When a desi-arranged-marriaged couple do IT the first time

Dislaimer: The situations, scenarios, characters discussed in this post deal with my good old desi (Indian and no not the cool West-Indian but the uncool subcontinent-Indian) tribe. Non-desis are recommended to click the 'X' button.

Arranged marriage (AM) is a wonderful thing. I mean seriously it really is. And if you are a girl/boy, reasonably good looking, and if you have that "I have done my degree from the US of A and I earn in dollars and I drive a 2006 Toyotal Corrola, the world's best selling car" tag, then as my favourite aunt says "We shall reject atleast 20 girls before we select that mallika sherawat- boobed, kajol-lipped, preti zinta-haired, bipasha basu-bodied, madam curie-brained princess for you Jhantu". And Im sure that you will agree when I say that fuck man this offer is too good and bloody enticing as well. I mean not only will my wife solve my research related differential equations in a jiffy ala madam curie, but she will be doing that wearing a skimpy booby-baring bikini ala Mallika. Just letting my mind wander and picturing my AM-ed wife working on PDEs in a black thong turns me on no end.

So AM is a win-win situation I hear you say. And I would agree with you, except for one small teeny-tiny thing that keeps on creating an itch at the back of my head. Sucker for bloody small details you are I hear you say. But hey hear me out on this one will you. I have always wondered you know, how do AM-ed couples start doing IT (the fucking I mean dickheads) the first time. And I am sorry to say I havent as of yet found a satisfactory answer to this what now seems a never-ending quest of mine.

When you have been seeing somene then ,you know, the thing builds up gradually (assuming of course you arent in a hurry to head straight for the venice trap as I am). There are those initial hand-holdings, then those kisses, then those make-out sessions, those groping, those fingering, perhaps a blow-job or two if you are really lucky, and finally after beating around the bush for what usually seems like an eternity you hit the bulls eye. And when you are on your way to hitting the bulls eye your physical comfort level with your partner is hopefully pretty high and both of you are pretty comfortable with hitting the bull's eye. Good

But now take a U turn and for a moment think about an AM-ed couple. Start with the Suhaag raat. This is the first night when you are legally cleared to copulate. So after enduring the absolute torture that is an Indian marriage ceremony you get into that special room with your wife, both of you decked up like theres no tomorrow, and then see that flower-petal decorated copulating-bed majestically occupying 70% of the room.

What do you do???

The groom wonders: Hmm, I am horny no doubt but will it be polite to fuck her the first night? And I havent really slept with a girl before in my life, but I might just be able to pull it off. I have watched a million porn movies after all.

The bride wonders: Hmm does he want to do IT with me tonight. Ill be turning 27 tomorrow and if I dont do it tonight, I will branded as a 27 year old virgin. Not good. Sheela did say she didnt really feel or understand much, the room was too dark and before she knew what was happening Som (Sheela's husband) was through with whatever they were supposes to do.

On top of that they both are confounded with the problem who the fuck is going to make the first move. Will it be the groom with his cool desi-pick up move (you know that Hiee babby, wanna dhance withh mee man, uttered in that ultra-cool Indian AMerican mindblowing accent) which he has been practising with alarming regularity at his local US night-club, much to the alarm of the girls who frequent the joint. Or will it be the bride who suddenly decides to do an impromptu strip tease for her newly wed husband, slowly and even more slowly and painfully taking off her 20 kg saree while leaving her 30 kg worth of jewels on ( and not because it would be damn sexy to see a girl naked wearing just jewellery but its gonna take the whole fucking night to take her jewellery off) ??

Anyway Lets for the sake of arguement assume that somehow, by some means, our AM-ed bride and groom make their way to the bulls-eye stage, fully clothed still mind you, the undressing is a major mental block that would be dealt with later by them. Now the first thing I do before having sex is get my plastics out (I dont want to end up suddenly paying a bulk of money to a god-damn abortion clinicyou see). But does our groom carry plastics in his meant-for-shaadi-kurta pockets??? Or is the bride on pills. Damn it now we have extremely horny groom with a rock-solid hard on making its presence felt firmly and we have a bride who is slightly confused, slightly turned on and not sure what to do. And its not that the groom and the bride can engage in oral sex the first night as well. Oral sex is dirty, it is against the moral fabric of us desis. And on the first night... OOHH NOO WE NEVER DO THAT.

But never mind, we Indians are past-masters at making adjustments. And so our bride and groom will happily adjust to this precarious horny situation too. You know what we have a long day tomorrow meeting each and every relative of your family or mine and its best that we take some rest and get some sleep. You are right, goodnight. And thus the groom turns on his side of the bed, his hand reaching and then restly lightly on his hard on, just as it has for the past 27 years, while our bride closes our eyes and dreams of Karan Johar and SRK style suhaag raats where SRK and Kajol break into a beautifully tuned song every time they are supposed to have sex.

And then they live happily ever after, singing love duets to each other and living the Indian dream in the US of A. But what about the sex?? OHH screw that --- the sex and the passion is anyway supposed to die out faster than you can say Pop goes the weasel. But love duets, now thats everlasting isnt it??

I love happy endings.

Bored - horny - piss off you sod

So my blog didnt get blocked. The fuckface DoT (refer to earlier post for the best laid plans which btw have gone awry) didnt find my lousy, repulsive, sex-craved blog worthy of blocking. Bloody waste fellows of india .Gaah!!

On top of that Im mindlessly bored rght now. Dont ask me why just take my bloody word for it. I dont know about you but when I am bored I tend to get fucking wholesomely horny. The rationale behind this being the following: Since you are bored and have nothing better to do so might as well get horny and have an interesting time by engaging in some good sweaty sex. Bullet-proof logic I know. Anyway the problem is that when you are seeing someone you just cant go around trying to have sex with anything that wears a skirt or a tight pair of ass-hugging jeans (got to do with the principle of monogamy in our god damn society). So out of extreme boredom driven horniness I called up the one person Im allowed to have sex with

Jhantu: where are you?
She: Just came into work
Jhantu: I am horny to boot
She: I see (very non-commital)
Jhantu: I need sex
She: I see (even more non-commital)
Jhantu: So take the day off.
She: Cant
Jhantu: What kind of a girl doesnt take the day off when the boyfriend is horny???
She: All the normal kinds I believe, now go do something and let me get back to work. Will call you later.
Jhantu: But wai....

Damn it!!! Now I have the whole day to spend on my own getting bored and getting even more mind-numbingly horny. Lifes a bitch and so is Amores Perrres

Block the blog and let me walk the road to blogo-fame- please DoT

Ever since I heard that the DoT (department of telecommunication) has sent out a highly classified top secret hush-hush memo to various ISP providers in India asking them to block out certain blogs hosted by good old blogspot, yahoo 360, rediff amd what not, I have been checking my blog with an alarming regularity, praying, hoping, keeping my fingers and my toes and my eyes and every other conceivable body part which can be crossed crossed, hoping that my blog is on the DoT list of blogs to block(which rumors say run into some 22 pages). Now I hear you say, are you loony jhantu, why the fuck would you want your blog blocked??

Well you see this is my one chance to be a famed acclaimed blogger, bloggers around the world and especially from India would pour in by teeming hundreds into this blog, just to get a peek-a-boo at the blog that was blocked by DoT. Suddenly my posts which even on a good day I find repulsive will acquire a hidden, mysterious 3rd dimension. Havent you read the Jhantu blog, my my I tell you the way he attacks society through sex ridden sarcasm is just awesome will go the email that one blogger sends to all others on his/her mailing list and they in turn to everybody else on their mailing list and so on and so forth till ad-infinitum.

Maybe I would even get an interview with some second-rate Indian youngs' gun magazine or something like that where I will answer unimportant questions in an important pompous manner. So why do you say you are obsessed with porn and the female sex Mr.Jhantu, is it a hidden message that you are trying to send out about liberation of the female species. And my answer wont be because I'm a horny prick fuckface why else, no I would instead go on a tangential convex diatribe The real purpose of this blog is to let the females of my country know that for long sex has been kept hidden in the closet, but now it is time for them to come out of that closet and accept it to be a natural act. Through my blog I want to unite the females of my country in the sexual revolution so that they can write and pen down and act upon their their sexual fantasies without worries and if those include me, myself and I then let it be so.

And and and!! There would be bloggers who would write a post or two (the non-sex ones I mean) about me and me blog. Fuck man I could even be nominated for the bloggie or something. And the award for the most sex-starved asian blog goes to --JHANTU!! Thank you, thank you, thank you one and all. This $20 coupon from Amazon means a lot to me. At this moment I would like to thank my friends, my family, my dog, my dick, all the desi-females who have come in contact with me or my blog or my dick and have henceforth gone on to fuck every homo-sapien with a dick, a special thanks to you too.

But how the fuck would I get my lousy blog blocked, that is the million dollar question in hand. It seems that some horny teenage american sex-starved girl's blog titled "princesskimberley" was blocked by the DoT. But somehow my sex starved posts didnt make the cut, maybe its got to do with gender bias on the Dot's part or something. So obviously sex+male is not the buzzword in the DoT hitlist. Well then how about pro-terrorist statements. If I say " Dear DoT members hidden in this blog's posts is a secret formula for making RDX laden explosive charges from thin air and it is my belief that SIMI and Laskar and Hezbollah and what not have cracked my invincible secret code and are making up explosives from thin air by the dozens. So it is imperative that you deny access to this site to everybody and anybody in the Indian subcontinent. This is an urgent plea on my part to you DoT, much like Jack the Rippers' stop me before I kill again message, this is my block this blog before the secret formula leaks out to more and more people message. Please act on it STAT (shake that damn DoTass tootsie)".

Please dear DoT, block my blog and let me have my two days of fame in the sun. I promise I wont take out campaigns, or public litigations, or form yahoo groups or orkut groups condemning your actions, instead I will be eternally grateful to you, though I would continue to make unimportant, hollow, superficial statements about you and the Government and censureship for the rest of my life, which btw I know means peanuts to you.

