How much I miss those legs........full of lust for the forever hungry.
Those breasts....always inviting....soft and succulent as ever.
Never fancied nibbling her neck, not out of fear of a hicky, but just didn't like the feel of it.
How much I miss her......Lord. Why, why did you have to take her away?
She was always cheerful, even after knowing that she had to go one day...one day soon.
But no one ever imagined, that she would have to go in such a humiliating manner, without appeasing the urges of mortals like me.
I still remember how happy I was the other day, on my way back from office.
The banal time I spend in the train was for once passing away at the speed of knots, for I was busy thinking about her legs. Those legs ...the ones I'd die for.
And then I got the news.....I could not have her, she wasnt meant for me...for she was diagnosed with a deadly fever which would keep her away from me.
How can I stay away from her?
After years of knowing her, she cannot go away just like that, overnight.
I tried to erase her from my limited memories and went about looking for other pretty things,
but it was inevitable. My mind kept thinking about her.
I blame my friends from China for her death. They started it all. And now i have to suffer. Talk about injustice!
My friends there, have a lot on their palette, unlike me. They stole the only thing i loved.
I can't take it any more. She will be mine again, and soon.
Screw the bird flu, i am having Chicken again!
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
bengalooru
Just back from Bangalore.....or was it bengalooru. i wouldnt have cared less. The building arent that high, and cast no shadows on the sesame street sized roads.
To borrow words of Jug Suraiya, 'its a small town dressed in a city's overcoat'. Its green ok.....a relief from the mundane grey of Mumbai. The public transport sucks, and i have the highest respect for the postal employees there.
Ninth block, 11th main, 9th cross, door no 121.
Its worse than searching for a cricketer in his all whites at a hindu funeral.
'Bomanahalli Circle' i said at the prepaid rickshaw counter, Bangalore Airport.
'Rs.150 sar, won ana haalf, after 9 na'. Wo KK , when you cant speak Kannada, its a bargain.
After 35 mins of enduirng a G-Force of 7.5 g, i reached my intended place of stay.
The weather was amazing, surprised Shrdh, who by the way has an amazing place there, which were the only saving graces of my trip.
The intended reason for travel didnt materialise, as the interview panel managed to grill me on something i should'nt have said. The altercation with the rick-wallah has left a sour taste, the flavours of which still make their presence felt from time to time. After 5 days was back in Mumbai and boy, was i glad.
Whatever its called, i am glad to be back in mumbai.
Am too attached to the filth around here, the beggars with an attitude,
not to forget the rickwallas who sit on the freaking edge of their seat, leaving enough space for 2 well fed aunties to play garba.
As of now, i still love this garbage dump of mine.
To borrow words of Jug Suraiya, 'its a small town dressed in a city's overcoat'. Its green ok.....a relief from the mundane grey of Mumbai. The public transport sucks, and i have the highest respect for the postal employees there.
Ninth block, 11th main, 9th cross, door no 121.
Its worse than searching for a cricketer in his all whites at a hindu funeral.
'Bomanahalli Circle' i said at the prepaid rickshaw counter, Bangalore Airport.
'Rs.150 sar, won ana haalf, after 9 na'. Wo KK , when you cant speak Kannada, its a bargain.
After 35 mins of enduirng a G-Force of 7.5 g, i reached my intended place of stay.
The weather was amazing, surprised Shrdh, who by the way has an amazing place there, which were the only saving graces of my trip.
The intended reason for travel didnt materialise, as the interview panel managed to grill me on something i should'nt have said. The altercation with the rick-wallah has left a sour taste, the flavours of which still make their presence felt from time to time. After 5 days was back in Mumbai and boy, was i glad.
Whatever its called, i am glad to be back in mumbai.
Am too attached to the filth around here, the beggars with an attitude,
not to forget the rickwallas who sit on the freaking edge of their seat, leaving enough space for 2 well fed aunties to play garba.
As of now, i still love this garbage dump of mine.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
City of Joy
Have been doing a lot of reading of late, most of it started out of compulsion as i had a couple of interviews lined up. Only book which i could get my hands on free of cost was "City of Joy" by Dominique Lapierre.
Sid, the loyal un-marxist bengali(a true rarity) that he is, suggested and handed me this one.
I obliged.
Its a well written story, and one can envisage the eclectic lifestyle of the 'city of joy' the author is trying to portray.
Stephen Kovalski, the protagonist finds solace in the filth, that Anand Nagar is.
The story goes on to describe his confrontations with the nonpareil happenings, which reinforces his faith in the almighty and makes him strive all the more, to help the destitutes. It has a couple of other parallel stories. And hell did he introduce me to some sesquipedalians.
My opinion is that the concept would appeal a lot more to people who are not aware of the existence of general population held in squalor to such a great extent.
A French baroness nibbling croissants might choke and spit it out, on reading about Anouar's disease. But for a Mumbaiite just back from Churchgate in a Virar Local and the miasma at the ticket counters, it would just bring in a sense of nostalgia.
But some chapters were quite revelatory about our mythology. Now I know theres more to Ramayana, then what Ramanand Sagar televised. Or like what Shivalinga actually symbolizes.
Not a bad book huh?.....dont know if I should hand it over to Sid, maybe keep it on the shelf and show off the varied reading interests I have, to gullible visitors.
"ohhh...your son has read City of Joy, must be an intelligent boy....kuthé aahhey tow?"
Sid, the loyal un-marxist bengali(a true rarity) that he is, suggested and handed me this one.
I obliged.
Its a well written story, and one can envisage the eclectic lifestyle of the 'city of joy' the author is trying to portray.
Stephen Kovalski, the protagonist finds solace in the filth, that Anand Nagar is.
The story goes on to describe his confrontations with the nonpareil happenings, which reinforces his faith in the almighty and makes him strive all the more, to help the destitutes. It has a couple of other parallel stories. And hell did he introduce me to some sesquipedalians.
My opinion is that the concept would appeal a lot more to people who are not aware of the existence of general population held in squalor to such a great extent.
A French baroness nibbling croissants might choke and spit it out, on reading about Anouar's disease. But for a Mumbaiite just back from Churchgate in a Virar Local and the miasma at the ticket counters, it would just bring in a sense of nostalgia.
But some chapters were quite revelatory about our mythology. Now I know theres more to Ramayana, then what Ramanand Sagar televised. Or like what Shivalinga actually symbolizes.
Not a bad book huh?.....dont know if I should hand it over to Sid, maybe keep it on the shelf and show off the varied reading interests I have, to gullible visitors.
"ohhh...your son has read City of Joy, must be an intelligent boy....kuthé aahhey tow?"
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