The Origin of Bird Flu

My relationship with WordPress is like with that one muse that you meet once a year or so in a different city whilst travelling only to hook up and never speak again – yes that’s pretty much it. I come here, woo it with a few words, paint a few pictures and exit without even a sign out.

Anymeh, this post isn’t about hook-ups or sex – I’ll leave that to E.L. James’ and Kate Pearce’s toilet paper scripts. I’m gona give you a detailed account into the origin of bird flu. Yes, that’s right. Now, you’re probably wondering – why bird flu? Well, I’ll escort you through the story with an intro:

Recently, I had been very sick for the past one month. Like tied to my bed for good sick and had all the following symptoms:

• Major cough
• 104 degree fever
• Extreme sore throat
• Difficulty breathing
• Headaches

All of the above persisted for over 10 days – I finally got over my ego and opinion that doctors are a bunch of pretentious quacks and decided to visit one. Walked in to the clinic, saw his stethoscope around his neck and went “Hey doc, how’s it hanging?” – okay, no I didn’t really do that but I know you guys will be tempted to do so the next time you visit one hehe.

He did the typical chest prod to “check my breathing and heartbeat” which I think is a sack of shit and just a formality that doctors use to validate themselves that their medical degrees still hold good. I’m pretty sure he diagnosed me before he even started feeling up my back and chest with his favorite toy. After a couple of interrogative questions, he prescribed a bunch of colorful pills and antibiotics (yay) for the rest of the week which I promptly bought from the medical store. Slipped the pharmacist a ₹500/- note, nodded my head just to feel like I’m scoring some good shit and he gave me back a “You’re fucking weird” slow head-shake.

So there I am, back in bed and not in the fun way – alone with my assortment of really badly flavored gems. Popping them for a week and on an Entourage marathon which was my only saving grace. I go back to the doc and he goes “Hmm, no progress. Let’s X-Ray and see what’s going on.” <— No typo there, that’s pretty much how he said it and yes you pronounced it the way he did “Let’s sex ray”.

I’m in the radiology room where a 30-something-probably-raped-someone guy walks in with a mustache heavy enough to prevent him from talking to much. He tells me to take off my tee-shirt, stand facing the wall and get this… ‘wait’. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to enjoy what’s coming next or just patiently bear what’s coming when thankfully he chimed “all done”. Spent the next five minutes nervous about the outcome – who wouldn’t when their lungs just got scanned through.

The doctor calls me in holding a sealed envelope – the contents of which will decide what’s wrong with my body. He places it up on a back-lit board in perfect view of him, my mum and me. As soon as he clicks the light on to illuminate the X-Ray, without a second’s breath he exclaims “Aha! I knew it! It’s pneumonia. All this while I feared you had Bird Flu. Are you a smoker my son? Or do you travel often?”

Now.

1. Bhen ke lode, first of all you’re supposed to tell me if you suspect something like Bird Flu in my system right at the beginning. It’s my fucking body.
2. How qualified are you really to guess that it’s bird flu at first glance and your doc toy?
3. Just cause I’m a 20-something year old with a lung disease doesn’t mean I’m a smoker. (Okay, maybe I have had my share of it. Just a wee bit.)
4. By  the travelling often enquiry, you’re inferring that my lungs are infested with bacteria from someone else’s lungs in a different city who probably contracted from another person from some other city. God, that’s disgusting.
5. Doctors never give good news. If you can tell someone they’re dying with a straight face and walk away, you’re already halfway there towards being a medical practitioner.

Here’s a quick snap of what my lungs look like. Note: They’re mine, not Mukesh’s.

The green circled patch is basically pneumonia. The black part is normal lungs – not tar – chill you guys. The other white part dead center extending to the base of my lungs is my heart because well you know, I’m a small guy with a big heart.

I was given a bigger bounty of medicine, antibiotics, effervescent, lozenges, cough syrups, loda, lasoon etc. and sent home with a ban from anything fun for the next 4-6 weeks. Time during which all I did was play dota, watch movies and throw up the end products of the effervescent from my lungs which was basically infected phlegm – picture it, thank you.

Anyphlegm, I spent the next couple of weeks researching Bird Flu out of sheer curiosity. The thought of having avian influenza really made me go what the duck and chicken out about death. Maybe if I did have the strain and met another bunch of people suffering from it I’d totally go “H5N1??” and reach out for a high five!