A Canadian fucks-- desi style

This is about K, K is canadian, a good friend of mine and recently single. And so he proclaimed to me yesterday Tonight is the night I shall get some action. On further enquiry on my part it turned out that he has been pursuing this Desi babe and tonight chances are more than bright that he is going to see some action. He's heard stories about Desi females though, most of which are pretty discouraging, and he needs a heads-up, he knows it is a different ball game altogether, it isnt like sleeping with the female folks of 5/6th of the world's population. The fairer sex of the land from where I come are a species unto themselves. K is nervous. And K has plenty of questions, and for a lack of a better person K wants me to answer his fucking questions. So armed with a keg of beer, 5 hours to go till D-time, me and K proceeded to make out a checklist of things to do and not to do.

I have several plastics ready in my wallet, proclaimed K smiling from ear to ear. And what purpose are they going to serve you, you stupid canadian fuck. This isnt some dime a dozen american or canadian chick, this is a desi girl -- a royal desi girl, and that too a pure one. So the closest you are going to come to using that plastic is perhaps when you finally decide to jerk off at 5 in the morning alone in our stupid bathroom. But I thought I was up for some action tonight, grumbled K. Oh Yes that you are dear K, but you see the way you and I define action is tangential to the way your desi sweetheart would. I dont follow you. Well its pretty simple. the plastics wont even come into the picture at all. Oh you mean she will be on pills, grinned K again that ear to ear grin. Dammit you canadian dickhead. This is sacrilege, this is unpious, his is downright unholy, your desi sweetie on pills!! How could you even think of that, most of them arent even on pills after they get married. How else do you think we end up supporting 1/6th of the world's population???

K started mixing shots into his beer and I could see that he wasnt too happy the way this how-to-bed-a-desi-babe-pep-talk was going. Ok Ok fine, so I dont get to fuck her, I'm fine with that. But let me tell you I wont give her head till I get some from her. I put my glass down and gave K that stare, you know the kind of stare that all those Indian muni-rishis (sages) used to burn down whole forests in our mythological times. Dont look at me that way man. K are you for real?? Are you telling me with a straight face that you expect to get head from your desi sweetie??? Yes, said K in a small voice. I lit up, K's apartment is non smoking but I was beyond caring for that. K my friend you never get head from your desi sweetie. I could see K opening and shutting his mouth like a goldfish, my heart went out for him. I wanted to comfort him, make the pain a bit easier for him. So I said what I have heard a zillion times: you see K they think its dirty, its nothing personal really, its just that you know our female folks are obsessed with cleanliness -- so you know even sex has to be clean for them.

I could see the look of complete bewilderment on his face. Sex isnt supposed to be clean dude. It isnt even supposed to be nice. Its supposed to be dirty and kinky and fucking painful man. Thats where all the fucking pleasure comes from. I know K. But you are in a different league now. Cleanse your mind of all those things that you've just said. So what the fuk am I going to get out of tonight, finally screamed K. Well you might get to stick your tongue into her mouth, maybe even get your hands up her tees, and my guess is thats about it.

So no sex not even a lousy blow-job and I need to keep it clean as well. Yes K, your desi sweetheart might pretend to be a pretentious slut but is actually a stupid, scared cunt of the highest order. I think I will finish the keg before she turns up, will be easier if I am in half my senses.

Definitely Oh and K one last thing she probably doesnt know how to touch a man, so you know give her some clear cut directions if you get that far, else it might take you an eternity, though on the hindsight its a kind of new feeling to have your erection coming and going in a rhythmic sinusoidal fashion.

VentCafe

BridalBeer hosts Ventcafe.

And heres the ventcafe unofficial song:

You need to vent
Or maybe you need to repent
Dont know where to let off your storm
Email your vent to bridalbeer at yahoo.com

Bore-o-Rama

My days are now being spent in wonderful idylic mind-numbing boredom. I am guessing that I havent been this unproductive or bored to death in the last 26 years of my existence. To give you a taste this is what my daily routine is:

Wake up at 7:30 AM (my screwed up cycle is to blame for this early waky waky waking)

Check if the roomie is around, if not light up a parliament light (yes yes i am living thriftly, hence the awful brand im smoking these days. And there is a reason for reverting to this god-forsaken fuck ass brand too. I just calculated that I spend 200 bucks on smokes every month, now given that I have been in the US for 40 months thats 40X200=$8000 worth of carbon particles that I have accumulated in my poor lungs. But fortunately the Parliaments come at a fabulous price of two for 6 bucks, so thats a savings of $80 p.m, I'll be richy rich soon. )

As I move to my third smoke lazily reach for the comp and spend the next hour stalking the most useless sites on the web. Make sure that there is a socer match today, if not feel a pang of disappointment turning your stomach into a lousy knot. (Soccer matches you see take up atleast 2.5 hous of your time, the knot in the stomach makes you realize that you now have 2.5 extra hours on hand for the day, DAMN!!)

Head to the god forsaken lab at 10:00 and turn on the display to see the latest shock in wait for me. And yes shock it is. My fucking simulations have again broken down.

Spend the next 4 hours fiddling with my bug infested code to make the simulation run again. Atlast it seems it is running. Wait for another hour, just to check that the simulation is up and going properly. Spend that hour again investigating any new developments in your mail-boxes or increasing the hit-count on those sites that no-one visits.

Ahh!! Its now almost 5, time for the first beer of the day. Drag B and B out of their offices and spend the next hour smoking and drinking cheap Corona, and incase money is tight order a pitcher.

Head back to the lab, re-check the simulation and head back home, satisfied with a days wrk well done, with the postscript that I'll be doing the exact same thing tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that too.

Once home reach for the 6 pack. Debate on whether you want to see Friends or 70s show or Seinfeld or porn. Reach the conclusion that you just have a season and half of Friends left so go for it.

Avoid the phone with a vengence as N and An will definitely call asking for a eat-out or a movie date. So get it silenced and concentrate on the 6 pack.

Once the 6 packs have been devoured, scavenge for food and reach for the pack of smokes you bought in the morning. Unfortunately theres just one left, so after a lengthy and weighty debate as to whether you should smoke the solitary reaper or leave it for the morning, decide to smoke it right now. To hell with tomorrows.

Finally fall asleep.

And thats how I spend my days these days. Blissful boredom, no sex, no women, no heavy conversations, no readings. Eternal sunshine of a bored mind. Amen to that.

Hot WAWC (pronounces wack)

Hot wives at the World cup (WAWC) for ogling pleasure

Ozz-fucking-fest --06 memorabilia

Bestest clothes tagline : Girl with black panties which read " This is a penis enlarger"
Bestest sight: 60 year old grandpa and grandma, trashed on weed, having sex in the stage 2 ground at 4 in the afternoon.
Bestest moment: Ozzy getting his words jumbled in Crazy train.
Bestest band on view: Black Label Society


PS: Jhantu was at the San fucking Frisco show.

Rotten French wine served by the ugly Samba lady

I have tons of work, I have a thesis to complete and my advisor is after my ass threatening to nail it up on the haloed walls of stanford anyday. But I'm a brave boy (not man) and so over the past week, I've been defying the calls of my damn lab and simulations and stupid bug-infested code and instead happily drinking beer from 6 in the morning till 2 in the afternoon, even more happily watching the football (soccer doesnt have that same zingg). And since I run out of ideas often about what to write, and since all decent blogs that I read have their own personal posts on the football world cup, I decided to do what I do best that is ape these esteemed blogs and put in my own post on that. AHAA!! Talk about lack of better things to do...

Anyway so I've watched almost all the matches, yes yes even the Korea-Togo match with a bunch of face painted koreans singing the korean national anthem (i assume) at the drop of a hat.

But I must say the big teams have been a major disappointment, especially France and Brazil. So this post viciosly attacks the big names in both these teams and dishes out some majorly unwanted advise to the stars. Here goes.

Watching France play is like watching East bengal playing in its Chima Okerie days (remember the bull like black Nigerian), only in this case Zizou seems to be trying desperately to fill Chima's lethargic skill-less lead like feet. I counted the number of times he touched the ball in the Korean match--it was 15, thats like one touch every 5.5 mins and this from a guy who is supposed to be the premier playmaker in the world. And each time he did touch the ball, he tried to outdo himself by trying the flick-over or the sashay or the foot-over routine and happily for the defender deposited the ball right at his feet. Happily for Zidane his misery didnt last the whole 90 minutes as the utterly displeased French coach finally took him off. Not one decent pass has he made in the two matches. And then theres Thierry Henry, the most profilic scorer in the English Premier League, the guy who makes those piercing runs down the flanks before cutting into the box with his ferocious twist and finally firing in that bulls eye shot headed for the top corner of the net. But somehow Henry seems to have left his goal sense in the vaults of Arsenal who pay him more than $90k per week. The sitters that hes missed would put my grandma to shame. And those famous flank-runs of him, well I havent seen one of those from him yet. And then there are the Vieras and the Trezeguets all piped as premier medios and strikers, people who day in and day out marshall their club's midfield and offensive line with superioir aplomb, but here in the WC Viera's play has been pathetic to put it mildly. Infact I distinctly remember, him putting up the same kind of horror football show last time around too. The whole fucking Frenchies seem to be trying to live upto George dubya Bush's lifelong held belief that the French are sissies and pussies of the highest caliber.
Verdict: Will find it hard to get into the second round, if they do, thats where they will go home from
Appeal to the French team: Zidane retire from soccer and go play with your cute three kids and pretty wife. Henry your hot girlfriend is watching every match you are playing, if not for us atleast for her show us some those runs and dont just reserve all your energy for the nightly bedroom runs with her. Trust me seeing you running with that ball will turn her on no ends.

