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happy birt'her'day bundu

He is 26, and is running on 27, though he does not want to accept it. No, it's not because he doesn't want to acknowledge his years getting closer to 30, but because he hasn't understood its concept yet.

So who is this 'him'?

Well, the 'him' is a mystery; an enigma, not only to us, but to himself too. He is the West Indian of the South Indian Mindset. And he's none other than the (in)famous superhero of bizarre phrases Bundu, the (not so) secret identity of Sumanth 'James' Mani, popularly known for his bestselling Bunduism 101.

Here are a few examples of his heroisms; excerpts from the book:

Wazzaaaa!

Ada paavi! (prolly how a Tamilian says vada pav?)

Damaar mai! (screwed man!)

What the faark!

I will bundoo you! (I will beat you!)

Pachak (hot chick)

Plauchak (ugly chick)

Hello! Waaat nonsense!

Atlanta. Georgia. Fatango. (don't bother asking!)

Fsk you!

Don’t say me that this is me!

That’s what I’m saying Bob!

Keep quite Bob! (Doesn't matter if you're talking or not)

See this shot now!

She, she, she! (how he says chee, chee, chee)


Wishing you a Happy BirtHERday Bundu.

baba black sheep

This is what you get when a dyslexic (at least I suspect) sister is given the opportunity to say your name. How in God's name 'Alok' sounded like 'Baba' don't ask me. But to her it did. And sadly it stuck.

And it started a slew of unfortunate events (tragic seems a better word), which left my childhood bruised and battered in its wake. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me they say. Yeah right! I was the victim of 'sheep'ish names callings. From uncles, to aunts, to maids, to cousins, and even to strangers. Everywhere I went I was subjected to various imitations of what a sheep would sound like.

And then I shifted schools. A new school and a new identity. It was my very own Witness Potection Program. And it was my most closely guarded secret, one which I would take with me to my grave. Or so I thought. It was the very same sister who gave me away again. I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was right before our math exam, and R calls up to get his doubts cleared. And who answered his call? My very own traitor sister. She screams out to me (which was totally unnecessary since I was practically next to her), "BABA!!!!! Phone for you." And the cat (or sheep) was out of the bag. The next day, I was running up for a supplimentary sheet, when the whole crowd, like gleeful, vicious name-calling children, started in unison - "Baba, black sheep, have you...". And so the name calling continued. How did it all end? Well, don't even go there!

I didn't have any luck with my real name (it's an absolute riot when you put my first and second name together) either. Everyone had derived their own version of names for me; a different permutation and combination to add to that unholy phonetic list. From Aloo (Aishu) and Puri (Aishu and Su), to Bhel Puri (Mansukhani), Aloo Puri (this was a favourite) and Pani Puri (JS), to some really whacked out ones like Alkaline (Sam) to Alokede (the Late Mrs. Neelam gleefully exclaimed that it sounded like a vegetable).

It's now time for me to move on again. Erase my past and write another story on a clean slate. And more importantly, with a whole new not-so-teaseable name.

P.S. There does happen to be someone with a weirder name than mine - which sounds like 'Oinkdrella' (Cinderella's ugly step-sister I presume?). And kidding you I'm not. Her name sounded like something from a pen! "Heeerrreee piggie, piggie, piggie!"

what's your red indian name?

The young Indian boy had spent most of his life in a quandry... He felt different yet... couldn't figure why... he was just so depressed. He went to the Chief for answers... He asked the chief how his brother Red Deer Running had gotten his name...

The chief answered in his typically poetic way..."When Red Deer Running was born, at the moment of his birth, the first thing his mother saw was a beautiful deer running off into the forest... and so Running Deer was named. It is the custom of our tribe to name the offspring according to the spirits in nature visiting upon the birth."

Then, the boy said to the Chief... And how did my sister "Thundering Bird" get her name? The chief described again, how at the moment of her birth Thundering Bird's mother had heard a roar of thunder and looking up, saw a bird flying in the sky...

The boy asked again, how his cousin "White Crouching Bear" had been given such a name... And the chief, looking down once more at the boy, explaining the traditions of their tribe.... White Bear's mother had seen a rare white bear crouched over a stream at the moment her baby's birth. Then he asked the boy...

"Why do you ask, Two Dogs Fucking?"

Ripped from here

smoke

Earth to earth,
and dust to dust.
The lovers lay,
smothered in lust.

