The storm called love!

Staring at our blank laptop screens for donkey hours

Slowly turning into well-oiled money vending machines

Queueing outside ATMs and sighing at depleting account balance messages flashing on our fancy smartphones

Drinking every weekend to the point we can’t see our surroundings anymore

Walking to our workplace with cravings for little joys in our pockets

Turning into skeletons with empty rib cages

And then suddenly one day, love knocks on rusty old doors…

The heart gets a loud beating and dusting and comes out of the attic

Cleaned up and ready to beat again with all its blood and flesh

Like a lazy sunny day on a silent beach

Like a garden full of blooming colorful flowers

Like a perfect scoop of chocolate ice-cream after devouring a well cooked meal

Bones find flesh and blood

Life marries living

When the smile of your lover renders you powerless

When a hug slowly melts the world around you and time is frozen

When there is anxious waiting at the airport and passionate embrace awakens your soul

When mind and heart are singing in perfect rhythm

When two bodies move in perfect unison

When the passion in your lover’s eyes can set a forest ablaze

When there is a hand stretched out as you try to walk through dicey rocks

When the silence in your lover’s company is magical

Where there is hearty laughter and lewd jokes echoing through a room

When there are painful goodbyes and waving till the image of your lover dissolves in the crowd

The heart beats and aches and cries, sometimes through tears and sometimes through painful smiles

When there is hope to see again and the ache never ends…

Dear heart

Dear heart,

It's really been a long time since you and I spoke but I am sure you know how much I rely on you. Sure, rationale is becoming my new pal but don’t I indulge you so often?!

I know your fears are justified but a friendship like ours surpass the test of time.

Well, enough about me, let’s talk about you today.

I understand your hatred for technology. I understand you are brimming with stories constantly seeking a like-minded listener, dear heart. I promise to find as many listeners and let you be you. I know texts don’t work for you (old-school brat). All you need is a non-judgemental, empathetic, kind heart to grasp and devour your narration. Let me tell you, you are not alone my dear heart.

Well, your spectrum of like-mindedness is pretty broad I must say. Sometimes you seek adventurous, sometimes calm, sometimes you seek silly humour, and sometimes silence. Sometimes you are knocked off by a stranger’s smile, sometimes just an out-of-the-blue string of beautiful words, sometimes it is pure innocence. 

Sometimes you are jumping up and down at the sight of a breathtaking dawn; sometimes you are melting with line of a love song. Sometimes you flutter in the arms of a beautiful man. Sometimes you grin watching raindrops on a windowsill; sometimes it is drawing coconut trees, hills, road and small hut that bring you joy.

Sometimes you want to play in the rain, sometimes you want to kick that lonely pebble on the road, sometimes you want to take the entire plate instead of picking one. I am amazed at the idea of your fun!

Sometimes it is a lovingly cooked homemade meal, sometimes it is that fancy favourite place. How easy you are please, dear heart!

I promise to take care of you till the very end and you promise to me the same.

Hold onto that little child, dear heart. It’s all I've got in this never-ending routine game.

Yours Lovingly,
Me

PS: I didn't set out for the letter to have rhyming words, it just happened :P

Me

I free you from the shackles of existential trivialities. I am pure and unconditional. Like the first raindrop scenting thirsty mud. I flow in notes like the ever moving sea. I am powerful and divine. I am slow and intoxicating. I touch the deepest recesses of your soul. Sometimes I am a warm reminiscence, sometimes a long embrace, sometimes I am lost and forlorn. Sometimes I am the high of first love, the void of separation or intense passion. I am the healer, the torch bearer of the soul. I am the silence, the perfect ballad of words. Sometimes whimsical, sometimes lyrical. A casual caress, a tight grip. I reside in a tune, in flame and in ashes, part of someone long gone. I am fame and failure. I am devotion.

I am music, I am forever.

So close yet so far

Letter 1

She picked up a dusty old notebook and began writing.

"I spent the evening staring at the lake. It was a surreal feeling. A seemingly ordinary moment but a moment that never failed calm my soul. I thought of you and the times we spent immersing in each other's laughter. I couldn't remember exactly why we laughed so uncontrollably. What was it that was so funny?

