The Jats and their baseless demands PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Thursday, 25 February 2016 18:18

Let's start this article by having a flashback. Around 85 years ago my grandfather came to Delhi to work. Pre independence era , black and white pictures and ......you get it. He came with almost nothing, got a job and continued on. Then independence partition happened. My great grandfather in the huge melee lost everything. Fled to India to ensure the women folk don't get raped. Some 15 years forward  my father is born in Delhi. Works hard like his father. Some 30 years forward I am born. Works hard like his father Today we live in South Delhi and are known as what one would label to be upper middle class.


All this from nothing to basic middle class conditions with what help from the govt? Oh wait nothing. If anything the govt. charges us as many tax as possible and sucks as dry like a malarial mosquite. I think the only tax I don't pay is breathing tax and farting tax. What have I, as a Bengali ever got from the govt? except the middle finger?


Now living in Delhi all my life I know for a fact how well to do the so called Jats are. I visit Gurgaon almost every 3rd day , courtesy of friends and clients. If you ever visit a pub , the jats drive in there with the most money and the best cars . They behave like wild animals (as you can see on TV) and try to demand respect.


That's the exact same thing they are doing right now. The Modi govt with its spineless behaviour is allowing Jats to hold 30% of North India including the capital to ransom because they want everything for free.


Is it ok to help them out with tax payers' money? It would have been if they actually deserved it but they are rich. Richer than most of the people who visit Gurgaon to earn their living everyday while they put up their properties on rent and smoke hookah all day.


If anyone wants to know the truth of how they acquired these so called massive properties, I would strongly suggest them to read a lovely book called the "The Last Mughal" by William Dalrymple. This gentleman's research is undoubtedly fantastic.


This is what Modi's 36inch chest has come to. Being a coward and hiding behind vote bank politics. If this is the case then why should not Bengalis or Marathis also ask for reservation. Probably because we don't go loot ATMs, Gun shops , beat up innocent people (there are reports of even women being raped) or block highways.


Mr. Prime Minister, kindly show the spine you were supposed to and show these people that only hard work means reward. If you want to give reservation , give it to the actual poor of Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand who sell their children for Rs 5000. These Jats come to Gurgaon clubs in the best SUVs and sedans , wearing expensive branded clothes and blaring Honey Singh, drinking best scotch which we cant afford. I wonder how they don't feel ashamed asking for reservation.

 
The Economic Advantage Of Masturbation PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Tuesday, 08 December 2015 19:09

This may seem like an honest philosophical debate on how a relaxed man is more hard working and hence more productive , pun intended but I assure you it's not. Whoever has seen the brilliant movie The Wolf of Wall Street would remember the infamous dialogue between Mathew and Leonardo on how jacking off couple of times a day made Mathew a successful man.  This is not about that. This is as simple and as base as it can be.

Men's love , creativity , affection and his own character can be formed by many aspects of his life and surroundings. One of those main aspects would be his manhood. His love for his woman would overcome everything , even his favourite sport, when he has not smelled the scent of beautiful bosoms for a couple of weeks.

So there is a man sitting in his room on a Saturday evening while his third leg makes him feel like a fucking idiot for not being able to gain access to lady and her ...desires. He can't concentrate on the T 20 match thats on or the whiskey glass in front of him or even the beautiful aroma of biriyani his neighbour's hot wife is cooking , however his neighbours hot wife is cooking in his mind.

He decides he has had enough. He frantically makes calls to women he thinks might give him atleast a hand job after 4 glasses of the most expensive alcohol they can find on the menu. There are three types of unmarried women in India. First the so called Sati Savitris , who have the policy of jaan jaye but virginity na jaye. On the notion of some self righteous crusade their fathers have put them on to ensure that he doesn't have to use a chastity belt on her.

The second who will sleep with you after they get drunk but in the morning come chasing you with a hatchet in one hand and a marriage garland in the other.

The last ones are too easy but too expensive. They want to ride in Audis , diamond necklaces as fortnightly gifts and trips to Mauritius.

So finally he remembers a girl he was able to pursue till second base after she had polished off 4 tequila , 3 beers and 2 Bombay Sapphires  and calls her. He tries to sound so loving that his tongue drools nothing but honey. He honestly and genuinely ensures that she believes the only reason he did not call was  because he was sick and not because the bill was rs 15000 last time they went out for which all he got was a 2 minute lip kiss and that also devoid of tongue. The girl after throwing tantrums like she was a ramp model finally agrees to go out.

The guy first has to rush to the ATM to take out money because , well that's the most important ingredient. Post which he has to ensure his car is clean and smells good . Some useless, incredibly expensive, inedible , unusable flower purchase later which would have gotten him two great computer games he sets off towards the girls house.

Couple of knocks and 10 minutes wait later finds her giggling on the phone . She sticks her finger out to gesture him to keep quiet because it's probably her ex boyfriend but why should he care either, it's not like he has come to get married to her. After another 10 minutes of giggling , 15 minutes of make up and selfies , she walks out just to realise she can't decide what shoes to wear.

