No seriously...Is not writing a story about...

                                              Is not writing a story about... a man with super sperm which he releases into a water reservoir and gets thousands of women simultaneously impregnated and raises an army  of  hell spawn with intentions to  take over the world...only to be thwarted by Chuck Norris,Steven Seagal and Jean Claude Van Damme.

On second thought...its a good idea...not to write that story.

But he wishes he could...

Tested 'OK'

As a kid you were told that you had to pass the test, get good grades so that you could move on to a good school.

You were happy that you had to endure it only until you got into a good school.

But you were wrong.

At school, you were told that acing tests was important to get into a good college.

You were happy that once you got into a good college, you didn't have to worry about being tested.

You were wrong again.

At college you were told that the results of the tests you took got you the jobs you wanted.

You hoped that once you got a good job, that would be the end of this burden of being tested.

You were sadly mistaken.

At work, you were tested for promotions, a bigger pay packet, bigger responsibilities.

You got all of that.Now you hoped you could relax.

Instead you were being tested harder.You were being judged more than ever.

You slowly realised that you'd be tested all your life and it only got bigger and harder.

But somewhere you forgot that you were ignoring life's more important tests.

You somehow never realised that you failed...

only

When you hurt the one you loved.

When you failed to heed the voice inside.

When you ignored your dreams.

When you lost touch of your humanity.

When greed and hate took over.

In your quest for what you never wanted,You never understood that the most important tests in life were not the ones you answered on a sheet of paper.

You never really realised that you'd be tested all your life.

You never really realised that each test was as important as the last one.

You never really realised that life gave you a second chance sometimes, that failing was just a part of the game, just like winning.

The important part was to keep on playing and have fun.

You never realised that your own judgement was more important than what others thought.

At the end of the day, if you still felt you failed, no one could convince you any better.

Or if at the end of the day, you returned home to a smile and a warm hug, no one could convince you that you have failed.

In the end, we all want to be tested.

Its true.

We want to be tested for our self-worth and judged.

We want to be tested and found OK.

In the unlikely case that I'd be buried, I want my epitaph to read "Tested, OK"

The Joke

I've realised that for a relationship to be deep or meaningful, it need not always lead towards any final conclusion.

Not every friendship need turn into love...not every relationship needs to end in a marriage...nor every love needs to last forever.

Many a times, it is just being with the other person that makes it all worth it.

Love has a cyclical nature...it flows in and out of your life, just like the ebb and flow of tides or the seasons of the sun...

On some days you will feel love flow, while on others you feel its lack.

Some days you are sad for no reason, while on others you are a kite soaring happily over the deep blue skies.

Go with the flow of your life, and don't wish for a final conclusion and never force one if it is not forthcoming.

Also I have learnt that one has to choose a person who chooses you

You are only punishing yourself when you want to be in a relationship with a person more than they want to be in a relationship with you. 

Of course, you must discriminate between whether he/she is playing "hard to get" or whether s/he is genuinely less interested in the relationship than you. 

 If it turns out that he/she really doesn't want to be with you as much as you want to be with him/her, then it is time to realize the relationship won't work.

It is better to move on and work with your hurt in this case than to obsess over lost opportunities.

Although I've begun to come to terms with my destiny, I recently witnessed a glimmer of cosmic humour when a joke was played upon me by the supreme court of human destinies.

We weren't meant to be associated, but in a flash, I saw that our names were etched together on electronic memory in a matter of a few bits and bytes.

A wistful and wry smile passed over my face when I saw the minute irony of this  association when I finally had disassociated from you.

I protested.But my protests went in vain as the person could only remember me through you.

He went on to explain that this association of names was the only way he could ever hope to remember me.

It was a sad realization that I alone had not much of an identity unless I was inexorably associated with you-something which you precisely never wanted to happen !

The sublime cosmic irony was that,irregardless of our reluctance to be associated with each other- that is exactly how I ended up being - associated with you, in their memories.

The final irony is that no one cares of the so called 'association'.

I think I have developed a  keen eye to notice cosmic ironies in life...because all ironies are cosmic.

Heaven: A fool's paradise

http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/faith/heaven-a-fools-paradise-1949399.html

The Maharishi Effect

The source of this article is a book called "This Book is Not Real" by Chris Campbell. (An excellent read, by the way)

'This Book is not Real' is a book which aims to unify all fields of science - all the way from spirituality to physics and from medicine to mass media and to glean  out and separate Reality from myth,illusion or maya.

Excerpt:

       "Regardless of how different they may appear from one another, every mind contains the pattern of the whole consciousness. And through that link we each have direct access to the entire pattern, in other words, we all have the power to change the hologram of our world. Scientific studies support these principles and have found that when people within a group share acommon experience of consciousness, the effects can be detected beyond the group itself. One example of this phenomenon is Transcendental Meditation (TM) and its effects on large populations. (Braden, 2007)

             Studies date back to the 60’s that show that when groups of people meditate on peace,and feel it throughout their bodies, it affects the environment, and people around them.This ‘theory’ has been proven over and over by top scientists and universities. It is what is called Transcendental Meditation, a technique where you keep your focus on one feeling that creates these results. 

                        Over 500 studies have been completed on the physiological, psychological, and sociological effects of the Maharishi Transcendental Meditation (‘TM’) and TM-Sidhi programs, making it perhaps the most intensively studied technology in the field of human development. These studies have been conducted at 210 different universities and research institutions in 27 countries, and articles have now appeared in more than 100 scientific journals. These studies have been gathered in Scientific Research on the Maharishi Transcendental Meditation and TM-Sidhi programs, Volumes 1-6,containing over 4,000 pages of scientific papers (TM.org, 2002)

                             The ‘Maharishi Effect’, which was named after Maharishi Mahesh Yogi about 50 years ago and states that the meditation of one person using correctly these TM techniques can affect about 99 people, according to their studies. Meaning, someone feeling extreme peace can calm about 99 people around them. Brain scans of unexpecting people in surrounding areas of meditations have shown this to be true. 

                        It was 1983 when Dr. Singh, the founder of TM.org and the creator of the TM-Sidhi programs assembled 7,000 trained meditators in Fairfield, Iowa for three weeks. During the three week long retreat there was a huge drop in violence and crime. These trained meditators were instructed to meditate solely on peace and to immerse themselves in nothing but peaceful thoughts. Everywhere the crime statistics dropped, as if a peaceful virus spread throughout the entire Earth.A global Maharishi effect was seen whereby conflict reduced worldwide by 30 percent and the effect was seen all over the world….

