Snippet #2 Summer

when it’s hot as hell…


A few days ago, the temperature was a sweltering 36°c with 79% humidity. In the Feels Like column on, it showed 48°c. My mother was convinced it was over 50. My father recounted the good old days when summer used to be mellow and full of rains. They’d go to the field, wading through the knee deep water and watch buffaloes swim in the distant river.

There was a time they used to call this place Mini Darjeeling, but these days you can smelt ores by simply leaving them out in the sun. A few people in the neighbourhood have already been admitted to the Hope because of sunstroke, or some weird photochemical reactions due to the scorching heat.

The air was stifling hot. As I lay on the coarse, trampled turf of Indira Gandhi Stadium, streams of molten lava flowed under my skin, scalding my insides like chucks of meat in a boiling pan. I remembered all those real life stories of spontaneous human combustion, and pictured myself lighting up and turning to ashes. People would more likely record my groans and convulsions and upload them on youtube than pour water or sand over my body. My shirt was sodden with sweat. The stadium felt like devil’s frying pan, where we the evil souls were being burnt and purged. The devil laughed its heinous laugh as we melted like butter cubes.

“This must be the new record. “Commented the IIT guy. He’s the only student from our batch to make it to the mecca of the great Indian Education system, so his comments are respected. We nodded in a unison.

Then we started comparing summer in different cities to while away time, which budged painfully slow.

“Is it hotter than Delhi? “Goteya asked.

“The heat there is different. I mean it’s not that suffocating. “Started Samar.

Well, I remember Delhi’s heat. Apartment blocks all clumped together. There’s no duct for air to pass. Every time there’s a power cut, terrace is the only rescue. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, all sweaty and hot, cursing my fate and rich people who live in hill stations during summer. Capitalism, people, capitalism!

“You must find it normal, right? “I asked the IIT guy, who lived in IIT Jodhpur. He took out his phone and whatsapped this cute girl – half girlfriend – to send him a random balcony shot. It was raining in Rajasthan. Goddam.

We talked about school and memories. I’ll tell you about that very soon.

After it was dark, we trudged back to our houses, hoping for some mercy from the skies.

“It’ll rain tomorrow. “Said the IIT guy. We nodded in unison.

(Well, it did not. )

Back at home, there was no food because my mother felt it was too hot and she hated the idea of standing in front of a goddam stove. So we ate mangoes and slept, praying the power remains forever.

Snippet #1 fish fry

vegetarianism in human beings. Is it natural or man made?

Neighbours frying fishes is a recipe for disaster. In some of the small town high caste hindu families, you eat non-vegetarian food, but you still view this as an act of self-pollution. Some people abstain from meat or fish on particular days, because on those days, God himself inspects the earth through the telescope perched on his balcony. In some families, non-veg dishes are cooked outside the house.

So one of my neighbours – a hardcore non-vegetarian – was in the mood of a feast. He was frying fishes in the parking area, and the spicy aroma – of a fish wrapped in oil – invaded our house like a flank of Mongol cavalry.

“What’s this rot? Is someone dead? “Asked my mother.

“Cooking fishes. “My father, fixing the electric wire, pointed at their parking. My mother gave a sign of disgust one reserves for a hypothetical carcass. It was a delicious smell, let me make it clear.

“Goddam these people! “She said, loud enough to be recognised by aliens floating in the neighbouring galaxies. They did not react, just kept on flipping the fishes in the pan.

A few years ago, our neighbour had around 80 goats slaughtered for an exotic chevon dish for his daughter’s reception. My mother didn’t go out for half a dozen days.

For the past two days, I have been feeding a cow and her calf bread loaves. It’s a noble job, plus cows are kind souls. They just stop at the gate and wait for me. If they spot me, they stare with those big expectant eyes. You know you just melt in these situations.

Having said that, I don’t participate in lynching beef eaters. I think you can eat animals. If you read human history, vegetarianism in the form of crop-consumption has a tiny existence of 7000 years ( less than 5% of entire homo sapien sapien history ). The first tools were developed so that we could hunt and tear animals for consumption. So I’d never consider vegetarianism to be inherent to human nature.

