Monthly Archives: April 2009

Hair and Now

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Bald as the bare mountain tops are bald, with a baldness full of grandeur.
- Matthew Arnold

This one is straight from the horse’s mouth. Though it is certainly not that I can be called a horse by any stretch of imagination; what I mean to say is that my account on hair loss can be blindly trusted as coming from someone who has seen it all and silently…well…er……endured it all. If you too are a healthy young (youngish/slightly older than youngish/frankly not so young) male and appear to be confounded by the inexplicable disappearance of fuzz from your scalp, blame it on the tRIO of genes, germs and geology.

Science has finally (yes, finally) succeeded in unearthing the bizarre truth behind hair loss. According to the tested and testified testaments published in scientific testimonials, “Thou shalt lose it, if thy genes carry the code for ‘androgenic alopecia’ or male pattern baldness (MPB)”. Its the extra testosterone in your blood and you really can’t help it. Rather a lousy dilemma – isn’t it? I mean, look at it this way – you don’t know whether to be exuberantly happy or silently gloomy about it! And God forbid if you’ve got dandruff; you will find yourself losing your ‘cover’ in double quick time! Lastly, the dihydrogen monoxide which you use for your ceremonious ablutions every morning may contain certain toxic impurities which your scalp may not find entirely appetising.

The reasons for hair loss is a subject that no two doctors, scientists, quacks or clinics seem to be able to agree on; everyone seems to have his or her own pompous opinion on the subject. The moot question, however, remains unanswered. Can hair loss be stopped? Particularly ‘androgenic alopecia’? Male Pattern Baldness to be precise. The consensus, based on current medical findings, is – no. If your mane is destined to leave you, it will. Yet, the mesmerizing variety of hair loss prevention therapies range from the incredible to the ‘down’right bizarre. It’s actually a multi-million dollar industry, doling out third rate strategies by the dozen for fleecing the poor hapless neobalds. Google returns a whopping 52000000 results for ‘bald’ in 0.05 seconds flat with nearly each website enticingly dangling its own hairy carrot! . None of the following remedies offer anything but purely temporary hope.

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1. Spreads and sprays: Didn’t your padosi aunty suggest you dip yourselves head-on in a gooey batter of eggs, besan (flour), nimboo (lemon) juice and tulsi leaves paste purely as an effective ghare-loo (domestic) measure? You won’t taste bad either if deep fried properly. People have gone to the extent of suggesting smearing cowdung and rinsing hair with cow urine (see pic)

2. Shampoos: I was once prescribed a COAL TAR shampoo by a bald dermatologist. One application nearly removed 30% of my remaining hair.

3. Medical therapies: Propecia, Minoxidil, Avodart, Revivogen (all trade names) are a few of the ‘promising’ (of course, they promise to drill holes in your pocket) therapies that have been empirically tried in MPB. The catch, however lies in their disclaimers: Results will not be achieved in days and probably not even in weeks, usually it  takes about three to six months for any (slight) improvement to be (barely) noticed but no two people will achieve the same results, what works for one may not work for another. Great! Moreover, each drug has its own side effects, and the result of tinkering with one’s hormones may not always be pleasant or predictable.

4. Vitamins & Superfoods: Poor Popeye! He couldn’t grow a single new hair on his pate even after munching tons of spinach. So do not expect much from a mushy concoction of chlorella, spirulina, micro-algae extracts, astaxanthin, broccoli sprouts, beans, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, blackberries, seaweeds like wakame, arame, hiziki and vitamins like ascorbates, cobalamins, tocopherols etc. etc. And yes…May Almighty God save your guts, spare your digestion and replenish your poor pockets!!

5. Lasercombs: The lasercomb is the first take-home version of the rather expensive cosmetic laser devices found in salons all over the world. Individual treatments are very expensive and are usually only for the very wealthy. The Lasercomb is FDA approved as a cosmetic device for thickening the appearance of hair, and is currently undergoing testing as a bonafide hair growth stimulant. Once approved, it will hit the market for astronomical prices. Try it if you are Brunei’s Sultan!

6. Hair growing robots: During a 30-minute operation, these robots would pluck hair follicles from pre mapped areas in the back of the neck, then grow these follicles in culture until they number in the thousands. Then these robots would inject the follicles under the skin where the hair needs to grow back. Seems straight out of a sci-fi movie. But you never know if the robots might develop any snag midway. Technically speaking, a faulty robot may fail to limit its attention at the back of the neck, and attempt to pluck hair from wherever it may appear to be growing in abundance.

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There are bound to be other ingenious ways of preventing hair loss. Try them if you wish to. NO RESULTS GUARANTEED

Oral Orgies

Posted on by Rofl Indian

The butterfly in your stomach starts to wiggle…slowly at first, and then with rustic vigour. The night of reckoning is here. You have been waiting for this blissful moment all these months, preparing mentally, blushing perhaps a shade at the subtle innuendoes, and now, as the moment approaches, you want to savour every second of it…in eager anticipation of the delightful pleasures that await you beyond those red embroidered curtains.

The ambience is just perfect. Dimly lit, warm enough to loosen your inhibitions and let your enzymes gush, yet with a hint of chill to restrain your hormones from going all out. This is February. Cupid’s month. You look at her; the gaze has a mischievous shyness. Are you acting coy? Maybe. You are surprised at her bold smile, and take it as a sign of permissiveness for all the naughty indulgences that you have in your mind. You inhale deeply. Her perfumes make you wild. Blue Lady? There is another scent, strong, sharp, coming from somewhere deep within. It fills your nostrils and seethes into every tissue of your body. You go wild. Sniff it out like a Labrador in heat. Feel like braying out loudly and happily. Only if God had made you a donkey. Like the one in Shrek! Suddenly, reality strikes. You shrug and take control of yourself before it goes out of hand. Literally. These pleasures are to be enjoyed slowly, not ravished gluttonously like an ape.