….We are convinced that we can create world peace by having a few groups, two to three, of 8,000.

Dr. Singh

                Another experiment done in the 1980’s was aimed for the war in Lebanon. This time only about 200 experienced meditators gathered in a facility near Lebanon. During the experiment, war deaths in Lebanon went down seventy-one percent, war injuries dropped sixty-eight percent, and the level of conflict stepped down to forty-eight percent.

                         Immediately after the experiment the violence rose again. When they stopped meditating, people fell back into their destructive habits.Studies show that EEG readings of people in the surrounding area have been affected by the groups from even 1,000 miles away! They also noticed that the brains of the people meditating and the people in the surrounding area produced more serotonin, the ‘happylove- peace chemical’. The serotonin levels rose and dropped in line with the times the meditators started and stopped. Low levels of serotonin is said to lead to aggression, depression, substance abuse, and crime. When the experiment was going on people were more peaceful and apt to be more optimistic. But, when the peace wasn’t in the area anymore they began to run old patterns and became more pessimistic. Somehow the meditators were able to raise the level of this chemical, and create peace all around them.

                   Studies all around the world prove this phenomenon over and over again. Even Washington DC got a taste of TM when Social Indicators Research predicted that an eight week long experiment with meditators would decrease violent crime in our country’s capital by 20 percent. They were close. During the eight-weeks, rape, murder, and violence all dropped by 23 percent. The odds of this happening coincidentally were calculated to being less than 2 in 1 billion. 

                David Edwards, a professor of government at the University of Texas in Austin says:“I think the claim can be plausibly made that the potential impact of this research exceeds that of any other ongoing social or psychological research program. It has survived a broader array ofstatistical tests than most research in the field of conflict resolution. This work and the theory thatinforms it deserve the most serious consideration by academics and policy makers alike.

                                        They concluded that if you took the square root of 1% of people in an area, that’s how many meditators it would take to affect that specific area. Claims have been made by many professionals in many different fields that since the square root of one percent of the entire Earth population is 8,000, that’s how many people it would take to create world peace."

Imagine! Meditation techniques like Sudarshan Kriya or Transcendental Meditation done correctly inducing peace in the society!

And proved by science!

Also see: Permanent Peace: How to Stop Terrorism and War — Now and Forever by Robert Oates. 

That book reveals 19 scientific studies that proved when groups of people meditate, the crime and violence in their areagoes down. 

Oates writes:

“ The basic idea is simple to state: Like ripples on a pond radiating outward from a pebble’s splash, ripples of orderliness and harmony

radiate outward from concentrated groups of meditation experts. And the evidence for this idea has been repeated and is statistically signifi

cant. Not only do signs of social disorder go down — such as violent crime, fires, traffic accidents, warfare, and terrorism — but signs of 

coherence and progress go up. Patent applications, for example, stock market levels, and economic indicators have all been shown to rise. ”

Fatso:Define your own reality

I'm no longer looking for the less than 10% bodyfat model as an ideal model.

Roman gladiators used to favour beans in their diet.

One reason was that eating beans gave them a layer of fat on their torso...which protected them in their fights.

Th other was biological warfare.

Low body fat is good if you plan on wearing swimwear for the rest of your life, but nothing much else.

I like soft women.A good 16-25% body fat makes them soft to touch.Keeps them healthy and glowing.Definitely keeps them more womanly.

I don't want six packs on my woman.Nor should her biceps be bigger than mine.That would be plainly wrong.And scary.

It would also be smacking at the face of womanhood.

I want real women who is proud of her real curves.

Is there anyone woman enough?

Men...I don't care.Do what you like.

I had long ago defined fat as 'Not being able to see my six packs'

So I took a good hard look at my abs in the mirror once again.

One, two, three, four...holy shit!

I've become fat! 

I can't find the fifth and the sixth pack.They are buried under layers of fat.

I guess now I was fat by my own definition.

Now there were two things I could do.Change myself or change my definition of being Fat.

I followed the americans on this one.(onion movie - obesity clip)

I changed my own definition.It is much more easier.

Now, I consider myself fat the day I cannot see any more of my abs.

And once that happens, I'll change my definition once again.

This way, I can go and never be fat.

And when people tell me I've become a Fatso, 

I'll go 'LALALALA-I can't hear you-LALALALALALALALA-I can't hear you-LALALALALALALALA-I can't hear you-LALALALALALALALALALALALALALA'.

Fatso:In search of Sunken Cheekbones

A part of the story that I had told Fat Henry was true.I worked on a rustbucket, and many times for long gruelling hours , sometimes even forgetting to eat , or going hungry wilfully just to finish my work.And as a result, I lost unhealthy amounts of weight...

Sadly people thought that my cheekbones had risen and that suddenly I looked much better than before...

Mass media and advertisements had made anorexia a positive desirable trait- even among males.

I had sunken hollows under my cheekbones that made made my cheekbones stand out in prominence.

My cheekbones stood out like perky nipples on a cold day...I looked emaciated...And I looked good.With some rouge and mascara I'd look" Fashion TV" good.

I had resolved right then and there that I'd never go hungry for the sake of my work...

And now, my cheekbones are missing...buried beneath tissue once emaciated.

Fatso:Denial is not a River...

Fatso fatso fatso fatso fatso fatso fatso fatso...the word kept ringing in my head.

Denial? Huh?

Was I in denial?

No that can't be true...

In that case , was I in denial about denial?

No!

Then...was I in denial about denial about denial?

Whoa there! If you continue this line of reasoning...soon you'll be stuck in an infinite loop of denials.

It was true that I had gained weight.

It took me nearly a year and a half and a lot of weight training and a lot of disciplined eating to gain four kilos.I had become noticable bulkier and brawnier, as one of my old friends remarked.

But there was another side to it.

These days, I had reduced my exercise...

In my yester years, I was an exercise fanatic because I had zero social life.

yes...Zero social life.No friends, no socialising, no relationships.

My exercising was a way of keeping boredom off the bay.

But now,after a major personality transplant(done at a clinic nearby),I was more outgoing and  I finally had made some new friends...really cool ones, and suddenly I had a social life.

I never knew social life was so exhausting! Phew!

I had to make some sacrifices in my exercise schedule to fit in my social commitments.

I had to stop exercising like before!

Kuch panekeliye kuch khona bhi padtha hain.

Fatso: Ortho-Tyranosaurus Rex

Mom read something on the net about a new health crisis, and sent it over to me.

Orthorexia!

People who are too healthy or obsessed with being too healthy!