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After much googling and reading up medical articles & blogs on the same topic, I found an old military story that dates back to the ‘Nam war in the 50s where the earliest sighting of Bird Flu was noticed. Apparently, a soldier with a bruised knee was trudging through the barracks of his US counterparts in the outskirts of Saigon. He was sick. Very sick. Yet, he moved on – his sole purpose being to succumb to the end of the war. He moved on like there was nothing. Coughing blood, leaving traces of his sickness in the vicinity of his footsteps. The other soldiers egged him on to have it checked at the infirmary nearby however ego took over(surprise surprise) and he didn’t heed. It gradually got worse.

During the heat of the battle, he took no notice of his condition. Not a cough when firing his gun; takes immense concentration. He couldn’t afford to do so however the nights were bad. He’d throw up the air he breathed and be warmer than a kettle of boiling water. He had the shivers and huddled up with the nearest gunny bag to keep warm through all the rain fed muck and grass. His conditioned worsened through these times and was immediately sent to the infirmary.

The doctors couldn’t pin down his sickness – he had the symptoms of a variety of potential candidates for disease. Pneumonia, diarrhea, the common flu aggravated among others. He was subject to tests and experiments. He lay there in the hospital bed, brooding over the fact he didn’t deserve this and had to go back to the battlefield. The painful coughs were a constant reminder that he had no choice.

The doctors probed into every detail over the last few weeks of his life including his diet. They figured out that it was definitely from something he had consumed and couldn’t have contracted it simply through mosquitoes or the environment as the tests negated anything even remotely close to dengue or malaria and the like. They brought back a gaggle of geese from a nearby river that had been hunted by the soldiers for food. A sample set including fully grown adults as well as babies.

The soldier watched over these tests from across the room through the window as he had nothing else in the world to do and observed the geese very patiently. About a month past, a half grown goose started being quite the arrogant one and extremely restless. He started flopping about with his newly grown set of wings in attempts to take to the skies but failed miserably. The soldier watched this with quite some amusement.

Days passed and the soldier wasn’t quite fully recovered but his fever had subsided. His diet had improved and so had his appetite – all signs of innate recovery of the body although his cough persisted. While walking out of his quarantined room, he walked past the room stocked with geese and noticed that a total of 14 geese were brought in initially – 4 males, 4 females and 6 goslings however his quick count gave him the number 13.

“Isn’t there one bird missing in that gaggle?” He asked the doctor. The doctor smiled to him and said, “One bird flew”.

And that’s the story of “bird flu”.

Maybe next time, when pigs fly, I’ll bullshit my way through a blog post to tell you the story of swine flu.

Trudge

He was kicking stones down the alley – heading towards his one friend who everyone seems to stay away from – misery. Reminiscing all the days when he had plenty a reason to plaster a smile on his face, never a cause to frown upon the world. Lo, now, things have changed – for the better for the world, for the worse for him. Things that happen for a reason or so the world presumed…

Alone now, he trudged, remembering how he exhausted his vault of friends. How each one made their way towards new meaning and purview. He watched the links break one after the other, leaving him with nothing more than his own name as the one he could recall.

Abandoned, he skips past thoughts of his parents. “Bloke is a fucking lost cause”, they said. “Success just isn’t a word in his definitions to go by.” A stray now, nothing more but acidic memories of their faded kindness for shelter.

He takes a few more steps before fate trips him to the ground where he was destined to be. Another wound on his knee, just another day, another pointless milestone to his life. Still exhaling the alcohol embossed inside him over the last few years – recluse helps him up in order to continue their hollowness.

A girl in his life no more – she left him for more riches, more conversation and more worldly pleasures which presented bouts of momentary happiness. He hadn’t seen anyone more beautiful than her, he never will but he will never see the same happiness that he saw with her either – an addiction to which the withdrawal had no cure. He couldn’t move on, yet he moved on.

No occupation, no purpose. Nothing more than a name to himself, his overused syringe, wounds clotted over and tourettes of soliloquy. The flashing neon sign seemed to blind him invitingly and he walked into his favorite bar. His confession box.