The moment arrives. All pretensions are over. You have got what you had dreamed of all along. And asked for. Providence has been generous with you. “Wait until I tell my colleagues about this…the buggers will die of jealousy”, you tell yourself, smiling secretly. A night out with your beautiful partner. Heavenly. You like what you see. Its there for the taking. Your juices run amok. Your gaze is fixed on the treasures lying before you. Such perfect roundness? Such warm and succulent flesh? You close your eyes and take one in your mouth. The aroma enters your bloodstream, giving you an electrifying feeling. She is smiling. Tender love. Wants to give you all the pleasures in life. That’s why she is here. Enjoying your company. You take another in your mouth. Next its her turn. Let her enjoy too.

You run your finger on the soft curves. You twiddle and tease the inaccessible places with your fingertips. The resistance dissolves, slowly, gradually. You then lick your warm and soaked fingers….ummmmm….delightful. Your mouth is having a field day. So is hers. Now its time to move to more serious stuff. Put your muscles into some real action. In – out. Out – in. Then in and out again.

It goes on for next half hour or so. You are lost in each other, beyond words, making little grunts and noises every now and then. The world dissolves around you. Has anybody been watching? Two hoots. You feel like exploding soon. Every nerve in your body is twitching with pleasure. Its almost the same with her, only her vocal responses have been somewhat muted. You have attained the pinnacle of pleasure. The evening has kept its promises.

It then comes….from deep within you. The Explosion. Starts as a ripple, which engulfs your entire body in no time. You almost shake with the violent force of it. Every muscle of your body aches – first with pleasure…then with agony! It hits you initially as a long, and inexorable catharsis, then continues as wave after wave of multiple short bursts….

BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPP…….
BURRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRP….
BURRRRRRRRP……  BURRRRRP………  BURRRP….
BURRRRRRRRRRRP…

Heavenly MURGASM… or rather MURG-HAZAM
(Murgasm / Murg-hazam: Resounding burp released after gorging on a large helping of assorted non vegetarian foodstuff, but principally chicken © Rofl Indian)

You feel satiated. Drained of all strength. And go limp. You want to go to sleep…. She seems perplexed.

“Are you okay?”
“Told you a hundred times to avoid eating so much ….but you won’t listen to me”
“What was the need to order kababs, chicken fry and mutton korma together (frown)”…
“BaDi giye ENO kheye niyo” (Have ENO after reaching home)
“Shall I drive?”

You are actually beyond words…and only barely able to nod in agreement.

Epilogue

The description above recounts the true experience of the blogger at The Handi, one of Jaipur’s most famous restaurants (dim lighting, ethnic look, great ambience, great non veg food, affordable prices, frequented by foreigners). The fragrance that wafted down to the dining tables and hit the author’s nostrils was that of the tandoor, which caused a virtual riot of the digestive enzymes. ‘Perfect roundness’ alluded to Galouti Kebabs, a Lakhnawee delicacy, perfected by the chefs at Handi. ‘Soft curves’ referred to chicken legs, in case you thought otherwise. In – out, out – in referred to hand – mouth coordination associated with the act of eating and nothing else. The reader is advised to read the review again in light of the concluding revelations and clear his/her dirty misunderstandings…if any.

This was first posted elsewhere.

Can Chuck Norris Reverse Recession?

Posted on by Rofl Indian

‘Chuck Norris’ does seem to be a delightful theme to expound upon at length. More so, as there seems to be a general consensus among the readers as regards the abilities of the phenomenon in question. So, here are a few more of Chuck Norris Facts. I assure you that they are fresh from the oven and not pilfered from stacks of used Norribilia strewn around. And for those who would like to learn how and why the financial recession happened, here is a novel interpretation.

Now pay attention.

  • Chuck Norris never screws a lightbulb. The poor thing gets screwed on its own at the very thought of Chuck Norris.
  • During summers, Chuck Norris often dehydrates the Sun. Ray Ban sunglasses were invented just to protect the Sun from Chuck Norris’ glare.
  • Chuck Norris does suffer from a bit of intestinal gas. Or else, how would you explain the hurricanes that hit North America every now and then?
  • Chuck Norris loves to play chess with supercomputers on a chessboard with all black squares. Most supercomputers lose by the second move.
  • You must remember the name of Chuck Norris’ girlfriend. Its Chick Norris.
  • George Bush could never have dodged the shoe had Chuck Norris not wanted him to.
  • A 1000 megaton thermonuclear bomb quietly defuses by itself when it sees Chuck Norris approaching.
  • CIA used to be ‘Central Idiotic Agency’ until Chuck Norris taught them all about intelligence.
  • Chuck Norris’ favourite T shirt message is ‘Norris, No Gain’.
  • There is no such thing called stealth technology. All the B-2 Spirits and the F-22 Raptors have Chuck Norris’ name painted on them.
  • What does M.I.T. stand for? Its Massachusetts Institute of Chucknology.
  • Which came first..the chicken or the egg? Now, that’s a preposterous question! Obviously none. Chuck Norris came first.
  • Chuck Norris can sign his name on ice with his pee. That too with both his hands tied behind his back!
  • Only Chuck Norris can enjoy a Chuck Norris movie. All others just gape in utter reverence.
  • Chuck Norris walks his dog to the top of Mount Everest every morning. He usually comes again alone in the night to ski.
  • ICICI Bank offers Chuck Norris unlimited term-free home loans at 0% interest.
  • James Bond boasted of his No. 7 license until Chuck Norris put a couple of zeroes before him to show him his fitting place.
  • Which island did Chuck Norris create with his shit? Norritius.
  • On the offside, first there is Chuck Norris, and then there is God. There ain’t no Sourav Ganguly anywhere.
  • The bulls in Chuck Norris’ cattle ranch happily give milk whenever Chuck Norris approaches them with a pail.
  • Baby Chuck Norris wouldn’t have anything but whole pineapples and jackfruits in his custard pie.
  • In E=MC2, C is Chuck Norris Constant.
  • Do you know whats Chuck Norris’ favourite game? Its Chinese Chuckers.
  • And finally, Chuck Norris can reverse recession with just one swipe of his credit card down his butt. Just that no one has asked him till now!


chuck-norris-split-rock

Natural Born Kissers

Posted on by Rofl Indian

This post was written earlier and was originally published elsewhere. The issue may have lost a bit of the original relevance, yet the flavour is, perhaps, still preserved.