These are the very same people who go out to a restaurant only to eat salad, and top it off with a mouthful of mineral water, while you're having the entire menu as the  entree`.

Then they give you that look...the look of concealed disgust and pity...a pity that goes 'tch tch' in your face.You know that although they wanted to, they  haven't yet said 'oink oink' to your face yet.

These are the same people who advocate vegetarianism as a cure it all for cancer, constipation or a colorectomy.

These are the same people constantly yak nonstop about exotic food supplements and wonder drugs with miraculous effects.

I mean how do you know if  Yohimbe is something like Nintendo?

These are the same people who stuff exercise advice down your throat when you are happily noshing on a bag of doritos.

The high and mighty and the know it all...with nauseating self righteousness around them.

Oh how you hate them.

Oh how you want to stuff butter chicken down their throats and see them enjoy it, and get fat, and cry bitterly.

But mom, am I an orthorexic?

Sure I'm a picky eater...but that's because our entire family is made of picky eaters.

Sure I'm a vegetarian...but only because the rest of the family is vegetarian.

Sure I like to exercise...But that's only because the rest of the family exercises a lot.

Sure I like to read about healthy living...but that's only because the rest of the family does it, all the time.

Mom...do you think...I have become some kind of a Monster...Orthotyranosauraus Rex...a tyrant king orthorexic ?

If so, know that you have created this monster...a monster with sculpted pecs,bulging biceps,washboard abs,teardrop quads and glutes you can bounce a coin off.You are responsible.Yes YOU!

Mom, I may be a monster, but don't I deserve happiness? 

Then stop accusing me of taking supplements and protein shakes to grow into a grotesque muscular hulk that you so readily despise.

For the last time, I'm not taking any supplements...They are expensive crap that will ultimately damage the body...C'mon Mom! you know that I know better.

Eagles - Heart of the Matter

The Song that took 42 years to write and four minutes to sing.

An absolute beauty of a song in terms of lyrics and composition.

Or maybe I just like country more than other genres.

I'm trying to live without you now...and I don't miss you babe

An adaptation of one of my all time Don Henley's Songs...

I still like the Eagles version better.

Secrets of Six Pack Abs

I knew why I had six packs as a kid...I was thin and coughed a lot.

A lot.

Let me say that again , just for better emphasis.

A LOT.

It transformed my parents into worrywarts, and drove my teachers and classmates nuts.

Here's an experiment I want you to try right now.

No it does not involve public disrobing or attacking random people with a plastic fork.Trust me.

But it does involve a little bit of social embarrassment,especially if you are in a public setting right now.

Place your hand lightly over your navel.Your hand must be hovering gingerly , not caressing your tummy.

Now gently let out a cough. 

Eghh-hoo, eghh-hoo, 

                               and feel your abdominal muscles contract.

If you didn't feel it, then you have too much belly fat, and you'll have to press down harder.

You Fatso!

If you want better abs, read my latest book 'Better Abs through Coughing'.

I'll let you have a sneak peek...

Excerpt:

"Imagine that you have inhaled a lungful of second hand smoke from a freshly smuggled cuban cigar.Now with that visualization in mind, cough hard.

If you are a smoker, then imagine the same with a lungful of fresh air.

And COUGH.

Five minutes a day.Everyday.

I promise.You'll have six packs in six weeks or your money back.(Postage and handling -non refundable)"

I used to cough a lot.

Doctors of all disciplines found no definite reason.

Blood work,lung tests,X-rays,psychotherapy -revealed nothing.

Soon came the crackpots, taking potshots at me with their wild theories.

Vitamin deficiency theory.

Vitamin supplements can cure anything from heartbreak to heartburn, a cold sore to a cold shoulder.

And even a cough.

I was on a vitamin pill diet for two years.

If coughing wouldn't kill me first, over-nutrition definitely would.

The vata pittha kafa theory.

Ayurveda's basic premise was that all illnesses were caused due to the imbalances in the three humours of the body- the vata, pittha and the kafa or the air , the bile and the phlegm.

According to the theory I had too much of 'the phlegm'.

Caused by eating bananas and milk together.

But mommy, I never ate that banana split!

The Chicken soup for the soul theory

Basically according to the theory anyone who did not eat meat or poultry was bound to be a weakling who was an easy prey for all kinds of bad germs.

My parents fell prey to this line of thought, and thought they'd test this theory out too.

So at the age of five, I was force fed chicken, and fish.And stinking mussels that looked like elephant snot.

My parents wouldn't touch meat...so I was force fed by my neighbours.

I believe the neighbours kids laughed their collective asses off when I made weird faces while eating dead boiled carcasses.

Yes.I admit it.I ate dead birds, but not once cried fowl. 

(C'mon crown me the 'King of Bad Jokes' already!)

And yet.

It didn't work.

Either.

And I coughed all day, and unfortunately all night.

The coughing was so bad that the kids in the class started complaining that they couldn't hear their own thoughts.

Some of them could not daydream or sleep during lessons.

They couldn't even sneak out of the class, now that the teacher herself could not take her daily noon seista.

I had to lie that I had cancer.

Some kids thought it was funny.They demanded blood when I coughed the next time.

They asked me when I was going to die.

Kids can be cruel like that sometimes.

All the tests told the same thing.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Like normal was a bad thing.

And I still coughed.

But one fine day (I imagine it was a fine day, but if pressed will admit that I have no recollection of the day's forecast or meteorological conditions), the coughing stopped.

It simply stopped.

But my six packs were there to stay.

The best was to strenghten your abs , to make them bulletproof,is to cough a lot.

Sir Coughs'a'lot speaks with experience, dear lad.

                    The best way is to cough a genuine cough, the kind that makes you lurch forward with a force equivalent to that of a sumo wrestler's Heimlich manoeuvre, and rattles your bones like maracas in a drunken mardi gras.You might want to take up smoking.Unfiltered cigarettes work the best.Beedis are the cheaper alternatives.They bring out the best coughs.Big fat cigars smuggled up someones rectum from some communist country will do the trick too.

Although there is no real substitute for a good honest cough, if you are worried about the ill effects of smoking or cannot afford ridiculously overpriced nicotine sticks, then you can do the fake coughing drill too.

It just takes longer to get the same results.That's all.

                      But simply having strong abs is not everything.You also want to show it off.No matter how strong and ripped your abs are, they'll never see the light of day until they have layer of blubber from all those late night beers you've had.