He scattered what remained of his scavenge for the day which he had saved up to buy a length of rope just enough for his deliverance. The bartender counts the nickels patiently and pours him the fair measure. As the glass slid towards his bandaged palm, an inconsiderable bit of the good whiskey splashed out upon the table. He picks up the glass unsteadily and takes a good look at the measure which seemed yards away from the brim. Disappointed with the pour just as much as life, he takes a long breath, sighs and says to himself, “Well… at least it’s half-full…”.

 

Backtracking

So I took a train. Not the first time of course but took one alone after forever. (Sigh, for some reason the first thing I noticed in that sentence is “forever alone” fml )

Overnight train journeys have this thing about them that warp you in a completely new zone altogether. You have faces you are forced too see no matter how ugly, you have people’s voices to hear no matter how incomprehensible and of course, the fucking loud tear banks which should be killed with fire – kids.

Anywho, with 24 hours to kill and a 1000 kilometers to cover, I was off to Mumbai last weekend to satisfy my own whims and fancies. I normally love train journeys, mostly cause I get to judge people sadistically & admire, all along the way, from the window, the beauty that cities lack but three things that made this journey worse:

• I was sleep deprived. I hadn’t slept the entire night before.
• My iPod battery was low and I had forgotten to charge it.
• I got the upper berth.

I shrugged and dragged my suitcase in with me to serve my sentence anyway knowing it would end soon. I rolled the suitcase in and neatly reverse parked it under the seat before me. Tossed my backpack onto my berth, patiently but not so intently awaiting my co-passengers. 

I noticed a happy bunch of Gujarati people, probably representing half of Vile Parle, a family of 7 take an entire compartment hostage. It didn’t take them very long to relieve all their airbags, fit the stereotype travelling gujju family and make the compartment look like this in a matter of minutes:

Believe me, 24 hours was more than sufficient for them to run out of stock too. Let us now observe 2 minutes silence for the toilets they payed a visit to.

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Enter co-passengers: A Gujarati couple who occupied the side upper and lower berths and a weird Telugu dude who was obviously travelling RAC because you could see his pupils go all heart shaped when he noticed the berth was still empty.

Before he could even buy her dinner and before the berth could even give him its consent, he gagged it and…

The Gujarati couple were tolerable. Mostly because they kept to themselves and bitched about everyone in the train (including some boy with green eyes who apparently looks like he sells ganja). The man tried to be as protective as he could about his wife but alas, his gadget got the better off him and his priorities shifted to “not – giving – fuck”. The wife, who obviously had a farsan ki dukaan with her too, attacked her haul, cheating on her husband and diet while seducing obesity.

About a couple of hours later, they moved to their respective berths and drew the curtains. We shall never discuss or ponder upon what went on there for the next 24 whole hours.

 

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I scurried up to my berth and lost myself in a series of South Park episodes, trying to kill as many minutes as possible before hitting my hometown. Headphones locked on my face, I tried to block all the “eh chaaya chaaya chaaya” (whoever she is) and the “kuffeee kuffee kuffee…. bishleri waatar bishleri waatar…. breakfasht breakfasht” etc. Phonetics ki satyanash bhenchod.

It is interesting to watch all these people but the fascination runs dry soon once you’ve been in there for too long.

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A couple of hours down after catching 30 winks post a good South Park session, I decided to get off my perch and go down (tee hee ‘go down’) to my seat. The Telugu berth abductor – wow that sounds SO wrong, has now been replaced by the most awkward looking Tamil family ever. The dad and the children all seemed to look EXACTLY the same. These folks were heading to Kalyan (no surprise there) and as usual, I alphabetically placed them in the library of stereotypes in my mind.

Here’s what the family looked like to me:

OK, probably that was pushing it but you know what I mean. The dude married and procreated himself.

When I stepped off my berth and took a seat before them, the father, who didn’t seem to know Hindi, uttered just one word – ‘neend’, with a horrendous grin that could shake the very virginity out of you forcefully.

I shimmied a little behind, further away from the edge of my seat, trying to reassure myself that I wouldn’t be subjected to activities that would make me wake up to look like him somehow the next morning.

But the dude turned out to be nice. He didn’t realize I was a tamilian too & understood every word he said and I decided to keep that facade throughout. It helps to know what the other person speaks about you in their own language and what pleasure they get of the same.

Apparently, while talking to his kids, he pictured me as some boy who must have moved from Mumbai to Chennai and probably now works for some large IT firm, wondering where his college life suddenly took off. We’re all stereotypes at the end of the day.

