Untold Story of a StoryTeller - II

The first story teller in me was called deeveepee.

Small books of the size of less than 1/4 th of an A4 sheet, rated anywhere between Rs 1.50 to Rs. 2.75, used to prevail the book markets in early eighties.

Those books came with interesting titles (One such title : 'A ghost in the house, a devil in the forest')

Since buying books was a luxury, we used rent them from a local library usually at 10 paise per day.

I used to read them like there was no tomorrow.

In just about an year, I developed a large audience in my school who would drop their nickers to listen to my stories. It was also not uncommon for the school teachers to ask me to tell a story to keep the class quiet.

As I progressed, it almost became a practice for the teachers to ask me to tell a story.

In less than a month after I started this storytelling, I started using my imagination and created my own monsters and my own thrill rides.

Looking back, I dont think I cared for characterization or a proper beginning or an ending. I gave them a thrill ride of monster after monster.

I grew up in a small town called Tadepalligudem. We had about eight movie theatres. Nobody in my school had a TV at home. (Now, think about it for sometime. A childhood with no TV :-))

So, telling the story of the movie you saw was a big deal. The kid who saw that Chiranjeevi's movie the next the day in the school was as good as Chiranjeevi himself. He had to tell everything to his friends. The comedy, fights, villains, chases.

Out of these kids, I was lucky because one theatre (called Relangi, owned by the legendary comedian Relangi Narasimha Rao) signed up a contract with a distributor in Vijayawada to show 100 English movies. One per week. I was lucky because my dad decided that we should watch these movies.

It was at Relangi that I saw every known genre (Bond, Western, Horror, Action, Chinese etc).

Very few others watched those English movies. This gave me a blanket bragging rights and a blanket creative rights.

Just imagine this. You are the only kid who saw 'A man with a golden gun' on the weekend and the rest dont even have a TV at home. Thats like sending Sehwag to a play against a local town team.

As it can happen, I started introduced flying cars, jumping ships, galloping horses and an occasional 'English Kiss'.

With the luxury of hindsight, now I can say that, I soon lost my girl audience and developed a hard core 'insiders' who would listen to any extent of outrage.

Enter the dragon, a new dude called Sasi. He was a brahmin kid with a surrogate mother and a pampered brother. Studied well. Dressed well. Looked good. Was kind to girls and had a brilliant sense of story telling.

He narrated them with sound effects, emotions, ghosts, daily life incidents and proper logical endings. He created stories at the drop of a hat. (Or a tie). He was just too much of a dude.

In less than a month he had the class with him. The girlDom especially. Girls pretty much dedicated lunch hours for him. I never really bothered with this development, because we were too busy playing cricket and Kabaddi in lunch hours.

In about an year Sasi totally dominated the storytelling scene. Except for few close friends, the class soon forgot me as story teller. (But I still remained a celebrity with my drawings and paintings. Thats a different story :-))

Later many a times I wondered the whereabouts of that great storyteller, Sasi.

Later many a times I wondered about the choice of my subjects during those storytelling house as we grew together in that school. I wondered if I could have captured those girls imagination the way Sasi did.

After my 7th class, I left that town (that School and Radha and a bunch of childhood friends) to a small city called Vijayawada. Vijayawada was extremely rude, lewd, caste based and polarized (Balakrishna and Chiranjeevi). I never ever bothered to tell any one that I can tell stories. I always loved my middle name, so I never ever bothered to reveal my past name deeveepee.

Thus, deeveepee, the storyteller was buried.

..to be continued

Untold Story of a Storyteller - I

Or, this is a story of an untold story of a storyteller.

Well, there is no end to it. We can play with words and be amused for a while.

A long time ago, I read a strange book titled 'Songlines' (According to the author (Bruce Chatwin), this world is a song). The book was about Aborigines remembering the landscape as a 'song'. Songs were their assets. Songs were their currency. Songs were their inheritance.

It sounded strange to me. Took sometime to digest for me.

But in the end, it made sense to me. "You walk ten miles to the north, cross the stream and turn east, at the big rock turn west, two miles down you will find bushes and lazy Kangaroos. While coming back dont stay at the big rock for the night, it is watched by Orories, they will kill you by the morning". Now, thats precious information. Losing it or misunderstanding it can be the difference between life and death. Better remember it well. Whats a better way to remember than in a song? For them, this world is a song.

I kind of agree with those aboriginal dudes. With a dent.

I think this world is a story.

I think, Philosophy, Art, Religion and Science are all stories that we have told to ourselves.

I think we humans are hardwired to comprehend. We comprehend ourselves, our surroundings, our behaviours, our emotions, our habits, our environments, our fellow beings, our universe in the form of stories.