This lake brings back such wonderful memories. Life used to be so simple then. We could sit here for hours in the pretext of bringing water. Without a care in the world. We never knew when bright daylight turned into gorgeous dawn and it was time to return home. Do you remember those sunsets? I hope you do. Because I think those were the most precious times we spent in each other's company"

Letter 2

"They came home to see me. Mother asked me to dress up in a "ladylike" manner and asked me to "behave myself" in their presence. He was podgy and average looking. He spoke very little. His head was buried in the glass of lemonade he was holding. His mother did most of the talking. I overheard when she said I was dark and my hair was not long enough. Father seemed anxious and blamed mother after they left for not eating well when she had me. I don't know what else that woman said because no one uttered a word during dinner. There was a long awkward silence. I feel guilty without having done anything wrong. Is this normal?

All I can think of right now is if you were here with me, I would just collapse in your arms."


Letter 3

"Some other people came home this afternoon. This time the guy just wouldn't stop talking. He went on about his flourishing family business, 3 petrol pumps that they own, how everyone shuddered at the mention of their surname in the village. His mother didn't talk much. Just caressed his hair every minute and called him the best son in the world. I stood there, with my face behind the veil, when he declared my nose is too big and my teeth was crooked. Father didnt eat his dinner properly. Mother said she had a headache and slept early. Brother and I ate in silence."

Letter 4

"I am not sure why i am writing to you. I don't even know if you will ever get to read this."

Letter 5

"Today we visited a beautiful farm. It was bigger than most I've seen in my life. There were a few machines that I knew nothing about. A few workers were trying to explain the way these huge machines worked. I just got a gist of it but nodded through the entire talk.

He is a man of few words but he seems to be very caring. Keeps checking if I need something. I think this isn't as bad as I expected. You wouldn't have returned to the country soon anyway."

Letter 6

"I bled a little. I am not sure is this is what it was supposed to feel or maybe it is. I am feeling strange. Like I was not part of it at all. I dont think this is appropriate but I had to let it out somewhere. Maybe I am thinking too much."

Letter 7

"Today we stopped at the market to buy a few things. You remember how bad we were at picking fresh fruits? We just put all of it in the basket without caring about the rotten ones. We just liked looking at the bunch of bright colors shining in our baskets and couldn't wait to dig in.

I learnt today how to see good apples from rotten ones. Maybe its not too late. Maybe you were right about me trying to like apples and not just give all of them to you"

Letter 8

"Today I made some fried potatoes and lentils for lunch and thought of you. It was always your favourite. You would engulf the whole box under 5 minutes. I couldn't make them as good as mother did but he said "potatoes are nice" even though they were a bit under cooked and salty. I felt guilty and happy at the same time. I think I will make them again for him. And taste it first."

Letter 9

"I got pregnant. I was so scared yesterday when I came to know that I wept like a baby. When I told him he asked me why i was crying instead of celebrating. I think he is really happy with the news.

Parents are thrilled and want me to go to the hospital to check if it is a boy or a girl. Isnt it too early for that? I am still quite scared. I cannot imagine being a mother. This is all too new to me.

Mother cant keep the news to herself and is announcing it to the entire clan. I am still coming to terms with morning sickness. I feel drained without doing anything.

Will you think I am foolish if I say I am feeling angry for no reason? I shouted at the wife of one of the workers for a silly reason today. I feel like a terrible person."

Letter 10

"I am picking up the pen after so long. It feels so good to think you have been listening to everything I have to say. I feel fortunate to have your company even in your absence. It has been so many years. I still feel the same warmth and emotion when I write these letters to you. Even if you never happen to read these letters you have given me company through highs and lows. Most importantly you have lent an ear when i needed it the most. You are always in my thoughts. In my heart. Hope you succeed in whatever you do"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He came home and threw his bag on the couch. She handed him a glass of water. He looked exhausted to bits. "Rough day?" She asked clearly sensing the exhaustion. "Oh yeah. Very long day. Whats for dinner?" He asked changing the topic and paying attention to his grumbling tummy. "I thought you'd eat at work. There is some pasta in the fridge. Want me to reheat it for you?" She said sincerely hoping for a positive answer. "I could eat an elephant right now but pasta would be just fine honey" he said collapsing on the couch.

"So what else is happening?" She asked breaking the silence. "Nothing extraordinary"

They finished eating and went off to sleep.

Her

The phone beeped loudly. She side glanced to see the text message that popped on the screen.

"I am dying to see you!"

She almost typed "me too" but deleted it and sent a simple ":)" instead. She decided to give this another try. One last try, just like the last time.

They looked at each other and greeted like they had just met. She smiled widely. Her smile disarmed him, it always managed to. He stood there unable to describe his vulnerability to himself. Was it her beauty, the radiance of her eyes or just her magical persona. He surrendered to the power of this stunning woman and the effect she had on him. They embraced each other. An embrace that was anything but platonic and lasted longer than she had expected. The sparks were beginning to fly.