By this time the guy is already mentally having a huge argument with his balls. "look what you got me into again you stupid fuck " he says to which his balls just laugh knowing full well he has no option but to listen to what it says. He hands her the flowers to which she goes "awww" and keeps them to a side never to be seen or watered again.

Once in the car she mentions about the ill effects on health due to over usage of car deodorants. The last time she mentioned the ill effects on health due to the smell of mould in cars . Something about moulds giving her an allergy but weed and pot supposedly never does.

So his obvious enquiry on where she wants to go is returned with an even more obvious gesture of anywhere but post which nothing else matches. Any place that would not make him sell his soul to the devil and credit card companies was not acceptable to her. So he gives up and takes her to the most amazing , expensive , romantic and over hyped place marked out by zomato just because there is a live band there who can't sing worth two pennies post a glass of beer .

He puts up a fantastic act on how interested he is about what his two ex boyfriends did to his mother's paper towels at her parent's anniversary . He kept his mental strength up by imagining that wonderful drive home he was about to get while the girl softly massaged his .....ego , or whatever was up for grabs.

If things weren't dreadful enough soon he comes to the realisation that he is sitting across the girl's best friends who come flying in and crashing his party. She asks them to join in and obviously the man always picks up the tab. They too order for the best possible alcohol . While they chat away on what lehenga they are going to wear at their friend's marriage and he watches the cricket match on his mobile under the table a great song starts to play and they all break into an impromptu bollywood style dance number and by now the man is thinking of chemically castrating himself.

Finally when all the torture ends and the bill comes he excuses himself to the toilet and cries in the bathroom for couple of minutes . Some stranger with unwashed hands, pats him on his back and sympathises with him . "I sold my kidney last year for a trip with this girl and she said she had her periods for the whole time" . Those words were like magic to him . Gave him the strength to walk out thinking he was only set back by Rs10000 and not a kidney. Money he can always earn back.

The lehenga discussing party finally disappear just the way the appeared , out of nowhere and the girl  complains of feeling sick. More moaning and groaning on how her parents are so narrow minded but she always listens to them because she loves them except when it comes to living in another city alone , drinking alcohol every day , smoking weed, pot and snorting coke and the guy thinks...wait so she only listens when it comes to sex out of wedlock?

After couple puke stops near a tree and shouting : " I am the queen of the world" he reaches the girl's home. She grabs every part of his 'already dying' to get some action body parts but not to pleasure him but because she can't climb up the stairs. They finally enter her house and he grabs her by her waist and starts kissing her with all his lust but wait, here enters the drama " is this all you want from me?" "No" defends the guy. "I really like you , I thought you wanted this too" . "Ya! I do but please not today , I am so tired and my office starts at 7 am and my boss cant digest his breakfast till he doesn't see my cleavage and grabs my ass" .

So the poor guy , decides to be a gentleman and get back to his car where he bangs his head on the car steering which made the horn honk in a matching tune that bands play when paying their final respects to a martyr solider. Another one bites dust .

The dejected man heads back home , opens another bottle of cheap whiskey , watches petite teen lesbian love and relieves himself before going to sleep happy. He even catches the highlights of the cricket match.

Now imagine, if he would have just decided to stay at home , watched the match , eaten a pizza and jacked off to great internet porn . He would have saved himself so much heart burn , pocket hole and disintegration of self respect.

To my brothers, always remember , paper towels cost way less than women and to my lady friends remember , the government has already fucked us to no end in every direction, from entertainment tax to swachh bharat cess. Dropping your pants once in a while without acting like Cleopatra would make for a better world to live in . You are not getting out a virgin anyways.

Last Updated on Tuesday, 08 December 2015 19:45
 
THE FALL OF THE BHODROLOK'S BASTION PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Tuesday, 08 December 2015 19:08

 

 

It wasn't so far away a time that distant memories turned into weak dreams. I can still remember cycling down my lane Sunday mornings with a gang of Bengali friends and smelling the whispering beautiful odours of luchi and aaloor dom . We knew what was waiting for us as soon as we reached home yet we played on like the street kings that we were . Racing past inconspicuous  homes with tunnel visions in our eyes and strength in our hearts.  Soon it was time for lunch and a cacophony of Bengali voices called their trouble makers back home. We begged on to stay yet our tongue and heart spoke otherwise . We called it a day till we met again in a couple of hours regenerated with vigour because of belly full of food.

Now 15 years too short I stand outside on the balcony of the same house and I cannot recognise the people or the homes they dwell in. A group of children playing cricket in the park in front of my home which we once ruled but the language is neither Bengali nor English, its Hindi filled with Punjabi expletives. My dog and I sit and watch while she fails to understand the reason for my melancholy , I just bite my lips and get myself a beer to stay in regressive nostalgia . Regressive I say, because one must move with the times. Nostalgia it is, a very basic form of human emotion which gives us both pain and hope.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chittaranjan_Park

Chittaranjan park which once was known as E.P.D.P (East Pakistan Displaced Persons Colony)  and later renamed after the deshbandhu (patriot) Chittaranjan Das in the 1980s is where I was born. When I was born and in the late 80s and early 90s it was scoffed at as a Bengali's bastion and we Bengali's were pretty happy keeping it that way but as all things come to an end, the evil of greed fell badly on everyone who lived here. The once not so posh colony, because of its central location , festivities and events , low crime , greenery amongst other things became posh and land prices soared. Many bengali's who inherited the property from their parents found this to be a wonderful and easy way of making a lot of quick money. They sold of their properties to the highest bidding builder , took the cash and started to living happily with a bank account full of money someplace else.