Sometimes we call these stories 'laws'. Sometimes we call these stories 'Truth'.

E = MC ^2 is a story that Einstein told us.

Nirvana is a story that Buddha told us.

Monalisa is a story that Leonardo told us.

"Everything is a story", itself is a story, that I am telling myself and I will tell many others.

There is something very primordial about this storytelling. 

Looks like we never get tired of it.

There is little guy/girl called a storyteller in all of us.

..to be continued

Smart Dog

Marriage has too many definitions.

But I think a successful one is "a sum average of everything about two people".

The first thing you do when you get up in the bed is, scratch your balls.

The first thing she does is, scratch her head.

In about a month you will forget about your balls and up end scratching your beard in the morning.

(Probably in a super successful marriage she ends up scratching your balls.

But we are not Obamas. We are smileys.)

I eat cereals in the morning. She eats butter on a toasted bread. We ended up with dosas.

The list is endless.

I use soft pillows. She uses her childhood soft doll as a pillow. We ended up with a small hard pillow.

But when it comes to using our toilets, we ended up using different ones. I like reading newspaper on my pot, use lot of water and in general make a mess out of the thing. She is very particular about lot of stuff when it comes to toilets.

At our home we use different ones.

At her house (her parents home) we ended up using different ones.

For two reasons. Her toilet ceiling is 5 feet 8 inches high. 

Actually we discovered this in a surprising way. 

One the third night of stay at her parents house (a big one with lot of rooms, toilets, a roof garden and a penthouse), she complained about my new deo.

I told her I am not using any deo. She said, if thats the case, I am smelling a little different, to put it politely.

Then she asked, "Are you taking your bath properly ?".

To answer her honestly, I rewinded my brain to the scene of my bath.

I realized that, I was taking my baths with my head slightly bent and in general was not raising my hands.

After this realization, she shifted me to the bathroom thats attached to the penhouse, upstairs.

This particular journey is an interesting one because it invloves unlocking three diffents doors with three different ancient keys. Penthouse also is their book store. I mean serious book store. Her dad has hundreds of books collecting dust there.

Needless to say, I started liking my private time with so many books and a toilet thats got a ceiling thats 6 feet 6 inches high.

But I ended up having an unexpected company to my penthouse toilet visits.

Her dog.

I am not new to dogs. I know them well enough. But I understand them only in a Master-Slave relation. I dont understand them as my peers.

This particular one grew up as a peer. 

First time, I encouraged this curious guide to show me around the penthouse. But the minute he claimed his ownership on my underwear and my towel, I started thinking otherwise.

For another strange reason, which probably only a dog (or another dog) can understand, he thought those ancient keys belonged to him.

As you can see, soon we developed a conflict of interest (or ownership).

Yesterday, he somehow sneaked into the penthouse and barked at me. Which I took very seriously as it is a direct challenge to my authority. I looked directly into his eyes and told him to get out. He didnt budge. Instead he 'grrrrr'ed again.

So, I slowly took my towel, like Rajani would wind his hanky before a big fight, tighthened it and released it straight in front of his face with a snap. It made big 'Phat' sound.

It startled him. Then I beat the chair with the towel to make a huge 'thud'.

I think he weighed his options. Then he simply ran out of the room.

Smart dog. I said out loud.

This morning when he heard me open the first door, he came running to join me. Surprisingly after I opened the third door, he calmly left.

So a marriage is not the sum average of simply the two, but also of the near and dear.

Wedding Bells

I am getting married. Bringing this eternal pursuit to an end. (I can hear someone chuckling at the back). 

This blog has witnessed a lot. So it deserves being informed about its protagonist settling down and ending his deliriums.

This blog has a lot to do with the marriage too.

This blog is what made me think that I can write. I wrote. Some people (nuts, jobless, curious, socially challenged and lots of hot chicks) actually read my posts and left some silly comments. To which I replied in a much sillier tone.

One such cool girl who I called Yummy in my blog (who I met in one of those losers meets (HBMs)) once in a while used to come to my place to play with my dog. We never really bothered to fall in love or do anything like that. We just played with the dog once in a while and then we drifted.

I think chance favored us (and the dog. Shredder is not with me anymore. He is living with my maternal uncle). 

Serendipity, Randomness and popcorn at Imax brought us together. This time the popcorn tasted better and the movie looked brighter. So we decided to it (watching movies and a lot of other stuff) together till the end.

In her words, its our destiny. 

If you are a blogger and left a comment in my blog before, you are cordially invited to my wedding (and blog about it).