What about the mighty Brazilians???? Brazil Brazil Brazil, whatever happened to you. The football that you are playing is miserable. This year's Brazilian midfield was touted to be as good as that dream '82 midfield comprising of Zico, Socrates and Falcao. After all they have Ronaldihno, Kaka, Ronaldo and often Cafu and Roberto Carlos making their penetrating runs along the wings adding to the midfiled strength. But after two matches what kind of show has this supposedly dreamfield put up??? Not one free-flowing short-pass based move have they been able to string together in the two matches. Not one. Ronaldinho seems to be playing more for the gallery than anything else and not one penetrating run has he been able to give us. Kaka is trying, but definitely lacks imagination and has this stupid propensity of shooting rather than passing to an open man from just in front of the box. Ronaldo, well the less said about him the better, in two matches he has touched the ball a total 5 times. Roberto Carlos, a player I feel is vastly overhyped, continues to make his huffing puffing runs down the left flank and then crossing either into the stand or into the defender's foot. Adriano, well hes more in the mould of a English striker rather than a Brazilian one, he wont make his own goals but needs a good supply line to provide him with the crosses or that through ball, and till now that supply line is yet to be constructed. The only player that has impressed me is Robinho. In both of Brazil's matches hes come on for Ronaldo and made an immediate impact. He is short with low c.g giving him extremely good stability on his feet and has a dangerous turn.

Verdict: dont know, but the way they are playing I would say Quarter finals tops, but then its Brazil so I might have to eat my words.
Appeal to the Brazilian team: Ronaldo stop guzzling alcoholic beverages by the dozens at those posh spanish nightclubs with your model girl. Your paunch even puts me to shame. Go get a belly tuck or something. Ronaldinho your smile is as ugly as mine, if you forget playing football then take it from an equally ugly dude that not one girl will you get to sleep with. Robert Carlos stop playing football and go join the WWE or the world's strongest man competetion, thats where you truly belong and Im beginning to suspect that that 5 year old banana free kick of yours was a freak accident.

Superhit Muqabla

Ten most exotic googling/blog-googling ways by which people arrive at this blog:

10. s*****e jhantu
09. me jhantu
08. voluptious desi babes /desi teen (teen !! underage sex is not my thing)
07. desi sex
06. voyeurism (courtesy her)
05. jhantu has desi sex
04. jhantu desi babe fuck
03. bengali wife sex
02. moms sarees below navel (??????, how, why, where, when, me kaun hoo me kaha hoo)

and the no.1 in the list is:
01. sushma swaraj fucks

Now thats a reader base to be proud of !!!
Mea Culpa.

Smoke in my lungs, lust in my eyes

It is enticing, damnly so, infact god fucking darn damnly so. I walk down to my department and I see that stupid fucking American lighting her up like the damn July 4th fireworks itself, I see that desi cool dude who doesnt even deserve to be within a 5 mile radius of her try and get close to her for the first and last time ever in his miserable life and cough and spurt and spit his stalking candy ass all over stan-fucking-ford, I see that fucking Europeon make a clumsy grab for her, her the delicate she who deserves so much more gentler a touch, I see that bloody Latino piece of shit make a machismoic pass on her and get her within his fingertips , and I look at that fucking American and that jackass desi and that shitty latino and Europeon, a look of pure desire in my eyes, turning a dangerous shade of envious green, no no not lust for that Europeon or that desi or even that latino -- though I've had my small share of males but still, but pure desire for her-- her whom they can have but I fucking cant. Infact looking at her, I even end up with a hard on. If only I could have her, just once, oh yes once again like the once bitten twice shy and third time lucky saying goes. If only my mouth could feel her once more, if only I could lay my hands on her again and feel that smooth soft silken texture, if only I could run my fingers across her beautiful self, if only I could light her up one more time and see her tip red and glowing.

Damn it if only I could use that 5 bucks in my pocket and get her from that gas station.

But for fucks sake I cant, cos I am on my way to quitting, with tiny infant-esque baby steps . And so I must lust and froth and fornicate, and that is all I can do and that is all that I have to say about that because my mama says life is a box of cigarettes and you never know what you will get.

Surgeon general's warning: Smoking is injurious to health. Smoking kills. Quitting smoking now greatly reduces health risks.

GAAAAH!!!!

Bitch Hunt

Arent we cool, we shall have all the bitches tonight



My hot bitch pick-up look, Bitches here I come.



I found my two bitches, Oh Yeaaa baby



I disapprove the bitch hunt, I am committed



I shall need energy for the bitch hunt tonight, this is my third helping, there will be three more to come



Is that a bitch I see or is that jo I'm trying to find ??

He thinks therefore he is

I think of you often, when my eyes close and I wrap myself in the yellow sheet, I think of how that cocky, know-all, hard-headed guy who packed his bags into an old green Nissan and made his way to the golden state would have been if he hadnt met you.

Theres an old bengali saying which talks about keeping the doors and windows of your mind open to let the fresh air of dialogue and discussion and knowledge flow in and keep it fresh. Knowledge that is not band-limited to numbers and equations only, knowledge that you taught him, discussions with you that acted as his catharsis, gave him new perspectives, stimuated him.
Oh but he was difficult, he resisted you at every step, with ridicule, with utter dismissals from his presence, drove you crazy with sheer word twisting logics. But yet you talked to him, yet you tred to make him see the point, yet you tried to show him the world outside equations and theorems. You didnt have to but you did. Finally after many a month of trying, you bid him farewell, sad that he could never see those things, no matter how hard you try.

And thats where you taught him the most important lesson of his life. Thats where all his beliefs , his cockiness, his hard-headedness got a rude shocking jolt. What the fuck happened ?? The chemistry was perfect, the math between us was spot on, then what?? Why the fuck are you walking away then, he screamed at you??

And even then when you did not turn back, but just kept on walking away, thats when you taught him the most important lesson of his life. Losing the most important person in his life, made him re-evaluate everything. And he retraced his steps starting from the very beginning of 2004. And then he learnt to think, thoughts that werent just made of numbers and algorithms, but thoughts you had tried to get into his thick skull with no success, whatsoever.

I think of him and I feel how lucky he was that he met you, the one person who taught him how to evolve. Would he have made an effort to try and evolve if you hadnt challenged him? Could anybody else see through him like you did and let him know this is who you are in black and white sonny boy, now judge for yourself? Would he have written this blog if you hadnt walked away? Could anybody but you would have been more firm with him in that soft voice of yours? Would he have ever made the effort to become a better person, for anybody but you?

How can he then ever settle for anybody but you?

Perfect Bitchy 10 -- My kind of girl

My taste in women is horrid. I did suspect that for sometime and now Im utterly convinced that it is indeed the case.

A normal guy dates normal girls, girls who are nice and hot and not difficult and not bitchy. Girls who are more inclined to put their arms around your neck than put sarcasm laden nooses around it, girls who would be thrilled if you gave them flowers rather than warn you no matter what,any gift that costs even a fucking lousy dollar is not acceptable, and more importantly girls who would go out with you if you ask them once or twice or at a maximum thrice. A normal guy wouldnt ask that girl a fourh time out, especially when he has a whole collection of emminently hot and date-able ladies lined up for the weekend and one of those ladies even owns a Z4 beemer.

But as I said my taste is suspect. Not just suspect it is downright fucking appalingly despicable. You dont believe me. Well heres my perfect date's best qualfications, judge for yourself:

(1) The difficulty quotient should drill its way up the roof and make its way right into the damn stratosphere. She should be as difficult as they come. If I ask her for something her gut reaction should be to say NO FUCKING WAY.

(2) She needs to be a pastmaster at sarcasm and irrespective of the fact how romantic or sexy a moment is or might be she must have the charming (dis)ability of knocking the wind out of that moment with her sarcasm. Her favourite sarcasm laden charm me line has to be Whatever rocks your boat dude.

(3) She needs to give me the I dont care a damn for whatever you say/do attitude and in the process have the ability to completely puzzle me as to what shes really thinking.

(4) She should be a drama queen of the very first rate. No matter how insignificant the incedent she must have the ability to outdo me when it comes to putting up a dramatic show (and believe me Im stiff competetion).

(5) I need to be able to talk to her without getting distracted by her boobs or pussy or navel or whatever. That is the conversation should be more engrossing than her visible booty.

(6) She should be obstinate to the point of being able to drive me nuts with her hard-headedness. No reason or logic or coaxing or convincing from my end should ever be able to change her damn mind.

(7) I must know that shes well read than me, even though I'll never admit it to her, but she must make me look like a complete imbecile with her reading knowledge.

(8) She should be as pricey as they come. Theres no point in me wasting my charms on you if you cant act like a pricey bitch. If I ask you out you say no, if I ask you out again you again say no, if I ask you out one more time you should be able to say Go get a life sweetheart and stop wasting your breath. And believe me if you do that I'll climb nine stories via a tree and ask you out one more time while dangling in a very unsafe manner from that fragile unstable tree branch.

(9) She must be abe to make me do things in bed I can never do for anyone else.

(10) And last but not the least you must have large eyes, long fingers, long hair, wear glasses, have the most beautiful voice ever and sleep in yellow flowery night dresses.

And that sums up my perfect bitchy sweetheart through ten utterly despicable qualitites I look for in my girl. Anyone fitting the bill drop me a line.

First date

Girl and the boy dress up in their second best suits (the first obviously being the birthday suit, which you dont wear to a first date, maybe after it if you are lucky), boy picks up girl, they talk shop in that blue stallion, on the way to that date they had talked about for the last two months. He has a fantastic evening all planned for her. San Francisco though is a tricky place and boy has this knack of getting lost even while driving in a straight line. Thus the boat meant to be ridden under the full moon and the twinkling stars by boy and girl leaves the docks while boy , girl and the stallion still try and navigate their way through crooked San Francisco streets in convoluted circles.

Im sorry he says, thats all right lets take a walk she says eyeing his rock-n-roll date-unfit tshirt with trepidation, while he eyes her white shirt and purple lipstick and combed hair with the same trepidation. He should have dressed a bit more formally, she looks so much nicer without makeups.

