New year resolutions for 2014

14 resolutions for 201314

Smarten up to give my smartphone some competition.

Work out ways to avoid working out ways to avoid workout.

Tag 50-odd people in every pic that I upload on Facebook starting right from New Year's eve, hoping 20 people would be forced into liking it even though the rest of them cringe and mentally ask me to buzz off.

Use an unrelated quote and a '<3' as appendage to each and every picture. A saying on dogs would go well with a selfie. And 'Pic Courtesy' is a must. It doesn't matter if the picture makes me look like an asshole.

Comment 'cute' for everything related to a girl's profile. I don't know how, but it will help me get laid.

Watch 'Sasural Simar Ka' on loop. 

(readers be like meh)

Take offence. I will break your bones because you wore pants that hurt my religious sensibilities and refused to take them off. Better still, I will vandalize the entire town and burn a few buses because they are somehow related to your pants.

Take an unprecedented interest in Football prior to the World Cup although I don't know what constitutes enough ground for a send off other than smashing a player's balls.

Take up a course in HTML from Govind Tiwari and get myself blinking.

Kill a few TV-soap script writers and pocket the entailing humanitarian award.

Stop procrastinating. Yes. We start the stopping tomorrow. 

Open a Facebook page titled 'I was alive when Dhoom 3 happened', spam everywhere, beg for and gather a few likes before posting age-old SMS jokes on sex that even Sidhu refuses to acknowledge anymore, saying 'my fart is louder than the phuljhadi that is Dhoom 3'.

Get a life. "You like Counter Stike? You are a big gay nerd these are for losers I have 6969 friends OMG WTF get a life." Okay, will give it a shot. 

Make sure one long held resolution stands the test of Poonam Pandey high resolution.

Continue writing stupid blog-posts that hardly anyone reads.

(Image courtesy)

Contentious? Wrong. It is spelled contentment.

My mother would treat me and my sister to one packet of bhel puri each on our way back home from the twice-or-thrice-a-week outing to the nearby park in Mumbai. Packet is a catachresis, because I don’t know if a word exists for the newspaper cut-outs that are rolled into things that look like a bad replacement for conical birthday-caps. Anyways. Now, as soon as I could lay my hands on that overflowing treat, trying my best not to think about the one-or-two grains of moori falling off the brim, and take my eyes off the children on the streets coveting my prize, I would try and make a mental note of whether my sister had received a greater bounty than I had. Then I would try to ensure that I ate as slowly as possible, for finishing last in this race meant that you enjoyed for a longer period of time, and that somehow gave me satisfaction. Satisfaction of what, I don’t have a clear idea. Because, even a crude estimate would tell that I had the same amount of moori as she did. Probably eating longer was confused with eating more. And in this process, all the attention would be on her packet, and I would try to make sure that I ate as slowly as possible.Then one fine day, I tripped, lost balance, and then had a hard time telling the moori from the dust around.

In life too, instead of enjoying what you have, you try to figure out what others are up to, crave for stuff that isn't yours, and that makes you sulk. Then one fine evening, you trip, and can’t tell the moori from the dust.

24 fallacies of 24

     Watching the pilot as well as the second episode of Anil Kapoor's new TV series 24 was a refreshing change for Indian TV viewers. But, there were loads of things that were new, in the sense that such things were unheard of previously in relation to TV soaps, 24 of which are:  

    (1) You cannot have a title that short and expect the show to work. A 4-letter abbreviation is the bare minimum. Plus, there are no K's in 24. 

    (2) You cannot fit in events spanning one hour in real time into an hour long episode. Either you stretch, say, a 5 minute Saas-Bahu confrontation into an hour long saga accompanied by drum rolls, customized music and people turning their heads thrice in shock, or you try and leapfrog 7 years in a matter of one episode.

    (3) You cannot have an Indian lady in your show (Tisca Chopra) portraying a wife who is audacious enough to vent her anger to her husband.

    (4) You cannot show a hot female assassin making out with a male assassin in the washroom on board a flight before killing him. That 10 seconds long clip would qualify as porno in Indian TV. Plus, this has the eerie  undertones of female empowerment: travelling alone, choosing your partner, taking up employment opportunities (that too of an assassin) and shit.    

My Best Friend(s)

Friends are everywhere, just like pigeon droppings. But true friends are very rare.

And what is this concept of best friend? A best friend, inasmuch I understand, is someone with whom you are most comfortable, and who is amenable to adjustment to accommodate your eccentricities, much like underwear.

You can talk to him/her on anything, everything. Crushes, love, music, porn, poop, politics... the list goes on and on endlessly. He/she will stand with you through thick and thin. ‘High’ and low.

But is it necessary to have a single best friend? For me, for the time being, the answer is no. There are, in fact, loads of people around me with whom I share the same level of retardation. I can talk absolute crap in front of a multitude of friends, and have that bullshit appreciated, thought upon, and discussed.

Perks of being a teetotaler

I don’t wish to claim that being a teetotaler makes me a resolute person. I mean, when people all around you drink the shit out of themselves all the time, it’s pretty difficult trying not to give a fuck. In fact, resisting temptation, Cadbury or otherwise, hasn't been my forte. With alcohol, it has been more like SONY broadcasting CID, read ‘for no particular reason’.

And if someone asks me why don't I loosen up, or that one drink won't hurt, I just tell them that untying kachche ka naada while sleeping loosens me up alright. I, therefore, find alcohol redundant.

(well, obviously)

My mom used to tell me, in fact she still does, that those who don’t abstain would end up in narak. It is only now that I realize that ‘narak’ might have meant Bigg Boss.

Most of my friends indulge themselves twice or thrice a week and those of us who don’t, well, our number is falling faster than an-imagined Dolly Bindra in free fall. Nevertheless, I partake in these daru-parties, barely having any idea as to what I am doing at a place where I am not supposed to be. Sometimes, I feel more out of place than Avika Gor essaying an adult, married woman.

Much ado about pooping

The remnants of vada, kurkure, bhel, and the infamous IRCTC-approved meal from last night slithered down his large intestine. Like a snake that approaches its prey furtively and then at the very last moment strikes with such force that catches the toad unawares, the snake within him was already in position.

It was any moment now.

He was not someone who was easily bogged down. He fought with all his might, moved about the compartment in order to slacken himself, even tried to sleep in the hope of passing time.

But the damage had been done. A fart or two here and there did provide momentary respite, like a wicket or two when Dhoni is batting at the other end. That, however, hardly changes the overall scenario.

He, however, was determined. There are instances in people’s lives that make them apprehensive about doing things, like catching sight of the vendor picking his nose before serving golgappas. The solitary view that he had of the toilet in his coach while peeing last night had strengthened his resolve about not using it for ‘heavier’ purposes. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

What's in a name?

Now, it could be misconstrued. But to make it clear, I am fond of my name the way our PM is fond of his silence. Or the way CSK is proud of RP Singh.

Mallikarjuna Kalika. Yes, yes, I know it took you more than one attempt to get it right.

No, I don’t get pissed. I have seen first timers produce variants such as Mallik Arjun, or Mallik, or something as far-fetched and off the mark as the Telugu old-timer Nagarjuna.

Even when available in the written format, people generally have trouble trying to make sense of what it is supposed to sound like, the same people who proudly cry aloud ‘Schwarzenegger’ in an apparent attempt to display their contemporary outlook, but start peeing their pants when trying to articulate ‘Mallikarjuna’.