The world is flat
Yet another surprise to Leela

Thats an audacious statement. So I saved the book for a perfect Sunday.
It was a perfect Sunday.



The day before that, I entered a book store that was nearby my office, walked
straight to the salesgirl and asked her if they have this book, 'The world is flat'.

Yes sir, but the paperback edition is not released yet. She then from a heap of
nice smelling books took this one out. I pondered for a moment, looked at the
inside flap which read 8.89 pounds. Translated, thats 689 bucks she said.

On the Sunday morning, I switched off the AC and opened the windows of my
bedroom to let more natural light and asked my all-in-one Srinu to make me
some Coffee. Luckily for me, the pillow fit under my neck in the most
comfortable position. Perrrrrfect!!!

The first two hundred pages were like duh! duh! duh! duh!. Largely because
of my IT background and also largely because it was duh! stuff.

The book opens with a great paragraph from Columbus and moves onto the
golf courses of Bangalore. The author, right from page one comes alive out
of the pages passionately putting forward his argument. (This book is not a
theory). The vivacity of the author shows up in each and every page.

By the time I crossed my 200th page, my neck started to get stiff and the
pillow started turning into a rockbed. So, I took a break, had a light meal
and reclined in my recliner watching TV and wondering if I should continue
reading this book or just shelf it.

I continued reading. The author basically explains you why he thinks this
world is flat (metaphorically speaking) and the forces that were behind it.
He starts with the Berlin wall and ends up with Google and Compaq iPaq.

For an argument to justify a statement as grand as 'The world is flat' I need
more forces than IT. I need more examples than few BPO blips in Bangalore.
By then Bangalore was quoted more than two dozen times. Happens when
the core juice of your argument is running out.

I loved the last 200 pages. The author had not only put forward
his argument, but also showed us how this would effect the world,
the Americas and the politics.

The author also rightly ended the book with a chapter titled
'The world is not flat'. He rightly pointed out to the things that could wrong
and to the things that are wrong at this moment.

I should say, the author is biased towards India and Bangalore.

The problem with writers, especially columnists, is they love words and
cliches. They love creating memes. Hindu fundamentalists, Islam militants,
Dotcom boom, Generation X, Silicon Valley nerds etc. People who love
words and emotions behind them, tend to generalize and fall in love with them.

'The world is flat' is great meme. Everyone who wants to write something on
this topic would love to have a caption like that. No wonder this author won
those Puliltzer prizes. Any writer would love this writer.

It was a good read. Well structured, greatly paced, passionately told.

I was disappointed to see so few examples and so large generalizations.
Author's lack of knowledge in Economics clearly shows up.

This book is yet another great example of 'The State of Fear' theory
put forward by Michael Crichton. Capitalist worlds run on it. They love
constantly creating a new State of Fear for every new generation.
'The commies are coming'. 'The Japs are flooding'. 'The Chinese are growing'.
'The Indians have arrived'.

Ha! I love this world. (Flat or round).

Sin City



My favorite hang out zone used to be the Foreign Films section at
'Blockbuster'. I watched many memorable and off beat films from that
section. Ironically, it was from this section I first saw all of Ray's films.

Through the staff, I came to know about a movie titled El Mariachi. It was
a movie made by a maverick Mexican dude. I just loved that movie. Long
before I watched El Mariachi, I watched a movie named 'Desperado' in India.

At that time I thought that was a B Grade film. But strangely that movie
just stayed in my mind. Later I came to know that its the same director
who made Desperado.

Desperado is just a more stylish and much richer extension of Mariachi.
I lost count of how many times I watched Desperado later.


Rodriguez, is the name of the director. He went to make more movies later.
Not my genre. So never really followed him. An article in wired.com around
four months back caught my imagination again. Rodriguez paired with one of
my all time favs Quentin Tarantino to make a movie titled Sin City.

Not just that. This maverick film maker just in the good old spirit, cut
himself off from the mainstream Hollywood to start his own studio
'Trouble Maker Studio'.

Production photos and storyboard sketches of Sin City looked simply
awesome.

So, it was only natural that I was all pumped up and excited when I got
my hands on the DVD yesterday night. I loved the film. It has a sad ending.
But I guess thats Frank Miller's style. I dont know much about that comic book.

There are some cut shots and angles in the film that are pure genius. Like in
any other Quentin movies, the cast is just amazing.

Now

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him.
Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung
himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling,
the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him.

Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the
vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one
hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other.

How sweet it tasted!

(www.101zenstories.com)

Just read

Losing my Virginity *****



Amazing.
Pure thrill.
Inspiring.

Naked at work ***



Fun read.
Some interesting and largely forgettable stuff.
A perfect travel read.

Idiots guide to Tinglish

Lately there is so much babada bibada over this thing called Hinglish.
One dude went ahead to say that by so and so year (usually analysts use
a round figure year like 2020), Hinglish will be the largest spoken bhasha
on this planet. I say, how come no one is mentioning Tinglish?