Humans have eaten terrible things. In that list, cows would be probably floating at the bottom.

Anyway, the fish smelled like heaven. I might give it a try in the near future.

Weird Dreams

thoughts with eyes closed, thoughts with eyes open….

I had a weird dream last night. My granny turned out to be a psychopath and she murdered somebody with a chef’s knife. So all of us went to Saryu – 1279 kms away – to dispose of the body. Don’t ask me why, because that’s the least of my concerns. Sometimes, I wonder if my parents have double lives. Like, my father is a quiet, homely guy but someday I might just discover his face on a vintage adult movie poster. My vagan mother could be working for some secret cult, slaughtering infants in ritual sacrifices. That would be really weird.

The other day, I was watching Michio Kaku’s show where he was talking about alternate realities and Schrödinger’s cat. Schrödinger once locked a cat in a box, and through a nozzle, let a poisonous gas inside it. After some time, he wondered if the cat was really dead. He was damn sure it was dead, but he did not really know. So he concluded that until he opens the box, the cat is both dead and alive. The moment he opens the box, all other alternate realities would collapse and he would be left with just one of them. That hints that it is possible for alternate realities to exist. Maybe there’s a parallel universe where I am something else.

I would like to be in a universe where I am just the atmosphere, nothing else. That little blanket of air all around the world. If you ever manage to make it speak, you would discover the greatest artist of all time. It has heard and seen all our stories. It has seen us grow and die, it has seen civilizations bloom and decay, it has seen species spread and vanish. I want to be that thing. That would be some hyper level voyeurism. No I am not dirty, I am just creative. I believe that the more imaginative one gets, the more sinister one becomes.

A Short Synopsis of Monthly Debacles #2

Here’s March and April 😷

Okay, let me carry on from the last post.


By March, the worst of the winter would be over…..
…Not that year.

– Neil Gaiman, Odd and the Frost Giants

Well, it was so much of workload that I had to break character. We even went to college at 5 in the morning and heaved gargantuan flowerpots ( check out the link for some mind blowing weight lifting tutorials -> ) that we picked from a mosquito infested nursery. We dug holes to set flag posts, got the whole walkway and all the rooms cleaned thrice, set the red carpet and flags and decorated the venue. It was fun though. I mean yeah I got bitten by a thousand mosquitoes and got muscles cramps and everything, but it was fun.
The seminar was fun as well, despite the mental breakdown it subjected the audience to. Especially, there was a speaker who was unsuccessfully trying to use the concept of magnetism to prove the existence of God. I could see the white-bearded God in the background, making a facepalm while shaking his head in disgust.


There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.

– William C. Bryant

On 1st of April, I came back from the 2-day Shimla trip – I’ll write about the trip very soon – and slept like a log for 20 hours. When I woke up I could feel the muscles in my body, all of them stiff like a dead man. It took us some time to get over the bittersweet hangover and then it was college time again. Teachers were under the pressure to finish the syllabus, so they started fucking us right in the ass. We coped, somehow. That apart, something happened that taught me a very valuable life lesson – to never trust anyone. People are not worth your trust, better buy a pitbull.

That apart, I moved in with my classmate. It’s a nice place, and I have a large window by myself, and a balcony and three nymphets in the opposite house. That apart, there are grey skies, and hollering winds.

Well, that’s all for now. See you soon.

A short synopsis of monthly debacles #1 😑

because I’ve nothing better to write…

Well, a lot has happened in the last 5 months and I haven’t been able to write much. Right now I could write three volumes of A Suitable Boy in one sitting, that’s how charged up I am, but I have a tome of European History to guzzle down my wounded throat so that I can excrete well during the exam. I’d save time and effort by touching upon some great events that happened during the last few months and hope that comes out well. Not that many people give a damn, but here’s how life has been from 2018 –


Lots of people go mad in January.