My fav eatery I'll take her to he has planned, but boy ends up not finding the eatery and they spend their time walking around shady San Francisco streets going round and round in mile long circles trying to find that Paki place that boy wants girl to eat in, but has somehow disappeared on the day of the date. Finally boy runs into a place which is not Paki, looks at girl who is rubbing the soles of her feet from all the walking around in those platform heels in search of that ellusive Paki place.
I think we should eat here. Yea we should.

And so over plates of butter chicken and chicken korma and naans boy and girl have their first date, both shy, both nervous, they have never dated before ( and will never date again). Though the lamp has burnt through countless nights while texts and hmms and smileys and IMs have been typed on their laptops and phone cards have been charged and recharged and recharged again, a formal date makes them nervous, makes them defensive, makes them shy. And its not past midnight yet, and their defenses dont go down till the clock strikes the midnight hour. The pre-midnight hours are meant for things more normal in their lives.

Im sorry, I messed up, boy says as the stallion now roars through the deserted freeway. Thats allright, you know the place wouldnt have mattered to us, it was a lovely crappy date, she says with a smile.

Boy looks at his watch, the midnight hour has passed, their time has come at long last. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, maybe she wants him too, but they dont. They can only look into each others' eyes and see themselves holding hands and kissing softly, but cannot actually hold hands.

See you tomorrow, he says at the parking lot, even as her phone rings that familiar ringtone reserved for people more important to her. Theres something for you though, he says. She turns back with a What look. He opens the trunk and gives her a half-feet long skeleton. It sings for you, he says, try it. She presses the button.

Im losing my head, over you, day and night, over you, Im losing my head.

She looks at him with a touched amused look, you are an idiot says her eyes. He hopes she can take the skeleton, she couldnt take the flowers he got her the first time they met.

Its lovely, she whispers, forgetting the now angrily buzzing phone.

He laughs nervously and proudly, nervous whether she would take it and proud that hes got her something he knew she would love. Their eyes lock for a minute, its the goodnight kiss their eyes see.

She turns around the skeleton still in her hands and whispers a soft goodbye. He stands there seeing her walk to the doorway, her hair bouncing in the wind, her lipstick almost gone and he could hear the skeleton singing.

Im losing my head, over you, day and night, over you, Im losing my head.

In bed with a Desi babe--part 1, the foreplay

Now people we all know that we the liberated in-our-20s-desis are part of the Gen-X bandwagon, but still, for most of us, SEX is a three lettered medusa like loathsome creature with a 1000 evil heads and eyes. And thus most of us grow up without ever talking about sex with any degree of sensibility with any of the more sex-educated person in our family (eg, a mom or a dad or that favourite uncle who is NOT a paedophile).

I dont know about you but the closest my dad came to having a sex-eduaction duscussion with me was when my mom discovered my huge collection of porn mags and videos. I still remember with vivid details the lecture he gave me which ended with the following precious line "Its ok to be inquisitive, but you should not try any of these". Hellloooo!! I was all of 14 and even if I was spending wet nights fantasizing about threesomes sandwiched between a buxom blonde and brunette, there was no fucking way I could actually try those and get those butt-kicking awesome fantasies to come true, could I? For one thing that blonde and the brunette would take one look at my pre-teen willie and squeal in delight You think that's gonna do anything for us sunny boy.

Thus armed with this sex-deprived handicap and , as further evidence of God's twisted sense of humor, the sex-handicapped desi-babe runs into me. Let me clarify a thought right at the onset. The Indian woman in bed is a fascinating species. A kind of X-manish-Mystique like character who never ceases to confuse you with her in-bed-histrionics, most of which are pretty lousy and amatuerish to boot.

Lets first look into the foreplay aspect of things. In her defense, I should say though when it comes to foreplay my desi-babe is pretty ok. That is these days. BUT when we started out, WHEW!! My man I must tell you it was one awful ball-game to be in.

She, you see, wasnt truly sure what to do with her tongue. Now me being extremely sensitive and caring do understand that, after all she did let me stick my tongue all the way into her mouth till I could examine her toncils, which is a good thing.

But what failed me though was why did she end up biting my lips and for gods sake my fucking delicate tongue, in a really painful fashion more often than not. Infact things got so bad that whenever a hot kiss was on, the voice at the back of my head would go Mind your tongue my man, mind it dont let her bite it off. Now she might have thought that it was damn sexy, but sweetheart let me tell you it was fucking cannibalistically awful. I spent more time thinking about my tongue's possible short-future-life-span than about that hot kiss, when we were making out. But then in her defense (being your friendly neighborhood chauvinistic pig) we did have some kick-ass messy wetty and great make outs later on. One on a particularly unsuitable piece of furniture still stands out.

And then there was the groping. Now I firmly believe in the saying that a makeout is only as good as the groping and the probing that your hands and fingers can do. Trust me when I say this that my desi-babe did let me do all the groping and probing I wanted to do. She let my hands and my fingers wander up and down the length and breadth of her frame with infinite degrees of freedom. That was again a good thing.

BUT and this is a big BUT. It took me several days of those foreplay sessions before I could actually get her to grope me down south on my anatomy. I am a generous lover and I am proud of that, I let my desi-babe have all the orgasms and climaxes that she wants to have, but I dont want to go home after those groping sessions with a tent sized elevation between my pants and jerk myself off in the loneliness of my damn bathroom sweetheart. I would have appreciated if you had done the honors during our groping sessions. While I appreciate my hand smelling all shitty and funny with your sex all over it, but believe me when I say this I would have liked to return the favour to you in an equal if not greater measure.

And then when all the foreplay was done we finally decided to move onto the more oral aspects of our smashing sex life. But then thats another mystical and painful saga all together. Let me keep that for part deux, till then get seduced in truly desi fashion.

Introducing--- a sex obsessed female

Incase you did not know, there is a fascinating female lurking nearby. Someone who promises to uphold the sex-legacy willingly or unwillingly passed on to her.

She lives here and talks about her sex life, past and present, about an indian girl's sexual-coming-of-age and about how she learnt of her sexual needs and desires. Her writings weave a story of passion, of illicit sex, of that "he" who seduced and screwed her out off her fucking mind.

Go read her and maybe you'll know what makes an indian girl's sexuality tick or not.

A taste of her wetness:

I lick my lips nervously. His eyes follow my tongue, latch on to it. Slowly they travel lower, over my throat, down between my breasts. The shirt I’m wearing seemed very decent when I wore it, but his eyes can see right through it to my breasts. Breasts which are rising and falling softly with every breath. Breasts which give a little jump when I swallow. His eyes rest on them for a minute before glancing up to meet mine. My eyes tell him what I’m feeling. That I’m waiting for his touch. For his hands to go where his eyes have been. But he’s not done yet. Once again his gaze travels downwards, lingering over my lips. Lips that he’s always loved. Lips that he’s made promises to. This time his eyes don’t stop at the V of the shirt. They go lower, trying to see my belly, zoning on to the navel. I had my navel pierced for him. I know he’s fantasized about my navel. I’m fighting an urge to lift up my shirt and invite him to explore my it with his tongue. My hands are shaking and my core is throbbing. I can feel myself getting wet, just anticipating his gaze.

Booty check realities-- in a pervert's defense

I confess. Anytime in a bus or a train or a room or even a class, whenever a pair of nicely shaped legs and ass tucked in a pair of tight clinging jeans/skirt/dress and a not too long t-shirt walks in, my eyes inadvertantly hones in on them. Now, I know femme fatales, that it does qualifiy me to be one of those creeps who are always giving you the once-over in your books. Some of you who are even more blunt would label me as a lerching leering staring fuck-ass pervert.

But you misunderstand me O lovely ladies, you really do. You write billions of words of prose denouncing my noble-intentoned stares, that whistle that unconsciously escapes me and my friends' lips, as an act of pure admiration, when you walk past us leaving that smell of jasmine perfume behind like a whiff of fresh, pure piece of curvacious heaven, you even brand that as a cheapo act. Did you label Mozart as a cheapo when he finished composing the 5th and whistled in awe-struck admiration at the beauty of the piece. Did you?? And yet when I, enamoured by your mere walk, let out that same awe-struck soft whistle that Mozart had used, even adding a Govinda-like teri pant bhi sexy teri shirt bhi sexy tune to it (all for you), you brand me as a cheap fucking eve-teaser. Oh how you misunderstand me.

When I'm giving you that longing, creepy go-over stare in the classroom, I'm not leering at you for Pete's sake, I'm admiring 5 feet 5 inches of pure curvaceous natural beauty from the bottom of my heart. You should realize that you (or your booty or maybe both) have made me completely forget that complex wave propagation equations, which happens to my bread and butter, that the profie was talking about. That stare of mine which you have labelled as an act of pervertism, is in reality my ode, my tribute to you. I can forget my rozi-roti (livelihood) but I cant forget leering at you the moment you walk in, can anyone give you a bigger or greater tribute??

And then you break my heart even more by saying I grope at you surreptiously, in the bus or maybe in the train or maybe in the metro, or maybe whenever I get a gropable opportunity. Oh how you hurt me by saying this. Didnt you know that there are saints and bishops and popes and fathers and sisters and groups who spend a life-time looking for God, searching for him, trying to reach out to him, and still cant find him. And I that poor leering pervert standing in that crowded train or bus see you, my Goddess right in front of me. And theres my chance to reach out and actually touch you O Goddess, actually get a feel of what it means to have a handful of God's (in this case Goddess') bootylacious heaven in my hands. And you call that groping?? Thats not groping O dear ladies, thats me finally making contact with you, the elusive Goddess.

It is with a broken heart that I'm penning these words. I know you and your clique and your brand of feminism can never see that noble intention, that divine ode, that heavenly love that my leering stares oozes everytime you walk past me.