In its own way, Tinglish is slightly different from Hinglish. Hinglish is a
mix of Hindi idioms and words with English words.Like in,
yeh hi hai right choice baby. Well, Tinglish people dont like mixing Telugu
words in English sentences. Rather they Englishify Telugu sentences.

Example
English:We are going for a walk. Would like to join us?
Hinglish:Ham park ko ja raha hai, for a walk. You can come.
Tinglish:Memu walk ki park ki veltunnaamu. Join avutaavaa?

Thats not just there to Tinglish. Here are some Tinglish rules.

Add a,e,i,o,u after every name, thing, animal and place.

For a Tinglish guy, Tinglish is actually Tinglishu. Tinglishu gaallu dont
like ending words abruptly. Sh is like suddenly stopping what we are saying.
shu is more like it. Ask a progammer in Hyderebad
'So young man, what do you know'.
If the answer is Cobolu, javaa, C plus plussu, windowsu, oracleu,
then you know that this guy is Tinglish.

There is another Tinglish thing.

The Question and the answer are the same.

English:Would like to have another beer?
Hinglish:Feel like, aur ek beer?
Tinglish:One more beer aa? (Along with a vigorous Indian head nod) or
One more beer? (With a melodramatic expression).
For all these questions the answer is same as the question.
One more beer?One more beer.

The height of this communication was observed last week atLeela Palace,
Bangalore, where, after a seminar they served cocktails. A Tinglish friend
of mine initmidated by the bartenders English asked,
Cocktail? (Do you have cocktails?)
Yeah.
Cocktail. (One cocktail for me. Whatever it is).

Another Tinlgish rule.

Dont stress. Repeat.

Have you ever seen Tinglish people playing cricket or volleyball?

Runrunrunrunrunrun.
Comeoncomeonocomeon.
Throwitthrowitthrowit.
Catchitcathcitcatchitcatchit.
Yesyesyesyes.
Nononononononononono.

Typical calls on the roads
Autoautoauto.
Railway station?Railway station?
Itsokitsok.
Sorrysorrysorrysorry a.

Another golden rule of Tinglish is,

Dont translate. Substitute.

Take a Telugu sentence. Substitute everyword in it with English words.
Lunch had aa?(Had your lunch?)Saw the movie aa?Chiranjeevi fan aa?
AC working aa?The height of this substitution was a remark made by our
sales manager.I had a surgery recently and stayed indoors for three weeks.
On the fourth weekI shaved my beard and attended my office.
He saw me and remarked
You have come color.

Smiley's Haiku Reviews

War of the worlds

Who is creepier?
Dakota Fanning or
the aliens?

The Zahir

Fuck
The
Zahir

Dear Blog,

I recently attended 'The Innovation Summit' organized by CII
at The Leela Palace, Bangalore. It was about Indian businessmen
succeeding against all odds using 'Innovation'.

Totally loved it. I was amazed by Dainik Bhaskar's philosophy of
'Leadership from Day 1'. The CEO went on explaining how they
managed to be No.1 from day 1 when they launched their newspaper
in Gujarat.

Dainik is now entering Mumbai with DNA. I am looking forward
to the battle and its outcomes.

**

I suddenly lost drive to attend parties or to meet people. I am
sitting in my own shell and letting in only a few. I have no complaints.

**

A good friend is staying with me now. We discovered a park nearby for
our morning walks. We also discovered 'talking to each other' which
we used to do a lot when we were much younger. These days I am
looking forward to getting up early in the morning.

**

7: Number of people who called me on my birthday
3: SMS I received
0: E Greetings or Greetings I received
3: Number of people who I invited for the party
0: Number of gifts I received

What a contrast!!!!!

**

Watched 'Aparichitudu' (by Sankar) and 'After the Sunset' recently.
Loved them.

**

The movie I am looking forward to is 'War of the worlds'.
The book I am looking forward to is 'The world is flat'.

Day 6
Anischya. Anischya.

On day four they asked us to observe something called a samkara, rougly
can translated as 'sensation'. Four days of meditative silence by then, calmed
down many of the chirpy voices that usually play at the back of my mind.
Uneding loops of ad jingles to upcoming tasks. All died.

By Day 5 I was very calm. Almost with no thought. Except for a worry that
I might catch cold. Juxtaposing the power of now, every now and then, in
every break, I would come out and watch the trees and listen to the birds.
Being completely present. It filled me with a feeling of triumph.

In order to understand Vipassana, you need to understand Samkara.
To begin with, the instructor asked me to observe the sensations I have
ON my nose. Concentrate on nothing but ON the nose.

Did you ever experience going numb? Your leg gets numb, you feel nothing
and you do stuff like rubbing or shaking to bring it back to senses. Remember
how is feels like? It feels like stages or onion skins. Stage by stage you finally
regain total sensation. Observing your nose is exactly opposite to that. At first
you observe a tiny pressure spot here, a tinge there, a twitch, slight vibration
etc. They appear and disappear. (Anischya, Anischya, or This too shall pass).

Then you enter a stage two. Now you can observe more number of samkaras.
Some of them lasting a longer. Most of them lasting only for a second. Some of
them pleasant. Some of them itchy, some of them painful, some of them just
neutral.

