Paint The World Blue

Blue, blue, blue

Paint the world blue

Faces, dour grim and blue

Just pieces stuck together by glue

Just the eyes, sullen and red

Angry, sad, dull and dead.


Blue, blue, blue

Not daring to think it through.

Colors remind you of joy

Of all you couldn’t enjoy

And the guilt! Oh boy!


Blue, blue, blue

Paint all other colors blue

Just remember that the world is bad

That all but you are mad

Forget all that you never had

That will only make you sad


Just pretend that everything is just blue

Blue, blue, blue

Just paint the goddamned world blue.

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Posted in poem

My Experiments With Marital Independence

orange shirtAll the consultants of our hospital gather every afternoon in the doctor’s lounge and eat lunch together in a convivial atmosphere, without – incredible though it may sound – trying to stab or strangulate each other. We have many fruitful discussions on many important matters such as Kejriwal’s latest U-turn, Modi’s latest speech on the coming achche din, the likelihood of Preity Zinta being able to land a husband for herself, and so on.

An important fact to emerge from these daily discussions is that every single male consultant in our hospital is absolutely petrified of his wife. For instance, our spinal surgeon who has 32 sweet teeth once consumed a kilo of laddoos on the occasion of someone’s birthday, and afterwards literally pleaded with tears in his eyes with the rest of us to help him finish his tiffin. His terror of the stony look his wife would give him on taking home an uneaten tiffin was so great, that we took pity on him and helped him dump his tiffin into the garbage bin.

Whether a consultant’s wife is a doctor, a non-medico professional or a homemaker does not seem to make any difference to the amount of terror she inspires in her husband’s breast (some studies have claimed that men married to gynaecologists are more terrified than the rest of men, but these results are yet to be confirmed by rigorous case-control studies). Each man of us agrees that none of us is man enough to buy even a shoelace without his wife’s approval.

One day though, I was feeling particularly suicidal, and I declared that henceforth I would buy my own stuff for myself. It took 10 minutes for the uproarious laughter to settle down. I remained firm however, and swore a mighty oath that the same day I was going to go to the nearby mall and buy a shirt for myself – without being supervised by my wife. The neurosurgeon said that he hoped that my life insurance premiums had been paid for this year.

Straight after work, I drove to that mall. I’ve always fancied myself in an orange shirt, but my wife believes that I look like a particularly dumb fruit in such a shirt. Committed to be brave, I strode full of purpose to the Arrow store and brought an orange shirt for myself and drove home with it.

About the time we were preparing to retire for the night, I casually said to my wife:

“Uh, I went to the mall today.”

“Oh?” She said, her eyes on her laptop.

“Yeah. And I bought a shirt for myself.” Casually, like it was what an adult man was supposed to do – buy his own stuff.

“Oh?” Her eyes were still on the laptop, but her voice was laced with an ominous tinge.

“Yeah. I thought why bother you for these petty things. It’s foolish of me to drag you around to buy stuff for me. After all, it’s no big deal for an adult man to buy stuff for himself, ain’t it?”

Another ominous “Oh?”, followed by an ominous silence.

Now that I was standing right at the edge of the precipice, I decided to take the plunge.

“Shall I show you the shirt?”

A sweet smile this time. “Of course. My husband’s badge of independence.”

I unpacked the shirt and put it on

“What do you think?”

“Ah! Orange!” The same sweet smile.

“You like it?”

“The important thing is that you like it.” She put away the laptop and lay down in bed.

“You don’t like it?”

“Oh it’s fine.”

“Should I wear it to work tomorrow?”

“Of course. These days patients like their doctors to be attired a little cheerfully”

My heart sank. From the time of the Cro-Magnon man, patients have never liked their doctors to dress cheerfully. People want their doctors to be dignified, dull, grumpy and dressed as conservatively as possible.

“You think it’s a little too bright?” I asked

“No, no. It’s quite okay for you to experiment with your dress.”