In closing consider this:
You see a shining sex oozing Lamborgini whizz past you on the road, what do you do?? Do you not stop what you are doing and stare at it with longing eyes. Now does that qualify you to be a leering pervert, or does that qualify you to be an admirer of pure 400 horse-power worth of beauty?? Does that guy driving that Lamborgini make a U-turn and come back at you with the words "you fucking jerk stop leering at my car" or does he not feel proud wth the "Check my beauty out guys and girls" line going through his head.

Why cant you be like that Lamborgini driver, O ladies of this world?? Why?? I rest my case and leave the judgement in your able lovely hands.

The DaVinci Dodo

It is a surprisingly quirky experience when you realize five minutes into a movie, that you've actually read the blockbuster book that inspired the movie, and not just that, you've actually posted an article just a few moons ago proclaiming at the top of your voice that you havent read the book. In that post I even made the claim that the church and the religious groups and what not that are planning to ban the movie's screening are a bunch of droogs who have nothing better to do.

To those people I render a heartfelt apology. You people were right, you knew something that I did not. And now that I have sat through two and a half hours of symbols and cryptexes and geometric duality objects and glass pyramids that act as tombs I know why you people wanted this movie to be banned. You, the kind hearted religious zealots, did not want us, the non-believing mass of movie-going humanity, to sit through this celluloid masterpiece created by Ron Howard and Tom Hanks and that brilliant screenwriter Goldsman that would rival a dodo in its ability to send you into a dumb stupor.

And now I even feel sorry for the pope for whom a private screening was organized. I can picture him snoring all by himself with his bag of holy popcorn and holy pepsi, slowly tipping off his slumbering hands, locked up in his private one sitter movie hall in the Vatican, ten minutes into the movie. Just as the guy sitting next to me or the two couples sitting behind me or the three girls sitting right in front of me or that huge bunch of chinese sitting to my left did.

Since I had little trust in my rapidly failing memory, I asked my friend sitting next to me who was swearing by Dan Brown's literary genius right through the evening, whether the book was really a cult potboiler. Only on receiving a resounding answer in the affirmative, did I realize the brilliance of Avika Goldman, the screenwriter. Goldman and Howard in a spark of absolute Einsteinerque genius had succeeded in stripping Brown's potboiler of all its suspense or tautness or fast pacedness. To say that the movie crawls would be the understatement of the decade. It doesnt just crawl it drags its fucking boring ass all over Europe till you want to bang your head in despair and scream FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP, PLEASE STOP. SOMEBODY BREAK THE DAMN PROJECTOR PLEASE.

Forget Tom Hanks' miserable hair, forget that banshee faced, thin, shrivelled Paul Bettany (Silas) who for some unexplicable reason spends the bulk of his screen time muttering in an Evil Dead like scary voice May the father forgive me, forget Sir Ian McKellan's SRK-style over the top jamming and hamming (the scene at the end where he starts frothing at the mouth and starts stuttering and screaming and over-acting his ass all over uncle sam land as hes shoved into a cop car would do a KKKKiran muttering SRK proud), even forget those dog-chasing-its-own-tail chase sequences that keep on appearing at a frequency of one every five minutes, what really killed me were those history lessons that both Hanks and Mckellan under Howard's masterful non-direction decided to shove up my ass faster than I can say Pop goes the weasle.

But to every great tale there is a catharsis, and believe it or not even Howard and Hanks' dodo has one too. If you've been having sleepless nights due to whatever reason and even the strongest sleep pills have had no effect on you, then go see the Da Vinci Dodo. Howard and Hanks promises to make you sleep like a cuddly baby for two and a half hours.

First break

Cat scan of an oil reservoir in 2D in the gulf of mexico. For a sense of scale the horizontal extent is 16 kms and the vertical extent (indicating depth into the earth) is 4km. Image obtained using a new algorithm developed here that takes 20 fucking hours to run on a 64 node parallel computing environment. The actual reservoir is below the box marked C, incidentally owned by a big oil major. The solid block in the middle of the image with a dick shaped top, is a huge sub-ocean salt dome with steep flanks, that are notoriously difficult to image (see discontinuity in the box B as evidence). The layer at the very top is the ocean bottom.

This image confirms my suspicion that I should take the day and the weekend off and stop reducing my eye-life staring at a pair of LCD displays before I move to 3D.

When Robert Frost took a walk in the woods

One day Robert Frost, that guy who writes those poems that people like me find difficult to understand, decided to take his poodle doggie for a trot. Living in the countryside and being surrounded by moors, the best place to walk the dog was the surrounding woods.

Walking towards the woods, led by his pooping poodle, lost in thought, dark, deep and heavy, ever-ready for the verses till they are properly wrought, Robert Frost hit a crossroads of some sort. Two clear roads diverged into the woods. He stood there, as if shell-shocked, and wondered, though in reality there was little to be pondered. But difficult poets you see do wonder and ponder, a lot.

The first road, observed Robert Frost, was pretty, laden with a bed of flowers even in that cold English frost. Songbirds sang a beautiful tone, dove-tails accompanied them with the perfect baritone. Tones of rosy merrymaking, of joy and of wonderful love. Fruits hung from the branches, so delicious that they could rival those grown in the best tended ranches.
While the other road, observed Robert Frost, was dark and misty, snapping and snarling, threatening with dire consequences. A picture of gloom, of foreboding, sarcastic doom. Dare not enter this, Robert Frost heard her hiss.

And yet, when the choice was crystal clear, Robert Frost stood there and pondered. And then he took that road nobody dared travel by. For he knew that the path that now doom and scorn adorns, is alive with the sweetest of tones. A stairway to heaven thought Robert, is this path if trodden upon.

Will Cinderella dance again, Robert Frost pondered. Difficult poets I told you do wonder and ponder... a lot.

On the DaVinci Bandwagon

I havent read The Da Vinci Code, yea i know in today's age that is a sacrilege, but I did read Angels and Demons (before Da Vinci Code came out) and the best compliment I could get Dan Brown at that time was that hes a wannabe Umberto Eco, though leagues and mega-miles behind him. So I gave TDVC a miss, and suddenly there was a huge ruckus all over the world. Everybody in the english reading and speaking world was talking about this book. Even the poor Sallingers and the Hellers and the Huxleys and the Kerouacs combined did not get as much press and media footage as Dan got.

But I continued to give TDVC a miss, result of some kind of a mental block on my part, and instead focussed on the Deception Point, another pre TDVC Dan Brown work. And till this day, afer almost an year now, I still have a good 50 pages of that book to read.

An interesting common denominator that all of Dan's work share is the following: all his books are publicized as From the author of TDVC. Angels and Demons' tagline goes like this Before the DaVinci Code Langdon faced the Angels and Demons. It is as if the publishers have realized that they can flood the market with Dan's trash and the people wil lap it up as long as the DaVinci word is visible on 20 sized gothic font on the cover. Now that surely counts for shrewd market research, but gets a huge zero for literary content. Have you heard of the Chrome yellow been publicized as from the author of the Brave New world??

And now Hollywood is about to do what it does best. Convert a potboiler into a money minting movie. And I know they are excellent at it. But what I fail to fathom though, is why for Pete's sake is the Vatican and other churches and Christian organizations and religious groups and what not leaking press releases at an astronomical rate as to how this movie might reshape the christian belief. The pope has even set up a panel to rebut the TDVC story.

Guys, fathers, sisters, whatever, please, you over-estimate us, us --the present teeming mass of humanity . At our best, we are a society that lack any kind of long term sensibility, we suffer from selective amnesia, we are a seeker of fads, we like thinking of books and movies as some fashion label that we can proudly flaunt during summer and move onto a different label once summer is gone, and most importantly we arent into re-shaping anything. The thing we do best is sit in front of our 36" tv sets or a DTS equipped multiplex and mutter to our girfriends/wives sitting next to us with that all-knowing tone "The world is going to the dogs" and once the show gets over we try and devise a plan to get laid for the night. And that is why the hit count on this blog rises to an astronomical number whenever a sex post comes on, while this languishes in solitairy isolation.

Trust me father pope we dont have any sensibility left to re-shape, what we have is the penchant to ride any hyped bandwagon properly packaged and placed in front of our greedy eyes.

Early birthday surprise

Mom: So how old will you be now?
Me: 27
Ma: So you'll be 30 soon. You know when your dad was 27 he had a son.
Me: I know mom that was me.
Mom: Dont you think it is now time we find you a friend.

At this point I get very confused.

Me: But mom I have a fair number of them already.
Mom: Ufff, Not your "those" friends. But a special friend.

I get very excited, its my birthday soon, maybe mom is planning to get me Asimo. WOW!! That would be some present.

Me: I like yor idea maa. I think its awesome.
Mom: Thats like my boy. So I'm sending you a picture. Let me know if you like it or not. Else we will send a different one.

Isnt my mom cool or what!! Even I didnt know that there are versions 1.0,1.1, 1.2 and 1.4 of Asimo. Maybe the latest version can not just walk around and talk shop, but press clothes as well. COOLOS !!

Me: Maa your the coolest mom in the world
Mom: Now now babai, dont be so hasty, take your time, this is just the first one, remember that you have plenty of options.

And then i set the phone down and make a mad dash for the computer. And there it is, attachment size 1Mb. With bated breath and trembling fingers i click on the save picture button. This is it, my very own Asimo, hes coming up on screen.

But But, what is this. What the fuck happened to Asimo's sexy Star Warish attire?? How come Asimo is wearing a saree, how come Asimo has long hair and why the hell is Asimo smiling at me with that Soon-your-balls-will-be-mine look.

I go back to mom's email, surely this must be some kind of wrong attachment shes sent in:

Son,
The mantle of fulfilling the destiny of the Indian alpha male is now yours. Now, you my dear son will rise and do what your friends and your foes, your father and your forefathers and everyone else we know of within a 3000 mile radius and 150 year timeframe do best. The sacred baton is now passed to you. Choose well. Its time for you to be domesticated.