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The chai waalas took more rounds than the train security did and made sure that your journey wasn’t complete without downing at least 3 of those mismeasured cups before you see the break of day. I sipped my tea and looked out the window to admire the day’s performer, Mother Nature.

What a view bhenchod. Thank you Indian Railways.

The point is, the pointless endeavour of watching reruns of the same trees and fields go past for hours together never seemed to be a waste. Each passing tree would make me eagerly wait for the next one. Each field did alike. Each electricity tower, united with the others through their cables that they held on together with seeded way too many deep thoughts that my mind could nurture.

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Come nightfall, (LOL always wanted to use those words together), everyone begins to unwrap their prized dinner. The ones that their wives/mothers packed for them with the sheer thought that train food was only good for dogs. 

The worst part of travelling in any enclosed air conditioned space from Tamil Nadu is that there’ll always be at least one family carrying Thaiir Saadham and Oorga (Curd Rice and Pickle), which was made the previous day or early that morning. The smell of this duet will circulate through the air conditioning, throughout the compartment before comfortably taking a seat inside your nose for the rest of eternity.

The best thing you can do here is wipe the sweatiest part of your body and keep smelling your fingers… it’ll smell better.

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Train journeys will always give you something to write about. They’re inspirations that you can sit inside and journey with. The next time you manage to win the war against IRCTC and earn yourself a ticket, make sure you look at the intricacies within the journey and you will find something worth remembering.

Remember folks:

• Judge harshly
• Make friends with Gujarati Sneks waala families.
• Put on your scariest and most disgruntled uncle/aunty face to make sure kids don’t venture into your territory.

Here’s wishing happy journey for all your future train rides and all the very best dealing with the curd rice.

 

Misconceptions and Men.

Getaway

Everybody needs a getaway – Businessmen, students, researchers and burglars alike.

Sometimes you just have to put down whatever you are doing, shove all your shit into that nearby drawer, pick up your stuff and leave. Leave like you aren’t coming back for a while or thinking about tomorrow. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You might need a few essentials: Food, Water, Clean underwear, Shorts,  Your lucky whatever and your sense of breaking free.

 

There are five kinds of getaways IMO:

1. Birds of a feather
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The kind where you get your closest peeps, usually friends more than family because let’s face it, there are a lot of things that are common between what your friends get to see and what your parents see but your friends will always have the pleasure of the beyond.

Your essentials: Camera, Your sense of humor, Your inner child, Your sack of puns to create the most epic jokes which could make ears bleed and which your friends secretly appreciate despite their twisting faces.

Click pics, especially when you aren’t supposed to and when you aren’t in your senses.

 

2. The Tribe

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This is the quieter and more sober version of your getaway with friends because in the end, your family is a group of friends with whom you’d probably hang out in a more calm, civilized, wouldn’t get the cops involved and of course, have a difference sense of pleasure out of it.

Your essentials: A book and a mental preparation for the absence of a *lot* of things.

It’s a kind of getaway I don’t like but I don’t hate it either. However, it is much needed and I find it cleansing. 

 

3. The love birds

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Like I have to explain this one, jeez. Half of you are already thinking about it and the other half is reminiscing.

Coming up with the place is the hardest part after that you’re good to go. 

You’re probably gonna want to take your camera and maybe your handy-cam if you’re into that kind of stuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your essentials: A pocketful of lies for your parents, cheesy lines for him/her, quick decision making… and your pick of protection. Lots of it.

 4. Wisdom

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Do something you normally wouldn’t do. 
Read something you normally wouldn’t read.
Fake love to someone you normally wouldn’t fake love to.

You witness two major things here:

– You learn a lot of new things.
– You make a lot of mistakes which lead you back to the first point above.

Your essentials: An interest in the unknown and a hunger to learn… and more protection.

 

5. Lone Wanderer

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This is a functional getaway and the most effective one too. It could be a little complicated and the course of this could be a little hard to accept at first. 

More than a getaway, it’s a learning experience. You pick up so many things you never saw before, never experienced before, never heard of before or something that just never caught your green eye but was always before you.
I wouldn’t recommend this to the faint. You need to accept it with a particular mindset which I cannot explain though, if you are the type for it, you would have already figured out exactly what I’m talking about even before this paragraph is done.