If you are a nobody and are here by serendipity and randomness, you are cordially invited to go through our presents section at our wedding site www.mahatiprakash.com

For an electronic copy of the wedding invite, drop me a line.

Needless to say, there is a post wedding cocktail party at Foo. Drop me another line if you are in Hyderabad, I will send you an invite.

Thank you all. I (we) love you.

(For the sake of this blog, I am renaming Yummy, 'Simily'. 

More tales from Smiley and Simily soon :-))

Antharmukham

Love

How do I isolate love, observe love and quantify love?

How much do you love her? Do you love her? Oh, you have been in love? Are you in love?

There were times I wished love was just a verb. Like in making love.
There were times I wished she just stayed under the blanket and had never left the penthouse.
There were lot many times when I just wished she was with me (for whatever).

I sometimes wonder and dissect to see where this love thing was or is.

Is it in the countless number of hours we spent together discussing my dogs farts to her belief in destiny. Is it under the recliner under which we have rolled too many wine bottles. Is it in the bathtub we made unlimited love warmly wrapped in cinnamon flavored bubbles. Is it in the vacuum that's created in her absence.

Is it in the dreams that we saw together. Or is it in the path we took to walk towards the dreams? Is the acting of walking together love? Is it in the misunderstanding or is it in the understanding of the misunderstandings? Is it in her bubbly bosom or is it in my (occasionally) pumped up chest?

She ignores. She cares. She loves. She loves to submit. She loves to win. She hates. She hates her hating. She cries. She laughs. She cares a fuck. She has her own life. She has her own values. She listens. She doesn't. She loves privacy. She intrudes. She looks beautiful. She looks normal. She looks hot. She looks irresistible. She cooks. She doesn't.

I wish I could blanket all the experiences, walks, emotions, my reactions, differences, dreams and acts under one blanket word called 'love'.

I wish I could be as simple as 'I love her'.

I wish I could encapsulate everything with a set of words like 'lovers','friends', 'companions', 'life partners'.

And/or, everything and all of the above.

Unfortunately, I am not a slave to words or definitions of those words or descriptions to how we should accept/reject those words. I am sometimes immune to wisdom. I am sometimes immune to convention. I am immune to 'above,below,right,wrong,should,must,is' and most abused word 'real'.

Real love. My 'love' for her is 'real'. (My urge to mate with her or my urge to go to movies with her or my urge to share my life with her or my urge to raise kids along with her somehow look not so real and somehow not so right).

I am.
She is.
We are.

We intend to be.

We promised each other that. We understood that.

I am not going to confuse this with word play.

But if you ask me, yeah, I love her. I have no doubt about that. But somehow, I love 'we are', than I love 'love'.

And there was a beautiful view
But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island
Was saying: Look at me! Look at me!

Laurie Anderson, Language Is A Virus

Happy Life

I wish Patrix and Ash a wonderful, joyous and beautiful life.
May peace, love, joy, children and Wi Fi be with you.

Hey, its first of its kind. This marriage. How come the media is not tipped yet?

I miss her - Haikus

Her voluptuous bosom is
just
unjustly left to imagination only.

I wake up in my soft comforter.
Perfect.
Or is it? I ask myself immediately.

The long road we have planned together
started with a bypass.
Ironic!

I check the phone intuitively.
There are no SMSs to reply.
The phone is feeling neglected.
So is Airtel.

The physical separation.
A chirpy bird stopped chirping
in a winter land.

The comforting breath of hers.
I inhale
is a morning fog now.

A polka dotted orange night gown
in my
wardrobe.
What a waste!

She is looking for the rope trick
I am busy setting the stage.
She is afraid the stage gets bigger always.
I am afraid the rope needs the stage.
It’s a Sudoku. You know!

A lonely guy. A lonely recliner.
A lonely bean bag.
Silently sip their coffee looking for her.
Probably she is hiding under the bed.
I am an optimist.

Booze, Lies and your friends wives

As a bachelor, I have my set of problems. My best friends wives. Its the plural of My best friend's wife. Its not an easy job. Trust me. You need to win your friend, his wife's trust in you, her trust in him. As you can see, its a delicate job.

As a bachelor it is your responsibility to make sure the old friendships continue. Not your married friend's. I am like 'been there and done that' in this segment. Here are my rules for the young bachelors out there.

1) Always praise her beauty (No matter how fat she is after the delivery)

I know this is too obvious. But it works. Like magic. Always. Your bachelor girlfriend might not have the resources and time to wear a matching pantie, but housewives (or even working wives) have plenty of these. So look for simple stuff like matching ear rings(obviously you cant comment on the matching bra). Acknowledge it specifically. She will become your best friend that night.