Anistchya. Anistchya.

You then enter stage three. Now you can observe samkaras that are not just
ON the nose but area little deeper inside the skin. You can FEEL, the upper
skin, the flesh behind it, the insides of your nostrils, the beginning of your
nose, the tip of your nose, the end of your nose. Its not visualization. It is
feeling it. You can observe samkaras passing through, emerging,
disappearing, reappearing, piercing, swimming, cutting through, dissolving
and solidifying.

Anistchya. Anistchya.

You then enter stage four. Now your nose is nothing but a collection of vibrant
appearing and disappearing sensations. There is no solidity anymore.

Anistchya. Anistchya.

Every sensation that you feel is temporary. It is going to die. This simple
excercise is the foundation of Vipassana. It is mind blowingly simple.

As simple as E = M*c*c.

You like some of the sensations. You will develop a craving for them.
You hate some of the sensations. You will develop an aversion for them.

You become happy when you are able to observe the sensations as
instructed.You get frustrated when you dont observe the sensations.
This is the fundamental building block of human sorrow. You apply
labels to everything you perceive.You like some.You dont like some.

You want some.You dont want some.

When you get what you like, when you get what you want, you are
happy.When you get what you dont like or when you dont get what
you want,you are unhappy.

You want to be happy. You dont want to be unhappy.

Coming Next...

Day 7
Inside, outside. Outside, inside.

P.S: All the opnions and conclusions are strictly mine. That was my
experience and my conclusions. Truth or whatever is experienced
in totally different ways by each and every individual.

I am sure, if I take up the same Vipassana course again, my
conclusions will differ, given the new circumstances and new
experiences that I added up in between.

Truth I say, is what you experience 'now'. Its not your past
or its not your future. It is impermanent. (Contrary to the
popular belief that truth is absolute.).

My good friend Leela, with her superior writing skills, did a great
job of narrating her own Vipassana experience. Interested readers
might want to check her blog http://absolutelee.rediffblogs.com

Just In



48 laws of Power
Why men dont listen and women cant read maps

Two seemingly odd books to read on a single day. Both, thought provoking.

Why men dont listen...confirmed some of my worst fears about feminism and
womens lib. It also confirmed some of my little own theories about
men and women in general.

All in all, it was a good Sunday.

Love

Foot prints
on a beach.
Twined.

Day 4
The art of women

Day 4 was an extraordinary day. In a way, a very good day. I was already
ahead of the pack (Thanks to the realization of little dudes in my mind).
I was able to observe every pattern of thought and able to come back and put
my attention on the breath, with little trouble. (It was like playing solitaire.
You have just arranged the last of the cardsand now its time to send them to
the decks in sequence. Every thought pattern was identified and just observed
and then dismissed.)

By afternoon, I kind of entered a zone. It feels very light to have no thought,
to have no future, no past and just be present.

By evening I was beaming.

Day 5

On Day 5, they introduced something called 'Adhistana' which roughly can
be translated as 'Strong Determination'. When you take an Adhistana you
have to fulfill it. That day's adhistana was 'Not to move any part of the body
and from the position you sit in, for a full hour, doing nothing but observing
samkaras'. (More about Samkaras later).

The zone continued. I observed my samkaras successfully. I observed my mind
becoming sharper and sharper in the observation. I successfully managed the
'Adhistana' in my very firstsession itself. During Adhistana, my legs went
numb, my back exploded, it itched everywhere, you know the kind of itch
that you must scratch, but I managed to just merely observe all these
preprogrammed mind patterns. On the end of the day my mind was so calm
and serene, it started all kinds of visualizations with absolute clarity.

For a long time, I didnt realize that I entered another pre determined pattern.
I so identified with those visuals.
It took me another day and half to realize my craving for the creative zone and
a desire that is bigger than me which I often call 'The art of women'.


The Art of Women

Why?

It occured to me in a strange way (once again) while preparing my master plan.
I had six master goals, several long term goals and a lot of short term goals in
the plan. I suddenly asked myself the bad ass question 'why'?

Why do you want to be fit and healthy?
Why do you want to get rich?
Why do you want to get into profession you are planning to get into?

To bring clarity to the plan and orient the goal towards a common greater goal,
the book asked me several questions. I had to answer all the questions.

If you have one thing to choose (only one thing) what would it be?
If you have only one month left to live what would you do?
What makes you happy?

The answer my inner voice gave to all of those questions was always simple and
clear. I always laughed at the answer and used to shake my head and tell
myself 'Come on get serious dude, lets work on this plan with some real goals'.

It took me a full two years to realize that my inner voice was not joking. He was
giving me the right answers. The real goalsI have been trying to set are once
again oriented towards this greater goal.

My selfawarness graph kind of hit a peak that day.

Why do you want to be fit and healthy?
So that I can attract fit and healthy women and enjoy better sex.
Why do you want to get rich?
So that I can get whoever from wherever into my lap.
Why do you want to get into profession you are planning to get into?
I always wanted to get into media..hmmm...and have sex with dozen sex bombs.