Your essentials: Amnesia of the past, a valve for the present and a no entry pass for the thoughts of the future. Plenty of fuel and no direction.

 

Now get out.

 

That Dingy Little Street.

It was one of those weekend mornings where I’d wake up without a hangover. No vices had followed the previous night, no vices to follow the same or following day. Quite a quiet cloudy day with nothing more than the taste of coffee in my mouth and brand name on my jersey. I’m heading to my uncle’s place, eyelids still sewed together and struggling to loosen up but I’m managing to navigate just fine.

Heading down this curious street – Nothing very special about this street in particular; it’s just another pathway to lives of many who live in this neighborhood. No fame, no jazz. An old lady looks at me from the corner of the street. Aged face and yet hidden signs of fatigue. She’s happy. Squatting next to a giant green can of water filled to the brim, she calls out to me “Tambi!” which means younger brother in Tamil –  term most generously used by the folk.

I walk up to her. Her smile had a yearning for benevolence. She requests me to help her carry that green water can from the corner of the street where she was sitting to an adjacent street probably about a conversation far. I glanced, I thought, I yielded.

As I raised that water can placing one palm below it and grabbing the rim with the other, I had a number of spectators with judgmental eyes. I didn’t care. I departed.

The old lady was quiet. She didn’t make a sound. As we walked all she did was quietly follow me. She felt she was asking for too much though at heart I knew she deserved more. She merely pointed out to her house which was much smaller than the word ‘hut’ too.

I cursed at the balance of life.

She has probably been doing this for years now. Trudging the same path with the same green water can, every single day, maybe more than once a day and returning with the same green water can. But today, the way she sat next to that water can with withered lips and an attempt to put on a face of humility, trying to accept her failure in the daily rigor, I could tell her time was coming.

The gratefulness plastered on her face with a teared set of eyes and a smile of gratitude was more brighter than anything that could pierce through the gloom of this cloudy day. I felt blessed. I felt worthy. I felt of use.

I know for a fact that I would never forget that smile she gifted me when our journey was complete.

The littlest things like these go a long way. They keep you pure and give you a sense of bliss that you could otherwise never find or buy.  As for that dingy little street, it wouldn’t be so ordinary for me anymore.

One of the many streets of Chennai.

Weekends

One thing’s for sure, if weekends didn’t exist, the world would be a very very different place. Working class people would be kissing me in agreement right now. College kids, please gtfo, you gaiz lead a life and have little say in this.

I’ve just had a very hectic week. Had presentations to give, solutions to devise, schemes to plot and women to check out and boy am I glad I earned this three day weekend. It’s a chunk of meat in the middle of a lifelong fast.

You slog your ass off throughout the week and you have something to look forward to i.e. Saturdays and Sundays. For some, only Sundays but that’s good cause they savor the weekend better than those whore I mean who’re blessed with two day weekends.

Another thing about weekends is, at least for most people, we always tend to make sure we have something to talk about over the course of the week with our coworkers and friends which is why weekends usually end up being really crazy.
Even if it’s something as small as setting a high score on your video game or scoring a really hot chick or guy or both( if that’s the way you swing), we tend to make sure that’s the highlight of the week and it kinda motivates us to move on with life over the next week i.e. until something crazy happens in the weekend that is to follow.

However, the worst part about weekends is that it has the word ‘end’ in it. All good things come to an end. Happiness is short-bound but there is a strange satisfaction in beginning each week groaning and moping about how shitty Mondays are and how life seems never ending when you like at the long stretch of days till you hit Friday. It has balance. Appreciate it.

I’m sitting here in front of my laptop in the middle of a Saturday afternoon because I enjoy this. It takes my mind off the shit that I faced over the last one week. It also takes my mind off caring about the week that is coming up. I’m amidst the tempting evils of procrastination, sloth and pleasure and couldn’t give two shits about life because I know this is well deserved. I’m just gonna do my thing. This is exactly how your weekends should be too. 

Cool guy signing out.

12 Random Pictures From 2012.

Looks like the year that was supposed to end humanity ended up as a bigger failure than the Metallica gig in Gurgaon.

Anyway, here are some random yet unforgettable pictures from 2012 which I happened to find on my phone. Some are scandalous, some are pretty and some will scar you for life – either ways it’s purely for the fun of it.