You:"I like your ear rings. Hmmm.. did you do your eyebrows lately?"
She:"Blah Blah Blah"
You:"Look at that. Your watch strap matches your first bangle. Thats cool."
She:"Blah Blah Blah"
You:"Sigh. You are almost hot tonight"
She:"Smiley, I saved this Gummadikaya Iguru for you. My husband doesnt like it anyway."
You: Ignore your friend and have that Gummadikaya Iguru.

2) Always praise the food (No matter how greasy it is) and always return her tiffin boxes

As a bachelor, you get to eat at every home you know. Wives come in different sizes and skills. So do their chicken curries. But it shouldnt effect you. Never go with "the food is good". Go with "Hmmm.. I like this brinjal curry. Its quiet different from the way my mom's. Simily, if you dont mind, can I take home some"? She will be glad to give you some. Unfortunately, it is followed up with a really difficult act. You need to remember to eat it the next day, and most important, you need to return her box.

"So did you enjoy the brinjal curry the next day too?"
"What brinjal curry?"
"That day I gave you na! Also I need that box back. I told your friend to remind you"
"What box?" (You have already converted it into an ash tray for your game watching friends.)

Now, thats trouble.

3) Never call her home

"Hi Simily, how are you?"
"Fine Smiley. Thanks for calling. How are you?"
"So did you guys have fun yesterday?"
"Stop joking. You are actually irritating me"
"What ...?"
"Yeah, yesterday my mom wanted to take us out and your friend stayed back at your penthouse and now you are teasing me. Ha"

Your best friend uses you as alibi for several different reasons and you are not the only friend he is got. So never ever call her home unless you have a full update from your friend.

4) Never pick her call (and never respond to her emails and never respond to her SMSs)

This usually is trouble and is totally unnecessary.

5) Always praise the kids

Duh.

6) Listen to her (and never offer advice)

It never stops. It is complaint after complaint. About your friend. Listen. Listen. Listen.
And thats all there is to it.
"He is so lazy. I dont know how do you spend time with him. He doesnt even talk to me. He is always watching TV"
Trouble:"Hey, thats not the case. When he is with me, he talks a lot"
No Trouble: Listen.

7) Never take your friend's side (in front of her)

See above.

8) Always take your friend's side (rest of the time)

Come on, he is your friend. No matter how right his wife is, you should always take his side. Thats all there is to it. Thats all there ever is to it.

9) Never listen to your friend

Women have amazing ability to complain and still be okay with it. So when your friend's wife says
"I hate him. He snores. I cant sleep. He never takes me out. He is always having fun weekends with you. He never takes care of the kids. I hate his parents too. How can anybody live with him", surprise, surprise, she may not mean it. So dont jump to conclusions. Listen. Listen.

But when your buddy, after couple drinks offers to tell you how bad his sex life is, just cut him off. Because he can never live with that fact for the rest of his life, that you know how bad his show is. Dont listen.

10) Dont win her and never ever make a move.

Remember, you are winning your position as a friend. You are not competing with your friend. Always forget her birthday. And, no matter where it is, how it is, how many drinks after it is, how intimate it is, never make a move and never ever accept a move. (Unless your best friend is a girl. In that case, brush off her husband from your mind and make your best move).

Sex and the pill

Last month just flew by.

I had too many mangoes, too much sex (by my standards) and did too little work. I couldnt have asked for a better pill.

To avoid the pill, I mean.

Last time I visited my family doctor he said, "Hmmm.. you dont look composed ... you are stressed out".

"Thanks doc. I know that. But I am here for something else. This fucking fever and this Sri Lanka lookalike spot on my stomach"

"Arrey, thats what I am talking about. Both your fever and Lanka are side effects of being stressed out". "Are you married?"

"I am single"

"You should get married. Well, that can be another source of stress for many people. Ha ha ha"

Doc gave me stress pills and another pill I am not sure about what is for.

Those stress pills are making me very sleepy.

Both the doc and I know that prevention is better than curing. So I delegated some of my work to my deputies at the expense of the launch of Foo getting delayed. But I thought I will give in, in a week. Surprisingly I didnt. (And I am back blogging during my work hours)

I concentrated 'more' on having those dinners, spending time with the girl, movies, quickies, mangoes, afternoon naps and much 'more' on not having those deadlines, financial constraints and responsibilities in my mind. Heck I have even started partying.

I dont think I have done it by design. I think it just happened by chance or it just happened because of the pills made me forget about my work load. Or may be spending time with the girl was worth more than anything else.

I am so stress free now that it is beginning to bother me.

I am visiting the doc tomorrow. I wonder if there is any stress inducing pill.