“So you approve of the shirt, eh?”

“I thought you had decided to be independent in buying your stuff from now on? Adult men shouldn’t need their wives’ approval.”

The upshot of the whole thing was that I accompanied my wife to the mall the next evening and exchanged that damned orange shirt for a sober white one. And we also bought two suits for her. Needless to say, I was the butt of jokes in our doctors’ lounge for the next week. What the hell. Maybe I should start with the small things first – like starting with buying my underwear for myself

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Posted in humour

Our Moments

Our moments of togetherness,

Condensed, dense with passions,

Packed tight with life.


Now stretch them,

Like a bit of chewed gum,

Across the empty space and time of lovelessness,

Sustaining life in our shells,

Till we meet again


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Posted in poem

What I Really Want

I get the best of you

Your dazzling smile

Your warm eyes

The gentle brush of your fingers on my skin

The glow of your passion

The height of your desire

The depths of your lust

A nest in your arms

A rest in your dreams.


And yet,

What I really want is

Your uncombed unkempt hair

Your grumpy morning annoyance

The flash of anger at my carelessness

The sharp words aimed to wound my heart

What I really want is to be

A real part of your real life

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Posted in poem, Uncategorized

The Glasses Are Not Pink – They’re Red

pink shades

“When you want something, all the Universe conspires in helping you achieve it”

This sort of statement can only be made by an incurable romantic or an unscrupulous asshole who wants to sell his book by appealing to the inherent romantic nature of most people. The blatant stupidity of this statement is so obvious that it would be almost specious of me to attempt to refute it. So let just an example suffice. Let us suppose that both me and you are in love with the same deliciously voluptuous woman and desire to marry her with the exact same ardour and intensity. What the hell is the universe supposed to do now? Do all the forces of the universe sit at a round table and weigh the intensity of your desire against the intensity of mine on a cosmic balance? And then after lengthy and serious deliberations, presumably the chairman of the forces speaks in a deep sepulchral tone of quiet, sombre dignity:

“Now that measurements have shown Doctoratlarge’s desire for the voluptuous lady to exceed his reader’s desire for the same voluptuous lady by a value equal to the weight of 2 electrons plus a Higgs-Boson particle, it has been determined by this Grand Council of the Universe that Doctoratlarge will be allowed to have sexual intercourse for life with the above mentioned voluptuous lady. Mr Cupid is hereby directed to fly post haste to the abode of the voluptuous human female and strike her with his arrow that will evoke desire in her bosom for Doctoratlarge” *Clang of hammer* followed by “All Rise!”

Ridiculous, isn’t it? And yet, apparently a lot of addle-headed people actually do believe in this sort of arrant nonsense, which explains why the author of the unbelievably stupid quote mentioned at the beginning of this article is a bestselling author. In fact, most people in this world are romantics at heart. They believe that the Universe is essentially a benign, rosy, Eden of justice, where each of your actions are carefully scrutinized and evaluated and subsequently either rewarded or punished depending on where they lie on the scale starting from infinite goodness and extending to infinite evil. They believe that there’s something called Fate or Destiny that watches over them, takes care of them, and essentially wishes nothing but eventual good for them. All this of course, as a moment’s reflection will show, is total rubbish.

Of course the Universe is governed by laws. But they are not laws of justice. They are impersonal, implacable laws like Gravity, Thermodynamics, Relativity and other shit that is found in Physics and Chemistry. And I’m perfectly sure that none of these laws is remotely interested in our desire to copulate with the abovementioned voluptuous woman.

But I see that I still haven’t convinced you. This is because you believe in someone called God. The God who supposedly created this Universe and its laws, made the conditions that made life on Earth possible, and who wants us all to be good, sweet, kind, creative and loving human beings. You believe that this God wants justice to reign in the Universe, to ensure that goodness, industry and talent are rewarded while evil, slack and cunning are punished. This God stands like the final wall of defence protecting the pink bubble of your romanticism in which you dreamily float through existence.