– Karen Joy Fowler, Sarah Canary

Well, I certainly did when my mother told me my marks were drastically down, when they were actually just down by 0.28 sgpa and I’d topped the class. That apart, it was painful because I had to travel back to Delhi, leaving my family and friends and the memories in the ether of my lovely city. And I did not receive any special birthday wishes. And the reunion for which we had carnival-level planning, did not happen. Well, they had pizza at Dominoes (yes we have Dominoes in our city, folks, now we just need some traffic lights and a respectable literacy rate) and most of the time they were trying to decipher the ex-topper’s newly polished Japanese vocabulary. Well, the ex-topper is a nice girl, you know, it’s just that we did not pay enough attention to Haiku lessons in kindergarten, so our Japanese kind of sucks. And she won’t even say ‘thank you’ in English, so they had a hard time talking to a good-looking sushi. That apart, I broke Dhoni’s captaincy record by losing only 2 matches out of a million I played. I also hit Mama for two consecutive sixes, batting left-handed. Then I came back to Delhi and the homesickness sucked for a few days. Then I found Alex Mae’s porn channel and life was all sunshine again.


February is a suitable month for dying.

-Anna Quindlen

I want to kiss Anna for saying this. But I assume she’s dead because February passed like a million years ago. Nevertheless, this quote is poetry. You begin by thinking about roses and you end by thinking about roses, only that the entire spectrum of human existence is summed up in these seven words, between the two roses.

Anyways, I did not die. A few people were attacked in parks by Bajrang Dal, but they didn’t die either. Lots of sperm cells might have suffocated to death in the condom sheaths, assuming by the growing din around valentine.

Yeah I know you want to know whether I got lucky or not. Well, you see, sometimes life is more than about finding a right-sized vagina. So yeah, I simply fapped out to Christopher Nolan’s intellectual shit while preparing for the Seminar in the first half of March.

To be contd….

वो एक शाम…

कुछ अधपके ख़याल । 💕

उजाले अपनी यादों के हमारे साथ रहने दो,
न जाने किस गली में ज़िंदगी की शाम हो जाए।

-बशीर बद्र

पत्तियों से छनकर शिमला की वो शाम मेरे गालों को हल्के से स्पर्श कर रही थी। उस धूप में राहत थी हल्की सी, थोड़ा सा सुकून था, और रत्ती भर उदासी । हवाओं में तैरता एक गीत था, जिसके शब्द तो गुम गए पर धुन अभी भी गूंज रही है – गिटार के सबसे निचले वाले तार को मानो किसी रूमी ने छू दिया हो। कुछ बेफिक्र परिन्दे घर को लौट रहे थे। समझ नहीं पा रहा था कि मेरी वो शाम कब आएगी। शाम और मेरा रिश्ता थोड़ा “काॅम्प्लिकेटेड” है – इसमें मोहब्बत और नफरत बराबर मात्रा में है, जैसे चौसा वाली चाची की चाय में चीनी और पत्ती।

जाखु की चढ़ाई में शरीर अकड़ चुका था। पसीने से तर बतर मेरी नीली शर्ट मेरे सीने से चिपक रही थी । सीने के अंदर ज़ोर-ज़ोर से धड़कता मेरा कोलेस्ट्रॉल वाला दिल मुझसे थमने की गुहार लगा रहा था। पर दिल की अर्ज़ियाँ तो हम कमबख्त बचपन से ठुकराते आए हैं। हनुमानजी अभी भी कोसों दूर थे, वो भी थीटा डिग्री कोण पे। मैं चलता रहा – तेज़, उखड़ी सांसों के साथ । एक ढलते सूरज से रेस थी, जो मैं लगभग हार गया था।

सोच रहा था जिंदगी जाखु की चढ़ाई से कम है क्या – अपने ही कदमों के निशान रौंदकर चढ़ना कोई समतल रास्ता नहीं सिखा सकता; इसलिए तो कवि पहाड़ को चुनता है मैदान को नहीं। इसमें रस है, अलंकार है, अंग्रेज़ी में कहें तो “मेटाफर” है । ये मेटाफर – यही तो ज़िंदगी है ।

पहाड़ी खत्म होने का नाम नहीं ले रही थी। सांसों ने धड़कनों के साथ पार्टनरशिप कर ली थी और दोनों हड़ताल पर बैठ गए थे। सूरज डूब चुका था, आकाश उसकी विदाई में लाल हो चुका था । मैं रात की कल्पना कर रहा था। वो ऊपर का अंतहीन अंधेरा और ये कोसों नीचे तक जगमगाती सिटीलाईट्स – ये जो अद्भुत संगम है ना, ये मूक शब्दों मे बहुत कुछ कह जाता है।

