The Valentine Jayanti

Most popular male gods in India are either Lord Shiva or Hanuman-epitomes of manhood. While Shiva is fav among females, an ideal husband material with two naughty kids, Bajrang Bali Hanuman gulps plenty of laddoos from ‘no woman no cry’ sloganeering bachelors. The moment I realised I am loaded with enough testosterone, I switched from Lord Hanuman to Lord Shiva, and memorised the famous Shiv Tandava mantra. Ready for the kill!

Quiting Lord Hanuman began with quiting gymnasium, where I sweated hard on my biceps and pecs, and began looking like a mini-hanuman. Wore half-sleeve tight T-shirts shopped from Chor-bazaar, walking with forward-thrusted chest. Girl who always sat next to me, disappeared as if my sweat will make her pregnant. Realised my sweaty stinking stupid self and quit the bone-breaking muscle-aching gym sessions.

Switching to Shiva meant attitude, male anger and the ‘third-eye’. Trick worked. The girl returned, and my third-eye was all on her. Always talked to her looking down, with ‘trinetra’ right at her face. Soon I was in love like one of those Amol Palekar movies. I would strategically chose seat next to her, but would never talk, never meet eyes. And when the bubbly girl would offer to come to college canteen, the angry Shiva in me would rise from nowhere and reject her. As if I have millions of tasks. Same night, I would be drinking like ‘neelkanth’.

Then came the festival of love. Valentine’s day. Angry Shiva seemed to send his Sainiks in city of Pune to vandalise it. While Hanuman’s Bajrangi Sena is already locking horns somewhere else. Choice between brown-eyed girl and gods was little difficult, but boiling testosterone in me finally won.

Red roses were soaring high in demand, so chose the pink, and hid it between shining white Govinda-style baniyaan and my dashing blue full-sleeves, stuck beneath my jeans at waist. After a quick Reiki of library and canteen, located her among bunch of frolicking girls. To take the rose out sharply, made a window in shirt keeping the lower button open. Crashed into girls, and the rose right in her hand! Execution was flawless like Godse shooting Gandhi. We had a Vada-Pav together and remained friends forever. Never knew bloody rose was colour-coded. ‘Pink’ meant rose without testicles.

Happy Valentine’s!

What woman want: A mathematical approach

Disclaimer: With all due respect to our great forefathers who never dared to venture into this territory, I, Vamagandhi, present this piece with nobel and humanitarian intentions. Any coincidence and resemblance is purely incidental, unintentional, unmotivated, and all their synonyms. 


1. Binary mind (0 and 1 rule): 

Hypothesis: Women have two strongly opposite opinions decided impromptu, and thus difficult to guess.

Tests conducted: Buying anything for woman: Anything. From toilet soap to a glittering jewellery.


A loud exciting yeaayyy, the hugs and kisses, and o-i-luv-u-so-much;


a disgruntled face, vocal blurt-out, stamping feet, and go-change-it-immediately. 

2. Stochastic process: 

Hypothesis: Every decision is indeterminate, and you have to rely on series of indeterminate events to derive a certain probability. 

Tests conducted: Restaurant menu is a perfect set of variables. Based on many stochastic predictions, I could accurately predict she is going to detest what she finally ordered, and we will be switching our meals soon. 

Results: I slurped the Chicken Jakutti in a nasty broth, while she gobbled on my Afghani Kebabs. Goddamn! Stochastic process!!

3. Mutual exclusion principle

Hypothesis: No two critical processes can be handled at same time, and one is bound to compromise or change the source.

Test conducted: The famous TV remote experiment where a climax of football match competes with climax of TV soap.

Result: Ofcourse the TV soap continued. Watched the highlights late night.

Early results forecasted. Experiments running…..

लविंग लाइसेंस

वो वक्त भी था जब युवतीयों को देख गुदगुदी कम सिहरन ज्यादा होती. ट्यूशन पढ़ने आती खिलखिलाती लड़कियाँ सामने से आती, तो पैर काँप जाते, साइकिल से औंधे-मुँह गिरता, लड़कियाँ मुँह दबा उपहास करती हँसती निकल जाती. कोई कलम भी माँग ले, तो छिज्जी उंगली और अंगूठे के बीच आखिरी कोना पकड़ता; सर झुका कलम ऐसे बढ़ाता जैसे हाथ में साँप की पूँछ आ गयी हो; छोड़ भाग आता. 

ये सिलसिला कब तक चला, याद नहीं. पर हाँ, कई गुलाब कोसते रहे,  “हाथ में ही रखोगे लल्लू, या उसे दोगे भी? मज़े में गुलदस्ते में था. खामख्वाह तेरे भी बीस रूपये गये, और मैं भी इंतजार में मुरझा गया.” 

मैं क्या? बड़े बड़े शूरमा हिल जायें. भगवान राम को भी जनक से छुप-छुपा, शानू के गाने गा, सीता को इम्प्रेस करना होता, तो रामायण की कथा कुछ और होती. धनुष तोड़ने से मिल जाए तो भैया! हॉस्टल में हमने भी बहोत तोड़-फोड़ मचाई. 