Well I won’t burst your bubble, but help you burst it yourself. I ask you to perform this little mental gymnastic: namely, to suspend your belief for a brief moment. Come on, indulge me. After all, it’s much easier to believe that there is no omnipresent, omnipotent invisible entity called God than to believe that blind people can be cured by the miracle of prayer or that the Red Sea was parted to allow Moses and his party to pass.

So there is no God, okay. It follows that the Universe was created in some sort of a natural process which can be discovered by scientists if they put their minds to it sufficiently hard and sufficiently long. Was it the Big Bang or any other process – it doesn’t matter for the purposes of our present discussion. It also follows that life originated on earth through some sort of potentially discoverable biochemical reaction. Once life came into being, then it evolved slowly, over billions of years, and the only rule of evolution was – not poetic justice – survival of the fittest. Species competed with each other and among themselves for scarce resources. The winners won not because God or Fate or Destiny was on their side, but because they were stronger or longer or faster or more cunning – or merely more lucky. Thus the male of the species “Genusosus winneris” was able to copulate with the voluptuous female of its species and pass on its genes to its offspring, while the males and females of the species “Genusosus loseris ” died out. Simple. No God, no Fate, no Destiny. Just Natural Selection.

Life is governed by the rules of Physics, Chemistry and Biology (and of course your wife). It is like a Salman Khan movie – without any script. No higher force watches over you or takes care of you. There is no inherent justice in the world, poetic or otherwise. All the events in your life are either random or brought about by either the conscious planning of your mind or the subconscious undercurrents of it.

Goodness seldom triumphs in the world. Cruel, cunning assholes like Genghis Khan, Alexander and Stalin rule it. Good people like Gandhi are revered as saints or Gods while they are useful to the Nehrus of the world – thereafter only their statues survive as empty shells of their heritage while their souls are discarded into the dustbin of history. There is nothing good or bad about this process – it’s just the way of the world.

Movies and novels make us believe in romance and destiny – that an innate sense of justice is woven into the fabric of the universe. Authors of motivational books also reinforce this belief. Because they all want a piece of your money. They are selling you a psychological crutch to help you wobble your way through the senselessness and brutality of life, a sort of magical trick that conjures up a bubble of apparent security around you. They fool you, and they succeed because you are willing to be fooled.

We make friends because we’re lonely, and because they share our insecurities. Men love women because they find them sexually desirable. Women love men who give them a sense of security and stability, or provide them with a sense of adventure or excitement. Women are curious creatures who want the security of stability and simultaneously crave the thrill and excitement of unpredictability. What we call love is a curious and heady mixture of desire, attraction, longing, loneliness, jealousy, possessiveness, manipulation with more than just a tinge of bitter hatred. There are no soulmates, because there is no soul.

The Universe is not a benign, loving place which exists to help you find your desires. It’s an impersonal grand theatre that gives you a stage on which you can prance and caper for a while, until it’s time to give way to other actors like you. There is no script in this play. Nobody directs it, except you and your fellow actors. And it’s a brutal, bloody, senseless, meaningless play.

So dear romantics, the glasses with which you see the world aren’t actually pink – they are actually red with the splattered gore of the bloody passage of History. You just believe that they are pink


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Posted in Philosophy, Satire

A Manual Of Intellectuals

A ruminating intellectual

A ruminating intellectual

I have always been fascinated by intellectuals. Just like I’ve always been fascinated by vultures, hyenas, skunks and snakes. Protected by the obscurity of my own complete ordinariness, I have been able to study these creatures in their natural habitats over several years – till I have acquired an expertise in them that few fellow men can boast of. So here is a concise guidebook on the different types of intellectuals in existence, along with their distinguishing characteristics.