Conversations

Parodoxii

Is Paradoxii a word?
I dont think I care. As long as I communicate the right feeling. Adding to that, if Smiley needs, he creates words.

You know what your problem is?
I wish.
You have an ego that is larger than this room.
As far as I know, I dont have an ego.
Shut the fuck up.

See, your ego got hurt to know that I dont have an ego. You might have a tough time trying to understand this. I HAVE NO EGO.
Shut the fuck up.

I call it attitude. I think modesty is more of "fear of failure" than humility. I dont have a fear of failure. I acknowledge my strengths. People think it is attitude. Well, it IS attitude. Dont confuse it with ego, which has a need to be right.
You know what your problem is Smiley?
I wish.
Your fall is going to be spectacular. Just the way your ascent has been.
I never fall. I just gain experience. :))
Fuck you.

Are you in the safe zone?
Yes I am.
Good. Well, your choice. Ribbed condomn or me. :)
Well, thats some choice. I dont know.
I will drink up this insult and try to present "me". I aint ribbed, but know a trick or two.
Try me.
Love you.

Moms and Dads

It all happened so fast, it is sometimes still hard to believe. That we as a family lost Vinny's dad. Vinny's mom isnt too old. She is in her late forties now.

It is amazing to realize, in a traditional sense, how important it is for a woman to have a husband and a home in this society. She lost both in a single sad month.

She is like my friend. She is the only aunt who I dont ji.

Last week I drove to the sleepy town of warangal to meet her. She is staying with her daughter now. Predictably, she was full of tears the moment she saw me. I felt little uncomfortable. But I withheld my usual, "Dont worry, All this happened for greater good. You will be cool" stuff.

I just listened to her. From her early marriage romance, the first movie she saw with her husband (big deal in those days), a surprise bloom of romance after they married off their daughter, the only time he hit her, how truthful he was, how simple he was and the greatest regret of hers.

She narrated that incident to me. Apparently she once set him for a dual. List out 10 flaws in other. He said, You begin. She rattled 17 flaws of him. (Didnt stop at 10). He said, I dont see any flaws in you. I like you as you are. That was also the only moment he said I love you to her. (In their 31 years relationship).

My sister put a plate of Warangal Papads (very popular) in front me. I listened to my aunt through my papads. It was a marathon. It took some effort from my side to sustain a sympathetic face and lots of nodding. By afternoon she felt lot lighter. There was a visible relief in her face.

Over years of experience, (after many hard lessons) I learned to listen to a woman and not offer solutions. It is kind of frustrating but, thats how it is.

Before lunch, I said, Dont worry. I am your son. I am doing quiet well this year. I am there for you. After more tears, she said, Even your brother (notorious for zero communication) invited me to his house. More tears.

I couldnt go through those tears. Well, stop crying. Yeah that was a tragedy. It will take couple of years, before you are totally out of it.

Well, I gotta share this with someone. Now I am feeling better. Sorry for putting you through my stuff, she said.

I know those words I said (I am your son) and my taking time out to visit her, means a lot to her. She will recuperate with the help of these words and relations. She will weave a new web, an intangible and emotional web, which dads and sons quiet dont get.

I guess for men, tangibles speak more than anything.

On my drive back, I called my mom and said, Just visited your sister.
Really? You have done a good thing! How is she?
Usual. Still crying. Otherwise fine.
Keep calling her.
Sure. Bye.

I also called Vinny.
Just visited your mom.
How did you go?
My new car. Its a two hour drive.
Whats the mileage?
13+.
Great. If you havent bought a keychain yet, dont. I will buy you one tomorrow.
Thank you.

A Laddu for INR 16500

Any festival is a festival when its in India. Burning man is a wussie compared to Vinayaka Chaviti of Hyderabad.

Millions of crazy young drunk fuckers dancing to loud (also called Teen Maar) drums and other such noise making devices, marching towards a big fucking lake to dump (called Nimajjanam) more than 10000 idols of a funny looking fat elephant God.

This God is not someone who you 'fear'. This God dude is your dude. He is your buddy. You play with him, you drink with him, you eat with him and you stand on him. He is fondly called Ganesh in Hyderabad.

We Indians never appreciate the courage and determination of our Politicians, Police and Babus. We are so used to disliking them.

Imagine this. You are a policeman equipped with nothing but a Lathi (Most of them dont even have walkie talkies) dealing with more than a million drunk young men. And you will never be thanked for a job well done.

Like most of the Indian Miracles, this festival is another fucking thing that 'just happens'. 6000 fucking teams pouring out from different streets, passing through narrow lines, crawling under High Voltage lines, accommodating all communities (like diwali, Ganesh too is contagious and non religious), you know!, to dump this God. Crazy shit. Indeed.