                                                           It is not a well known fact that abdominal muscles will show only when your body fat percentage reaches a certain level.(The level depends from person to person).Usually you'll get hints of abs showing through once you inch below the 10% body fat mark.At 6% body fat, even your grandma will have abs to show off.(but you are inviting trouble at such low levels of body fat like-decreased lubrication of joints,poor absorption of fat soluble vitamins A,D,E,K ,yada yada yada)

Also, if you think you have too much fat, try boosting your thyroid function.The thyroid gland is like the body's thermostat.Hormone T3 is an essential fat burning hormone.Try iodine supplements.Also selenium.Try amino acid L-Tyrosine which converts hormone T4 into T3.Of course, it goes without saying- Always check with your doctor.Also check your thyroid function if you are a woman.If you feel slow,sluggish and have gained weight and feel the general lack of energy, your thyroid gland might not be working well.

So here's the most generic six pack routine that will work on anyone:

Cough.cough.Cough.

And cough some more.

And then reduce overall body fat to levels below 10 % by any means possible, and then keep going until you see results that you want.

(Conversely, when you start seeing abs, you have reached around 10% body fat levels)

Fatso:Six Pack Sharukh

Six Pack Sharukh

----------------

Indians have a very strange concept of personality.

A friend once said,"I once saw Fardeen Khan in the airport.Whatta grreat personality he has!"

I asked him to elaborate, and he said,"you know...he's big and looks muscular even in a suit"

I then realised that when they say that someone has a great personality, they are inavariably talking about physique or body.

Indian leading actors these days want to be percieved as eye candy.

Before that,they were more of 'Cotton candy' (I'm talking about body structures-shapeless and full of air).

So leading men and hordes of other lesser men regularly pump iron, pop pills,vitamins and supplements,chug protein shakes and gush sweat , all to achieve a great 'Personality'

                    (Salman Khan...known for his great personality rather than his acting skills)

                              (Hrithik Roshan )

     

            Leading men of the yester years now in comparision look like real,everyday men who come in all sizes and shapes.Dharmendra,the leading strongman of yester years or even Dara Singh , the real life wrestler turned actor did not have the kind of 'personality' that the modern steroid induced hulks with 'grreat personality' have.

                       Nevermind all the ridiculous infomercials with peppy,muscular caucasians speaking in corny dubbed vernacular, peddling overpriced exercise equipment of dubious quality and construction and equally dubious and preposterous  advertised results, Indians were never so hooked onto six packs until Six Pack Sharukh came along.

/div>

                                    Six Pack Sharukh and his Dard-e-Disco, where he gyrates topless with a bevy of scantily and garishly clad reed thin european girls in phantasmagorical locations to near meaningless lyrics was an instant hit and struck a blow to the buoyant egos of all flabby males of India.

These males then took an oath that they too will sport six packs like Six Pack Sharukh.

But the very next day most of them forgot their oath.

A few enrolled in gyms and after two sweaty and exhausting sessions never entered another gym again,and a few more with morsels of determination left in them, found out that the battle of bulge was never won in six weeks, like the infomercials promised.

And I kept wondering what the big fuss was all about.

I mean, while the rest of them discovered six pack sharukh and his washboard abs,I've had a six pack ever since sixth grade.

                    Ok,It's like this...If you've something all your life, it really doesn't mean much to you.

                I mean, if you have steel blades coming out of your fists, then you'd use it scratch your ass as well as cut your steak.

(ok fanboys, I know wolverine does not have steel claws,he had adamantium claws only after he was experimented upon by the military)

But what was the big deal? Six pack,schmix Pack ...who cares?

I don't...coz I already got them !

Getting Off on Facebook - The Daily Beast

http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2010-04-11/facebooks-secret-porn-stash/full/
G Rated Porn for everybody !

Fatso:Your Possible Pasts

Your Possible Pasts

-------------------

Fat Henry asked me one night,"were you fat as a kid?".

Now Fat Henry was just like his name suggested...three feet wide and four feet tall. A hairless obese hobbit.

Fat Henry's claim to fame was that a few years ago he had won second place in a costume ball dressed as an infant in diapers suckling onto a very large milk bottle.(a beer bottle with a rubber teat over it's mouth)

Most judges had agreed that he looked like a bonny baby.

                                         

                             A freakishly scary thirty year old bonny baby.

          But the  first place went to a man who was dressed as a half man-half woman.

He won partly because of his effort and attention to detail,that is, most of it was real- on the woman's side the long hair was real and on the man's side the moustache was real, (and Fat Henry claims that the breast on the woman's side was realistically soft and bouncy- something Fat Henry discovered when he was being breast fed by this hermaphrodite),and partly because he looked really pretty as a woman and really handsome as a man, which had an eerily disconcerting effect on most of the people who apart from not having seen a woman for quite a few months, were also in various states of inebriation.

To one Indian officer, the faux hermaphrodite looked like Ardhanareeshwara, the Indian god who is half man-half woman.

Was I fat as a kid? Fat Henry wanted to know.

This was an exciting prospect for me- a chance to recreate my past, and possibly help someone make the right choice.

Sure! Why not!

Just like how my current girlfriend is a Maxim supermodel,I as a kid, was grossly overweight.

I weighed 100 kilos, and looked like a vertical zeppelin.Only I didn't float.I lumbered.

But when I turned eighteen I had a mild heart attack, which left me worried about the direction in which I was going with my health.

I made a firm decision about gaining control over my health issues.This was the time I joined my training for merchant navy.

It was training where my total transformation took place.

                   All the trainees had to undergo a brutal regimen of hardships and studies all day, everyday in the training camp.Most trainers were ex-navy personnel who were the majority stock holders for your ass.

Yes...they made it clear on the first day - Your ass belonged to them.They had the majority of stocks.

Five miles of jogging at five in the morning followed by calisthenics and a half hour of marching under the sun.

The food supplies were meagre, there were no snacks available anywhere in the vicinity, and one wasn't allowed to keep contraband food items in his cabin.

                     I dropped 30 kilos like a sack of greased hot potato bricks- yeah, that quick! 

(Somebody call the Metaphor Police.There's a guy run amok with his metaphors here)

And when I joined the ship, I worked on an old rust bucket (whose name I'm not privileged to disclose), and the living and work conditions were so brutal that I lost 20 more kilos- but this time it was slow and brutally painful- like trying to disembowel a sumo with a wooden spoon- and no fun either(unless you happen to be a chubby chaser & a serial killer who likes sumos).

Once I lost my weight, I promised myself that I'd never gain it back.

I learnt all about healthy eating and healthy living and exercise...and experimented with all the knowledge I had accumulated over the years.

I still do.