Keywords:

Philematology – The science of kissing

Emraan Hashmi – Professor of Philematology at the University of Kissachusetts

Bimbettes – A class of exceptionally talented babes who are in the course of evolving into Brilliant Bimbos, an exciting process which involves shedding of almost all outer coverings (clothes) except perhaps those which are…well, you know….

hasmi

I know who is he aiming this at...

Prologue: After much massaging of pure Engine brand mustard oil on the scalp, and after absent mindedly pulling off a few precious strands of hair, Rofl Indian has finally reached the incontrovertible conclusion that very few people on this earth are endowed with such auspicious charms as is the uncrowned snake charmer Prince charming of Bollywood – the one and only Emraan Haashmi. It has not failed RI’s keen observation that this ‘mother of all dudes’ has been spraying smooches with gay abandon, enthralling his heroines and audiences alike with his deadly drool. Ever since he flapped his wings merrily in unison with a maddeningly sexy Mallika  in Murder, Emraan Hashmi has been on a roll, rolling his eyes and his tongue inside and at a number of dermatologically exposed heroines until…

gere

Reverse Gere

….until the Emperor (Penguin) struck back. A nondescript horror of Hollywood, well past his prime, by the name of Rich Hard Gere whisked off our charming princess Shilpa (of Big Brotherly fame) right under our noses and plundered her pouting possessions in full public view. As Shilpa bent backwards to accommodate Gere’s libidinous lunge, the nation groaned in collective backache. Ouch! First the World Cup loss…then this! RI could not but break into poetry……(which he heard on some FM channel and which he is itching to share with you now)

Arz kiya hai….

Hey! Its not arse kiya hai….it is Arz kiya hai….

Arz kiya hai….gour farmaiye…

Ke hum haarey apni galti se, Auron me kya dum thaa…..

Aur Shilpa tujhe kisi Gair (Gere) ne kaise chooma, Apna Haashmi kya kum tha

So the nation commiserated with a crestfallen Hashmi. His loss was the nation’s loss. So disconsolate was he that according to reliable rumours, he stopped doing anything at all with his lips, let alone  allow any bimbette to tinker with his twangs, considering them as useless appendages that had lost their divine purpose. For someone with an enviable score of having smoochofied at least a dozen contemporary heroines, this was a terrible nightmare. Rofl Indian (who incidentally has failed until now to watch a single Emraan Hashmi movie for the full duration) did some research on the internet to arrive at a list of the many hoochie poochies kissed by Hashmi. ‘The Lustrous List’ includes such devastating divas as Mallika Sherawat (Murder), Dia Mirza (Tumsa Nahin Dekha), Udita Goswami (Zeher, Aksar), Tanushree Dutta (Aashiq Banaya Aapne, Chocolate), Kangana Ranaut (Gangster), and Celina Jaitley (Jawani Diwani). By the way, all of them dress very very economically, more so in these recession hit days. And more importantly, as all are endowed such lavishly with overflowing booty-tooties, that a mere glimpse sends the nation’s heart yodeling like an erratic ghanta-ghar (clock tower).

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Hoochie poochies with the booty tooties

Now, as RI is aware that the list of heroines is hopelessly incomplete, he urges the readers to update it so that ‘The List’ could be preserved for enlightening the posterity (carelessly translated, it might mean throwing light on the posterior, an undoubtedly offensive act). The potential candidates who could find their names in the list include Nisha Kothari, Geeta Basra, Hrishita Bhatt and Sonal Chauhan- new bimbettes on the block!

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New Bimbettes on the Block

RI’s next area of research focussed on the secrets behind Emraan’s awesome boyish charm. His suave looks reinforce the fact that man has indeed descended from a swarm of pouty lipped apes. His kiss engine is reputed to burn an astounding 260 calories per minute, which is 10 times the average value for mere mortals like us. And we thought he goes to the gym! He has avoided growing a moustache as he is aware that it’s illegal in Indiana for a moustached man to “habitually kiss human beings”. It’s another matter that he read India for Indiana. And though RI finds Emraan’s abhorrence of moustache a miserable indignity perpetrated upon males as a whole, it’s the compliance that is commendable. Also, he rarely falls ill or meets with accidents because of the simple fact that he is a prolific kisser, and hence a beneficiary of all the good effects of this quixotic act.  To quote an original research – According to German scientists, those who kiss their spouses each morning before leaving for work miss less work because of illness than those who do not. Those who kiss also drive less erratically, have fewer auto accidents on the way to work, earn 20-30 percent more per month and live approximately five years longer.

RI’s third area of research dealt with the records which Emraan should hope to smash in the days and years to come. With a charisma matching that of the legendary Imraan Khan (who used to swing his balls with chilling effect*) our man Hashmi should have at least one eye on the following:

Longest kiss – 29 hours. Peanuts for this Kissing King provided he gets the right bimbette with whom he can stick around and vibrate that long.

Longest underwater kiss – 2 minutes and 18 seconds. Sure Haashmi needs some practice in holding his breast breath first. A session with Raakhi Sawant is likely to do him a world of good. Raakhi, as RI  finds, can make men hold on to really anything, least of all their breaths.

Most kisses in a single movie – 127 in the movie “Don Juan” (1927). Mary Astor and Estelle Taylor got all of those kisses from John Barrymore. All we need is a fiercely enterprising producer, with a degree from the University of Kissachussettes.

Longest movie kiss – 3 minutes and 5 seconds between Jane Wyman and Regis Tommey in “You’re in the Army Now” (1941). What ho. Sheer nonsense. Our man can do it really long and hard. Just give the ol’ boy a fair chance!

RI, finally, made this startling discovery that kissing originated in our own backyard. First references to kissing have been recorded in our very own Vedic scriptures (1500 BC). By God. Our ancestors were hip! As TOI reports – “Forget the simple zero, it seems the sizzling smooch is actually Hindustan’s greatest contribution to the world!” So what Emraan Haashmi is doing is nothing but an immense effort to celebrate our illustrious past. RI, therefore, urges Haashmi to forget Shilpa Shetty’s indiscretion and wishes him a great smooching future.

Remember – A good kiss boosts your self esteem; a lousy kiss just boots it!