And then I saw those stars and I saw Orion the hunter, getting ready to hunt my ass down and nail it up on Barbaadi@shaadi.com
Me kaun hoo, me kaha hoo, Haa Me sach me jhantu hoo.

Three months too late

Stolen from the man for..

Bah-Bah black sheep

I was a wandering sheep,
I did not love the fold
I did not love my shepherd's voice, I would not be controlled.
I was a wayward child, I did not love my home.
I did love that voice, I wished afar they could roam.

Mithunistic Invasion of the 3rd kind (MI-3)

I went to see this summer's first blockbuster MI-3. The theatre was choc-a-bloc, all shows sold out, every one waiting with anticipation, with bated breath, finger nails digging into the arms of their seats, consuming popcorn and pepsi at supersonic rate, girls kissing their guys one last time for the next 2 hours while images of Tom Cruise's naked butt race through their minds, guys cursing under their breath fuck you Tom and fuck all those Botoxes, the Chinese gang sitting behind you getting ready with their digi-translator lest they miss a sentence .... and then finally the curtains go up, the lights go out and that familiar music comes on.

But wait a minute. am I at the right theater?? Who is that on the screen I see?? Is it a bird , is it a plane, is it Ethan Hunt, is it Superman. Hell noooo . ITS MITHUNDA!! Well of course he has lost his man breasts, maybe even gotten his black skin altered to white ala MJ, tucked his 12 beer a day protuding belly into a finely chiseled six pack, hell even transformed his Abeee Saaalaa Saaahi hai accent into a drooling easy supercool punch-line emitting cool-catesque delivery. But fear not my fellow indians it is MITHUNDA.

You dont believe me?? Ok sample this: The onscreen Ethan Hawke whom most of you regretably think is Tom Cruise had an explosive charge implanted in his brain. He got his girlfriend to give him 440 volts of pure electric shock. Tom died, but the electric current disabled the charge in his brain. His girlfriend went on to bring hm back to life with some good old fashioned heart pumping. Instant cure from a modernistic brain tumor. Now close your eyes and let your mind wander back to a time yonder. Mithunda had a tumor in his brain. Anwar Katela (the villain) shot him in the head and the bullet exited Mithunda's skull carrying the tumor with it. Instant cure from the old fashioned brain tumor.

Can you now handle the truth you bunch of non-believers. Can anyone but Prabhuji pull off this supermanesque feat?? Crap I hear the girl staring at her LCD screen say.

Fine. For you the demented non-believer heres one more proof that He has finally invaded the Hollywood fortress. Ethan towards the climax works out the mathematics of a heights and distance problem, on a broken window (ala John Nash), in trying to get the Rabbit's foot. Now the keenest amongst you would have surely noted that Ethan uses a series of yet to be published highly classified Mathematical expressions in solving this problem. So what I still hear that damn girl say. Girl, girl, for His sake open your mind, close your eyes and again let your mind wander to a time yonder. Mithunda donning the avtaar of Dr. Ram Gopal Acharya, a world reknowned professor of a highly classified and yet to be named subject, spends the best part of a 3 hour celluloid classic in a hypnotic horny trance, eyes closed, murmuring in a tongue that would petrify and puzzle even the Neanderthal man, as he tries to solve that biggest mathematical problem of all, the equation of love.

And thus the truth which was out there is revealed upon all you non-believers. He is here, He is in Hollywood and now He will rule with an iron fist. Hollywood would bow before Prabhuji and soon they will learn to produce 100 superhit movies in 100 days for a 100 dollars each. Exit from the scene would all those under-nourished starved petite, leggy blondes and brunettes and enter would the thunder-thighed, buxom bouncing, tire waisted south-indian beauties. All Hail the New World Order. The Revolution has started.

Prabhuji ki Jai ho.

Warning: Those of you frequenting the blogosphere might deem this post to be an Opal Mehta like act due to this. If any one of you is willing to offer me a half million dollar signng bonus for this post. then yea it is an act of copycatism on my part, else it is an independent work of trashy art .

Public Apology

In the past due to mental instabilities on this blogger's part posts were written that were downright mean, low, evil, bitchy and filthy, debasing a person with no reason whatsoever.

The blogger apologizes from the bottom of his heart and begs to be forgiven. I know her heart is much much bigger than mine and so hopefully she will.

As always sorry.

Humbly
Jhantu

A 21st century fairy tale

One fine day many years ago, in the early years of the 21st century across seven seas and seventy countries, in the midst of junk in the form of black and white and ones and zeros met our prince and the princess. And then bloomed a flower, as delicious and as sweet, as beautiful and as pure a flower you have ever laid your eyes upon. The flower of eternal friendship.

And thus began the journey of our prince and our princess. A journey into the unknown, a journey of discovery, of knowing, of realization, a journey based solely on words. And oh how beautiful a fairy tale did those words weave. How beautiful a picture did those words paint. Words that wove lyrical poetry, hmmms that spoke of unsaid love, dotted punctuations that said everything when the sentence ended. Words which you wouldn't exchange for the biggest prize in the land.

And then it was that hour. The hour when atlast they shall put a face to those words. On a moonlit night, when the hands of the clock struck the midnight hour, walked our prince and princess towards that promised meeting point, her fingers nevously straightening her glasses, his hands fumbling with the box of matches. And then the prince saw the princess. And he knew the words were true, they had to be.

And thus began another journey. A journey like you have never heard of. A journey of pure joy, of laughter, of blissful happiness, of joyrides on a newly bred stallion, of princely well planned outings that ended in much laughed about disasters, of feigning sulkiness, of being childishly happy when the other tries to make up for that feigned sulkiness, of stealing stills. A journey of unsaid love.

Ahh!! Unsaid love. Alas. Maybe our prince wasnt him, maybe the words that had so merrily weaved this fairytale defected him when it mattered most, maybe our prince had let the moment pass by. But shouldnt she have known that he would always get it to rain for her.

And so walked away our prince and our princess, trampling to a cruel death that flower they had so carefully nurtured. Words that once weaved magic, now spun a Black widow's poisonous net. That trusted stallion, the sole witness to that magical journey, dies with a broken heart. And still they walk, determined to put seven seas and seventy countries between them.

But wouldnt that bring them to a full circle, I ask. Cant that flower bloom again then? Shouldnt it rain again in November?

O Prince and Princess nobody likes a tragic fairytale. Let the words weave their magic again. One last time.

Postscript: Broken rain link is now repaired. Let the hills come alive with the sound of music

Diatribe

What's it going to be then? Is it going to be in and out of institutions like this, though more in than out for most of you? Or are you going to attend to the Divine Word and realize the punishments that await unrepentant sinners in the next world as well as this? A lot of idiots you are, selling your birthright for a saucer of cold porridge, the thrill of theft, of violence, the urge to live easy. Well, I ask you, what is it worth?

When we have undeniable proof, yes, incontrovertible evidence that Hell exists. I know, I know, my friends. I have been informed in visions that there is a place darker than this, hotter than any flame of human fire, where souls of unrepentant criminal sinners like yourselves. Don't you laugh, damn you, don't you laugh. I say like yourselves, scream in endless and unendurable agony. Their skin rotting and peeling, a fireball spinning in their screaming guts. I know, oh yes, I know ... Now all of you fart right now and disrupt the rantings of the madman.

Apu trilogy revisited

So I fulfilled a long lasting desire over this weekend. And that is to see the Apu trilogy in one go--Pather Panchali (the song of the road) , Aparajito (The unvanquished) and Apur Sansar (The world of Apu). A billion words have been spent and a trillion books and artciles and novels and novellas and dissertations have been written on the Apu trilogy and I wont even try and impress upon you what these three films mean to Indian cinema in general and world cinema in particular. But there are many of you uninitiated into the wonderful world of Ray movies and Bengali cinema of that era for whom I'll make an effort to give you a glimpse into the trilogy.

The crux of the trilogy as the name suggests deals with a boy called Apu, Aparajito Roy. In Apu's own words, when he sets out to write an autobiographical novel "it is a story of priest's son who yearned for knowledge, for learning, for the thirst to know whatever there is to know. And with this knowedge and knowledge only he set himself free, free from superstitions, free from mediocracy, free from mean mindedness, free from the materialistic poverty he finds himself surrounded by." The trilogy is a beacon of optimism, masterfully written by Bibhutibhushan Bandhopadhay and equally masterfully transformed onto celluloid by Ray.

For me the trilogy is a battle between hope and despair, which anyday is a more important battle than that between good and evil. Apu's life is interlaced with loss and tragedy. He loses his elder sister at 7, his father at the age of 10 and his mother at the age of 17, and as a last straw he even loses his beloved wife. But never in the face of such calamity does hope die. In the last part of the trilogy, Apur Sansar, once his wife dies during childbirth you almost feel that this is it for Apu. He abandons his son whom he squarely blames for his wife's death, loses his thirst for knowledge and even tears up that novel he had been writing for so long.

You get a feeling this is a hole out of which Apu cant climb out. No way. But he does. In a moment of pure celluloid magic Ray re-creates the final blow that hope deals to depair and buries it for good. Rejected by his 5 year old son, Apu leaves the village, heading out to the city, when a voice calls out to him "Do you know my Dad who lives in Calcutta?". Apu turns around "Yes I do, do you want me to take you to him". "Will you? Why will you? Who are you after all?". Apu, brilliantly played by a very young Soumitra Chatterjee, starts to say I'm your dad, but the word that come out are "I am your friend, Arent friends supposed to help each other, isnt that what friends are for?".

I have been heavily influenced by my mother and so for me the most powerful character in the triology is Apu's mother Sarbojaya. A powerhouse character, this illiterate widow nurtures her beloved son as he makes the transition from childhood to adoloscence, and then sees her small, ill-lit, ill-equipped village house become too constricted for her growing son who is now immersed into the world of the Keats and the Shelleys, the Faradays and the Galileos. It is a moment of immense pride and pleasure and at the same time a moment of paralyzing pain for her. To let him grow, to let him be what he wants to be, to let Apu fulfill his destiny, she must set him free, free from the bindings that she and her small village house impose on Apu. But still she shouldnt have died.