And now, people no longer remember the old me...it's as if the fat old version of me never existed...And I no longer associate myself with my past or its crippling effects on my health and self-esteem.

Hallelujah ! I'm healed!

So , to sum it all up, I said to Fat Henry; If a lard bucket like me can lose weight, anyone can lose weight, implying that he too could lose weight, if one has the drive, and the zeal (and brutally harsh conditions that force you) to lose weight.

That story was my DC Elseworlds, one of all my possible pasts...some that have existed or might have existed, and others that can't, or couldn't or shouldn't...this is one of those stories...

By the way, How did you come to the conclusion that I was a fat kid? I asked Fat Henry.

Oh, that's easy...you get folds of skin that bunch up when you bend your neck.

Fatso : The day I got called a Fatso!

Fatso

-----

What's your BMI? asks dad urgently.

Why,I ask.

Son,dad advises me over the telephone,it's time you lost some weight,now that you've become fat!

 

But dad!,you haven't even seen me for the last eight months! How can you possibly know that I'm fat...does my voice sound thick over the telephone? Are my words too heavy? Does it weigh heavily on your mind when you think about me? 

Huh? 

Huh?

Well...I heard people talk...

Dad,Dad...I'm 176 cm tall and weigh 68 kilos.Now You calculate my BMI!

Son, denial is not just a river in egypt...it's natural for the mind to refuse to acknowledge reality,

particularly if it so distasteful as obesity.The first step is to accept that you have a problem.

No,No! I'm not fat...end of discussion.

Ok(sighs)...Just be careful with what you eat and exercise once in a while or so...we're going to have a serious discussion on this when you come back.

Bye (click)

Was it true? Am I in denial?

Had I become a Fatso?

Fatso! FATSO! fatso! FATso! fatSO! fATso! FatSO!

Fatso: Fat Men Weigh Less!

Fat Men Weigh Less

------------------

In a twist to the classic Milgram experiments which studied the concept of ethics and morality, researchers devised two hypothetical situations.

The subjects had to choose between letting a bunch of people on a rollercoaster plunge to their deaths or pull a lever and divert the rollercoaster onto another track and save their lives,but at the expense of a person who was tied to these set of tracks.

After much deliberation and hesitation,people of different ages and diverse backgrounds repeatedly chose the lesser of the two evils and saved the bunch of  people on the rollercoaster by pulling the lever and diverting the rollercoaster to safety and thereby killing the man who was tied to the tracks.

The scenarios were repeated with different parameters:criminals on the rollercoaster;nuns on the track,your loved ones on the track, your neighbours on the rollercoaster etc.

But for the purposes of this essay,I'd like to highlight what the researchers found about ethics, morality in relation to bodyweight.

Whenever there was an obese person tied to the tracks,people were far less hesitant, far less reluctant to take the decision to kill him (i.e save the people on the rollercoaster),than when there was a person of normal bodyweight.

One can draw the conclusion that fat men did not carry the same value as normal men.

Fat men did not weigh heavily in the minds of the people who pulled the lever.

Ironically one weighs less on the mind when he is fat.

Or to propound our premise ; Fat Men Weigh Less!

Fatso : Girly Jokes

Girly Jokes

------------

The jokes that men laugh at and women laugh at are in many ways different.

Some jokes won't work with either men or women,like "It was so funny, that it wasn't even funny"

(BOOOOOO!)

Here's a joke that's guaranteed to make women laugh...

It's all in the delivery...say it in a serious 'Believe It or Not' frame of mind.

Say "I can get any girl I want"

See her go Bwahahahahaha!

She'll thank you later for the best laugh she's had in a long time.

Obviously it will not work if it is true...So if you are a serial seducer,a superstar,rockstar,celebrity of any degree,or a natural chick magnet -DONT USE THIS.

But since you are here, reading this, you probably aren't any of those.

So feel free to use this joke.

But in any case, follow the basic rule of thumb "Don't spoil the joke for the sake of the punchline"

That is, naturally occuring jokes in a conversation don't need a punchline or over the top theatrics.

You'll get it when you get it.

Until then, patience my young grasshopper!

Here's another.

I'm a picky eater.I get called out a lot for being so.

So what do I do?

'Hey, why aren't you eating?'

'I'm on a diet.

I'm trying to lose weight...

see how fat my ass has become!'

The delivery is deadpan serious.

But she already knows I'm joking.

But this is a very girly joke...in the sense I wouldn't get caught dead trying this if a guy asks it.

But guys don't care if you eat or not...and if they do,they rarely ask.

They go'Hmm ...must not like biryani or something'

Finally ALWAYS REMEMBER,follow the basic rule of thumb

"Don't spoil the joke for the sake of the punchline"

It's Not About You! (An experiment in song writing)

It's not about you-Jazz Version (Sung in the tune of 'Is that All there is?)

------------------

It was a long time ago that he first saw her.

She was eight.

And it was late in the afternoon.The shadows were long and the breezes were warm.

He saw many grownups, but all from the waist down.

They were that big and he was that small.

But there she was, in front of him, eye to eye, and he just ran away.

She was in tears.

His dad said to her,'It's not about you my dear, he's just shy'.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think it is true 

Then let's keep on fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...

Then she left, never to come back again.And the ten year old boy forgot all about her.He soon got busy playing cops and robbers and catchin' tadpoles.And for the next few years, it was as if she did not exist at all for him,and he for her.

All those years growing up...It's not about you, my dear, he did it to himself.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think it is true

Then let's keep  fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...

Then fate met them when he was troubled by growth spurts,pimples and puberty.

At the height of immaturity,in a sea of strangers there she was again,an island of beauty, an oasis of sanity, and she tried to talk to him.

He went mute, sometimes he stuttered,looked at the floor and babbled.He shook his head hot in shame and locked himself up in the bathroom.

I remember his mom telling her, 'It's not you my dear,he's never seen a real girl before'.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think if it is true

Then let's keep  fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...

But she had other plans it seems.

Although she didn't have fate on her side, patience was her best friend.

She opened him up gently.

She made an omlette without breaking the egg.

All she got in return was a lovesick puppy,slobbering all over & barely housebroken.Men fall in and out of love quickly, but for him it took almost a lifetime.

It's not about you my dear,but no one had ever shown any interest in him before.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think it is true

Then let's keep fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...

BUt when you don't understand the nature of love, it sours quickly often.It turns into intolerable cruelty.

Mistakes were made.

Accusations flew.

False stories grew like weeds.

What followed was a muted thunderclap that no one understood.The deafening silence hurt them both.