* The comment on Imran Khan has been inspired from Paresh Rawal’s comment in Chini Kum

‘Engilish’ Teachers, Their ‘Efluent Engilish’ & Sundry Coal Centres

Posted on by Rofl Indian

(That was a year ago)

An ‘ENGILISH’ teaching shop had opened uncomfortably close to where we live. Uncomfortably – because the students parked their bikes and scooties right in front of the gate of our group housing building, and all requests to spare the entrance had fallen on deaf ears.

I came to know about it when our liftman earned a gash over his right ear and came to me for the necessary patchwork. A little history-taking revealed that he had tried to prevent a few brawny ‘engilish’ students from intentionally damaging a frail little Yo bike belonging to the daughter of one of our neighbours.

The whole affair naturally made me curious enough to do some drwatsongiri on my own. So one fine morning I trudged down to the shop on the pretext of referring somebody who was keen on passing the TOEFL.  Located within the basement of a mall, the shop itself was a very lacklustre affair – a 12 X 25 ft partitioned cubicle, stuffed with undersized chair table sets having just enough wood to barely stick your butt upon, a fiber glass blackboard, a tired looking PC and a glassless almirah holding well thumbed versions of ageless Rapidex-type volumes. Stacked in the corner were pamphlets claiming to make their students proficint in engilish speaking in 90 hours flat. Noble intentions were writ large on the proprietor’s cheerful countenance – he wanted his pupils to pop in the engilsh pill and take on the big bad world a la Dharam Paaji style, and do everything in chaste angrezi, be it booking a merrij hole (marriage hall), purchajing and raping (wrapping) a gift for a garalfrend or mouthing chic expletives like seet (shit) and other four lettered words fluently like punctuations. It appeared to me that he too was a recent by-product of the flourishing English teaching industry, someone with keen business sense and quick to cash on the wave of Anglo-mania hitting this sleepy neo metropolis. As expected, the proprietor had no idea what TOEFL was, yet he was aggressively forthcoming in assuring every kind of help to whomsoever I referred to him. As a special consideration, he even offered to give a 10% discount on the course fee to my referrals.

He told me that his “ishtudents were moshtly from the Hindi medium bakeground, there were nurses end compounders who want to settal in Amrica, kollejers (Collegers?) heving littal computer no-lage but no English no-lage, ledij who want good merrij but not get good husbend becoj they don’t know english, boys end girls who want to chet on the internet but note knowing efluent English, girls wanting great future by joining air hoshtess course, peepal who want to epply fore English teacher post in schools, marketing peepal who want to epply in benk jobes, tourisht guides end aalso house wifes who want to increase their no-lage of world...”

And who would employ his students? Mosht of our ishtudents go to coal centres, benks, Kingfissure airlines……

Coal Centre? I remembered having passed Hariram Coal Centre by the Chandpole Bus Stand a number of times. But that was a dark and dingy place, and always had trucks either loading or dumping tonnes of coal…..why would Hariram Coal Centre need to employ English speaking graduates by the dozen, unless of course they planned to go global and acquire a few European coal centres on their own! Coal center..? I politely enquired….

Yes sir, big coal centres, Amrican coal centres…..I then realised he was talking about GE and Convergys. Sure they needed effluent English speaking graduates.

I had to come out, as the benches were being filled up by the first batch of the day, all brawns and beauties raring to sharpen their English speaking skills. Why? To gain that extra edge while appearing in interviews for ‘glorified’ jobs, that actually were abominable traps for the ‘educated’ unemployed. As I was leaving, the proprietor enquired what my profession was and if I was interested in joining the course myself. I thanked him and told him that I was a doctor, but had no intention of settling in Amrica. He flashed a big smile and pulled his T-shirt up to reveal his flabby lower abs– “When I waj twanty year old, I had oppen-ducks opreshan”

Appendix – I corrected him.

“Yes, yes…open-dicks opreshan”

I left quickly. I had no intention of discussing open dicks and closed dicks with him. However, I could not stop myself from reflecting on the career prospects of our youth from the Hindi medium background, who take their education as an ignominy and look for ways to redeem themselves by turning to such quickfix methods, and eventually end up on the sidelines of the Great Indian Career Market.

ONE YEAR LATER…


I had almost forgotten about him, so it came as a bit of a surprise when I ran into him again a few days back. Yeah, he was the same guy who was last seen selling ‘english’ to gullible job seekers and who even offered me a 10% commission for all referrals to his ‘engilsh classes’.

He had closed down his English classes this March, as by then, most of his pupils had probably figured out that they weren’t any better off either in the job or in the merrij market with their accents, and that none of the coal centres were willing to coal them even for an interview. Unconfirmed reports emanating from the chowkidaar of our building even suggested that one evening, just before our tutor was about to close for the day, a few of his students had accosted him, quietly pushed him back in the shop, closed the doors and then proceeded to pay him a rather hefty guru dakshina of the most gruesome kind (guru-some kind…eh?), the consequences being a black eye and a noticeable limp detected the next day which he attributed to a fall from the stairs at his home. By the next week, he had truly raped up his classes and was gone. Nothing was heard of him in the following months and it was assumed that he had headed for greener pastures among the teeming suburbs of the city, trying to sell his ideas to the innocent dreamers who looked to the skyline of the metropolis with bloated hopes and inflated aspirations.

But here he was now, right there in front of my eyes and looking every bit cheerful and chubby. Why, he’d even managed to add a few pounds to his paunch and looked quite satisfied with life in general.

He greeted me with a loudish “Hell-low doxaab!”

I returned his hell-low forthwith and said that I was quite pleased to see him. After the preliminary chit chat, I told him that his abrupt departure had robbed the neighbourhood of a truly visionary philanthropist. Sensing that I might start delving into the circumstances which led to his raping up the business suddenly, he changed the topic. But not before he told me that he had found the entire business of trying to teach English to a bunch of rascals a thankless one, and that he had given up on the idea after consulting the whole thing with his wife and his inner shelf (self).

So what was he upto now? It was difficult for me to suppose that he had entirely given up the teaching business. But, as he told me, he was successfully running a clothes store in the downtown, selling the usual stuff…readymadshirt-paints, bun-arsi sarees, bad-shits (both single and double) and sundry other woven merchandise. He had hooked up with a garment manufacturer who supplied him colourful hand printed badshits of the finest quality, or so he told me. “Very smooth and silky”, he had proffered to add.