If you have one thing to choose (only one thing) what would it be?
A sex bomb.
If you have only one month left to live what would you do?
Have lots of sex.
What makes you happy?
Sex. (Of course).

This actually puzzled me a lot. Yeah, like many men the first thing that occurs
to me when I look at a girl is sex.

But what puzzled me most was my desperation for sex.

In reality I am very picky and choosy when it comes to my women and sex.
(Not that I had a wide range of choice to choose from, but from whatever I had).

Kamasutra, a girl friend, porn flicks, a hustler and lots of art.

Actually the root of this fascination can be traced back to the age when I was
twelve. Thats when I read a copy of Vatsayana kamasutra. I was totally
hooked. I had a wild and vivid imagination. It added to the fire and created
an unlimited fascination for female anatomy.(At least thats what I thought so.)
When I was fourteen my dad bought a new apartment and we moved into it.
What came to me was my own bedroom (my brother stayed in a hostel) and
unlimited privacy.

It was also the year I graduated to Pastels and postercolors from water colors.
It was also the year my brain discovered the realtionship between a soft pastel
and the divine feminine form.

I fell in love with a blue eyed babe (she was two years junior to me) when I was
sixteen. I did everything a rowdy boy would do. I yelled her name whenever I
saw her. I bumped into her accidently on a daily basis and touched her.
(We called it a 'dash'). I wrote her name on the walls and everyone's desk in her
classroom. All my friends told her that I love her. I followed her to her bus stop,
to her classroom and to her restroom. I waited patiently for her upskirt view
while she played kho-kho.

I complimented her sexy thighs. I complimented her sexy blue eyes. I told her
I loved her spongy boobs. I told her I liked her smell.

She complained to our class teachers. Strangely no one believed her.
Smiley the gentleman can never indulge himself in something as cheap as this.
They adviced her to settle the matter on her own.

One day, her dad came to the school without a warning, looking for me.
I hid under a desk. No one found me that day. Another day, her brother came
to the school without a warning, looking for me. My friends gaurded me.

At the end of the year, that blue eyed sponge boob babe fell deeply and madly
in love with me.

We went to the local 'exhibition' and took agiant wheel ride, had a large papad,
jilebi and mirch bajji. We went to a hindi movie with our friends and sat next
to each other. The gentle rise and fall of her bosom, her smile, the pink in her
baby fat filled cheeks, the touch of her hand, the softness of her form (which
I could feel through her dress) simply awed me.

That night I drew my first nude.I tried to capture her in very few continuous
storkes. That night wasalso my first sleepless night. Within an year I was
drawing nothing but nudes. A good friend of mine and I joined hands (he is
now an art director for movies) to draw a book, titled 'How to make love
to a pregnant lady - 12 different ways'. It was also the year in which more
than half a dozen of my cartoons got published in leading local magazines.
I never told anyone about it. I never felt great about it. But I always proudly
displayed my nudes. It was also the year we discovered 'Debonair'. Nudes in
'Debonair'can at best be described as 'lousy'. But it was that age when you had
an erection before you finished saying 'cleavage' or 'boobs'.

Soon my art buddy and I discovered pornography (Popularly known as 26aka
BF which in turn is a short form for Blue Film, then).

Our first flick was a rude shock. (Lets call it a cultural shock). Till then women
were some kind of divine things we craved for and worshipped. The mystery
behind a girls dress was more fascinating than the girl herself. The flick broke
the magic. It was like your parents telling you that Santa is just another Banta,
or PC Sorcar revealing you the Great Indian Rope Trick. Poof. All the fucking
and sucking and all those eruptions of bodily fluids screwed the naive and
almost sacred fantasy world we lived in.

Your coolness factor exploded exponentially everytime you watched a porn
flick amongst your buddies. (Back then internet didnt exist andto get hold on
a tape in a small conservative town like ours was an adventure itself). We were
the cool dudes who had access to porn flicks. HilliBillies residing in the hostel
used to beg us to grant them moksha.

That year, VPSingh implemented Mandal commissionsrecommendations and
all hell broke loose. Our college was closed fortwo long fucking months. Hostel
hillibillies died of boredom. For aselected few we organized a porn flick (and
granted them moksha, forwhich they had to donate generously). On that show
we collected excess money, in other words,we made profit. Art buddy and I
bought our first beer (Golgen Eagle) with that money.

To this day, I am proud that I earned my first beer.

It took a smuggled 'Hustler' magazine to bring back the love, fascination, for
the female nude I had. Ironically, I regarded the pictures in Hustler as art.
(So did my art buddy). That book wasnt anything like we had everseen.
That high quality print, with resolution that we had never seen before on
such a high quality paper sure was art for us. That book wasthe most
valuable thing we possessed then. Art buddy and I replicated almost all the
major nudes in that book.

With all those replications we learned intuitively the female proportions,
curves, qualities, textures and tones.The more we learned the anatomy
the more fascinated we got.For a full month we drew and recited female
anatomy. I was more interested in 'curves' that were feminine and that
are feminine. Art buddy was moreinterested in accuracy. I never really
replicated. Rather, I explored with my pastel. Every new white sheet
was a new journey and a new possibility.

