompted. Another retorted that 50 bucks = 6 cigarettes. Somebody else suggested I steal one from one of the many corridors of our hostel. That proved impossible. It was like forcing a barefoot Rajpal Yadav to kiss Deepika + stilettos on screen.

Finally, a bathroom was zeroed in on in the adjacent wing, and I attacked in broad daylight, chairs and all, because we assholes are certainly sleeping during that time, can’t say the same about any other hour of the day. The tube was slotted, and my heart skipped a beat when I switched it on.

It made a whizzing noise, flickered, blinked innocently as if it was in a viva and not in my room, and finally glowed to its fullest a la Yami Gautam.

The tube served me well for over 6 months. Sadly, today it fizzled out. I almost forgot I was in my hostel and not in Bangladesh for the world cup.

It has been with me through ups and downs (that, by the way, is the worst double-entendre ever, can’t believe I have stooped down to Viveik Oberoi levels). It has seen me watch Dhoom 3 and Yaariyan. It watched silently as I stalked girls online, read TOI, scratched myself or picked my nose. And like a true friend, it was never ever judgmental. It accepted me for who I was, and blinked on with me.

However, no resuscitation this time around, coz a lizard is perched atop the tube-holder and I would rather fuck with exams than mess with the bastard. Plus, the futility of a working tube in the last month of the last semester outweighs the need of a new tube, when all you are doing for the entire day is eating whatever you aren't drinking.

On my way to Howrah

My Kolkata trip last weekend was a slapdash affair.

To begin with, I had made reservations in Ispat express, 2^nd seating. I also ended up reaching Rourkela station pretty late, in fact I almost missed the train.

Reservations in 2^nd seating. Late. My day had only just started.

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The compartment looked vaguely similar to this.

The man who was sitting in my designated seat (much like the seat on which the lady, fourth from right, is sitting) was on the verge of asking me to fuck off. And much like the lady above and her companions, he gave me the what-did-you-say-to-me look. But after showing him the IRCTC text message which he refused to admit as a ticket, and much threatening (which probably sounded like desperate pleas) and tch-ing, he finally relented, only to stand in the aisle next to my seat.

It is worthy to note that the guy had an imposing build. Try imagining Laluji’s head atop Bappi Lahiri’s torso. Now imagine the guy's lump crashing against your head every time the train jerked. Or his crotch brushing against your arm. Or vendors, for the lack of enough space making you contort while passing through because Laluji is blocking the way.

After much hassle, I finally settled down somewhat. Not for long though.

*Clap

(FML)

Transvestites.

I heard the clapping from a fair distance, and tried to feign sleep while the guy was still a fair distance away. After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes, feeling convinced that all was well.

Pinch on cheek. A hand brushing through my hair.

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(On some station midway between Bhubaneswar and Bangalore, probably 10 pm)

6 boys (including me) were going to Bangalore to attend a Maths Olympiad Camp that was being organised by KVS. We also had a teacher. Apparently, we were his responsibility.

We had dinner, or whatever you want to call that farce the pantry car used to conjure up in those days.Then just as we were arguing about berths, we heard the clap. 

After a collective effusion of 'shit', we all settled down frantically. I was by the window, and felt pretty secure. Meanwhile, the teacher fled to a nearby compartment that had survived the onslaught. Or in other words, gave us the finger.

A few minutes later, they arrived, three of them. All of them presumably inebriated.

The ones by the aisle had their noses pulled, their cheeks pinched, their hairlines caressed. They both assumed wooden expressions.

One of the transvestites then moved into the compartment as far as he could, meaning he was right in front of the guy sitting next to me. We all had our faces subjected to the same ritualistic reception. Then the guy next to me made the single biggest mistake of his life.

‘Ei chikne, chal nikaal..’ (roughly, O Handsome, give me some)

*no response, just a stifled giggle, which made the guy mouth unmentionables. 

‘Sunai nahin diya tereko?’ (Can’t you fucking hear what I am saying?)

‘Jaane do na bhaiya..’ (Let go, Bro)

‘Bhaiya kisko bola? Bhaiya kisko bola Ma*******?’  (I’m not your bro, mofo)

‘Abhi kuch hai nahin mere paas..’ (I don’t have nothing)

‘Laga hi tha meko. Lekin mere paas hai’  (I thought so too. But I got something)

And with this, this chap uplifted his skirt and, because of the absence of underpants, made a full frontal display. He even threatened to cover the head of the guy next to me with his uplifted skirt, and take him in. This remains the funniest and at the same time the shittiest moment of my life.

Somebody, from somewhere, managed to get a 20-rupee note just in time to avoid what looked like an instance of giving head forcibly.

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Another pinch. Palm spread out for money. Reluctance noticed. A shove on the shoulder. A 10-rupee note produced. Blessed, told I was going to have loads of kids. Overheard: fat guy being told something about his dick.

Sometime later, a teen aged girl and her little brother came around singing ‘Pardesi. Pardesi..’ The girl was singing while her brother was collecting whatever was being offered by the passengers. The guy by the window offered the girl a 5-rupee coin.

2 minutes later, the little boy comes around asking for money. The window-guy tells him that he has already given money to the girl. The boy gives a smirk, tells him that he is a lying bastard, offers him 5-rupees instead, and in the process, asks him to grow some balls. Window guy calls him an asshole and grabs his neck. Little boy manages to flee.

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7 hours later, I alight at Howrah..

Statue of levity

‘Aaj Blue hai pani pani pani pani pani pani

Aur hum hain horny horny horny horny horny horny’

“Fucking unbelievable man! Is the lyricist for real?”.

Trying to figure out how a shitty sounding song can salvage a movie’s foregone fortunes at the box office, you can hardly expect to witness something that’s even more batshit insane.

‘A goddess Sonia temple- Congress MLA’s thank you for Telangana decision’

“Fucking unbelievable man! Is this doormat for real? - feeling Gandu jaisa”

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But is it really so big a deal that people are getting their panties in a wad? 

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Krrish got his own statue when he was fucking around with our brains in the third installment, that too only when he was saving us from Viveik Oberoi and Kangana Ranaut. Seriously, what threat did they pose apart from the fact that they threatened to appear in other movies? And isn't he already at Tussauds? 

Nobody gave a shit then.

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The clay prototype of Mother India’s statue is ready. It holds a flower (a lotus!? something from Vadraland!?) in one hand and a plate replete with what looks like Italian Pasta in the other. A benevolent smile greets the onlooker, making him feel it's his Swiss account.

And no, this is not sycophancy. Not a Bollywood movie either. 

“...devout Nehru-Gandhi loyalist...”

'The center for spiritual and venal development'
Fuck Tussauds. 

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When it comes to Mother India, the Goddess of prosperity who’s got billions in her coffers to proffer, the epitome of sacrifice, everybody goes gaga, forgetting that the devotee is an Indian and is liable to take offence.

“Building a temple -not a bootlicker.”

“Are you serious, or just shitting on me?”

“Dude, you’re hurting my religious sensibilities.”

“No shit. But what about mental sensibilities?”

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"The party’s secular credentials are at stake. Why a temple? Why not some other structure?"

"What do you mean some other structure?"
"I don't know. Maybe a fenced opening for a scarecrow. That's secular."

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'The priest’s appointment has been deferred till post elections?'

"Possibly. It is probably just a post retirement benefit."

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PS. Sycophancy is now spelled a-s-s-l-i-c-k-e-r-y.