Little Black Book

*1* ‘It was fun! Ladies night at Shalimar is always fun’ The girl gushed as she swept the hair away from her face. ‘You are cute … I like you’ her speech slurred with girly giggles as she leaned forward with pouted lips and closed eyes. ‘You are drunk!’ The man pushed her to the side, careful enough to not push her out of the moving autorickshaw. The autorickshaw driver looked in the mirror over hanging over his forehead and grinned lecherously at the girl. ‘Madam fullu tight-ah?’ The driver chuckled as he mustered all the English he knew into a comprehensible sentence. It was more a statement than a question. The man ignored the driver and lit up a cigarette. He should have left the girl alone. He should have gone back to the hotel. But the girl was drunk, and people had seen him with her. He had considered his options. Leaving her behind would ensure that people would remember the two of them long enough to discuss them the next day over brunch. Taking her along meant that ...

Once upon a time… By that I mean a couple of years back. When I was still single and so were my friends. Like little whiny bitches, one of our favorite pastimes was to day dream about the kind of women we would be married to. One of me mates was pretty darn sure that he would have an arranged marriage. Not because he wasn’t progressive or couldn’t woo girls with his sheer alpha male looks and gait. No. He wanted to have an arranged marriage because he was pretty sure that his folks would pick a kingfisher calendar girl for him to be married to. There was another mate of mine who wanted to remain single and another, who just like me wanted our lives to resemble an Aditya Chopra movie. Fast forward to a couple of years later, the domino effect took place reminding us of this thing called life and this phenomenon called time. Domino effect, for those of you who are still young and single - It is that particular period of time when you start getting news that one of your friends is ...

Stop me if you have heard this one before. There are two kinds of people. The ones who want to be the best there ever was. And then there are the others who want to be the best till somebody else comes along. There are two kinds of people. The ones who don’t know from where their next pay cheque is going to come from. And then there are the ones who always fantasize about their dreams. I was one kind. Before I decided that I wanted to be the other. I was on the right side of the law. Did everything my parents wanted me to do. Finished my college. Found a job. Quit the job to study some more, in a foreign land. Found myself a fabricated cell with limited access to the world wide web during lunch hours. Parents felt proud of what I had achieved. I wanted them to come and visit. There are two kinds of dogs. One which learns everything you want to teach. The other wants to learn new tricks. And then there are the others who are too old to be taught anything. My parents did fina...

The story about quibbling, quarreling conjoined twins titled ‘An.Al – The Origins’ hit bookshelves sometime last August, 2013. Soon it will be an entire year since the book came out. As the title suggests, I try to document the things which have changed since then. I am partaking in this exercise primarily because I realize that as one grows older, the concept of time disintegrates faster.  For starters, I can now say, without pride that I am a writer. A published author. My book is available to download and to purchase in bookstores.  I still can’t say that writing is my primary job. Still have miles and thousands of INR to go. I still have to pay rent, bills, stock my bar, buy cigarettes and  occasionally  satisfy the rogue pregnant urge to chomp on some steak, mash and veggies. When asked about the title of the book, I have to explain that it is supposed to be an inside joke. A joke, which so far none of the readers have registered. Which also possibly exp...

The day is Friday. You refresh your mail box one last time, hoping and crossing everything which comes in pairs. There are no new mails. You check your phone. You check the time. 06:42 You look around the small little cubicle you inhabit for five days and three/four nights a week. You want to yell ‘ so long suckers! See you on Monday! ’. You don’t. You are James Bond walking away from a building which is going to self immolate itself in your absence. In slow motion. The traffic was an elephantine snake. You don’t care. You fling your bag. You are Michael Jordan. You kick off your shoes. You are Michael Jackson. You press play on your iPod and open a bottle of beer. You are a mean party animal. You light a cigarette. Feel the bitter taste coat the insides of your mouth. You drop your pants and take a wee. You are the musical water fountain. The iPod plays a slow song. You jump, shake, pull up your pants and run to change the song. You are the DJ. You suck hard on the first cigar...

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‘History repeats itself. First as a tragedy and second as farce’ – Karl Marx As most children raised before parenting books started topping sales chart, I was accustomed to corporal punishment, both at school and at home. But there was one distinction when it came at being punished at home. It was my father and the words he uttered before meted out the punishment I deserved.      “ Laathon ke bhoot batoon se nahi maante ” Which roughly translates into, ‘ what can be achieved with force is seldom achieved with words ’. The reason I am sharing this rather fun story with you is because, I read something on Quora about operation blue star, which then made me read up on the Muslim league. And I couldn’t help but think to myself… ‘Damn! The colonists played a mean game of Keyser Sozian John Doe with us lot. They divided us. We joined hands, won our freedom, only for us to go back to our age old squabbles of who gets the bigger piece of the pie.’ We revel in...