Pictures of some of my closest peeps are here and If I offend you in any way, I’m not sorry at all. In fact, OFFENCE(cause saying “no offence” is too mainstream lately). *shimmies backwards in swag*

Let’s(<—– note the difference between ‘lets’ and ‘let’s’ you grammatically challenged douche bags) begin with the pic that got me laughing so hard that I almost spilled my beer which I was illegally drinking on the road in public in Bandra.

1. Morning Glory

This is not an illusion, this is the ACTUAL name of a building in Bandra, Mumbai. The architect was probably at the peak of innocence when he decided to name the building after what makes a man feel hard waking up in the morning(<— pun here, get it get it? Now go ahead and say cheeeeeee).

I salute you dude. How many people have the balls to troll a hundred people who were looking for a high value property to live in, in a prime area of Mumbai and quietly name the building Morning Glory. I mean I would love to tell the whole world I live in Morning Glory. Sounds so manly.

#fail

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2. A Homely Red Light District

• This was the one element of Paranormal Activity which could possibly have made the movie scary.
• This is that one light bulb shade your parents always warned you about.
• This is the mind of a rapist when he has a bright ‘idea’.

No seriously, how many of you guys would actually use this as a night lamp in your room. I will admit, this was clicked in my house and thankfully it doesn’t exist anymore because I wasn’t planning on summoning satan anytime soon – why would I want him to exit my body in the first place?
Don’t stare at it for too long, lest you feel your soul escaping…

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3. Go Home Jesuwin, You’re drunk

This is one of those don’t ask, don’t tell scenarios. We just gently observe this ecstatic creature from a safe distance as it performs it’s mating call(<— how many of you’ll noticed the misuse of “it’s” here, huh? huh? IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ‘ITS’ YOU GRAMMATICALLY CHALLENGED DOUCHE BAGS :))

No but seriously, even the dude wit the kid standing behind staring at Mr. Jesuwin Thilak here is mesmerized and in a trance amd what seems to be like he’s slowly lifting his shirt. Don’t look now mota but I think your mating call just BACK-fired.(hahahahahha best pun of the year!! No? Ok).

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4. Ignorance Is Bliss

Happiest little cutie ever! Her name is Chelsea. I managed to get her on top of the parapet along the stairs of the food court in my university. You can see the explosion of happiness in her tail which couldn’t stop moving cause she probably had a sense of achievement for making it all the way up there.

Bitches love the top of the world feelin’.

Little did Miss Chelsea know that there were two security guards heading right her way armed with dangerous whistles that could potentially deafen every living organism for miles. OHMAIGAWD.

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5. Big Things Come In Small Packages (ewww)

Meet Tito, Tittles, Titilesh, Tits, Thathagatha, Thagadathatha, Thaitakataka, Thatha Ghosh.

Tito is small. Just like the word ‘Tito’.

Tito is always a hit among the ladies(don’t deny it yo ;)) Tito also likes to have awkward plate tectonics on his pants when secretly smiling at something on his blackberry.

We still love Tito ^_^ Also, Bagchi’s size 5 shoes is bigger than Tito’s face. Yes.

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6. A Wild Bagchi Appeared.

A wild bagchi appeared. It used fart.

Bagchi likes to drive around on Tito’s Harley. What a gangsta. No mudguard and shiz. Pro fellow.

Note: Bagchi also likes to make the ACP Pradyuman fuck-face :D MUST-MAKE-THIS-AN-EMOTICON-FOR-WHATSAPP!

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7. True Colours

Don’t laugh. We’ve all done this before… Haven’t we? HAVEN’T WE?

The whole weight of Mr. Rastogi’s inner desires are hanging on his shoulder ^_^
Look around the pic bro, no one is surprised :D

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8. Ramesh And Suresh – The First.

SO MANY QUESTIONS! SO MANY CAPTIONS!!

• That awkward moment when…
• Two referees walked into a bar…
• Two fatties got run over by a truck… They survived with just tire marks.
• Big, smaller, smallest…
• Their last combined step put those symmetric cracks on the footpath…

Anyway, meet Aravindh and Aditya. Happiest fuckers and mosh managers of VIT. :D

Sure we all coordinate clothes and never admit. Sure it’s always a ‘coincidence’.

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9. Doggie Tantrums

How often do you get to see a dog throw tantrums? Even better, how often do you get to capture a pic of a dog throwing tantrums?