The Left Liberals/Secular Humanists

Strictly speaking, The Left Liberals and The Secular Humanists are 2 different categories, but – just like asses and mules – they have sufficient similarities to allow themselves to be herded into one group for the sake of descriptive convenience.

In many ways, these are the most fascinating of intellectuals. In the previous century, they roamed the earth with unshampooed, uncut hair, unshaven cheeks (both the male and the female), unwashed rumpled clothes and a frayed cloth satchel slung over their narrow shoulders. Those days they talked earnestly about such delightful things as armed revolt against democratically elected governments, converting national highways into crimson rivers with the blood of massacred bourgeois capitalists, and reminisced fondly of the charming tortures and mass murders by the great humanitarian hero Stalin.

By the turn of the century, however, this species had undergone a remarkable physical transformation. They now have bizarre $500 haircuts, reek of delightful Eau de Cologne, wear clothes tailored by the greatest Italian & French designers, and the frayed cloth satchels have been replaced by smart, elegant Apple Mac Book Pro laptop bags. But I’m happy to report the basic ideology of the species remains the same, which is that: Anyone Who Has More Money Than Us Is Evil. These creatures hate to do work for the sake of earning money. Instead they work only for poor people, through NGOs. These NGOs are of course funded by money obtained from the same venal, corrupt, blood-sucking, filthy-rich, capitalist businessmen that they despise. But they take good care to express the deepest contempt for these capitalists in trenchant, maudlin articles in newspapers and magazines.

Please note, that the aim of these altruists is not to eradicate poverty. In fact, they stringently oppose any govt policy that is aimed at making the poor self-sufficient. Instead, they lobby incessantly for subsidies to the poor – so that the poor man can be barely fed and clothed, and retain his innocence, without ever being exposed to the evils of excessive money. So committed are these philanthropists that they work excessively hard by periodically flying business class to various exotic locations in the world – braving such immense perils as delayed flights, overweight airhostesses and jet lag – to ruminate on the various strategies to maintain the poor in their virtuous poverty, only allowing themselves the Spartan comforts of French wines, 7 star hotel stays and Cuban cigars.

Another distinguishing characteristic of the members of this species is that they don’t believe in God, but are very vociferous in supporting the human rights of terrorists who kill people in the name of God. That’s because, the terrorists mostly kill common middle class citizens who spend their lives uselessly in the selfish pursuit of money to feed, clothe and educate their families, and hence deserve to die anyway.

The Right Wingers

Contrary to what the name suggests, these people are not football players. They actually despise football. But they love cricket, because according to them, cricket is a more Indian game. (Intellectually less gifted creatures like you and me might fail to see how cricket is more Indian when both the games have been invented by Englishmen – but hey, such mental calisthenics are only meant for intellectuals)

The Right Wingers believe in such lofty ideals as culture, tradition and values. Their motto is: Anything which is old is good, while anything which is modern or progressive is bad. Thus they believe that marriage between strangers is good while marriage between people who have come to understand and love each other is bad; that peeing on the roadside is good while kissing in public is bad; that empirical, traditional medicine is good while scientific, evidence-based medicine is bad; that women in saris are devis while women in skirts are devils. They also KNOW that ancient Indians invented anything that was worthwhile: from computers, to fighter planes, to robots, to vibrating dildos.

Their offices and homes are adorned by prominently displayed color reproductions of portraits of Swami Vivekananda and Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya. With tilaks decorating their foreheads, they talk passionately about promoting Sanskrit and denounce English which they declare is the chief cause of the moral degeneration of society. However, if you’re able to adroitly manipulate them into leaving the room for a while (ask them to show you the complete collection of Baba Ramdev’s AIDS curing yoga CDs for instance), and rifle through their desk drawers, you’ll often find a copy of Rapidex English Speaking Course, along with a collection of novels by the greatest English writer of the modern era, Sri Chetan Bhagat (Sri Chetan Bhagat is also the most illustrious intellectual of all times. He has severe contempt for people who speak good English, and believes that the best humans should have English only good enough to understand his novels – another mental calisthenic which ordinary people like you and me, gentle reader, should not dare to attempt).