It was clear that he was angry.But at whom? 

It's not about you my dear, he was angry at himself.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think it is true

Then lets keep on fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...

BUt soon he realised all the lies he'd been telling himself.Even his anger was fueled by pettiness and lofty expectations.

He tried to fall out of love.He tried to hate, but failed.

It took a lifetime to fall in love.How could one fall out of it in mere days?

The more important question was...Now what?

How can he forgive himself and forget?

It's not about you my dear,he has yet to learn about forgiving himself.

It's not about you

It's not about you

But if you think it is true 

Then lets keep fightin,

Let's throw hurtin' words all around,till truth be found, it's not you...it's me.

The Songwriter's Bible (Yours for $24.99 only) says that the more personal the pain, the more universal the story and that Art is an imitation of life and not the other way around.

It's Not About You! (Pop Version)

It's Not About You (Pop Version)

------------------

Verse 1

E                     A

It's not about you,baby its true

E                     A

not about you , everything-all about you

D                                 E

but for all that you know, it might be all true

Chorus

F#m

But  my baby...(sugah baby)

D

My sweet baby (sugah baby)

E                        A

I still maintain that...(I still maintain that)

E         A           C   D    E

It's not about...you-ooo-hooo-hooo

And Sometimes I rue,for chewin' you up

for hurtin you bad,but I see tears they fall and

they be hurtin' me too, its true, (so true)

Verse 2

I don't mean to cruel and

I don't take you for a fool,

I'm just a tool tryin' to be cool,(such a fool,such a fool)

Chorus

But  my baby...

My sweet baby

I still maintain that...

It's not about...you-ooo-hooo-hooo

Verse 3

Baby don't you know its true

that whenever I'm so blue,(so blue)

that all I think is'bout you (its true)

Bridge

I keep lyin' bout me and you

but I ain't fool-ing anyone any-more

least of all me myself,coz 

every-one knows that you're the one for-me-ee-ee-ee

Chorus

But  my baby...

My sweet baby

I still maintain that...

It's not about...you-ooo-hoo-hoo

Outro

Yeah baby,my sweet baby,It's not about You-ooooooooo-hooo-hooooooo...(repeat and fade out)

(Will the real boy band please stand up, please stand up?

All right y'all, I've gotta brand new-spankin-cool-hip-wicked-suu-weeeet-rockin'-kickass-jazzy-totally screwed up-awesomely amazing-dopey-da real shit-genuine imitation leather-20% extra-offer valid till stocks last-da bomb-teeny-bopper-snap-crackle-pop song for you.

Sung with the right music synthesizer and a good voice modulator, you'll have underaged girls throwing their undergarments at you in no time.

Don't blame me if you're blinded by their dental retainers.

All I need is a decent music composer (in the music industry they are commonly referred to as music collaborators) and a hefty royalty check.On second thought, I'd rather have a percentage of the profits.I'm that sure that it will be a hit song.Maybe even Billboard Top 250!

And after that I'll retire to obscurity, forever known in the annals of history as a 'One hit wonder' 

Amen)

p.s. Why does 'Annals of History' sound so dirty ?

     Sounds like they were written on toilet paper.

On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl

div> 

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku

neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her

clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep.

She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly

speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me.

The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a

desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or

big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their

time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant

I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of

her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type.

Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can

remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or

the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell

her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate

that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April

morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an

antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a

hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little

conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the

neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to

buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for

me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry,

she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for

me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces.

I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all

about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt

is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a

white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a

stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to

judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's

ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long

speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up

with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you

think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl

sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They

were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they

believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100%

perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And

that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe

this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured

you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour.

They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect

other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other.

It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts:

Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the

girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers,

then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens,

and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do

you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never

have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers,

and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know

this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them

unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza,

and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier

years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's

piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their

unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that

qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they

became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to

another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office.

Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85%

love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was

walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was

walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku

neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The

faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their

hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the

clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing

into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

Shooting Stars and Hunting for Aliens

There are two distinct advantages of being a seafarer.

The view and the air.

Most of the air we breathe is clean because there isn't a factory nearby for miles...nor there is traffic,nor any methane farting cows... just miles and miles of open sea and the salty trade winds.

At sea, I never utter the word 'Dust Allergy'

The other is the view.

Seafarers get to watch the most exquisite sunrises and sunsets everyday that is lost to most of you.(yes, you included)

We are always trying to outrace the ever advancing insuperable mirage of a horizon that lies ahead of us.

We get to see clouds that people have only heard about.

We get to see weather phenomenon as it happens-the advancing line of sleet,the raindrops from heaven,the occasional enveloping fog, soft falling snow and the occasional mirage.

We also get to see the stars like no one else can.

At night, out at sea, there is no light pollution.

There is the all surrounding darkness and you, 

and no one and nothing around for miles.

On clear cloudless nights, the heavens are set ablaze by tiny pin pricks of stars, and every night you can see the complex interplay of the celestial sphere and it's inhabitants.

I can identify most zodiac constellations.

Orion and Scorpius are the most beautiful and readily apparent constellations apart from the Big Dipper,but some constellations don't live up to their names...they look nothing like their names suggest- Aries- are ya crazy, you can't even make it out properly with your naked eyes, Taurus looks like a big 'V', Gemini-phooey, what twins?, Cancer-WTF?, 

Leo- looks nothing like a lion...on its best day, it comes close to resembling an Equus Hemionus.

Hee-Haw, Hee-Haw!

There are times, when I stare at the heavens above and cramp my neck that I think about God.

Oh God! I've got a crick in my neck.Looks like I won't be sleeping tonight.

Again!

That's when I remember what the Bosun (or Boatswain) told me one day.

He said that he realised that he was God. (Nice segue, huh?)

God? 

I mean...Isn't that a little bit pretentious? 

I mean,if given a choice,I'd ask for a better model of God.

The Bosun was on the wrong side of fifty,smooth as an egg shell, false teeth and a cranky irritating voice. 

He was me! I was Him! 

This is what I'd be in about thirty years.

But God? Hell No!

I asked him to explain.

He said that while working, the Walkie-Talkie he carried with him got wet and had some complications.

Because of the water ingress, the circuits were all messed up and due to some strange reason, he could hear whatever was transmitted by others, but himself could not reply back.

At that moment, he explains, that he felt like God, who could hear all our prayers but so far would not (could not?) reply back.

In fact That was his theory of Divinity.

God was a Bosun with a faulty one way walkie-talkie!