I enquired if he ever thought of returning to the business of running English coaching classes. “No doxaab, no die-virgin now. I only concentrate on garment bijness.” He was talking about not succumbing to diversions. But suddenly I felt jealous of him. For the smooth and silky stuff he sold, God knows how many virgins he had dying for him!

His cellphone rang once. A missed call. He glanced at the number and immediately proceeded to take leave. “Doxaab I will go now. Misease calling.” I observed that his pronunciation of misease was remarkably similar to that of disease. I didn’t know however, if, he privately equated one with the other! Flashing a broad smile, he gave me his business card. “Next time you purchej badshit, come to my soap. I will give you metching pee-loo cover in 50% discount.”  He was gone before I could even thank him for the offer.

But he was polite enough to tell me where he was going. “To my son’s school doxaab. To attend parent teacher mating….”

Lucky guy!

Moral of the story
Proper market research is essential for succeeding in business. An unscheduled mating is a bonus ;-)

This was first posted elsewhere.


Lifeline

Posted on by Rofl Indian

This is a true story with names changed.

The time: 2.00 pm. Noor Jehan smiles wryly and waves to her relatives as she is being wheeled into the operation theatre on a trolley. She is covered with a spotless white sheet, with only her face exposed. Her brother bends down and plants a kiss on her forehead…. “behen…tu bilkul theek ho jayegi….uparwalla hai na”…..and seems to suppress a lump that has suddenly build up inside his throat. Her husband gently squeezes her arm lovingly as the trolley passes him. Noor Jahan looks around to have a glimpse of her only child Ameena…a daughter of three…..she is sleeping peacefully in her granny’s arms. Her parents are standing at a distance…..tears welling up within. Noor Jehan, their 25 year old daughter is scheduled to undergo a complex surgery for a dreaded disease called portal hypertension…untreated….she will die sooner or later of blood vomiting and other complications. If the surgery goes well…they usually do….Noor Jehan will have a fresh lease of life…and shall be back to doing her motherly chores within a months time. Noor Jehan continues to gaze at the lovely face of her daughter till the doors of the OT complex finally shut close.

As she is transferred to the OT table….Noor is apprehensive. What if I die? A terrible panic grips her. “Doctor”…she addresses the chief anaesthetist….. “mujhe darr lag raha hai….mujhe kuchh hoga to nahi?”  The anaesthetist pats her on the head “Daro nahi….aakhen band kar lo aur so jaao”. As drug after drug is pushed into her system….Noor begins to experience a peculiar lightheadedness….a sort of pleasurable feeling which seems to take away all her pains and miseries……she feels as if she is floating in air…..smiling faces of her brother, husband, mother, father all looking up to her….and her daughter…..who wakes up and softly calls out ‘Ammi…..’…. Noor desperately reaches out to touch her tiny fingers… too late. Noor is blacked out. Her respiration is taken over by a ventilator.

The surgical team (three surgeons – Chief and two associate surgeons) splits her open with clinical precision. Thick worm like blood vessels obstruct the course of incisions…one gets punctured in the process…a whooshing jet of crimson shoots out of Noor and lands on the tiled floor a few feet away…such is the pressure within them. The haemorrhage is quickly controlled….there is an uneasy calm in the OT…..just the blip…blip….blip…..of the multiple monitors attached to Noor and the monotonous low intensity whack….whoooosh….whack…..whoooosh of the ventilator. “Everything under control?” Chief enquires. “Right boss….ECG normal….urine output normal…..BP 107/74…..oxygen saturation 100….ABG normal….the intensivist reels off the relevant data…

Four hours have passed since the surgery began. Noor’s father, brother and husband offer the evening Namaaz outside the OT complex itself. Amina has meanwhile woken up and is busy observing how the nurses push injections into the patients…something she finds secretly amusing. She has already enquired thrice the whereabouts of her Ammi…and no one had answered her so far….Inside, the docs take a short break. Stretch…change their gloves…five minutes. The nursing supervisor in the OT offers a sip of water for all…the offer is universally declined…”Case ke baad…abhi theek hai”. The most crucial phase of the surgery begins. A thick vein from the spleen is about to be joined with a vein from the kidney. Everyone….except the Chief has to stand absolutely still for the next hour or so…holding the organs in suitable positions to facilitate the final anastomosis. The sutures that would sew the two veins together are thinner than human hair. There are hundreds of them. One wrong move… a small tangle….. a tiny knot…… an inadvertent slip or a jerky movement will ruin the surgery…everyone takes a deep breath and the suturing begins…..

8.00 PM – the surgery is over….the anastomosis has been picture perfect. Noor’s portal blood under extreme pressure is now finding a free run inside her circulation….it couldn’t have been done better…..some lighthearted banter is exchanged to ease off the tension as the recovery from anaesthesia gets underway…minutes later…Noor opens her eyes. “Theek ho…?” She slightly tilts her head to one side. All her parameters are normal. There is palpable relief all around. News seeps out somehow…..Noors brother and husband hug each other.

Noor comes out on the same trolley. She is extremely weak and dazed from the rigour of a long ordeal…still manages to nod her head …..Ameena is overjoyed to see her mother back…though she is unable to understand why everybody is weeping. Noor is taken to the ICU.      

8.30 PM – Noor complains of shivering…the intensivist glances up the monitors…everything fine….then suddenly the ECG gives an inexplicable jerk…Noor appears to shudder a little…and suddenly heaves her chest up in agony…her eyes literally bulge out and a gasp escapes her lips….Noor has suffered a massive cardiac arrest. The resuscitation team wastes no time to start CPR…blow after blow is given to kickstart her heart….the cardiologists rush in and institute DC cardioversion…one shock….then another…and another…all life saving injectables are exhausted…..there are another mad round after round of CPR…but all in vain…..the heart quivers….makes a last effort to break free of its shackles….then slumps into an occasional flicker only to die out gradually. Noor’s half closed eyes appear shocked at this queer quirk of cruel fate. Some time later….wails are heard outside the OT. The doc who broke the news slumps into a chair. Everyone in the ICU is numb, dumbfounded.