Another fascinating characteristic of these intellectuals is that they have ferocious contempt for western people, their culture and their values – while being simultaneously extremely proud of the fact that their sons/ daughters are now well-settled in the US. Presumably, their noble children undergo this horrendous sacrifice not to earn dollars, but for the opportunity of being able to convert those dissolute, morally bankrupt Caucasians into our own shining culture and values

The Rai Bahadurs

This is the most exquisite and exclusive breed of intellectuals found in India. A person can belong to this exalted group if and only if he is in possession of the 3Fs:

  • Foreign bank account (preferably Swiss)
  • Foreign Educational Degree
  • Foreign English accent

Other than the excessive exclusivity of these criteria, these creatures are pretty open-minded. They do not have any particular ideals, principles or morals. Their great philosophy is that the truth is that which is currently fashionable. When the prevailing ideology was socialist, they used to be ardent socialists. Now that the prevailing ideology is capitalists, they enthusiastically advocate free markets and entrepreneurship.

(NB: Males of this species have the largest female fan following, because as every expert agrees – an elegantly attired man alighting from an Audi A7 is the most intellectual of humans)

The Feminists

These are women who after intense self-scrutiny, finally are forced to the inescapable conclusion that they have absolutely no talent or ability whatsoever to be called intellectuals. Far from being dismayed by this discovery, they boldly take a piece of paper, write on it in capital letters: FEMINIST, and paste it on their foreheads. And lo and behold: this act of elegant simplicity transmutes them instantly into the greatest of intellectuals, making them instant experts in every subject ever invented by mankind (oops! Humankind). Any man who disagrees with them even on such an obscure subject as the behavior of subatomic particles in a hailstorm becomes a misogynist, chauvinistic pig, capable of the most despicable and heinous sexual depravities.

Their feeling of sisterhood with the suffering women of the world is so strong that they campaign vociferously to obtain special privileges for themselves, despite never having suffered any discrimination by a misogynistic society themselves. Because, quite reasonably, their empathy with the actual victims of misogyny is such that their pain is the same as those suffering women, and hence entitles them to all the privileges like job reservations, cutting to the front of ticket queues, seats on metros, reservations to parliament, and outrage on social media platforms.

There are male feminists too, but their function is to merely acquiesce to everything that the female of the species say and to growl at and bite any man who dares to oppose the females. They are mastiffs in shining armor.

Female and male feminist intellectuals

Female and male feminist intellectuals

The Judges

This species has a very simple and devastatingly effective modus operandi: Everyone apart from themselves – police, lawyers, doctors, politicians, businessmen, teachers and the entire system – is degenerate, immoral and corrupt. By adopting this simple strategy, they are themselves magically transformed (just like in the case of the feminists) into supremely erudite paragons of virtue. For instance, a certain uneducated actor has, by using this same technique, become so wise and erudite that he now knows more about the treatment of human diseases than professors and doctors who have spent decades researching and writing text-books on these diseases. Similarly, a certain social activist and politician, has by the simple process of declaring everyone else corrupt, transmogrified into the modern Mahatma Gandhi and is currently working on how to save the people of the country by destroying the country’s institutions

NB: Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely imaginary and mischievous

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Posted in Satire

Just Past The Noon

The Sun is still yellow, kinda bright too,

Though the paint is now flaky and dim;

A rather ruminating, rambunctious, braggart,

His shadow longer than the real him.


The dew of promise that he sucked,

The vapours he eagerly drew from the sea,

Some clouds they formed, but his own blaze,

Will parch them soon – too foolish to see.


And soon – though he won’t think of it,

And say: “It’s still just past the noon” –

It will be time for the final plunge,

Though perhaps recalled by the beautiful Moon

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Posted in poem

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