Meet Monga Iyengaar (Yes, my blood brother). Monga is fat and lazy. He refuses to go down for a walk. Monga chooses to walk around the house because he thinks it’s the logical thing to do.

Monga also has a sense of suspicion which is very apparent on his face. Friggin poser. And they say dogs are trusting…

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10. Monkey Business

Here we have our forefather taking a nice nap on my friend Denver’s car (Sorry Shashank :P).

Even Animal Planet can’t capture stuff like this. Only in Mumbai will you get to see such exotic wildlife and animal behavior.

Clearly he passed out after the Christmas Eve party. Just. Like. Me.

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11. Sunset and its undying beauty

This is a picture of dusk captured at Juhu Beach in Mumbai. Clearly everyone was just awe-struck by nature’s beauty.

Not a soul caring about their priorities for those few moments when the sun was slowly fading away and falling to envelope the sky gently with darkness.

Except for that one guy squatting on the left side of the picture – he was stubbing his cigarette out…

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12. Good evening, ladiesssss….

I just HAD to cheat here and put up a pic from 2013. Nothing and I mean nothing can beat this.

Even Russell Brand’s bare ass cannot be as dashing as this sexually overflowing beast here.

If you do see this guy, call the cops… and probably homeland security – just to be safe.

Clearly, he makes things REALLY wet.

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I love the guys in the blog pics here showed little to no support and much of their hesitation when their pics were being taken – some of whom weren’t even aware :D

No dogs, monkeys or bears were hurt in the making of this blog post. All pics were clicked by me.

Follow me on instagram – scaryhairyman.

A Picture-less Post

If you happen to be a junkie for pictures and memes on a blog post, probably cause I got you accustomed to it, then get the hell off this page now cause their ain’t gonna be any.

There is absolutely no point to this post and there probably won’t be. I’m just gonna highlight certain events of recent past just because I need to fill this white space that WordPress has provided me with. A lot of you guys have been taking cues from my blog and writing style and doing the same & all I wanna say is…
I LOVE YOU’LL CAUSE IMITATION IS THE GREATEST FORM OF FLATTERY. ^_^

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Have you ever had so much time on your hands that you didn’t know what to do with it, even though the options are myriad? Well this is one of those moments for me. I could have  been spending this time watching a movie, or eating, or talking to my girlfriend, or eating, or playing the guitar, or eating, or drinking with a couple of buddies of mine, or eating, or eating, or eating, or eating…
Well I chose to blog. *reaches out to the packet of lays*

Has anyone realized how mobile phones slow down your life more than speeding it up? Especially smart phones of late. People are on their way, minding their own business when suddenly they stop to WhatsApp or Tweet or check that notification. 
Now it roughly takes about 30 seconds to reply to each individual notification. Assuming you’re getting only one notification at a time, you probably wasted 30 seconds of your life there(assuming the fact that the notification wasn’t really productive) and then continued heading wherever you were going or whatever you’re doing. On an average, this probably happens about 200 times a day. Now 200 times 30 would be exactly 6000 seconds, which is 100 minutes lost. 100 minutes lost is almost an hour and a half.

• That’s almost the length of an average mid-budget hollywood movie
• That’s 75% of the average time you would spend in the jam room practicing productively.
• That’s an average MBA lecture when the Professor, like always, overshoots their stipulated time, takes attendance after the next faculty comes to the class and waits their turn to bore us to oblivion. 
• That’s about 18% of productivity lost on a normal 8 hour working day at the office.
• That’s the amount of time I take for one blog post.

 And this is assuming you just get ONE notification at a time. 

Now picture hardcore BBM and WhatsApp users. Enough said.

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Clearly I’ve been watching way too much VSauce. Fucking youtube. I’m spending way too much time watching that shit.

Anyway…
This is the reason why I took off all notifications for WhatsApp, Facebook, Twitter etc etc on my phone so that I can check at my own leisure. I’d rather finish what I was doing first and then look at my phone. Learn people, learn.

Another thing of note these past two weeks is I have two new pets: A squirrel and a lizard.
A lot of people don’t find the latter one socially acceptable and brand it creepy. I think otherwise and find it absolutely fine. In fact, I don’t have any insects in my room anymore.

My squirrel is called Squaids. I owe that to Ray William Johnson who brought the concept of Squirrel Aids to light.
My lizard is called Eliza. She’s nice. And slimy. And calls out to me often. We converse a lot. She usually responds in clicks and I smile at her sarcasm. 