Noor is wheeled out. This time she is covered from head to toe in another spotless white sheet. Ameena cries out in joy….“Ammi aati…Ammi aati”

Life is uncertain. Live it. Love it.

Anger Control – The Ten Proven Remedies

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Anger is a cool emotion. A bit dangerous though if it gets out of hand. Haven’t you noticed how it gets many a thing done quickly which otherwise would have taken ages? Different people get angry over different reasons. There are as many responses too. If you are angry you may feel bitter and resentful, withdraw, sulk, get irritated or upset, become impatient, fret, fume, yell, raise your voice, make sarcastic comments, spew invectives, show your fist (or your finger), sometimes show all this very suggestively, get physical, put other people down and even end up on the wrong side of the law. So it’s important to discuss the commonest reasons which make simpletons like us angry and the possible remedies to avert a chair reaction at work or a thermonuclear (thermal reactions in a nuclear family) disaster. Here I have attempted to list the nine commonest causes of domestic rage; having left the 10th for you to fill.


angry-with-axe-2
Here we go.


Cause for anger #1. Your spouse asserts her authority yet again by occupying the toilet first thing in the morning, while you are left hopping around the house, farting noisily with undisguised agony. You suddenly remember the old adage “One who farts last, farts the loudest”.

Remedy – Get up early and finish off the job at hand. Literally.


Cause # 2. You are late and rush to the parking lot only to discover your neighbour’s car parked too close to yours, posteriors kissing, and you have to crawl in from the left side on your all fours. During the whole process of getting in, there comes an instant when only your b*tt sticks out from where your shoulder is supposed to be, and it is very embarrassing if someone chooses to slap your shoulder to say hello at that moment.

Remedy – Park your car in the corner, or park it sufficiently late. Else be prepared for a jovial slap on the posterity.


Cause # 3. You are in hurry and a 17th century quadruped (if a moped has two wheels, a quadruped should have four by that logic) ahead of you moves painfully slowly; and all your gesticulations and sophisticated finger signs are simply ignored.

Remedy – Forgive the idiot. Chant Hare Ram Hare Ram, Hare Krishna Hare Ram in remix mode.


rage1….gesticulations and sophisticated finger signs….


Cause # 4. Your first client of the day smells off booze, picks his nose repeatedly, scrutinises carefully whatever comes out and finally proceeds to take his shoes off under your table. Moments later a very unpleasant stink knocks the living daylights out of you.
Remedy – Become smarter. Let your colleagues handle the first few clients for a couple of hours in the morning while you brush up your knowledge of your boss’ current affairs over a cup of coffee with his pretty secretary.


Cause # 5. Your lousy muddleheaded shrew of a boss ticks you off for nothing, hands you way too much work for the day and trots off with his secretary for lunch at the Sheraton.

Remedy – Take it easy. Every dog has his day. Just wait for yours.


boss1


Cause # 6. India loses because of bad umpiring. Aussies remove our pants and make ribbons out of them. You lose a bet of Rs.500. Worse, your wife calls up and blasts you for forgetting to pay the school fees on time. You feel miserable, and then remember the Law of Conservation of Misery: Misery is never created or destroyed, just transferred.

Remedy – Don’t just sit there grumbling like a grumpy ape. Transfer the misery immediately. Summon your subordinates, make them stand in a line and whip their collective ass*s on some flimsy pretext like indiscipline and deadlines. Then watch with extreme satisfaction as they scamper about looking for targets for transferring their misery.


Cause # 7. At lunch, you find the same old glum looking baigan ka bharta staring at you sadly from the tiffin box. You steal a glance at your colleague and find him gorging on biryani and malai kofta. You suddenly start feeling like a benevolent cow, flooded with an urge to give some more milk to make some more of that malai for the kofta.

Remedy – Meditate. Transcend all those worldly barriers which make you discriminate between baigan and malai. Unify yourself with God. Count 1 to 10 and finish off whatever your wife has cooked for you. Remember: You accede you prosper (eventually increase your girth, weight, waist size etc. etc.). You protest you perish.


Cause # 8. You return home from office exhausted. Your kids come running to you and cling on to your trousers, nearly taking them off. You love their attention. They ask you to become a horse. You do. They straddle your back and ask you to bleat like a goat. The whole idea seems repulsive. A cross between a horse and a goat? Aw! You want to protest but end up whining a little. Your wife hands you a long list of grocery items. Then it hits you. A jackass! You are a donkey after all.

Remedy – Stop watching all those cartoon movies with animal characters. Gives you a rotten imagination. Be a sport. Remember – if Himmess can sing, you can roar. All you need is a full throated try.


ass


Cause # 9. Its bedtime. The kids have fallen asleep. You just want to hug your wife and kiss her goodnight. Just a little hug mind you. May forego the kiss too. Depends. She immediately doubts your intentions, gives you a stern look which says ‘I have a nasty headache’, turns away and disappears under the sheets in double quick time.

Remedy – Need I suggest? ;-)


Cause for anger # 10 and its remedy. Your take please.


This post was first published elsewhere. It can be read in the original context along with the comments here.


Mammaries: Confessions Of A Contented Voyeur

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Mammaries: Milk secreting organs of the female species of any mammal, created by the Almighty with the sole purpose of nourishing the famished offsprings of the same (and offsprings and adults of a superior) species. Any other purported objective is purely imaginary, prejudiced, polluting and perfidious.

Welfare: What beneficial accomplishment you execute unto yourself before being footed out (farewelled) or footed around by your detractors or the ‘system’. In other words, ‘welfare’ is the state of wellbeing inflicted upon oneself either by design or destiny.

State: A federation of self governed territories in majestic disarray.

(All definitions have been bootlegged from the Bullford Dictionary of misnomenclature; Hamster and Footbridge publications Inc.)

Upamanyu Chatterjee: Born in 1959, joined IAS in 1983. His first novel – ‘English, August’ was a hilarious take on the Indian bureaucracy, and became a runaway success after it was published in 1988. ‘Mammaries’, which retains Agastya as the main protagonist, is considered to be a fitting sequel to English August.