They picked it up from where they had left it. Becoming young again, exchanging sweet nothings, occasional teasing, her boisterous laughter echoing through the woods.

Making her laugh never required too much effort.

Her laughter could be a poetry in itself, he thought. It was one of the first things he had noticed and fallen for. She laughed genuinely and wholeheartedly, no pretentiousness about it. Her energy was infectious. In one hour of her company, he forgot his realities and the burden of multiple roles he played in his life.

To be someone he used to be a decade ago liberated him. They were interrupted when his phone rang. "Shhh that's her" he signaled to her.

"Hi hun! In a meeting. Let me call you in an hour, okay?" he said calmly and hung up.

They met every single day, for several months. "Just one last time. Never again" she said to herself, slightly inebriated but without resisting his moves.

PS: Title is stolen but story is original :P

thoughts inside a box

He stood near the elevator for a few minutes debating in his head before finally deciding to enter. To say that he hated elevators would be an understatement. 

He pressed the button, took a deep breath and prayed silently. He hummed his favourite song and before he could realise, it was packed with all kinds of people.

A group of mean looking businessmen, a couple of old american women, a podgy middle aged man struggling to fit in with his protruding belly and a french bearded young gun, who seemed like he had decoded all of life's mysteries. It was a miracle how the elevator was still moving.

From just a pang of anxiety it went on to become a full blown panic attack. He began to sweat profusely. Getting into the elevator seemed like the worst decision he made today. Every second seemed to stretch into eternity, minutes seemed like hours. After the 12th floor, his mind stopped functioning normally. His train of thought slowly wandered into that moment of a time long gone. A drop of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead. He glanced at the nonchalant american ladies who looked unbelievably calm and collected. "How can they stay so calm?!" he muttered under his breath.

In his head this was like a glass box, unbreakable and coming threateningly close to his body. He tried to divert his mind trying to think of cheerful images. Long stretches of paddy fields, bright yellow tulips that he loved as a child. Nothing seemed to work and he went back to waiting for what seemed to have lasted several years.

The doors opened slowly and a typical Mediterranean female voice declared, "32nd floor". He leapt out of the elevator like it was on fire.

Claustrophobia, because the only time a person should be in a box is when he is no more.

That time travel machine called mind..

“It’s only fair for wines to get better with age”, he said gazing into her big brown eyes. She broke into a sheepish laughter. “I am warning you against using that line on anyone else” “But it worked and you look stunning” he said, this time more in awe than trying to rekindle old feelings. She smiled gracefully trying to hide the flutter in her heart. The same flutter she felt more than a decade ago.

“Wait, am I seeing you after 7 years?”, she asked counting years in her mind. “If we would’ve met for the first time now, I would have broken all barriers of formality”, he said with a smirk. “Lord! Will you stop flirting already?” she said feeling genuinely floored and guilty of feeling that emotion. A feeling she attributed to being the teenagers’ territory.

 They took a long walk through the park, rekindling bits and pieces of the past, talking about everything under the sun just like how they did back then. A conversation without the fear of judgment accompanied by the joy of finding solace in each other’s company and a reassuring feeling that made her feel like a bubbling younger self in her early 20s.

Thing didn’t seem to have changed much, the humour was same, the telepathy was same, just a new name attached to the maiden one. She laughed with all her heart, till tears flowed out of her eyes. She laughed like that after many years. The feeling was surreal, overpowering, liberating and calming at the same time. “You haven’t looked at your watch yet so I am assuming you will up for some hot jalebis and samosa?”, a rather rhetorical question, he hardly allowed her the time to process a negative response. She helplessly nodded. Of late, she had taught herself to do little things that made her happy.

“It was great meeting you. Let’s do this again. And I want some good coffee next time, won’t let you go with samosa and jalebi”, she said shaking hands and controlling her urge to give him the warmest hug she could. “You know the answer cannot be a no. Been a long time since a gorgeous woman asked me out for coffee”, he finished. She was stunned at his timing and how he had his way with his practiced skills of flattery. And through the flirtatious outside, she was reminded of that man with high intellect, strong principles and genuine care for people around him. People like him led her into believing why some phrases like “head over heels in love” came into existence.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She walked in the rain, not minding returning home drenched from head to toe. The fabulous time had come to an end, it was time to slip into the routine mode.