Beating the drug test

Pointer: I am up for my drug test in just about a week's time and my veins are infested with nasty chemicals at the moment. People in similar situations will find this post useful. Also feel free to add your suggestions.

The Usual suspects:

1. Drink plenty of fluids. Remember water wont dissolve the THC concentration from years of stoning it will only dilute it.

2. Urinate and prespire a lot. Diuretics make people urinate frequently. Coffee, cranberry juice, beer, iced tea, herbal tea, and Pepsi are all good diuretics. Cranberry juice is the cheapest.

3. On the morning of the test empty the cooler of water.

4. Don't give urine from your first urination of the day. It's the dirtiest, and can be heavily filled with metabolites. Urinate a couple of times before giving a test sample. Also, don't give the beginning or end of the stream. Piss in the toilet, then quickly stop and go in the cup. Stop, and shift back to the toilet for the last portion. Only give a midstream sample. Just be sure to give 60 cc's.

For the more exotic and desperate suspects:

1. Get your friend to fill out a Disposable Drainage bag. Tape the bag to your abdomen and run a tube down to your fly. The piss must be fresh.

2. For women, a urine filled condom or vanilla extract bottle inserted into the vagina can work wonders.

3. If you cant find a friend ready to donate fresh piss contact them

4. If you are pretty and big boobed, wear revealing clothes to the test center. Distract the male nurse by constantly leaning into him and giving him a peeky-boo.

5. If you are ugly try a hefty bribe.

6. If your really fucked, add toilet water to your sample, or a few draino crystals to lower your pH. For a comprehensive list of additives that can be used see them

7. If you are stoned on the morning of the test, get your girlfriend to do a Bobbit on you. But be careful that you have an ice-bag handy to store your sliced off dick. Also remember to carry the ice bag with you to the hospital for regrafting. If you are a girl Im not sure how your boyfriend can help with this one.

All the best and Godspeed

Past master

James starts a leaf of clover. The girl at the drive in window hands you a piece of junk cheese and beef wrapped in a flour tortila for a buck, befitting end to a romantic night initiated by cheap wine. Arsatradero, Matadero. I love these names. The hand without long fingers asks for yours. An old irish folk jingle remastered by James comes on. Distraction. The fingers disentagle for a moment reaching for the Fast forward button. I have had my jar of whiskey you mutter. The fingers entwine convinced that the soothing light at the end of the tunnel is not a freight train coming their way. You never let my favourite songs play, says a grumpy voice from the past. Not missing his cue James reminds you Mirrors vain, gone insane, but the memory remains.

Casablanca

I hate romantic cinema, but sometimes, rarely, when you are with that right person, even hell seems heaven. And then you close your eyes, content, falling into a deep asleep. You wake up, your eyes search for her. But that fleeting moment of pure joy is gone, like yesterday it can never come back. Pricks dont deserve a Casablanca, they deserve sex. So be it.

Dismantled Class Project

Ok so I am taking a 5 credit film-making and scripting class this quarter where you get to learn about cool directors from all over the world (incidentally both Ray and Ritwik Ghotok are featured) plus you get to take cool trips in the SFO district. Perfecto I hear you say.

Unfortunately there is a small hitch. To get any kind of decent grade the class requires a project. You need to make a 30 min short film and script it. And I realized that I've got just about 4 weeks to do something about this. So i decided to spend the whole of today trying to invent a film, a film that would harbinger a new wave in modern cinema --Jhantuism. Maybe even the b-school and ms&e dumbos will have a case study on me after my 30 min film makes a billion dollars : "Jhantuistic path to success -- it pays you a billion to be a jhantu".

An hour into fantasizing about these definite "maybe"s, frothing at the mouth, testosterone, adrenalin, nicotine and all other bodily hormones being produced at an alarming rate, halfway through consuming a pack of camels, feeling extremely horny, I finally had it!! Yes.. that film which would change the face and boobs of world cinema was there in my head.

And just as Archimedes had leapt out of his bathtub screaming Eureka, Eureka!! at the top of his voice , I in a similar Archimedisque mental state leapt out of my bed, without a string on my body screaming O Yea Baby, I have it!! at the top of my voice, rushed down the stairs and made a mad beeline dash for the telephone in the living room to call up my would be heroine. I had to start filming it right now.

Honey I just got this brainwave that would make me a billion dollars. But I need you for that. I need to shoot a porn film starring you, me and your Venezuelan roomie. Can you come around in half an hour's time with her.

Cut to half an hour later. Knock knock, I rush downstairs wearing my newly bought sexy Jap robe, ready to greet my girlfriend and her roomie, my two darling heroines with open arms and in a few moments with an open robe. I open the door with a million dollar smile pasted on my face Hi sweetie, Wher... Awk, OO... Wooow

Cut to another half an hour later. I find myself on the bed, my robe is open, my loins are throbbing with painful pleasure, so this is it Im finally filming it and having a threesome at the same time. But the bed seems strangely wet,must be all the sweat, its a threesome after all. I raise my head, shes standing near the window, Oh Ok shes probably taking a break. Heroines do that

I think I'll replace the ice now , she says turning to me. Im all confused. Ice, what Ice? Was I good sweetie, did your roomie like it? I dont seem to remember it too well. The sex must have been rocking. She walks upto me takes an ice bag off my loins and puts on a new one. I look down, my balls look fishily shrivelled. You know jhantu I should have kicked you harder,knocked your balls right off.

And then I fainted, again. CUT!!

Linguistic Re-engineering

From A Jhantu's Handbook

ATP: Any time Pyaar ( Someone who falls in love every month, maybe even every fortnight)

RS: Romantic singh (lover boy, susceptible to frequent ATPs)

Chaand dekhna: In love (context: remember hum dil de chuke sanam, if not go see it)

BC : *chod (* being the wildcard character, example of which can be beti, behen,boka, notice language independent as well)

Chinnaar: slut (example: most girls)

Chothu: Male slut (example: yours truly)

Chaatu: Someone who can drive you crazy every time he/she opens his/her trap

Jhantu: Complete give-up person, with all round give up skills

JSC: Jhantu singh Chaatu (Lethal combination of a jhantu and a chaatu, extremely pervasent breed in stanford desi circles)

IB: Ignore the bastard/bitch (usage: first line of defense againt a JSC, apply this strategy anytime a JSC tries to pick your brain, have a fake smile on your face and think of beautiful things like porn, nude girls, threesomes do not forget to go "hmm" and "i see" every minute, or simply turn around walk away without another word.)

CC: Counter Chaat (usage: last line of defense against a JSC, action taken when a JSC has finally breached your defense, you decide to counter attack JSC with ardent passion with a lethal dose of his own medicine)

IC: Instant Chaat (ability to pick someone's brain and drive him nuts in less than one minute)

CSN: Chaatu Swami Network (station you find yourself tuned to when stuck in a room/party/train/bus/car with more than one Chaatu)

LP: Lallu Panju (first class dumbo)

TP: Time-pass ( Someone who has taken the concept of couch potato to a complete elitist plane, example: Jhantu, reason: finished all 9 seasons of Friends in one sitting over one weekend)

FTBC: Full Time Bakar Chodi (person with a PhD in TP)

Jhock: Jhakkas (super) shock (usage of this effect: your fiancee is sleeping around)

TMC: Teri Maa ki Chodo (self explanatory)

MCJ: Maa chod di Jayegi (your mother will be fucked, usage: use as a threatening warning to someone picking ur brains)

MIB: Mentally ImBalanced (nut-case)

Kholu: Class topper

Dhakkan: Class topper (from the bottom)

LK: Laundiya-khor (compulsive womanizer/skirt chaser)

PLD: Prachand Lund Dhari (Big dicked guy, usage: primarily in straight sex, not preferred for anal sex, also boasting about your well endowed treasured body part to one and all)

CLD: Choti si Lund Dhari (Small dicked guy, usage: highly preferred for anal sex, warning: if you are a CLD do not let your friends know your true size ever in your life)

Mansarovar: HUGE pussy (usage: havent encountered yet, still looking for it, pointers to it will be appreciated)

Dikkat Theorem: The world's first theorem (explanation : you are playing loud metal in your room, your roomie comes into your room and screams at you fucker turn down the damn volume, you look up calmly and say "dikkat ho rahi hai? to kaan bandh karlo, dikkat nahi hogi fir" . Dikkat theorem in action.)

Was developed in the esteemed hostels of ITBHU between 1998 and 2002 by a bunch of people now famously referred to as digdeepers. Copyrighted material. Feel free to use it.

Morning blues

How did your drug test go? Dont know results will be in tomorrow, she typed on her office laptop while John Denver crooned on an online music station. What if you fail? Hmm mom and dad would definitely disown me if they havent already, moves in with you and you pay my fees. The heart jumps with joy, but the brain more concerned with all things earthly commands the motor nerves to type out You arent confusing me for your Dad are you? A long minute passes and a smiley appears on the lines of you've got mail And that would qualify you to be a Betichod (daughter-fucker) as you like to say.

Alms for Shanti

A dollar from you can save a million people trapped in a genocide.
Please visit: here and use the donate tab on the left.

Coupling Issues

Automobiles of our generation are cool. They have amazing horsepower, super transmission, sleak shiny bodies, lovely leather interiors, state of the art navigation systems and some of them even have a Bose system for your Rammsteinic auditory pleasure.

But just for a second close your eyes, forget today's mean machines only for a second, and think of those Cadillacs that you had seen in all those movies from the 70s and the 80s. Now concentrate for a second more and take a peek through the window and look into the automobile. What do you see?? What you see is that unlike todays automobiles, the front seat is different. There is no separate seat for the driver and the pillion, on the contrary there is one long seat that the driver and the pillion share, pretty much like the backseat, infact exactly like the backseat.