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My university has been empty of late. Probably cause my course’s academic year has been stretched out into what was supposed to be my winter break. I like this though. The streets are empty, the elevators are always available, the food is almost too perfect, the coffee at the Nescafe joints are just right, the music room is now under my custody and of course, peace and quiet.

This is bliss, perfection and much needed breathing space. Even if it is in the middle of my exams. The best part of exam time is you have plenty of breaks and all you have to go to college for is a couple of hours of quiet observation and notes taking – at least that’s how I see my exams. As long as you pass, you have a nice mini vacation to do whatever you fancy and kill time.

Did any of you guys notice I switched to curly lines instead of straight ones the last time in this blog post? Of course you didn’t.

PAY ATTENTION TO THE DETAILS PEOPLE. They go a long way. You gotta read life between the lines. I even switched both the ‘e’s in the word ‘between’ and you people didn’t notice it. Sheesh.

I gotta go eat now. Bye.

Morning would…

Hey,

If you are a guy, read the title and didn’t get the pun, then I suggest you go back in time and hit puberty all over again. After all, waking up is the second hardest thing in the morning for most men.

OK, that dirty joke was sort of uncalled for or unnecessary but I know you laughed/smiled/grinned anyway :D

Today I’m gonna begin a series of rants about mornings. Yes, mornings. The oh so dreaded, feared, annoya-effin time of the day which totally makes your eyes go all chinese-y. Fine, so that racist note was unnecessary too but hey, SUE ME!

SHIT I FORGOT HOW TO ADD PICS TO THIS THINGI… HOLD ON… ONE SEC…

There we go…

Yes, that’s what happens when you haven’t blogged in a while and I mean a WHILE. It’s been forever.
Today’s blog post isn’t gonna be my typical life-y, life-y, philosophical riff raff that I usually put up on my page just so that I can ease out your lives… No… Today is all about ranting. I’m gonna achieve what every other individual on twitter tries to achieve if they suck ass at making funny statements or even remotely racist/sexist/educational jokes. (Educational? Dafuq was that?).

And what better time to do this than on a monday morning when the sun is out laughing on our effin faces through the hazy clouds and making us more drowsier than a dozen sleeping pills ever would.

Look at Garfield here————————————————————>

That is SO everyone on Monday mornings. Why can’t they just start late?

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I tried to wake up at 6:30am this morning. For this extremely tedious procedure I have to set at least 8 alarms, despite the fact that I slept early the previous night. A total of three wake up calls: one from Mumbai, one from Bangalore and one from college itself and 5 alarms evenly distributed on both my cellphones.
I used to be this dude who would get up at the slightest of pitter patters but times are changing. I sleep through EVERYTHING now, dropped dead. Now I try to wake up at 6:30am, the next thing I know it’s 7:40am and I’m running for my 8 o clock lecture.

Monday mornings are never eventful. A strategy management class first thing in the morning (Trust me, that’s NOT helping at all) followed by a teasing 3 hour break of doing absofuckinglutely NOTHING till 12pm after which I have my next lecture. I can’t even skip the first lecture for fear of losing major attendance points and getting debarred from writing my papers.

And Sunday was created as the day of rest which was perfect and all but I think god messed up when he created Monday right after that.

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The trippiest part about this morning was when I walked into my mess for breakfast, I noticed this guy wearing a “Risk Floyd” tee shirt which was supposed to be Pink Floyd.
Bro, I hope you don’t take Floyd to The Dark Side Of The Moon, lest you get AIDS.

So yeah, at this rate I’m just gonna end up being a nightcrawler and probably a pimp cause I am NOT AT ALL productive during mornings. I need to get past that phase of the day somehow stealthily cause that’s the only way there’s gonna be some cheer around here.

You say morning, I say fuck you. You say monday morning, I say fuck you. You say Bieber, I kill you with a pickaxe through your face.

I’m gonna leave this rant now, you are free to share your thoughts with me if you feel the same way or not about mornings, in the comments section.

I’m just gonna leave it at this:

Morning and mourning are pretty much the same in meaning. It’s just that the ‘u’ is silent in the former.

For all you other morning enthusiasts and people who wake up in the morning just for the heck of it or to work out and other excuses, THIS IS YOU: