Sunday, August 29, 2010

Rakhi Se Swayamwar Tak

Raksha Bandhan. That time of the year when the inboxes of the agony aunts of the world are filled to the brim with messages from pre and post pubescent males who are confused about receiving rakhis from girls and women they "let's leave this blank". Its either, “does this mean we’re brother and sister now?” or “Should I not ask her out now?” or the clichéd, “OMG! My life is over!” Yes, the agony aunts have it tough, this time of the year.

Now, while this is an easy getaway for girls who want to get “that-pesky-boy-who’s-in-love-with-me-and-I-like-but-not-like-that” off their back, it DOES leave the male part of the equation slightly screwed up. Because here was this girl, who he was thinking dirty thoughts about and now by a simple “putting-on-the-wrist-action,” that girl has suggested that she and he have a “familiarity,” a word the originated from the ancient Latin word ‘famlianos’ that means “blood is thicker than water, so make sure you wash it away when you’re cutting that pig up.”

In the words of the baby pacifier shops of the world, “Come to me fools for I while provide thee with succour (or sucker),” I say to you rakhi bondaged males, the same thing. For the sake of being repetitive I won’t repeat myself. There are few means to deter the woman you love, placing a rakhi on your wrist, and short of cutting your hands off, I honestly can’t think of anything. So I seek the refuge of the sciences. Namely biology. Foolish males who slept during these classes and now weep, let me bring the light to thine eyes by shining a powerful torch into it and asking you make “aaaaa.” This is to see whether you are stupid. For unless you have the same mother and/or the same father, that woman of your dreams is not your sister. So go ahead and grow a pair men! Grow two pairs if need be! (If you grow three, even if you manage to get the girl who wanted to be your “sister,” I don’t see your relationship having a happy ending; and I see a nickname that has something to do with the Brady Bunch) And tell that girl how you feel!!

DISCLAIMER: The Incredible Sulk cannot and will not be held accountable for slapped faces and broken noses and that feeling you get when the girl says, “BUT I TIED A RAKHI FOR YOU!”

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Tata Taramani

I have a full suitcase
and a breakfast with no toast
there is still no place
for what I want the most.

I'd put it all in my trolley
if it didn't weigh so much
the memories, photos, the idlis
even Giri's grey crutch.

When will we meet next
Or share a glass of beer
Will you call or will you text
I want to rhyme "beer" with "near" and "dear"

I won't say bye
Coz that just sucks
I will instead just sigh
And miss the bubble top trucks

Monday, August 9, 2010

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Moe

This is a story

Told long ago

Of courage and glory

And a man named Moe


Moe was a man

So tall and big

He could lift steel cans

And ate like a pig


Yet Moe was kind

And gentle as snow

No kinder would you find

No kinder would you know


He wouldn’t hurt a fly

Or a cricket or beetle

In the matter of grey matter

He had very little


And then one day

Moe fell in love

Although many thought him gay

He was as straight as a horny dove.


Moe loved this girl

With a love deep and true

On Moe the girl would hurl

When he gave her plastic flowers of blue.


Yet Moe did not give up

He pursued her and her heart

But when he gave her a gift once

He let pass a fart.


The girl wrinkled her nose

And screamed, “Yuck Moe,”

Moe offered her a rose

To help the frightful scent go.


The girl loved Moe not,

But Moe would still persist

And the next day he bought

A silver bracelet for her wrist.


People felt bad for Moe

For all the money he spent

They thought the girl a hoe

Bad vibes the girl was sent.


The girl went for a walk one day

In a meadow so green and gay

Yet in the meadow an evil troll lay

Fie fi fo fum would the clichéd troll say.


The troll jumped up and said

“Hello fair maiden and foolish girl,

I will take you to my bed,

And then my lungi will unfurl.”


The girl screamed and yelled

The troll said, “Shut up lady,”

But the girl still yelled

For she did not want a half troll baby.


As chance would have it

Moe was passing by

He saw his love was in for it

And a few choice abuses he let fly.


He flew at the troll,

The troll flew at him

Heads did roll,

The fight was grim.


In a bid to save trees

I’ve kept the fight short

I’ve helped nature

And not lost the plot.


Moe beat the troll

With his hammer and thongs

Moe squeezed the troll’s mole

While singing war songs.


The troll gave in

For he couldn’t match Moe,

Wearing Moe’s thongs,

He held his head low.


Moe swept the fair maiden,

Into his hairy arms,

With maiden he was laden,

Till they reached his fish farm.


Once safe, he set her down,

“Thanks Moe,” she said

Under his breath Moe muttered

“Thank me in bed?”


His face once brown,

With a kiss turned red.


They then fell in love

They married the next day

And Moe the horny dove

Proved he wasn’t gay.


And so the tale goes,

In a year there were soon little Moes

And so everyone was loved and happy

Except when the little ones made crappy in their nappy.

The Sacred Bond

There’s a secret and sacred bond that is formed between two men who emerge from side-by-side bathroom cubicles at the same time. Like in Harry Potter, where one of those shiny strands emanates from their wands and joins two people together in an everlasting curse thingy, so is this bond formed.

You see it’s not every day that two men emerge from bathroom cubicles at the same time. Most of the time either you emerge or he’ll emerge first and neither of you will know who the other one is. Or who it was who let off that “10 second continuous stinker” (which is quite a feat btw). However, when you’ll come out of the cubicle at the same time...that changes things a bit.

You see, now you KNOW who let off that stinker. For 10 seconds. Continuously.

And so a secret bond is formed. Like most secret and sacred bonds among men it’s formed because both men know that they’ve just done something dirty. So you wash your hands quietly. An uneasy silence prevails. He (or you) doesn’t know whether he (you) should be proud of that 10 second stinker. Or if it’s some sort of record. You mumble something quietly about the weather.

Slowly the uneasiness wears off. He laughs and says something about eating chole bature last night. You smile, knowing the powerful effects of channa, on otherwise harmless gas.

And slowly but surely, that bond is formed. But you still never eat his wife’s chole bature.