According to him, God was just some tired old overworked sailor working on a celestial ship sailing in the celestial skies who was in a cranky mood because his walkie-talkie was not working.And he was tired of the people who were calling him continuously, because all he could do was just listen to them and hope that somehow they found their own solutions to their problems.

That's a nice concept Bosun, I said...have you ever read anything about the Flying Spaghetti Monster or the theory of gravity according to FSMism?

Yeah, I'm a closet Pastafarian myself...but so was George Bush, so there's nothing to brag about, but according to Scott Adams, God got bored one day, and self destructed, and the resultant universe that we have now is the remnants and parts of God's Debris, which now is slowly coalescing together to become a single entity- i.e God again.

Pretty Neat Huh?

I also saw a blue fishing boat called 'Heaven' around the east coast of India.If god was a Bosun, then it is quite plausible  that Heaven is a blue fishing boat in the Indian Ocean, don't you think?

A few days ago, our employers sent a stern message to all the ship staff. (Hmm...No segue this time)

It seemed that they were concerned about our health and well being... so effective immediately, they would enforce a No Smoking regulation in their entire fleet.(Apparently their insurance premiums skyrocketed this year after a few back to back smoking related deaths)

Whoo-Hoo!

No more second hand smoke.

Yessss! (commence doing the chicken dance)

And along with it was an advisory that told people to eat more greens,less fried stuff, more grilled meat,less processed food...yada yada yada.

Most  ships have already enforced a 'Zero Alchohol Policy'

Now , no more cigarettes.

I was slightly worried about how the crew would react.

Even prisoners get cigarettes!

I didn't know how people would react when they thought their employers were telling them what to eat,drink,sleep,live- basically trying to run their lives.

Surprisingly most people welcomed the No Smoking Policy.

Most of them only smoked out at sea (at homes their wives would nag them to death if caught) and most of them wanted to or had unsuccessfully tried to quit.

Most agreed that smoking was dangerous.(Most die hard smokers know that Smoking is Dangerous, but it is something they do to relax.)

Most said that now they would be forced to quit, and that they were happy that they could finally quit.

Sitting in the Smoke Room (which will now be renamed Crew Recreation Room) I asked the Bosun...,'So, your holiness, how do you feel about not smoking?'

Out came his usual cranky reply...'Ahhhh!'

 which could mean almost anything in the world.

I usually sit with the Bosun so that he can translate filipino movies to me.He's also teaching me filipino.

Man...So many syllables jammed in a single word! 

Filipino ain't easy...but thanks to my familiarty with spanish, I can see how much spanish language has influenced the filipino languages.

I'm hooked to southeast asian movies.They are so different.

I also think filipinas have the cutest accents.It's hard not to get swayed.I usually listen even though I don't understand a word.(Men have to listen, but don't necessarily have to understand women. Women know that we don't understand them anyway)

I told this to the guys and they were amused.

So far three seamen have told me that I have to marry a filipina.

The first one promised,'You won't be disappointed,I promise'

The second one told, 'Avoid girls from Manila.You're better off with girls from the provinces - batangas...maybe mariveles...'

The third one said that he'd be willing to set me up with some relative of his, and promised that she was one of the most beautiful girls ever.

With a FHM in hand, he showed me Cindy Kurleto's picture, and promised that this girl looked exactly like Ms.Kurleto.

Ah guys, I'm flattered. Thank you for even considering me.It feels great to be accepted.

You don't know what it means when you say that to an outsider.

My only problem is my vegetarianism.

I know people in most asian countries eat a variety of seafood and meat.

I have no qualms about 'marrying' a south east asian (they are so damn cute), but I don't want her to change her food habits just for me.

At the same time, I don't want to change my food habits either.

You see my dilemma?

Mom is having a near apoplexic attack when she thinks of the girls I might marry.

What if you marry a chinese? 

So?

But what if she uses kung fu on me.'

Don't be ridiculous ma.You don't have to know kung fu to be chinese.That's not a requirement.

I bet there are many chinese people who know nothing about kung Fu.

But what about Pork...chicken...snake stew and bat salad? Waaah!

Mom, I'll marry someone who's a vegetarian,ok?

OK. Sniff.

I'll also ask her not to use martial arts on you,ok?

Ok.

So damn hard to keep everyone satisfied.Phew.

And thanks to the Bosun, I've become a Pacquiao fan. It's hard not root for the underdog.Manny Pacquiao's  classic rags-to-riches story or his fighting style or his general success makes him worthy of adulation.

I've been following all his fights...and got really disappointed that the Pacquiao-Mayweather fight got cancelled.I too think this would be the greatest fight of the century.

Speaking of fans, even the huge hulk of a wrestler Batista (who is a Filigreek or a Greekapino) is a fan of Manny.

But people like to see Manny fight, not sing or act like he's doing now, and they definitely don't want him to run for president.They don't want him to be a politician of all the things, because then he'll cease to be a hero.

Ah! What were we talking about? Ok, we talked about the sea,no smoking,Pacman...oh yeah...the view from the ship.

Sometimes I stand outside all night waiting for shooting stars.I usually catch atleast one every night.On good days, I can sight well over a dozen.

That's what we do when we get bored.

As soon as we see a shooting star we make a wish.

I've been playing this game for a long time now.

These days my wishes have become nobler. 

I'm usually wishing for vague non-concrete stuff...World Peace, happiness, to find peace, to do what I love...

or on some occasions the desperate 'Please Don't let me die a virgin...Please Don't let me die a virgin...oh please oh please oh please'

But I'm not too worried.If I die now, I'll always have reincarnation.Reincarnation is not something I look forward to, but in case I die now, I might want to finish some unfinished business...but knowing what I know now, I know that girls wont necessarily be easy in my next life either.I mean, women will be women always.

But a few days ago, one of the A/Bs told me to add a new twist to make my wishes more potent.

He saw this in some movie, but he swears that this works.

The next time you see a shooting star and want to make a wish, put your handsin your pockets first, and then watch as all your wishes come true.

Whoa! Who knew things were as easy as putting your hands in your pockets, huh?

Ok.Here goes nothing.

Put hands in pockets.

Check.

Make a wish.

Please Don't let me die a virgin...Please Don't let me die a virgin...oh please oh please oh please'. 

Check.

Now wait.

Ain't this cool.Thanks to this wish, I'm practically invunerable until I have sex (or make love or whatever you want to call it)

I could be a superhero!

Supermonk!

Supermonk to the rescue!

Up Up and away!

His kryptonite is Lust.