 “Mamma! You are drenched. Were you trying to play in the rain?”, declared the little one greeting her on the door. “(laughs) Move beta, Mamma will catch cold and if she starts sneezing who will finish telling you last night’s bedtime story?” she said, struggling her way inside her sparkling clean house with water dripping from her jeans.

“Good Lord! Where were you? This rain is insane!”, he declared

They drank their tea in silence, listening to the rain drops crashing on the window panes. “Just the perfect amount of ginger for today’s weather” he said, putting the cup on the table. He sure was a man of few words.

From the Top of the World

A prolonged exposure to early morning sun forced him to leave his bed earlier than usual. The glass windows with a sea view definitely helped. It was a breathtaking sight and would have been even spectacular had this been a non-business trip, he thought to himself, pushing the blanket aside and feeling uneasy from the previous night’s sleep that was anything but sound.

He was addicted to his morning cup of espresso, a concoction that had to constantly pass his perfection test with the right proportion of sugar, milk and coffee. A lot of times he ditched the espresso in Hotels because “it just wasn’t right”. His need for perfection extended beyond his professional realm. It made his wife’s life miserable in the early years of their marriage, till she got the balance right, or so she thought.

He gave her an assuring smile while sipping the coffee; it was his way of expressing gratitude for all that the woman did for him. From seeing them on the edge of bankruptcy to managing the inflating egos of his teenage boys and for sticking to a partner as busy as him like a rock sized chewing gum under a wooden bench.

“I remember you loving that bag I got the last time. Ofcourse, it was Roberto Cavali, so what’s on your wish list from France this time?” he asked her, still staring at the waves crashing against the perfectly white sand. “This time just a quiet lunch with your wife. Is that too much to ask for?” she said. Before he could frame a comeback his noisy Blackberry came in the way, like always. Several times his wife thought an extramarital affair would have been easier to deal with.
_________________________________________________________

“Can I try a little bit of Folk fusion this time round, what do you think?” He asked totally hoping a negative response. “It should be for the masses yet retain the sophistication that our label is known for. I want Vrisha Kapoor to gyrate like never before. You get the picture right? I think you are giving me a sure shot hit number this time, I trust you on that!” he quipped and zoomed away in his pearl white BMW leaving him baffled. He has been composing for 20 years now but requests like these still left him clueless, frustrated and constantly tested his anger management skills. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering the director’s mother and sister for half a minute and began humming a classical number to find temporary solace.

After two neat gulps of scotch and 2 sleepless nights he tried to close his eyes without dozing off while listening to the recording of their first raw mixing session along with his Lyricist best friend. They heard the first few minutes staring at each other, trying to converse with their eyes. “What the fuck do you expect? I can’t make a song like those Qawali type guys with no substance. Dance number can also be dignified, right?” he said breaking the silence. The lyricist poured himself a drink and responded with a deep sigh. “You know him. He will say this is not what the public wants!” he answered mimicking the director’s almost masculine voice. There was an instant burst of laughter that echoed in the huge hall. “Lets take a long walk and hum something. Remember, there were times you churned out hits in your sleep?” he said trying to lift the composer’s spirit (pun intended). He chuckled and thanked god for making him stick to a lyricist of his calibre.

Fresher resume - Decoded

I would like to believe the word glorification came into existence only after the first CV was made by humankind. And Ive always wondered why certain things HAVE to be part of a CV almost like they are attached in the head. This post is dedicated to all recruiters who have headed straight to their bars after having the misfortune of going through some classic CVs. A lot us get stuck at the objective. I would have loved to end it with just, "recruit me, PWEAAASE?" but a lot of play of words is required to make it sound right.

Usually, Objective = (insert a diplomatic tel maalish statement in praise of your organization along with a humble promise of launching a few GSLVs upon recruitment)

CONTACT INFORMATION:

In south India, while reading the resume, it'll take you 10 minutes to just cross this part. There will be the name of the village, the mummified 500 A.D Ancestor's middle name, distant relative's wife's brother name along with the names of a few gods.. I think you get the picture.

Name: "Mallapuram Vignahara Venkata Srinatha Ganesha Sanjeev Rao" (You can call me Sanj is what they'll say on the client call)

Gender, Caste (OC, BC, DC, MC), add to that 3-4 emergency contact numbers incase the HR dept is more interested in hiring them than they themselves. And a bunch of other details you really wouldnt want to know about them. Arey bhaiya, what will I do with your marital status unless I m a really despo recruiter looking for matchmaking instead of hiring?!

Next section: EDUCATION.