She walks out the door,
Hardly saying a few words.
But it's the lamest excuse,
you've ever heard.

She says it's not you,
but you don't believe her.
She wasn't worth it,
yet you grieve her.

Would you trust
the words of a liar,
Though without smoke,
there's never fire.

It's the truth of life,
and it shall remain.
For today,
and ever again.

bullet mein mil gaya - i rode, i scored and i conq'her'ed!

With "The man with 3 b***ls" (read here) already running houseful from Lakdi-ka-pul to Leh, here's its prequel, another blockbuster from our production company - Creative Briefs. This one's called - "Bullet mein mil gaya - I rode, I scored and I conqHERed!".

The plot
Hetch and Bullet standing on mountain top, one peeing off cliff, and the other leaking oil. Cute kitten in uniform passes by in 4x4. Hearing racket of the Juggernaut, Hetch and Bullet turn around... and while one cracks lens of his "authentic" Oakleys, the other squirts engine oil all the way into the next valley. It was love at great height! Love enough to make them stop picking up men.

They both vie for her attention, from performing wheelies up Magnetic Hill, to cartwheels down Rothang Pass. But she is oblivious to our heroes' advances. And so they persevere even more. One fateful night, Hetch hatches a hideously ingenious plot to get her heart. They kidnap and subject her to techniques from the bestselling 'Hyderabadi Nawabs - A Dummies guide to a royal torture', which include many deary sessions of hypnotism by steady humming of Bullet to Hetch slowly breaking her spirit by his psychobabble bullshit. At the end she gives in and joins their polygamy relationship.

Soon wedding bells ring across the mountains, and cold teeth chatter in rhythm. Both the heroes look handsome, one in a tuxedo, and the other with a trail of beer cans strung behind him. After they all share their holy kisses of matrimony, the threesome set into the sunset (who's riding who don't ask), one horning, and the other horny.

god save the cuisine!

Here are some food for thoughts:

a. Why does our Chinese food not taste anything like CHINESE Chinese food?

b. Why does butter chicken taste vastly different everywhere you go, even if they follow the exact same recipe?

c. Why isn't French fries and French toast French?

d. Why do you 'eat' soup?

e. Why is the Indian hand signal for 'eat food' eerily similar to the 'WTF' hand signal in Europe?


Anymore to add to my list? Fork it out to me, and I'll include it!



P.S. Here's a post 'cleaner' than a China plate, served up especially for you N.D.!

a cruel addiction

Addiction is good and bad. It can drive you to achieve impossible goals, or drive you to the brink of bankruptcy, and sometimes even death. Whatever it may be, the fact remains that you can't escape its clutches.

I will now share with you a great truth in life that I learned from some random 70mm - There are three things you don't mess with: Mother Nature, Mother-in-laws and Mother-effing Addictions!

Coming to I, Me & Myself, I can't decide whether my addiction is good or bad. Because I happen to suffer from the worst of all addictions... an addiction to addictions. It sometimes drives me insane... like I just HAVE TO finish the damn job I started, however unproductive it is. Which is good, because I end up finish whatever I've started, a brownie attitude for my work. Or like if I get addicted to something I see, I need to have it, however broke I might be. So I work towards scrooging till I can buy it. Which is good I guess, because it teaches me to save... See what I mean? I can't figure out if this damn disease is good or bad! Case in point - this post. Some unknown force is just compelling me to finish it, however retarded the topic may be. I'm lucky that drugs haven't caught my fancy, yet.

But here's the twist to my sad little story. For a person suffering form an addiction to addictions, I also suffer from a serious case of ADD.

Now many don't know what the acronym 'ADD' stands for. Well it's Attention Deficit Dis... hey! Let's go grab some ice cream! :D

on the after - a tribute to hetch (the end)

Our horny man in Leh,

Was smitten by a uniformed kitten, they say;

But she shot his bum,

to kingdom come,

And back to Hyd. he fley!

at the present - a tribute to hetch (continued)

There once was a tourist in Leh,

Who learnt much to his dismay,

The girls dressed in layers of clothes.

Why he took so long no one knows.

And he remains a virgin to this day.

(courtesy, click here )

in the before - a tribute to hetch

There was once a man from Hyd.,

Who's bullet was always by his side;

Planned a trip to the mountain,

But it went there without him,

So he sat back, scratched his balls and sighed!