The Curious Incident of the Shag in the night-time.

Recent events have brought a certain kind of enterprise into the limelight, 'The Data Collection Agency'. Yes - Those lucky bastards, who get paid, to ask people questions like how big is your..., how frequently do you… and it is really really that good? It is well known that these agencies, often with extremely creative names like ABC and ONG and SEX to beat competition from others of their ilk kidnap and masquerade as the person they are surveying if he refuses to answer such questions. This is widely believed to be the main cause of the spread of AIDS in Africa and the rise in number of female suicides in southern India, not to mention the rise in the number of devdasis.

 This shocking truth was recently brought to light when it was found that a certain Mr. Pravin Mahajan, an employee of MNS, another one of these agencies, was found threatening an unrelated Mr. Pramod Mahajan, when he refused to answer the said survey. The subsequent inquest has revealed that Mr. Pravin, totally predetermined to eek out a response out of Mr. Pramod, went to the latter’s house at around 8 p.m. on last Saturday night. Finding Mr. Pramod occupied with his urologist, Mr. Pravin is said to have told Mr. Pramod to “get a life”, apparently referring to his activities on a Saturday night. This, the urologist claims, was the final nail in the coffin for an already depressed Mahajan, who promptly proceeded to choke on the condom which he was learning to wear.

 Mr. Pramod was then shifted immediately to the local Bandra Billi dance bar to alleviate his depression. Still conscious, he is quoted to have said, “Thank god for the Supreme Court!”. His family, extremely shocked by the turn of events, has pledged to stay beside Mr. Pramod, this of course excludes his wife – who was later revealed to be an employee of RSS, a major rival of the aforementioned MNS. Latest news coming in however reveals details of a lady who is said to be the star attraction of the said “Bandra Billi Dance Bar”. “The resemblance to meemsaab is both striking and uncanny” says Ramu, the Mahajans’ loyal manservant of 15 years. News is also coming in of a further deterioration of Mr. Mahajan’s condition after he too is said to have remarked something to a similar effect – “She is my goddamn wife! “

 Meanwhile, the reasons for this extremely cold and heinous attack are still unclear. Mr. Pravin Mahajan, the police have found, had been extremely lax in completing his quarterly targets as he was extremely occupied preparing his daughter for her life-determining FYJC examinations. It was under this pressure, the police speculate, that he tried to strong-arm Mr. Mahajan into submission. Other reasons include a professional jealousy and if his lawyers are to be believed “he suffers from a similar condition as Mr. Mahajan, but with a hint of homophilia”

 Today as Mr. Pramod Mahajan lies forlorn, and broken, his promising career in Spoken English virtually over, he looks upon his days in engineering college when this depression is said to have set in. That and a bloody BSNL connection are the reasons, he says, for his being in the state he is. As for Mr. Pravin Mahajan, he is just an immediate cause. Today, he is out of jail, thanks to a nice cozy settlement paid for by a company called Dereks, one of MNS’ primary clients. Sitting by his lush-green lawn outside his Peddar Road bungalow Mr.Pravin has just one advice to offer to give, to engineering students in particular – “get a life!”

A Hinglishman in New York

What to do when famished in New York and the heart craves for Indian food ?

 

Simple, open up your latest web-enabled cell phone, and type http://www.tylercowensethnicdiningguide.com/.

Desktop Blogging . . .

Testing, Qumana.

mein kuch bhi karne. ko taiyaar hoon,

if you buy me a copy of


kuch bhi,

Finally,

The great man says : "I'm finished now"




other quotes from article:

"But to go out in Sunderland, score and get the best result in 50 years wasn't a bad way to go."

"When I was a young boy I wanted to play for Newcastle United, I wanted to wear the number nine shirt and I wanted to score goals at St James' Park,"

"I've lived my dream and I realise how lucky I've been to have done that."

link

Who is this God person anyway?

There comes a time in everyone's life, when the so called existential questions begin to bother you. Questions like, "What is our purpose in life?", "Is the Bird Flu virus named in hexadecimal?" and "What is the pitch of Himesh Reshammiya's voice?" These questions flash across suddenly, unexpectedly and then vanish, leaving behind a huge question mark, much like your average Ganguly innings. These questions are juxtaposed against the so called problems of day-to-day subsistence, like “Do I have enough money to buy bread?", "Does APJ have paedophilia?" and "How many pairs of ear-plugs do I need for my next Volvo trip?"

This age is usually 18 or 19. This is the age, when most people come to realize the amount of fun one could have had if one were American - like shoot teachers, visit Neverland and watch live Super Bowl on TV. It is this agony of not being American, and having to do with Channel 7-News clips of Kareena-Shaahid smooches and small-rickety Miss Jammu videos that the average 19 yr-old Jagdish Dave thinks of the aforementioned questions. These conditions however do not affect our average DPS student though who is busy answering more pressing and important matters, like “Neha” or “Pooja” and “Chocolate?” or “Vanilla?”

And it is when life gets so frustrating that one is forced to make a choice. This is the time when important questions need to be answered. ‘Do I believe in Him?’, ‘Can I pray and make Himesh Reshammiya mute?’ and ‘Can praying help one get access to American TV?’ This is when one asks, “Does this God person really exist?” and if so “Can he really ban Mahesh Bhatt from TV debates?” It is here however, at this stage, that the average teenager commits the greatest mistake of his life.