This obviously bought in a diasporas of new people who could actually afford homes at the new rates. Soon the tiny one floored homes filled with red little clay pots and small little walls got replaced with towering buildings made of glass and brick with huge silver name plates and angry looking guards. The same trees shed their beautiful wall of yellow leaves , shimmering in the light of the sun but the shades are different now for the houses of changed and so have the inhabitants. Walking down to the market when I used to recognise every face with a smile is now replaced with question marks and questions about who I am . That's ironical considering my family has lived here for 45 years and the question should be asked from my side.

Small issues of parking which were dealt over tea and samosas in the morning with neighbours saying "dada gaari ta ektu aage park karoon" now has been replaced with arguments of highest decibels followed by the police showing up shaking their heads as to why they have to come every day for parking problems. There were definitely those screeching aunties who would shout at the tiniest things but never would iron rods come out or police be called. Such things were unheard of.

Durga Puja , our biggest festival was such a rage for us that we would start shopping at least one month prior the event. Everyone got together for those 4 days and partied as much as one could and by the 5th day it was absolute forlorn as Ma Durga left for a year and the wait seemed too long.  Durga Puja pandals were cosy little affairs with beautiful idols, friendly neighbours, colony children playing, local bands singing and Bengali street food. Now it's item numbers, large corporate companies and a million people jostling to see that tamasha. We are victims of our own success if not pride. Seems everyone wanted a piece of the cosy pie and the pie went stale.

Some of us are still remaining back here like ghosts from a lost era, for how long is a question only time and destiny will tell  because what made this ours is not ours anymore. Memories will stay , the colony will not . Maybe we can make another bastion someday , someplace , somehow.

Last Updated on Tuesday, 08 December 2015 19:26
 
Virtuosity of Life PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Wednesday, 18 June 2014 02:20

Its been a very long time since I wrote anything on this site but as time passed and wounds healed, I realised that the unquenching desire to write has never been for anyone else but myself and as such its difficult to bury it. As life has been progressing and on every step of the way I realise that life is a pathway of soft grass and broken jagged stones equally, however to expect any fairness out of it is unthinkable.

Upon noticing pee marks on my floor made by one of my puppies , I sighed and went to grab an useless piece of news paper to hide it. For such purposes I always find the news paper magazines the best especially if its a day old. Upon placing the news paper on the pee marks, I was quite startled to see a name and face extremely recognisable on its front page. It was a picture of a brand new protaganist in a brand new bollywood flick sitting in a dramatic pose writting some nonsense , glorifying his humilty. I might have partially believed it if that man, once a boy, was not in my own class in Don Bosco School and was not the definitition of an asshole.

It was not out of jealousy or hatred but sheer sense of injustice, I wondered how a boy who bullied everyone escpecially the ones who were financially poorer than him (which basically was everyone) would be doing well in life where as a wonderful man named Clarence who was a rising star , a guitar hero in its literal sense and the softest and friendliest person one can meet dies of cancer at the age of 28. This is where one realises that life really has no virtue or virtuosity.  I read a very nice translation of Mahabharat that was gifted to me by one of my cousins and by the end of the book it made me think. Is life really a game of numbers, where what good deeds you do now will count and stack for or against you in the future , possibily in the next life.

Geeta strictly mentions the fact that ignorance of a wrong deed done is not an excuse to be forgiven . It doesnt work that way or so the good book says but I am yet to see any evidence of it. So at the end of this 'return to life' article all I want to say is "fuck it" , drink booze , do your best and turn into shadows and dust , atleast there is no escape from that even if you can escape from crime and punishment.

Last Updated on Wednesday, 18 June 2014 15:31
 
Hello? Anyone there? PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Sunday, 15 June 2014 19:01

Hello people . As you guys know or dont know, I have been off this site for two years or maybe more. Things happened, things didnt happen...but the result was I lost interest. Now I guess I am back and whenever I find sometime, I will type some thing out..anyone else wants to do the same..can feel free to contact me.

 
Delhi crowd in IPL are traitors PDF Print E-mail
Written by Anando   
Thursday, 17 May 2012 21:20

The category I am writing this article in is called "pointless rambling". Thats pretty much what this is. Being a fan of cricket and being a hard core delhi-ite I couldnt digest how the Delhi public was enjoying Chris Gayle raping the Delhi bowlers from every angle. Its one thing to know that we have already qualified and another completely different thing to support the opposing team raping us.

There needs to be a bit of introspection from the idiotic public about where their loyalties lie. Fanaticism in a sport is the only fanaticism which is acceptable and that said the free pass holding idiots need to shut up.

 
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