So, I was invited by a colony of friends (or friends from a colony) to be their guest on their nimajjana day. After the usual Grease poll and Teen maars we all went to a friends place to sit on their daba. The custom is to auction the 'laddu in Ganesha's hand', before Ganesha heads for the dump ritual.

I asked Zee to participate in the auction. Come back with the laddu. Is what we told him.
He came back, glowing and with the laddu.
How much?
16500.
Holy fucking shit!
(I have a picture of that laddu. :) It is the most expensive dish I ever ordered.)

P.S: The highest bid for a laddu this year is 9.02 lakhs. Hundreds of laddus went for a bid thats higher than 1 lakh. This is just Hyderabad. And this government tells me that there are only 61000 millionaires in India. :)

Dunhill Desire

Her eyes told me how much she was anticipating me. I had never seen such brilliant present eyes. Shredder has those eyes sometimes. You know, the pure joy eyes.

She ran me through her stuff. From her excitement I sensed that she was thinking I am 'somebody'. Truth is, I am not 'somebody', yet. "But who asked you to work on 'this'?", I asked her.

So you dont like it?
Its not a matter of liking or disliking it. But you dont need to work on this. There are definitely tasks that have more priority. And yeah, I am not exactly 'impressed'.
A little disappointment in those brilliant present eyes.

The next night, I was invited to 'The most happening place in Bangalore' (for invitees only) by this guy. I went there, expecting a guy's evening in a T and jeans and without taking a shower.

She was there. In pure black magic. Brilliant eyes matched by brilliant smile. My heart pumped faster. Before entering into the dance floor I said, "Excuse me" and went into 'Men's'.

Washed my face, did some pecker adjustments and pulled my belt to a lower hole. Went to the bar, grabbed couple of drinks, handed one to her. I dont drink. She said. I gave that to my friend. There was a silence on us, isolated in that 1000 watt room.

She said something.
What? I shouted back. She put her mouth into my ear and shouted.
Want to dance?
No.
She gave this huge brilliant present smile.
You smell good. She shouted.
I nodded.
Do you want me to guess? She shouted.
Guess.
Guess? Giggles. No, wait a minute. Let me smell you again. She smelled behind my ear.
No, this one is jasmine. Indian? She asked.
Palmolive Hand wash. From the mens room.
I told her the truth.

She laughed the whole evening. She told me that I am a crazy, cheap, blunt but adorable guy.

Next day morning, by the time I reached the office, these girls were already giggling.
Bah Girls! They cant keep anything to themselves.
So what is it today? Dettol antibacterial wash? Ha Ha Ha. Girls burst into a burst.
Dont even think about it.
Why? The same huge brilliant present smile, with a twinkle in her eyes.
Its Dunhill Desire. To quote the salesguy, "It arouses a woman and creates an urge."
On me, its quiet irresistible. I said.
Girls looked at her visibly blushing. Her blush was spectacular. She was embarrassed.
All she said was, Yeah Yeah right.

On my return flight, with my eyes closed, I was smiling.
What is it? The curious contractor asked.
You know what they have for handwash at the office?
What?
Palmolive hand wash.
So?
Someone is going blush a lot this week.
I dont get it.
Never mind.

Silly Me(mes)

Well, dude Patrix tagged me to come up something silly. Just to come up with
something silly there is no need to tag me at all. But this, its for a silly picture.

I think I have one. (As a matter of fact, I have so many of them).
Here you go Patrix. :)

Vinny and Smiley in Frocks.

Metro Retro

Your Score 34

Thats what this "What kind of Man are you?" Survey said.
According to them, I am neither Metro nor Retro. I am somewhere in between.

This Chick made her body a billboard and selling it inch by inch. Not a bad idea


Check out the original idea and his amazing fairy tale come true blog

I absolutely loved this organic design


And I found this really cool Yoda dog at cuteoverload.com

Nothings. Some sweet. Some sour.

After we finished watching the movie, a convsersation got started and eventually drifted to sex.



May be we should take this up a little higher. We should add kissing into this movie-popcorn-cola routine. You know we can call it KMKPKC Kissing-movie-Kissing-popcorn-Kissing-cola routine.



Hmm...hihihi...hahaha....errr...yeah we can do that.



Sounds great. Come lets kiss.



*after a long kiss*


Sigh. I think we took too long to get here. We should have started kissing right from day one.



*Giggles* Well, we enjoyed the times.

May be you did. I was thinking about how to do it all the while.

Really?