I would just draw a line that forms the lower half of a breast and continue
till the beginning of arm pit. I would pick a dry pasteland smudge evenly
a triangle. The triangle that begins with two soft dimples formed at the
end of the spinal and ends at the beginning of buttocks. I played a lot
with the 'volume' of a breast. and the finesse of a nipple.

I learned that the color and size of a female's nipple have their own
personalities. I lived in a world of tones, qualities and textures. Art
buddy lived in a world of proportions. He used to comeup with crazy
equations like'the proportions of the sides of a triangle that forms the
eyes and the chin are equal to the proportions of the sides of a triangle
that forms the nipples and the navel'.

Little did we realize that we unknowingly 'entered the matrix'. Little did
I realize that I developed a fascination that would become the defining
value for all the decisions that I would make in my future.It is that drive,
it is that longing that unsettled me, settled me, drove me places and
firmed me at places.

Vipassana strikes back

Recently I had minor throat and nose surgeries (Combo deal) .
I stayed home for more than two weeks and stayed mostly on solids.
It gave me ample time to finish some of my unfinished theories
(Why do we like peanuts and hate spianch? etc).

I could also able to pen down what was left about sharing my
Vipassana experience.

I like to think that some people actually read my posts instead of
directly clicking on the comments. It satisfies my ego.

I am pretending that some people actually read my previous posts
and are looking forward the upcoming 'Art of women' post. So here are
the links to the previous ones. The series begins in a day or two.

Smiley Goes to Vipassana
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/11/smiley-goes-to-vipassana-you-vipassana.html

Tweener
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/tweener-after-i-came-out-to-normal.html

The Vipassana Chronicles
The Day before the day before
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/vipassana-chronicles-day-before-day.html

The Day Before
Emotion has no reason, needs no reason and knows no reason
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-before-emotion-has-no-reason-needs.html

Day 1
Observe it; accept it, as it is.
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-1-observe-it-accept-it-as-it-is.html

Day 2
Your mind wanders. Smile.
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-2-your-mind-wanders.html

Day 3
A few important little people
http://jdv.blogspot.com/2004/12/day-3-few-more-little-people.html

Exciting times

Arent we living in one of the most exciting times?

On May 14th Micorsoft revealed its new XBox360 (also simply known as
xbox2) on MTV. Microsoft got everything right with the xbox, pre launch
hype, great product, great games and close to two million online users.
The power Halo was such that the release Halo2 changed the Balance
sheet of mighty Microsoft beyond estimations.

But Xbox failed in Japanese market. (Just 1.7 million units sold). The
design was very American. Japanese consumers unlike Americans are
very conscious about the product design.

So the team of XBox2 did a world wide poll (they have as much money
as they can spend) and independently developed several designs and
came up with an in vogue design.

The reality is, they screwed up big time. Serious gamers and nerds
dont really care about the shell. The hardware specs are good enough
to give an orgasm.



On the other hand, the leader of the pack, monster seller Sony is not
sitting idle. It released redesigned ultra cool PS2 recently which is a
big hit. Sony is following it up with PS3 which is not just a gaming
platform, but a 'media centre'. Sony previously failed big time previously
with its media stick. This time it is trying to get it right. If you know
Sony, they will get it


right. However, PS3 is not scheduled until 2007 end. That gives XBox
a year lead. Which is enough muscle for Microsoft to flex.

If you havent seen the hardware of PS3 yet, here you go..


On a totally other hand, our sweetie Lee's sister Preeti is showing
lots of improvment. She is managing to open her eyes on her own.
Which technically makes 'Out of coma'. Hey Preeti is not in a coma
any more. Thats one good news. On that same totally other hand,
Preeti is able to follow objects. Able to hear and see things on her
own. Moving her eyes on her own. Thats even better.

I joked with Leela, all she needs now is a screening of KillBill Vol. 1.

Just In

Got this awesome XBox game called Mech Assault 2.
Yes Sire, if you ask me, I am kicking ass.

The Story of Moby Dick
Sweet Dreams are made of these

A few long moments before the sunrise, Moby got his early morning erection
and woke up. Astonishingly the whole field was erect too. Then he saw the
daughter coming out of the house and fucking a cock.

That was the horniest and kinkiest stuff he ever saw. Then he saw the cock
turning into a huge watermelon.

Moby dick understood what was happening. He watched the daughter for
two weeks. On the last day of the second week he couldnt hold it anymore.
That night he dug himself into the field, covered himself with the mud, with
just his cock outside. During the morning, he promptly got his erection.
The daughter came and fucked him crazy. Both of them ended up in waves
of orgasm. To the daughters surprise, that dick didnt turn into a water melon.
It just went limp.

So she fucked again. She ended up in waves of orgasm. Moby ended up in
waves of orgasm.

To the daughters surprise, that dick didnt turn into a water melon. With
the first rays of sun other cocks went limp. But not this one.

Daughter promptly reported this incident to the farmer.

For which the farmer said, Ok then, cut that cock.

So she cut it.

The end.

P.S:
After delivering the baby, The one returnerd so fat that the Kind got her
thrown into the river. The king one day came to know about the farmers
beautiful daughter and married her. He made her his queen soon.
Moby dick, after his cock was cut, some how managed to survive.
People called him later, just Moby.
He bragged for the rest of his life that The Queen fucked him once, thrice.

The Story of Moby Dick
Everybody is looking for something

Farmer cried.

Saint smiled and gave some water from his kamandalam to the farmer and
said, Here son, sprinkle this sacred water on your field. Your problems will be solved.

Farmer did so. With in one moon month the farm bloomed.
Not with corns but cocks.

Horny daughter

She had her full grown boobs at the age of twelve. Ever since one thing she
wanted to have was sex. But her father was too poor for her to properly dress
and attend school. She stayed home all year and helped her father.

She desperately wanted her father to make money. With that money, she
thought, either he would marry her to a man, or she would buy some fine
slaves, with who she could have unlimited sex.

But the crop failed that year too. But then, her father sprinkled some magic
water on the crop. And then, it bloomed into a field of cocks.

From her window she had a full view of the field. She noticed that cocks stood
erect early in the morning before the first ray of sun fell on them.

For two weeks she got wet looking at that view. On the first day of the
third week, she couldnt resist anymore and fucked a cock.

She ended up in waves of orgasm and then the cock suddenly turned into a
huge watermelon. That was the biggest watermelon she had ever seen. She
tasted it little and it tasted fantastic.

She dutifully reported the whole incident to her father. Her father gifted that
watermelon to the king. The king rewarded him handsomely.

Moby Dick

Moby always wanted to have sex with Horny. But she quit school when she
was ten. She had the biggest boobs in the whole school then. Moby knew she
was the daughter of the poor farmer. Moby always looked for her while
passing their farm to his school. Every year horny grew into luscious desire.

Just like every year, he observed that the poor farmers farm didnt show any
signs of healthy corns. But then, he saw the farmer sprinkling some water in
the field. With in one moon month, he saw the farm blooming into strange
looking fruits, which he embarrassingly admitted to himself looked like his
own cock multiplied.

Moby also observed little changes appearing in the farmers house. Every
afternoon the farmer was taking a huge water melon to the king and coming
with loads of food and articles purchased in the big bazaar to the home.
With in weeks, the farmers house filled with food. Farmers family started
wearing new clothes and his wife even purchased some new jewellery.

Moby got curious and stayed at the field that night.

Hmm..I know how this story is going to end. I can tell. Can I? Can I?
Dude, comeon, I cant wait to whats going happen in the field tonight.
I still have suspicion this is linked to 'The One'.

read next...

The Story of Moby Dick
Sweet dreams are made of these

Smiley's Short Stories Dept

In association with

Smiley's Dirty Jokes Dept

Presents

The story of Moby Dick
Travel the world and seven seas

The king

Once upon a time there was a king. He had, like, seven wives. But he loved only one of them. He made love only to that one. That one, on one fine day got pregnant. According to the customs of the kingdom, she was sent to her mom's place for delivery during her sixth month.

King got lonely and gloomy. He couldn’t make love to the other wives. King loved that one so much.

One fine evening, the King stood on his fort and looked at the river flowing by. It made him remember his dear wife. In longing, he started masturbating. His sperm ejaculated with such a velocity and force that it flew for two days, traveled seven seas and fell into the Kamandalam of a great saint.

The saint

Every one revered the saint. He rarely listened to people. But when he listened, he listened and offered solutions. People would just stand in queues for days and for weeks and for months and some, for years, waiting to get the attention of the great saint.

Saint chose people in no particular order or pattern. Saint always stayed still with his eyes closed and uttering neti, neti. (It is not, it is not). Not even his closest pupil knew what was not.

The poor farmer, his ugly wife and their horny daughter

The poor farmer was the unluckiest soul he ever knew. He got married to an ugly and thankless wife during his childhood. He farmed whatever his father left him. It was always either a calamity or huge fluctuations in the market price that ruined him.

That year he put every thing he had into his corn field. Every one else bloomed. His didn't. Bad seeds, they said. Farmer had no other opportunity but commit suicide. But for the responsibility to get his beautiful and horny daughter married, he would have done so.

That day, poor that he was, the farmer, approached the saint.

That day, pious that he was, the saint, opened his eyes and looked at the farmer.

Hmm..I see where it is going. But who is Moby Dick?
Horny and beautiful? I want to know more about her.
Hey, I bet its something to do with 'The One'.

read next..

The Story of Moby Dick
Everybody is looking for something

The spirit of Mumbai

For my inflight reading I bought this book titled
The power of your subconscious mind. Its a cheesy book.

I made a call to Leela the moment I got out of the flight.
Take a ric, come to Carona hospital. She told.
I took a ric.
Carona hospital turned out to be karuna hospital.

I called Leela. She came out and waved. She looked beautiful,
beaten and tired.

They are not letting any visitors now.I will take you home.
My home is nearby. She said.

She introduced me to her Tom at the entrance. Tom salivated on my
new Lee cooper shoes. I left the shoes at the door, threw a little
prayer for them and went inside.

Mom, he is Smiley. Aunt he is Smiley. Dad he is Smiley. She introduced.
Her dad never looked up from the Times of India. A little later Leela's
brother came and said, Hey you must be Smiley. I said, Hey you must
be the little brother shadowed by a talented sister-who finally fought
his way to win an Abby.

Yeah.

I sat next to Leela's dad. After a while Dad finished reading his news
paper. I handed over him the Bombay times edition. He looked a little
startled. Who are you? He asked. I am your paper boy. I answered.
Thanks, but I dont read the Bombay times. He said.

The family was busy talking about taking a second opinion on Preeti's
brain condition. I looked around. Pictures of Preeti and her daughter
Alison stood out. There was this picture of Leela and Preeti when they
were kids.

For a moment I fell in love with Preeti. She looked so cheery with her
daughter on her back. For a moment my heart melted.

Her mom made me some drink and apologized for not paying much attention
to me. I am fine. I said. I would like to let you know that Preeti is in
my prayers and my Master Chief's prayers.

Thank you. She said. And can you keep your shoes inside? Tom is getting
excited. She added.

I asked Leela's brother to show his work. He did. Leela couldnt resist and
showed me her stuff too. Her mom fetched me a local newspaper and proudly
showed me a news article on her son.

Leela's dad started rereading the newspaper. This time he started making
some notes. Mom apologized again for not offering any food and excused
herself to the hospital. Leela and I walked down to a nearby food joint.
(Anytime you are dining with Leela, you should prepare yourself for a
dish of Prawns. She will end up ordering a prawn fry after carefully
going through the entire menu.)

So whats up? I asked.
She started telling me. I am not sure if I listened to her. I just
watched her sharing the trauma. The mid day hot and humid Mumbai
air never stopped playing with her curly hair. I was amazed by the strength
and objectivity she showed.

Fortunately or unfortunately I had close encounters with a situation like
this in my past. I can understand the kind of pain and stress one has to
endure in situations like these.

I understood the deal. She is prepared. She is not hoping for what 'she
thinks is the best thing to happen'. She is doing whatever she can do.
She is hoping that that would turn out to be the best for Preeti.

Afternoon shifts are Leela's. I offered my company. Leela's aunt hinted
me that I have to sneak past the stairs, because they are not letting
any visitors. With Leela's help I did. She had to visit the HOD and
at the same time relieve her mom from the morning shift.

Hey, can you go upstairs, tell my mom to go home and be at the ICU till
I finish my work with HOD? She asked.

I can. I went upstairs and told her mom that she can go home and that
I can take care of that ICU stuff. She was embarrassed. What about you?
Did you have lunch? She asked. I had. Dont worry. Take your time. I said.

She left. I sat there and stared at the iron doors of ICU for sometime.
Then I slowly drifted into a nap. Leela woke me up.

We sat there for a long time. I listened to her empathetically. All these
prayers. Something has to happen. She said after a while.

Around three o clock, Leela said she has some work downstairs and asked
me to continue the vigil at the ICU. In about five minutes a nurse emerged
from the ICU.

Preeti. She shouted. Who is for Preeti here? She shouted again.
Me. I said.
She gave me a receipt, a request for three bottles of blood to the local
blood bank and a sample of blood for cross matching.

I was not very sure. I stared at Preeti's blood for a long time. She is
still fighting. I wished that prayer stuff Leela told me is true.
I wished Preeti's blood all the best.

I called Leela and told her about the blood requirement. She called
her brother. Her brother took the note. We need the blood by four.
The nurse declared. Her brother started running.

This tiny little family against a monstrous set up of Mumbai is struggling
to undo the chance event that topsy turvyed their life as they knew it.

This effort of theirs is illogical, instinctive and beautiful.

For some really strange reason they suddenly let Leela inside the ICU.
Smiley, come in, say hi to Preeti. Leela said.
I obliged.

I met Preeti at a lunch before. On the hospital bed she looked much
younger. She has a pretty face. She was serene and almost smiling.
But her skin showed all the symptoms of the fight going on internally.
The kind of pain she must have endured in the last four to six weeks is
simply mind numbing.

Leela put a hand on her sister and whispered in her ear.
Preeti, you are doing well today. Doctors are finally positive.
Your kidneys have started functioning a bit. Your blood pressure
is normal and I am so glad you didnt give up. Keep up the fight.

Preeti's eyes moved under eyelids. In a way, it was almost like
she was responding to Leela.

Hey, look who is here. Smiley. Remember him? We had lunch together
at your office.

I swore to myself that I saw her smiling a bit. A tiny winy bit.

Hi Preeti. Its me. Smiley. I have a confession to make. It was me who
stole your gulab jamun that day.

We walked out. I was still numb from what I saw.
My respect for Leela and her family quantumed.

Leela, I know I can do very little and whatever I am gonna say
is only going to sound cliched. Still. Be brave. Stay float.
You have done a great job. Be proud of it.

Smiley, thanks for coming. Did you really steal her gulab jamun that
day?

What are friends for? Tell Preethi that I will be more than happy to
pay her gulab jamun back. Take care.

On the return flight, I read a couple of chapters of The Power of
your subconscious mind.

This dude is right. There is still hope.

Role of Media

On day two, at Young Indians summit, there was this session called
Role of Media in Transforming India. Very interesting session.
I was looking forward to Tarun Tejpal's (Editor,Tehelka)
take. Tarun wore a Denim and Cotton and looked at ease. On the
other side was NKRam, (Editor, The Hindu), stiff upper lipped and
dark suited.

I read a lot about NKRam in the columns of Varsha, Francoise and
Rajeev. He is a classic Nehruvian socialist according to them.Two
good looking NRI babes were on the dias too. (YI has this policy
of 'Equal gender participation').

Tarun started his speech in a strange accent. Its a kind of British
mix with Northern (Very Hindiish) India. Tarun went on stressing the
importance of the role of Media, especially in a democracy, especially
in a corrupted country like India, especially in an emerging nation
like India. He informed how he and his team sacrificed their lives in
bringing the ugly truth out about the Indian defence deals. He said the
ideal role of media is to act as a check for this function called
democracy. Then Tarun started an attack on a big media house.
(Times of India, of course, every one knows it).

He informed us, how a news paper should not survive on Ad revenue
alone, how a news paper should not concentrate just on circulation
(which in turn is a consequence of depending on Ad revenue) alone,
how a newspaper should not concentrate on popular news alone (which
in turn is a consequence of looking for more circulation).

He thundered that we Indians are cheap. We spend hundreds of rupees
on movie tickets but are not willing to pay another buck for quality
reporting.

Two things struck me. I am sure Tarun is a well read man.

Concept of free market. Indian Psyche still lives in socialist era.
Every one is telling everyone how it should be like and what it should be
like. The government, the media and the leaders. (Ok, lets not even
step into Vivek Oberai's upcoming model village in Tamil Nadu).

The simple fact of life is, what is good for you is bad for someone.
Free power to farmers is good for poor farmers, bad for the power
sector and the economy. Censorship is good in the short run, very
bad in the long run.

Deciding the right content of a newspaper and right price
of a news paper is not for individuals. It is a dynamic evolution from
the market. Market decides it. Not you Mr Tarun.

Respecting other people's choice and taste. Why is someone who
reads Page 3 of TOI inferior to someone who can finish the crosswords in
The Hindu? That is another Indian signature. This is right and that
is wrong.

Another fact of life is, ultimately, it all boils down to profitability.
Media needs funds needs profits needs circulation/viewership/readership.

Now, what is circulation? It is the choice of the market.Dont argue with
it. Go with it. Otherwise you are doomed. The world has seen too many
of you.

On the other hand, NK Ram elegantly (read: Lots of vocabulary, that
half the people sitting there will never understand and never find
any usage.) expressed the role of The Hindu in reporting the charge
sheets on Kanchi peetathipathi dude, communal riots of 1983, recent
Gujarat riots. He informed us how Hindu fought with the system to
fight for the cause of equality and diversity. He deplored the heinous
hindu caste system, flesh selling news papers and supported women
reservation bill.

He agreed with Tarun on newspaper pricing. He told news should be
responsible and not popular.

What I read about this guy is all true. There was no need to mention Gujarat
riots and the arrest of the leader of a Hindu math. How come newspapers
never mention (especially the socialist types) what started Gujarat riots,
what started operation blue star, what started the exodus of Pundits from
kashmir and heinous purchase of human beings into a certain religion type
aka mass conversions into Christianity in the states of Assam, Andhra pradesh
and Tamil Nadu?

At the end of speech, there was a question hour. Lots of schools (from all
over India) sent their kids to this summit. They are all teens. One teenage
girl in a neatly pressed suit from Delhi raised her hand.

This question is for both Tarun and Ram, on the day Sania mirza entered
round two at so and so Tennis tournament there was also this teenage guy
from a poor family from south who won an international chess title at
Sri Lanka.

Both of you ignored the chess dude and printed Sania in full color on the
front page for entering round 2. Can you explain.?

There was pindrop (an Indian slang) silence on the dias. Later Ram explained
why Sania is a symbol of new emerging Indian confidence. Tarun simply
said that Sania sells.

Tarun's reply was atleast honest and pretty much summarized the role of the
media.

The role of media in a free society is not to shape it but to report it.

Thanks teenie. I lacked the balls to raise my hand.

Later on the NRI babes told everyone how they are trying to teach women
in rural India (Anantapur District, Andhra Pradesh) how to use computers.

Yeah, sure.

Mini Break

Coming soon (somewhere in the months of May and June)

Vipassana Chronicles IV & V
The story of moby dick I & II
Sivamma

For now, I am either running out of juices or being too busy with my
personal and professional life.

I love you.