My tryst with ‘Mammaries’: I picked up ‘Mammaries’ enticed by its ample size, lusty appearance and the sheer provocative appeal of a she-goat’s oversized udders (plus driven by a surge of funny hormones and in perfect consonance with Darwin’s theories of natural selection). Such awfully big and voluminous! 437 pages of unabashed, unbound and bouncy humour – or so the title titillatingly suggested. Particularly in view of the aroma of ‘English, August’ so fresh in mammaries, Upamanyu Chatterjee’s third comical extravaganza promised to be a groovy getaway from the drab hullabaloo of life. What can be more enticing than an insider’s salacious description of gubernatorial goof ups and scandalous relations between brokers of political power? This was an issue not broached frequently, and coming from an author of impeccable credentials, it seemed a worthy expenditure. So out came 295 bucks and ‘mammaries’, sensuously wrapped in a loose paper bodice, was thrust into my eager hands by the Crossword salesman. And while I was driving home with the voluptuous volume by my side, I just couldn’t wait to lay my hands on what lay behind those alluring covers.

The Book itself: The Mammaries of The Welfare State is about the travails of unmarried Agastya, a civil servant who doesn’t mind smoking pot and submitting to the sexual advances of a 40 something divorced socialite heavily influenced by yoga and veganism, amidst a hilariously confusing background of housing problems, transfers, goons, girls, theatre groups, propaganda, perversions, plague, political grime, social stigmas and a virtual potpourri of bureaucratic filth.

Chatterjee takes the reader on a grotesque tour of the dinghy corridors of Indian bureaucracy, lampooning the giant juggernaut and slaughtering sentiments and sensitivities ruthlessly in 12 chapters that constitutes ‘Mammaries’. The sarcasm is just too gory, strewn and scattered at every step, with the bewildered (and unaccustomed) reader having to wince at the liberal use of slang and the choicest of expletives. However, the author is clever enough to veil most of the profanities in a garb of seemingly innocuous literary jargon, without compromising on their inflammatory flavour!

Chatterjee really leaves no opportunity to ridicule the system. His weird and kinky characters include Daya (no, not the affable ‘light throwing’ veteran of MS, but a 40 something divorcee woman with whom Agastya shares his amorous nights), Rajani Suroor (an influential jack of all trades who gets shot by a caricature of a goon), Lina Natesan Thomas (who refuses to take things lying down), Bhanwar Virbhim (an elderly, lecherous and scheming politician who makes it to the cabinet), his equally lecherous but essentially moronic muscle wielding son Makhmal Bagai (the same goon who shot Suroor and who too ultimately seeks refuge in politics), Bhupen Raghupati (a senior bureaucrat with clout and thoroughly repulsive sexual perversions), Kum Kum Bala Mali (a popular film actress of yesteryears – isn’t it too obvious by the way?), Bhuvan Aflatoon (PM) and a multitude of odd sidekicks. He has even named the departments with uncanny ingenuity – DIPRAVED (Directorate of Information, Public Relations And Visual Education) and BOOBZ (Budget Organisation On Base Zero) among others.

I managed to rummage through ‘Mammaries’ in little more than a weeks time, Mouthshut (and all the thundering typhoons therein) taking up the bigger share of my leisure. Chatterjee could have made this novel a bit sleeker by doing away with some 50 – odd pages of uninspiring bureaucratic tomfoolery, but I assume his overeagerness to strip the system stark naked got the better of him. I enjoyed Agastya’s raunchy escapades, and commiserated with his haplessness as the Collector of the imaginary plague – stricken district of Madhna. I relished Chatterjee’s version of Hinglish (there is ample of that exotic stuff too), just as I recoiled at Raghupati’s horrid pedophilia. No doubt, Agastya endears everyone with his ‘May-The-Welfare-State-Go-And-Fetch-Oil’ (Welfare State gaya tel lene!) attitude. Now, I would love to expose more of ‘Mammaries’ but that would take away your right to enjoy this masterpiece on your own. So I conclude with two excerpts replete with trademark sarcastic punches which makes ‘Mammaries’ a thoroughly enjoyable read.

In any given set up, you will first identify the principal source of power. Once identified, you will push, with single – minded sycophantic intensity, to get close. When within sucking distance, you’ll genuflect. Then, your relationship having stabilized, you will magnanimously share your booty, and your soul, with him.

Caste is a much more reliable factor than merit. Every Tom, Dick and Harry has merit, but how many have the right temperament, the right ethos, genes, lineage, morality, attitude, biases, hang-ups – in short – the right caste for a job?

Verdict: RECOMMENDED

This review was first published  elsewhere.

What on Earth is Rushlimbaugh?

Posted on by Rofl Indian

“Rushlimbaugh is a threat to Indians”, remarked my wife in a mildly caustic tone, as she put down the phone. She was talking to my sister-in-law who lives in Indiana.

I was too engrossed in reading ‘The Greatest Spy Stories of the World’ to pay any extraordinary attention to her abrupt statement. I thought she said something about some Rushlimbaugh emerging as a threat to Indiana or Indianapolis or whatever. But, like all smart men, I was careful not to be caught napping.

“Yeah, I know. This time it’s probably worse.”

But honestly, I didn’t have the faintest idea of what Rushlimbaugh was. Funny sort of name! Rushlimbaugh..!! A few possibilities crossed my mind.

Possibility # 1: That Rushlimbaugh was a variety of poultry, quite like our own Arambagh chicken. Somehow, this Limbaugh chicken had contracted the dreaded Chinese bird flu, and the people of Indiana, including my sister-in-law were suddenly left with eggs stuck in their throats.

rushlimbaug-chicken

Possibility # 2: That Rushlimbaug was some sort of a wild animal, like the ringtailed civet or the coyote, that had the cheek to attack the people of Indiana when they were comfortably reading their newspapers while squiggling in the toilet.

Possibility # 3: Or, could it be the latest cyclone to hit the US of A? After all, they’ve had quite a few of the nasty ones in the recent past. Perhaps ‘Hurricane Rushlimbaugh’ was building up ominously over the Atlantic? Maybe Rushlimbaugh was a huge and pompous mass of gas with a little hole in the centre that screwed everything crossing its path? Something which I’d like to call a complete gas-hole! I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the buxom Mary Ramos of CNN cheerfully sticking a finger at the centre of the cloud mass, comparing the dimensions of Hurricane Rushlimbaugh’s  hole with holes of other distinguished typhoons like Katrina, Rita, Felix, Noel and Gustav. Poor Americans. Every now and then they have to suffer one of these catastrophies. And look at the mess they cause. Smashing up trucks, shoving cows up electric poles, flattening banks on Wall Street, throwing Republicans into Cuba, screwing up Presidents ….. appalling!

all-in-one11

I put the book down and reached for the laptop. I was now determined to find out what Rushlimbaugh was and why was he considered a threat to Indiana.

To be continude continued.(Sorry…old habits die hard :-D )



All About Constipation & the Three Laws of Motion

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Disclaimer: The following piece of writing does not conform to the accepted standards of grammar and punctuation. Reading it may lead to an acute confusional state.


Here I go:

it is not that i do not know the meaning of the word motion lol but I have found out the word motion has many arcane connotations as wikipedia lists about two dozen of them but the one thats conspicuously missing in wiki is the one which is held in perhaps the highest esteem by humans who attach an importance of nearly celestial proportions to this early morning act of ritualistic sanitisation lol

this particular form of motion was probably not in that bumbledore newtons thoughts when he proposed his famous laws however it would be too much to expect that he never felt the tight squeeze of natures evacuative forces exploding deep within his gizzard ooh la la he must have sang out ooh aah let the music play at some point of time in his celebrated life and the illustrious thinker must have reflected sombrely upon the gravity of the whole thing from a scientists standpoint and pondered ,suppose a whole apple is swallowed how is it going to come out or god forbid what if it is a pineapple lol if you have still not figured out what i am hinting at you are urged to seek goo-gles help at the earliest not really a loo-crative thought though

so I say brothers ki gal hai goo-gal hai to all you I am talking about constipation I hope you understand what it is and it was not entirely without reason that our forefathers laid such great emphasis on the importance of having a smooth beginning for the day lol , you smile and the morning smiles at you lolz however all of you who have experienced constipation will know the twisted kind of smile which accompanies the usual deep throated rumbles while you are at it and trying to dislodge those teeny weeny noodles and nuggets of nuisance it is not exactly the kind of early morning humour you would like to exult in lol

undoubtedly constipation is the bane of humankind and any sort of disruption in daily routine quite understandably assumes cataclysmic significance at least in the mind of which we see ample examples here in the world if not anywhere else

so before we analyze the problem further a little scientific description of constipation becomes necessary believe it or not, once in three days to thrice in a day is well within the paradigm of the normal and i am talking about going to the loo and not about writing reviews lol ,each human being has his or her own unique consonance with the bowels and it is unwise to compare ones poop culture with that of the others again it is the consistency of habit which is more important rather than the gap between two successful downloads if I am allowed to talk in terms of computers and software lol

so my friends in order to avoid being arrested at the wrong end of the intestinal gallery which may have severe repercussions for the mind it is imperative to remember 3 golden rules which i call loo-laws at all times and i am saying this because i am entitled to my own sweet opinion

the 1st law of motion states that every person in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external gastronomic force is applied to it

interpretation – my friends human intestines adapt very well and take care of minor insults without much of an ado and it is when they are overwhelmed by swarms of idiotic stuff such as lots of pizzas white breads noodles buns and here I am talking of the buns which you can chew lol and juices etc that they refuse to budge and call for an all out strike initiating thereby an epoch of anal lassitude which culminates in catastrophic constipation so I say eat less of mcdonalds my friends because a couple of mcdonalds today could makedownload difficult for you tomorrow

remedy is not for bumbling idiots here I am borrowing the phrase lol but for level headed people please please eat enough roughage veggies pulses oatmeal cornflakes sprouts salads anything the japs even ate paper lol yes the older japs clever no nonsense folks usually perplexed by their younger generations aversion to conventional food invented special kind of paper plates which could be eaten at the end of a meal lol the idea was to supply a quantity of roughage to the bowels to keep them running smoothly ,unfortunately the younger japs all bumbling idiots oh I am loving this phrase mistook this for an edible form of tissue paper and stopped wiping their posterities lol lol and it smelt like hell all across the atlantic right upto britain & usa where the reeking smell made quite a number of people mad who had to seek psychiatric treatment lol sweet revenge for dropping the atom bomb on hiroshima

so my friends before i continue with my tortured tale of gastric embarrassment and try to explain the second law of motion i wish to make it clear that whatever you are reading now is not any kind of literary diarrhoea lol but i am only trying to emulate stalwarts and and have full respect for brothers lol who write a good deal of sensible stuff on blogs but get condemned for all the wrong reasons such as silly grammatical errors like silly commas colons full stops which are anyways nothing but literary discrimination perpetrated by the britishers and their ilk but my friend no we are free today thanks to mr. gandhi

my friends as i was trying to define the 2nd law of motion which states that the rate of change of anal momentum is directly dependent on vectors like smoking alcohol and other indiscretions but wait did I tell you about the ill effects of drugs and other habits which people have but are ashamed to disclose to a doctor who shall examine you closely with his finger lol and prescribe purgatives which are good for the intestines as well as for the mind lol

remedy is to control the intake of alcohol and stop smoking but lol many of my friends wont listen to me and insist alcohol and smoke only help to release the shit in a smooth manner and I can only advise them but I have no cure for bacchus and his harrowing ways lol

so my friends before you lose your precious interest and start to disperse let me quickly describe the 3rd law of motion which states that to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction lol , i mean the action of actively trying to squeeze the hardships out of you through that wee little **** which everyone has will inevitably lead to a sweet reaction like development of piles which is gods way of punishing infidels and traitors but i know that i am honest towards others so i will be spared from this dreadful anal annihilation called piles but those who are traitors will rot with their putrid hemorrhoids and lose all friends lol

my friends i have neither the literary skill nor the etymology of other stalwarts occupying this platform and by gods grace have a good digestive system but i cannot digest tomfoolery that is why i am here with a caution against constipation which i am sure is one of the causes of insanity and piles that can only be cured by reading more of blogs and reviews lolz