His Lex Luthor is Carmen Electra with her top off.

He is always superunsatisfied and superdesperate!

Supermonk!

The pocket wish technique works.

A few days ago, one of my colleagues wished that he could go home and two days later he is going home! It works! Hallelujah!

Supermonk to the rescue!

(Cue in theme of X-Files)

And then there are things amongst the stars that no one dares to name.

Things that go Zoop! in the night.

(cue in creepy music from theremin) 

Sometimes when watching stars and sighting shooting stars, we've seen strange stuff in the sky.

I'm not going all X-filesy on you , but I've seen UFOs.

They are not commercial aircrafts.Commercial aircrafts should at all times during flight display red and blue sidelights and a flashing white light.

At sea, you can see the white flashing light even when the aircrafts are at cruising altitudes.

But what we've seen is totally different.

They are too high to be aircrafts...and they move too fast.

I've showed to it to several people just so that I could convince myself that I was not delusional.

I'm not .

Others are jusy as perplexed as I am to see these lights in the sky so high, moving at incredible speeds.

They are so high that one needs specialised equipment to document them.

They move fast, but in a straight line horizontally...so they are not meteorites or comets or stuf like that.

I've seen three at once diverging from a common point.

They usually travel in straight lines, but sometimes they seem to go zig-zag.

On clear cloudless nights, if we are bored of catching shooting stars, we go Hunting for aliens.

Somedays you can catch upto three separate sightings of these UFOs.

Our best theory is that they are either low altitude satellites (which are visible to the naked eye when their solar sails reflect sunlight) or top secret aircrafts.

Nah...I don't think they are aliens.Aliens would be much smarter than get seen by a bunch of sailors.

As a sailor you have two distinct advantages.

The Air.

And the view.

You'll never know what you're gonna see.

That's why I keep on playing the games of sighting shooting stars and Hunting for Aliens.

David Mamet's Master Class Memo to the Writers of The Unit | Movieline

http://www.movieline.com/2010/03/david-mamets-memo-to-the-writers-of-the-unit.php

Everyone's a Photographer these days! Part deux

Everyone's a photographer these days!

This is my new photo project, where the aim is not only to be a photographer myself, but also to make everyone else a photographer.

Or rather a collaborative effort to bring out the inner photographers in ourselves.

It is a collaborative effort ,in which you, me and everyone else who will click at things that look good to them.

This is one way to capture a broader perspective of the world rather than relying on our own unique yet tiny viewpoints.

Everyone's aphotographer these days !

And I intend to prove my point !

The Girl in the Coffee Shop

The Girl in the Coffee Shop

 There she sits in the coffee shop, everyday,waiting.

                  The coffee shop is brightly lit (as all coffee shops are) and the chair she sits on is made of faux leather and fake rosewood.Fake smiles plastered on the shop personnel, as they speak to you with faux -courtesy,memorised monologues and barely disguised contempt.

The coffee might be fake too (you know the donuts really are), but who cares as long as it promises to jolt you awake.

                            Across the window lies an eternal twilight, the sun just below the horizon and the skies sufficiently dimmed for the stars to come out and play.As the inevitable darkness descends, the streets are set ablaze with a flurry of motion of the masses of humanity rushing towards the safety of their homes.Tiny pools of fluorescent lights shine their cold aseptic lights in a futile effort to illuminate the dimming streets.

This is where we meet everyday.

We meet and then we get lost in each other.

                    She wears a pink sleeveless top that exposes her well toned arms and dark blue jeans that conceal her ample and rounded hips.On her right hand,she wears a dainty silver bracelet inscribed with a charm in balinese that promises to drive away malevolent spirits and on her ears -tiny horseshoe diamond earrings.

              Everyday she wears the same dress.

                                  The familiarity is oddly comforting but never boring.

                  On her face she wears a familiar smile that I've now become used to.Her lush dark hair cascades over her shoulders and  chest, curling just above the swell of her breasts.

              Her face is ever radiant -perhaps a trick of the light or perhaps a trick of the mind's eye, but her aquiline nose ,her full lips on a large sensuous mouth that house a row of picture perfect teeth her high cheekbones that give away tiny dimples when she smiles makes her formidable,makes her worthy to be stared at.

                                   I stare at her photograph that lies perched on my desktop everyday for a few minutes,hoping that somehow her magic  might diminish and I might fall out of love with her.She calmly stares back at me from the photograph (that she doesn't know I have), and her eyes sometimes comes alive and shimmer like limpid pools of black gold,and her smile although frozen in an instant of time dares me playfully to stop staring at them and look away -never to look back again.

                                   

With her chin resting delicately on her palm,she looks back at me as long as I look at her.

There is no one else.Just You and Me,she whispers...or so it seems.

          My daily meditation and contemplation continues-and it feels like we talk to each other without words,as our fingers extend over infinity to trace each other and we meet when we dream on restless nights and in the wakeful dreams of warm lazy afternoons.

She looks strong.

She looks confident.

So full of life.

And yet so...

            To be vulnerable is to incite the male ego...

Ironically, I've always been attracted towards strong women, women who don't need men, women who don't need me...to whom I'm inconsequential...And she was one of those.

Wasn't I the speck of dust that you could have so easily blown away?

'sometimes I feel so exposed,so weak....I don't understand this world, it's people or their games...or this life...nothing makes sense'

'Please do something...' she said.

What I should have said...

Please don't ask me for help.

I might just fall in love with you.

I will help you,

but because I love you

and not because 

you asked me to.

But it was too late for that now.

               Every man is different, but there are a number of overwhelming similarities between us.

To be vulnerable is to incite the male ego...by asking for help,you show the man that you need him,that somehow his male machismo is superior.

In these days of female empowerment and emancipation,any redundant male would fall in love with you if you made him feel wanted.

It isn't often that a man now gets to play the 'Knight in shining armour' who slays the dragon and saves the princess with a kiss.

Did she know that?

The easiest way to make a man fall in love with you is to display how vulnerable you are,and how safe you feel with him.

She must have known it.

Every time she asked for help, I fell deeper in love.

Damn Her!

Now I was just as helpless and vulnerable as she was.

(Based on a true feeling.)

Matroska

I thought that I  dreamt that I remembered  dreaming of you, only to realize that I was still awake and a long night's sleep awaited me.

I don't know about talented writers Mr.Gaiman, but that's what I do.

"Lots of talented writers live fine and contented lives.They get the horror out of their system onto the paper."

Neil Gaiman

The Stats Behind Prostitution

http://www.pixlmonster.com/corndog/prostitution/