Can be totally ignored unless there is IIT or IIM mentioned which is totally ruled out since I believe students of these institutes just have to utter II.... and the companies will drag them like a new wed couple looking to make hay while the sun shines.

Also, Education will have some ignorable percentiles right from scores in Moral science subject in kindergarten to that second rank (missed 90% by just 1 mark and almost ran away from home) in 10th Standard.

ADDITIONAL QUALIFICATIONS: There's hardly anything additional here but what the hell? The CV should look like it just got a shot of botox in the wrinkles.

A few examples:

- Sound knowledge in Microsoft word, Powerpoint (made ppts in school for the "eradicate dustbins" movement) or a little more posh sounding SQL, Visual Basic, most of the projects of which were copied from the topper of the class. 

- Certicate course in paper boat making. (Hands on experience in the potholes of hyderabad in the month of July-August)

- An Inter disciplinary course in Animal Psychology. (Learnt that at any point of time, monkeys have less itching in their armpits to know about other's lives than humans.)

AWARDS AND RECOGNITION:

- First prize in Atif Aslam Talent Hunt 2009 - Inter class fest (Sang "Dooooon-rie sahi jaye na" and got laid for the first time)

- Second prize in debate - Topic- "Should we be denied the permission to pee during classes?"

- First prize in running-in-my-fallen-pants-which-served-as-a-bora competition.
- First prize in Group Song competition - (Me along with 20 other besuras rendered a soulful "I love my India". Cheif guest was reportedly constipated during the performance, atleast that's what he looked like in the photo taken of the event)
- First prize in Skit competition - Played the sari of Draupadi in a skit which was a spoof on Mahabharata (Bloody, other house people took away the Ramayana idea)

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:

This is my favourite part of a fresher's resume mostly because I can close my eyes and say what will be under this section. Infact I vividly remember from college that someone actually approached someone asking, "arey strengths main kya likhna re? Gud cmmnications sklls likhun kya?" I hope the recruiter didnt faint after reading that resume which was a nothing short of a long sms.

Also, as a recruiter, you can never ever trust "Good communications skills" written in resumes unless you happen to call these people. Most often than not, they are the ones who'll end up saying things like "Sir! Do you have a minute so I could encounter you with my questions?" in a client call. And it will be a real life case of Ab Tak chappan.

Weaknesses usually consist of the word "Workaholic"( because google told me it can become a strength and weakness at the same time). Lets face it, a lot of us who are linguistically challenged, at various points of time have surrendered and folded knees in front of google while making our CVs.

Also, after a little bit of experience in the corporate world, trust me, being too much of a workaholic will only make you weak and alcoholic.

Hobbies and Interests:

Very interesting hobbies I have found in this section. The list of interests and what they really mean:

- Watching TV (Record breaking 8 hours of watching the repeat telecast of "Woh mere pati ki chudail hai")
- Reading Books (ONLY Chetan Bhagat. He is god. And his english can be understood)
- Listening to Music (Recruit me and check out my spiritual, peace inducing ringtones)
- Hanging out with friends (During the week, Ill keep my team mates hanging)
- Surfing the net (Ill readily pass on the Namita videos to keep the team spirit going at bad times)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

PS: Just a bunch of observations ;) No offence to South Indian friends either. I love your long names ;)

The Hen and the egg - II

She was throwing up near the village well incessantly. The first rush of motherhood overpowered her. It was divine, calming and terrifying at the same time. The wagging tongues knew no stopping. "You saw the way her face is rounding? It HAS to be a boy", they concluded with a short round round of giggle. Her foresight was getting stronger along with fear and apprehension. Life gave her just one option. Prayer.

---------------------------------------

She carefully stepped into the thorny bushes and glanced at the high cemented wall. Soon she sprang into life when the bell was gone. A herd rushed out running, some walking at their fastest best with bags heavier than themselves yet smiling brightly. Their smiles rubbed off onto her. She remembered her father's words. "No rain, No school". She raised her head to the clear blue sky with something she had in abundance. Hope.

---------------------------------------

Their eyes grew wide and reddened with the rising flame of the torch. "How far could she have gone? She thinks she can fool these eyes with her naive tactics? That heap of filth has no idea what she is getting into (mild laugh)" said one of them with a characteristic deep masculine voice. They furiously marched ahead.

------------------------------------

By this time mortal fear gripped her very tight. She decided to ignore the thump of her heartbeat. She could neither pant nor breathe. This was by far the biggest test of her physical limits. Her eyes roved and landed onto a structure that seemed something like a wall. She knew she HAD to pull this off, for the life inside her and for herself.

------------------------------------

The faint images of garishly dressed women along with half clothed men was making her dizzy. "Where are those sky high buildings? Those long never ending roads they always talked about?" she thought to herself. For once she was failing to cross the blurred lines between right and wrong. Confused, she decided to take a step further without having the least idea how deciding that one step could be. She gave into her dream of breaking the barriers.

------------------------------------

"Do you REALISE what you have done?" exclaimed the head after planting a thunderous slap on his cheeks. "You let that filthy little woman blow dust in your eyes? Do you realise that?" An eerie silence followed. "Its ruined. It is completely ruined" he finished collapsing on a stone seat. The heads hung low and none dared to look him in the eye.

------------------------------------

She quickly cleared the heap of dried leaves and pebbels and sat facing a place that her father always referred to as the "resting place of your mother". Memories of a disturbed childhood and confused youth played in the mental reel one by one making her sullen and reflective. She wept like there was no tomorrow while stretching  her arms into the air and deeply remembering the soul resting below the inanimated stones. She silently promised to herself, "Ill give my child the best of all worlds".

-----------------------------------

PS: Sushmita Banda, this is for you. I dont know if I have done justice to your request but Ill let you decide that. Also dedicated to my mother.

PS2: If this doesn't make sense to you, read the previous post first.

The Hen and the egg

She heaved a sigh of relief when her bottom fell heavy on the ground. Soon tears covered her face like blood oozing out of a wound. She sat distraught and relieved across a kaccha wall of freshly layed bricks. The reflexes forced her palm onto her swollen belly and she sat there praying while trying her best to silence the rhythym of her breath and the pounding heart...

----------------------------------

She ripped through the grass fields with her little palms trying to be out of sight for the old grandmother whose jug she had broken. The old woman continuously cursed and mumbled unintelligibly. "Girls are a pain, I told him but who gives value to the words of this old thing? Losing my sanity am I? This little bitch had made life hell" she finished while looking for another jug in the dust coated shelves.

----------------------------------

She rested under the wall for several hours and woke up only when the early morning rays brushed her pale face. She rubbed her eyes and tried to rise at one go and a flinching pain passed her belly and upper high. Her scream echoed in the nearby fields. She somehow gathered herself and decided to walk. The destination was not as close as she thought..

----------------------------------

She wept after being beaten up mercilessly for the nuisance she caused. "A well deserved punishment" as per the granny, followed by another round of slaps that began in full swing . A robust man barged into the house. "Is this what you old people love doing? For god's sake, look at her?! Arent you woman yourself?" The old woman shrugged, slowly crossed the threshold and disappeared into the curtains.

----------------------------------

She fell on the stairs resting unconscious not being able to bear the pain and exhaustion any longer. Her legs gave up at the very sight of destination being SO close. Spotted her was a man is his late fifties. He stared at her non-plussed, held her by the arms, tapped on her cheeks thinking it was one of those rag pickers waiting to earn some morning bread. The lines on his forehead burrowed deeper when he stared at her swollen belly. This was definitely not the usual..

----------------------------------
The women whispered in their low tones to the others witnessing this miraculous spectacle. They stood aghast not knowing what end this would see. The old man held a newborn in his hand, covered in vermillion, crying and reaching out to her lifeless birth giver.

How Green is the grass?

Billo Rani turned back to the mirror and flinched as she stared at her love handles. She found it strange how such disgusting things can be called such a seductive name. The only people who liked her love handles were kids, who mistook them for monkey climbing and hung on to them when they missed parks. As she marched across the street, her eyes sat on Chammak challo who tossed her hair while whispering into her Nokia x6 and occasionally flashing her artisan crafted 32. Billo noticed her body, the way the purple dress looked on her and her as-smooth-as-veet-promises kinda hair. Billo's heart sank.

-------------------------------------------------------

Chammak challo zara dheere chalo is what the gully boys often sang to her on her way to office every morning. Chammak nervously tried to walk faster pretending not to hear but she sure knew it was not a few days affair(unlike her previous one). She considered asking her father to buy a chartered plane to drop her college, possibly anything to avoid the song which sounded tailor made by Altaf Raja in support of the noble cause of eve teasing. She was disgusted (by the song and the boys' pimples) and often confided and sometimes broke down to her Parryware basin but she was happy facing the pseudo-transgenders who took away all her cash with just one clap rather than the gully boys practising for Indian Idol auditions every morning.

-----------------------------------------------------

Moral: Shit happens to everyone.