What do you mean by "Really?"? What were 'you' thinking?

What do you mean by 'thinking'?

I mean why did you agree to watch movies with me?

To watch movies. Of course.!

Really?

What do you mean by "Really?"? What were 'you' thinking?



Ahem.

Tell me. What were you thinking?

Well, to initiate this and take it to the next level.

Intiate what and take it where?

You know, we start with kissing and hugging and we end up in bed. Isnt it a standard routine?



Routine? So is this what you have been thinking during all the times we spent?

Werent you?

So when we went to blah blah blah blah blah..what were you thinking?

That day? That day you looked absolutely delicious. And I was thinking blah blah sex blah blah sex and blah blah sex.

Hmm. So the day you took me to blah blah blah blah.. what were your intentions?

Ha 'that'? See, for an event to happen you have to 'create' some pre-events. So the intention was blah blah sex and blah blah sex.



(Inner Voice: Dude, I have a feeling that this is not your regular quiz show where you give the right answers when you know them.

Me: Inner dude, I know my chicks. Take rest.)



So, all the talk about "you like spending time with me" is crap. Right?

Well, not crap. But I would call it context. The movie context and the intellectual talk context is the premise or OS in which we run "we started with kissing and before we knew it" routine.



(Inner Voice: Dude, trust me. She is not exactly going to appreciate this enlightment.

Me: Inner, I am not exactly soliciting advices at this moment)


So all this is just a 'context'?

"Con"."Text". Ha ha. Funny. Just kidding. Let me put it this way. If I had a choice and if I dont have a context, I would rather take my dog for a walk or have beer with my buddies.



You are a cheat. Thats what you are.

(Inner Voice: Did you ever listen to me?

Me: This is outrageous. She is calling me a cheat. Can you believe that?)



Give me a break, will ya? Dont tell me you never thought about the 'routine'. Dont tell me you dont know that eventually we are going to kiss.

Well, I did think about kissing you. But I am not like you, thinking about it all the time. I also enjoyed our little talks.

Well, my dad is much wiser than me. Why did you pick me? Patrix does better movie reviews than me. Why do you want to watch movies with me? And you never really liked LOTR.



I hate you.

If all you wanted was to watch movie, why are you smelling so good and why are you looking pretty?

Is it my mistake?



Of course, it is your mistake. Come here. Kiss me.

*another long kiss*

Sigh. How did it feel?

Hihihi. Good. I love you. Dont ever talk to me like that.

I love you too.



(Inner Voice: Dude, now is the perfect time to take it to the next level)

Smiley 2.0

I have another blog at thegreatindiandream.com , where I will be mostly
posting the kind of posts I used to post at tgid.

I tried importing jdv to thegreatindiandream.com and in the process
wordpress kind of screwed up my jdv template. I will repair it soon.
Ofcourse, with some help from Fairy Dear.

The posts that are screwed up here are showing up unscrewed at ,
you know where, thegreatindiandream.com . You might wanna
read them there. (If at all).

Love and make love,
Smiley.

'Real' men dont cry

It is almost, mmm, whats the word?, silly, yeah, silly is kind of nice word.
Where were we? Yeah, its almost silly, the lengths we (men) go, to act like us (men).

It takes a lot to act like a man. (Sometimes.)

This morning, just like that, after making Egg Bhurji for me, Srinu disappeared.
I waited for him to come back and make my roti. Nah.

So, I asked my guest Lore, Where is this Srinu guy?
He got a call from his mom and left.

Now, Srinu's mom is always in some kind of trouble.
She is been ill. Well, you dont call your mom's illness a trouble. Will ya?
So, Srinu's been giving his best.

I was doing my mails then and it came to me. The realization that Srinu is
fighting it all alone. He is not sharing it with anyone.

All Srinu ever wears on his face is a smile. Beyond that no one ever saw any
other emotion on his face. But, all of us left him. To fight his own way through.
Through the financial burdens, through his moms manic depressions, through
his brothers sobs. He gave a good fight so far. Because, he never asked for help.

Eventhough, I financially supported his mom's illness, surgery and
medications, I was never really there for him. I guess. Otherwise, he would
have shared.

I realized this and I woke up couple of demons in my mind. Demon One is the
sheer helplessness you go through in a situation like this. Demon Two is the
desertion. Your family, friends and this world, just moves on, leaving you behind.

You suddenly get stuck. There is no way out. There is no one out.
But if you are a 'Real' man, you dont yield. You dont cry. You dont ask for help.
You will simply suffer through. Thats all there is in this world for a man.