He is conceded, at this age, into believing that Maria Sharapova is a creation of God and hence He must exist, He must have topped his Geometrical Modelling class and that He must also watch ESPN. Here our Jagdish is convinced that God must be great ‘cause not only did he make Maria Sharapova but also designed hi-tech sensing gadgetry to ensure extremely well time pulses of what can only be described as extremely-satisfying-noises. Here, he however forgets that all this creation-of-God chatter made Mr. Sharapov and Mrs. Sharpova look at each other in bewilderment and suspicion. He also forgets that Sharapova’s gain was probably Sachin Tendulkar’s loss.

Later, fortunately, for a few years, 42 satisfies the curiosity for a while. Another few years are spent speculating as to, “Why 42?”, and thinking “How can 9 x 6 be 42?” By this time, however the immediate problems of day-to-day subsistence have become even more grave, like “Shit, why did I get married?”, “Does my kid have porn?” and “Will he lend it to me?” – and these ‘bigger’ questions soon become lost, forgotten and unsought. Trampled under the pressures of grishthashrama this God person soon becomes another bronze idol in a temple and another saffron-stone under the tree, seeing which the hands clasp themselves involuntarily.

And suddenly, a visit on a visit to the dentist to get your pair of dentures, you notice the receptionists spellbinding curves, and these questions spring back to life again. “Damn! Is she hot or what?” and “Is she for real?” – the same questions, albeit more rhetorical and more remorseful than before.

They just remain there. Unanswered, unattended, unmodified. They just remain - to be fondled, and caressed – right up to the grave.

C’est Dommage

It was 11 at night, and she hadn't returned as yet. I got tense. 11 Pm was not usually the time, till which she stayed out. Then, the phone rang.

If I haven't told you already I have a fear of phones. My vocabulary isn't too good, but I guess they must be calling that 'telephobia' or something like that. However, when it's 11 at night, and no one’s around and she's not home yet - you have to take the risk. "Tring, Tring" - once. Tring Tring" twice. I braced myself. "Clak" I lifted it.

"Good Evening Madam" the voice crackled as if it had just been awoken from an afternoon siesta, "Would you like to have a The Carte Bleu?. It’s the most amazing credit-cum-debit card; it’s loaded with features and is the cheapest card around." "No, thank you", I replied - "However a young, fine lady 26 years, slender build, beautiful glowing face would do perfectly " and I slammed the phone down. Almost midnight, she's not back yet - and stupid telemarketers seem have been connected across the bloody wrong time zones.

Excuse me, if I've been a bit abrupt. My son and she have been married for over 15 years. Not that, it’s a very happy marriage, for that's quite uncommon in our community, and at the same time however, it’s quite difficult to get out of such messy situations. I myself, never ever have adored, or even loved her - but when she's not come back and it's midnight - one tends to get worried. Agreed that, that brown-guy was with her, her latest boyfriend - but Paris is an unforgiving city. Especially for celebrities like her. The French media can hound you to death - she had to be home before 11. She can be very stubborn sometimes.
However, this is neither the time nor the place to go into lenghty teary-eyed tales about my family. The narration continues ...

If the reader might remember, we were at the point, when I was cursing this particularly annoying telemarketer. Having nothing else to do, but worry - I turned on the TV. It was then that I saw it flashing on all the TV channels:

"Diana, Princess of Wales killed in road accident with her latest boyfriend Dodi Al Fayed near Paris. It was just past midnight when their car hit ..."

"Too Bad" I remember myself saying - before I called my secretary.

A press release was in order expressing my deepest regrets.

And how are you, Whereistheex !

Wish exams were as simple as this!

(Via email from : Prasanna Kovalam)

Filter Blogging

This had to be on my blog - and if par hazard you haven't heard of this, then, good, another purpose served.

There, the case rests.

(grâce à - Amit, George and Ramanand)

This, We like.

Here's something you gotta read.

(Hat Tip - Peter Griffin)

Aakhir Q

(being the next, albeit more homogenized, indigenized version of the Seinfeldian series.Please see previous attempts - 1, 2, 3)

OK, here, I’ve said it, I just love amusement parks. The roller coasters, the giant twirling thingies, the throw-me-from-the-top-i-will-catch-you machines, the cotton candy, the amazing high drops - I just can't get enough of . But if there's one thing that really bugs the hell out of me at amusement parks, it's the queue line.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have no problem with standing for 10 minutes to get a shot at that 50 foot, upside-down coaster. In fact, it's a good appetizer and looking at everyone's faces as they get off makes the whole experience even better. People are quintessential to making the whole experience memorable. However, it's when people are not there that the queue upsets me. How, you ask?

Well they have this twisty turny, fixed to the ground Herculean pillars, around
which you have to go round and round and round, when no one's freakin' there! And these roa-constructors or whatever they are called, make them real heavy-duty for the Summer-cum-National Holiday crowd, and mind bogglingly long the whole ensemble can get. Frankly it's just a pain in the neck to have to go around 50 freakin' rows of umm.. rows, every single time, a ride is unpopular, or simply deserted.

Now, are you telling me that they can design make-up equipment that makes even Bipasha Basu look good, but you can't make adjustable-in-length queue restraints. Put some holes in the ground, stick the restraining sticks in them when they need it and remove it when not! Dog, is that difficult! That's when the French would say, C'est incroyable!

PS - Sideline Irritant : Another thing that irritates the hell out of me is when they write 'Q' in big capital letters. I understand when FedEx did it to save paint, but this is really getting a bit too much, a'int it?

A Joke I Wish I Hadn't Made

It's a shame really that the father of the Free Software Movement should be called Stall man.