अचानक काफी चीज़ें स्मरण हो आईं – जैसे किसी ने मेज पर रखा यादों का मेरा मर्तबान गिरा दिया हो। अंधेरे के साथ मेरा रिश्ता बहुत पुराना है – जब भी उसे सोचना होता है पलकें बंद कर लेता हूं, ताकि कोई आंखो में उदासी न पढ़ पाये । और अंधेरे में उसे देखना आसान होता है । दोस्तों मैं कोई देवदास नहीं हूं – शायरी भी ज्यादातर काॅपी पेस्ट ही करता हूं – पर औरंगज़ेब ने भी तो कमबख़्त कभी न कभी आशिकी की होगी । मार्क्सवादी इतिहासकार आपको ये नहीं बताएंगे, पर ये जो यादें होती हैं वो बड़ी औरंगज़ेब होती हैं – पत्थर के एक किले में बंद कर देती हैं जहां जालियों के बीच में से एक नन्हा सा ताजमहल दिखता है।

सोचता हूं क्या कुछ बदला जा सकता था? कोई जवाब नहीं आता । मेरे खुदगर्ज़ मन ने अब झूठ बोलना बंद कर दिया है । और मैं भी अब उसकी खामोशियाँ समझने लगा हूं ।

शाम अब ढल चुकी थी । सूरज की यादों को आसमान अब भुला चुका था । एक काली घनी रात थी ऊपर और नीचे टिमटिमाते सितारे थे । और थी यादें – जुगनू जैसी । चलिए, ताजमहल कह लिजिए – बस मेटाफर बदला है, मायने अभी भी वही हैं ।

College Trip Plans 😑

yeah. I don’t have anything much to say.


I’d have put fifteen exclamation marks after Manali had I been half a wanderlust as Heer. But let’s just face it, I have more of a stationary personality. If someone showed me the stairs to heaven, I would probably ask where the elevator door is. When Michio Kaku said that they were developing particle teleporters at NASA, I can’t tell you how relieved I was. Imagine a future with no vehicles, no backpacks, no travelling – just an Anywhere Door that you could plant anywhere to get to anywhere. That’s heaven, right there!

So yeah, I’m not totally bubbling with excitement, like you would expect. Everybody else is excited, because yaayy it’s a college trip and you don’t get such chances twice in life, but I don’t think there’s much to gain from it. There’s not going to be any self-discovery like it happens in Imtyaz Ali flicks. No chicks to fuck, and no enlightenment to suck through the morning sunlight. All you get is a bunch of crabs squirming around and pulling you down all the time. You are constantly under the burden of having fun. And trust me, it’s crushing.

A decent idea of a trip, if ever, would not consist of more than 3 people, because when I’m on a mountaintop amid the chilling snow watching a mellow sunrise, I don’t want some runt to throw snowballs at my back because it’s his idea of fun. I don’t want to be around that bonfire amid dumb people acting happy, playing cards and sharing stupid stories that nobody really gives a fuck about – and such a night is supposed to mark my calendar as one of the best nights ever – pretending to have a life altering experience. Hell, my idea of a life altering experience would be a six-hour wax play threesome with Spanish nymphets.

It’s going to be a three day trip with a single stoppage at Shimla. There’s also a strong probability of boating, which I don’t like much if I’m not provided with two life jackets after a six month Swimming course at Cambridge. My classmates also have plans to walk through the mountains instead of just using the goddamn cable cars. Also, there’s a whole blueprint of snowballing as and when it’ll be done. These are tough expectations to place on your peers.

The problem with people is that they’re trying to plaster their idea of fun all over you. Something that pleases them must please you, or else, you’re boring and lazy and dumb. I’m quite sick of all this. I am done with being a part of society. It’s not even a society, it’s just a bucket full of crabs. People trying to pull you down all the time.

Anyways, I’m going to Manali. Because I might just hit enlightenment if I somehow slip out of the bucket.