When Srinu came back, I asked him.
So, how is your mom? You know what? Dont worry about her. She will be fine.
He just nodded. The same smile.
We are taking her to SangaReddy, to her brother's place. He said.
Hmm, why? You brother cant take care of her or what? Do you want to stay
there for couple of days and be with her?

My brother cant take...
His lower lip couldnt hold it anymore. His eyes suddenly betrayed him and he ran
into the balcony.

I know. I know how it feels like to run from your cubicle to the restroom, holding your
tears back.

The child in Srinu is still there. The child wants to be hugged and assured.
My heart shouted. It shouted an arm on his shoulder and a tap of assurance.
Assurance that he is not alone. Assurance that it is going to be ok.
My world is a 'Real' man's world. No one is going to do that for him.
Not me. Not his friends.

I gave him couple of minutes to fight his tears back. He came back.
I explained his mom's illness to him. I suggested a solution to this trouble.
Send you mom. Bring your brother to our office. You guys stay there
together for couple of months and dont worry about money...and why
is brother being such a wussie?

I dont know sir. He is uncontrollable. He is crying non stop.
He is afraid, about, losing our mother.

Sucker.

He is just seventeen...

Srinu ran into the balcony again. This time, it took him more than five minutes
to regain his composure. He just stood there facing the grill, wiping his tears.
I stood near the TV, watching TV and occasionally looking at him.

Your brother is a fucker.
Yes sir. My brother is a fucker.
Tell that fucker, real men dont cry.
Yes sir. I told him so.

Happy Birthday Alphu

Happy Birthday Sweetie. :-)

Its Alpha's birthday. Last time I spoke to her, I promised a chocolate pastry to her.



I know, I know, thats a cheap trick.

So, here is a cool trick. :-)

This post is sponsored by

Krrish
A Review (No Spoilers)

Krrish is a nice boy. On a fine day, his (once a sex bomb) granny discovers that he does excellent sketches using Faber Castell pencils. With in days she also discovers, using Faber Castell, its not just sketching, but Krrish dude also excels at doing other dudes homework.

Ex-Bomb Granny decides to keep Krrish away from Faber Castell pencils and takes him far far away where they use chalk for teaching and sand for writing.

But Granny soon discovers that after his daily cup of Bournvita, Krrish does amazing stuff like jumping too high and running too fast and diving too deep. Ofcourse, she uses the All New Tide to keep his clothes clean. But Krrish does stuff thats beyond Tide. So Granny tells him not to jump anymore.

Ok, Krrish grows up. On a fine day Priyanka drops out of sky into his village. Sorry into his lap.
Priyanka is not alone. She is a part of a group adventure tour (on a bus sponsored by Siyaram's) lead by Vicks Inhaling Duryodhana.

Bah. Krrish and Priya falls in love. Priya leaves to Singapore. Priya works for Star News in Singapore. Priya's boss always wants something cool to show on the TV. Priya tells her about this Krrish dude. Boss asks Priya to bring on the Krrish dude. Priya calls Krrish dude's village Phone booth where they also Navratan Oil and Taka Tak snacks.

On Priya's Lays Chips eating friend sexy sharma's suggestion Priya tells Krrish that she is love with him and needs to see him.

Krrish explains this to Granny. Granny refuses. Krrish shouts. Granny flashbacks. Krrish cries.
Granny lets Krrish go.

Interval.

Priya keeps Krrish in a hotel. Krrish helps a street performer and gets invited to The Great Bombay Circus sponsored by Hero Honda. (In Singapore, of course). Circus tent catches fire. Krrish rescues priya. But crowd demands more help. Now its time for Krrish to jump too high stuff. But he promised granny that he would never jump too high. Atleast not in public.

Tattadaaaaiii.

So he wears a mask. And jumps too high.

He soon learns that Priya is interested only in his stunts side, but not in his Dil Na Diya side.
So he packs.

Tattadaaaiii.

Thick eye browed villain type who turns out to be helping type guy enters and tells Krrish that his dad is not dead. After inventing a future seeing machine which accepts only his heart beat as a password, his dad is held captured whatevered by the real villain.

villain sees in the future seeing machine that a masked man is going to kill him. So he kills a man who has that mask. (Krrish actually lends that mask to the street performer).

villain still sees in the future seeing machine that a masked man is going to kill him.

Krrish kicks ass. Krrish kills villain just like the way the future seeing machine sees it. Krrish takes dad home. Granny cries. They all live happily ever after.

P.S: Moral of the story?
1) Never borrow masks.
2) Never invent future seeing machines.

P.S: Actually, Krrish rocked. Amazing technical values. Amazing story telling. This movie is definitely a landmark in Indian Film History. This movie is going to rock the box office.