So what the fuck I hear you say. What in Lord almighty fuck's name does that have to do with anything?? Everything is my answer. Everything related to having sex in a car. Think of today's cars. Is there any god forsaken way that you can think of having sex with any kind of comfort in the front seat of today's mean machines??

First there is the stick,which you need to circumvent with plenty of skills before you have any hope of groping or fondling your sweetheart. Now even if you succesfully get past the stick obstacle there is then the almost impossible task of either moving yourself on top of her or getting her to move on top of you. Unless you and your girlfriend can create unimaginable obtuse angles when your bodies entwine I dont see much hope.

Wait a minute I hear you say, cant my girlfriend move over to my side and ride me like a cowgirl?? Yes I say that she can but at the perils of having her skull crack open as she rebounds of your mean machine's roof. What if I have a convertible? I had one, but tell me do you seriously think that your girlfrined is going to cowgirl you in a parking lot with your roof down and people around you betting on how long you can last.

Now now she can definitely blow me cant she? Of course she can. But spare a thought for the poor girl. While shes blowing you at your earnest behest, the car's stick which any day is bigger and thicker than yours is pressing against her belly, dangerously close to her love button. And suddenly she realizes that it would be much easier and probably more satisfying for her to rub herself against your mean machine's stick and have an orgasm, rather than navigating her way around an obstacle filled circuitous path before she can ride you like a cowgirl or blow you.

Honey let me couple with your mean machine right now, I promise to decouple as soon as we get home. I tell you sex wasnt on the designer's mind when today's mean machines were designed.

A word of thanks

This blog is 2 months old now and fortunately (for me) or unfortunately (for the readers) now has a decent sized reader base. When i started this blog I had no clue what to write about or even if there was a point in writing something. After all who in their right mind would want to waste time perusing mediocrity churned out at an alarming daily rate by yours truly when there are so many more interesting things to do. But to my delight Ive been proven wrong and for that I thank you dear readers.

Many of you, whom Ive never met and probably will never meet, even take the pain of emailing me, some of which are hate mails and some of which are really nice. I dont reply to any of them, not because they arent of any value but because I dont know what to write back to you. But again many many thanks for those emails. The two burning questions that most of you ask though is the following : "Is this blog a creation of a sex obsessed prick ?" And then of course the million dollar question about "this blog's two central characters -- the economist and the baby" whom I keep referring to with alarming regularity.

Heres my answer:
You tend to write about things which you are good at. And for me the only thing Im really good at, is being horny and having sex and so I write about it. Be it phone sex or sex in a car or sex in a pub or sex in a bedroom or sex when I am high. So yea it is a sex fiend's blog. If i start writing about current affairs/books/sports/humor, then believe me when I say this that a conversation with a dodo would seem more engrossing . Hence sex it is.

As for the "girl(s)", many of you claim to know her and most of you, whom I have never met, have a mental picture of her. Many of you are puzzled by the fact that which is which? Is the girl with the snap the girl potrayed as "Black widow baby" by me or is she the other one? Many of you even offer me counselling via emails and relate this blog to experiences with your ex-es and currents.

But hey let me clarify; what you get from this blog is just half the story. My side of the story. A complete different take exists at the other end of the spectrum where Black widow baby is an intelligent, caring, well read and extremely decent person and where even though most of you think that there is no way that jhantu's economist girlfriend reads this shitty horny crap and is still with him, she actually does !!

And finally for the sting in the tail, the blog was started when I lost one of my closest if not the closest friend. That pissed me off really bad and I needed a place to vent my feelings out. And thus started my rants in bits and bytes at this url. And now two months since I'm sill pissed, but pissed with me that how could I let that friendship crumble to dirt. Talk about being a prick.

Amen!!

To dos

a) Finish Reading :
1. Cryptonomicon: Neal Stephenson (fnished.. super read)
2. Bend in the River: V.S. Naipaul (finished.. too verbose)
3. Animal Dreams: Barbara Kingsolver (finished, dull ending)
4. SETI 2020, Ekers et., al
5. Crime and Punishment: Fyodor Dostoyevsky (started)
6. The Monkey's Wrench: Primo Levi
7. Crome Yellow : Aldous Huxley (super start)
8. Snow Falling on Cedars: David Guterson
9. Autobiography of an unknown Indian : Nirad C Chaudhury
10. A man in full: Tom Wolfe
11. Pickles: Brian Crane

b) Submit a fully theoretical paper to Geophysics

c) Cut down smoking from a pack and a half to less than 10 a day

d) Get 3.5 laks INR for gollu.

e) Pay off credit card debts.

f) Get the balls to
1. go to Dennys without missing her.
2. delete the idiot folder from yahoo
3. convince yourself that she was not the most important person in your life ever.

g) Make a 10 day trip to Central Africa every year (btw those of you interested in volunteer work in Africa please visit cctg.org, those in California volunteer batches start from md may)

h) Adopt atleast two more children through cry.

i) Try and blog as regularly as possible.

j) Try and become a bit more conventional.

An acidic trip --- and why berk rocks and stanford sucks

Well yeah I tried LSD, again, after a pretty long time though. And yeah the experience of getting high on acid is still as great as it used to be. Theres something about these damn friday nights that kind of makes me do loony stuff. Maybe the moon and the pole star and my degenerated neurons line up and my cerebral circuit gets re-wired or something. I dont know.

But back to the ACID. So i made my way to Berkeley with a group of people, consumed copiuos amounts of tequila and jag at Starry Plough, which btw I think is the coolest pub in the Bay area, with some wonderful irish bands that perform on weekends. But these days my neurons have kind of become immuned to lethal liquid cocktails, so I and the bunch I was with needed some other means of getting high. R, being a Berk student suggested we try out the age old Berk tradition of going with the ACID and so off we went to her apartment.

After some frantic phone calls from R and her friends we managed to stash up a fair amount of the good stuff and then finally it was time for me to get reunited with my long lost buddy. The acid that we had was of the paper varierty, that is small stamp sized paper that is soaked with the good stuff that you need to swallow.

Now at first glance those stamps look pretty inocuous and your brain kind of gets the impression "Huh, that wont do anything for me". So in an egoistic frenzy you might actually end up over doing the stuff. Meaning you take in more than one of the stamps at the first go. And readers let me tell you that is not at all recommended. MS did that and ended up spending the night under the bed screaming at the top off his voice " Please dont tell Lisa (no idea who Lisa is) that I masturbate with gay porn". As for me I started with one of them, after which everything in the room seemed really really vibrant. It was like you were seeing everything through 3D tinted glass and unlike grass it doesnt make you feel light. On the contrary your senses I think become more sharper and you can actually start to sense the paranormal as well. I had a fascinating discussion with the an equally trashed girl (a philosophy phd grad) about who was the greatest serial killer Son of Sam or Ted Bundy and she complained bitterly that its a shame that people dont study Charles Manson and David Queresh and the philosophy of cults.

I finally passed out after two doses (im guessing this) and as always tons of alcohol and acid didnt make me puke even this time around.

And now I realize that I should have gone to Berk. Its a much cooler place with more intellignt people around. Stanford's screwed up admission policy where they hand out admissions to one and all at the Masters level, ends up intoxicating the grad population with a huge percentage of dumbos who cant tell the difference between a dodo and a dildo. So any of you wannabe Phds take my advise and go to berk. Stanford is well shallow, to put it mildly.

Dial S for SEX

Anyone who watches hindi movies online (hindijoy/desimedia/something else) must have seen those wonderfully bizarre ads where a telephone with a ponytail and a sexy female voice walks upto a guy and cooes in his ears "udaas kyon baithe ho, aao mere saath pyaar ki duniya me (why are you sitting all alone, come with me to the land of love)". And then a number flashes on the screen, which btw i called out of sheer morbid curiosity and nothing else, and it turned out to be a sex line. AHAA!! But hold on to your pants, and stop salivating, this is not about that.

This is about something much more delicious and much more tricky. This is about having phone sex with your girlfriend. Ok it does sound a bit kinky, but hey its your girlfriend and you are supposed to have sex with her right, and not the hot next door brunette. Sigh, mmm ***#$@$

But we digress !! Guys guys guys, let me warn you phone sex is not easy. It is not a walk in the park by any stretch of your imagination. You see with the usual vanilla sex, a majority of your time is spent doing it, for lack of a better word. Words are few and used sparsely, unless you are into dirty talking during the act and most importantly you can gauge the reaction of your partner and alter your moves before they lead to disaster and a subsequent breakup with the worst possible reason "my bf sucks in bed".

But with phone sex you are with a major handicap. Being good in bed is no longer important, you have to good with your words, and damn good for that matter. You dont want to use a line like "you look hot today sweetheart" cos "you cant even see me now you prick" will come the repartee. Instead you have to use the modified version "God your voice makes me all hot". See what I mean, phone sex requires perfect coordination between your brain and your larynx.

Not only that, your sense of timing to say the right words must be spot on. What i mean by that is she might be aching for some hard verbose action, while you (not knowing that) might start up with the soft thingie "I want to put my arms around you and smell your hair" and then "You have no clue what my needs are, so insensitive" will come the harsh rebuke. You getting my point now??

And lastly ending must be pretty grand as well. But I wont go into the details about that, the only word of advise would be let her have a grand finale first, even though usually it takes a girl forever to have a grand finale (not in my case btw). But still, show your sensitive side, shes your girlfriend after all. And most importantly you and your girl have to be on the same synch plane and tuned to the same sexual frequency. Only then will this work. But if you are both tuned properly then "O MY GOD" it is one hell of a smashing experience. And as kinky as it gets.

So all you couples out there, if you havent tried this then stop wasting time reading this stupid post pick up the phone and dial S for SEX. Do let me know how it went though.