खैर! त्रेतायुग से कलियुग के ट्रांजीशन में परिवर्तन तो लाज़मी था. मैंने भी आखिर इस क्षेत्र में कई प्रयोग किये, ‘ट्रायल-एरर’ से लेकर ‘व्हाट वूमन वांट्स्’ की तह तक. हाथ में मर्दाना अकड़ और गूफ्तगू का सहज़ अंदाज़. जैसी युवती, वैसी अदाकारी. पढ़ाकू को ज्ञान, फिल्मी-चक्कर वालों को रोमाँस-डोज़, और कन्फ्यूज्ड मंदबुद्धि सुंदरियों को झूठी तारीफ. बस सिक्का जम गया. ज्ञान बाँटने का शौकीन था. लवगुरू बन गया.

गुरू गुड़ रह गया, चेले चीनी खाने लगे. समय बदल रहा था. मेरे फॉर्मूले आउट-डेटेड होने लगे. न वो रिझाना. न वो मनाना. न वो घंटों प्यार की गूफ्तगू. अजी! कौन बैंक जाये, पासबुक-इंट्री करे? ATM स्वाइप का ज़माना आ गया. पहले ऊबड़-खाबड़ रोड पे ऑटोरिक्शा में क्षणिक श्पर्श में ही शरीर तप्त-कंपित हो जाते, अब तो पब्लिक-पार्क में लिपटे पड़े मिलते हैं. क्षुब्ध, मैंने भी सन्यास ले लिया. कोई खास शारिरीक संबंधों से शिकायत नहीं थी, परंतु इस प्रेम में उचाटपन और अस्थिरता दिखी. वो कहते हैं ना, आज पूजा, कल कोई दूजा. फिर मेरे जैसे पुजारी की क्या आवश्यकता?

अरसों बीत गये. कल फ्लाइट की सीट पे अनमना सा था. सफ़र में सोने की पुरानी आदत, और सामने वाली सीट पे कुलबुलाहट. सीट के बीच से पड़ी एक अनचाही नज़र ने ही कह दिया, नवविवाहिता जोड़ा है. चूड़ियों से सुसज्जित आधी से अधिक बाँह, जो बारम्बार पति के हाथ को झटकती. पति भी कहाँ मानने वाला? कभी कमर, कभी वक्ष की ओर, और मैं मुँह छुपाता बैठे-बैठे आधी-तिरछी करवट लेता. तभी कुछ अप्रत्याशित हुआ और मैं काँप गया. पीली साड़ी, माँग में मोटी सिन्दूरी रेखा और स्वर्ण गहनों में लदी युवती ने पति का हाथ मरोड़ा और अंग्रेजी में कहा, “What do you think you fool? You got a license to love me or what? Stay away.” चार दिन की शादी में वस्त्रहरण का लाइसेंस तो नहीं मिल जाता.

नारी-सम्मान और प्रेम के पुजारी को इस वीरांगना में असुर नहीं, साक्षात् दुर्गा दिखी. इस लविंग लाइसेंस के कई इम्तिहान हैं. प्रेम-शास्त्र कल भी था, आज भी है, अज़र-अमर, Evergreen. सिलेबस ही तो बदला है, विषय तो वही है. सोचता हूँ, पाठशाला फिर जैसे-तैसे चालू कर ही दूँ, ईमानदारी से लाइसेंस की. 

The half-burnt beedi

Sunrays breaching the window crevices,

A grimace cursing the intolerant sun.

My peep through the slanket,

The sleeves in the blanket,

Bedroom cafe and the lurching woman.

The rattle of the tea-cups,

And the battle of the sloths.

Gusty winds from the east,

And the undaunted snoring beast.

The scent of a woman.

Her hairs afloat,

the shiver in the lips,

And the cluttering teeth.

Love irresistible, and so the Darjeeling tea.

The broken bangles, the amorous moves, and

The brutal neighbour, with the mighty gargles

The lips so close, and the boisterous laugh,

The shattered love, and

The half-burnt beedi.

Why Alia Bhatt could be the perfect Indian wife?

In a typical desi pre-nuptial grand analysis,  my friend had to chose among a strikingly beautiful middle-class girl, and a featureless stinking rich girl. He obviously chose the second. His idea of marriage was so flawless and vivid. Right after marriage, he went to those beauty mongers VLCC etc., and ask them to convert his wife to Katrina Kaif in 30 days. After a fortnight, they called, “Katrina toh nahin, kuchh woh Sonakshi-Sonam fusion bana dun. chalega?” [ can we make her sonakshi-sonam fusion instead?] . Whatever, not a bad deal!

Though trends are changing, scepticism about good wife persists. Inspite of all those proven-disproven Alia Bhatt’s dumbness, I believe she would win hands-down in great desi marriage bazaar.

1. A rich family:  Most blatantly flouted laws of India is dowry law, which only props up in divorce cases much later after deal is already done. A celebrity social activist Mahesh bhatt may not give a penny, but still, damaad of bhatt family may atleast get a BMW in vidaai, and some chillar in post-nuptial rituals.

2. An earning wife: Its a growing trend in cosmopolis life since a lone bread-winner can’t manage all EMIs and school fee. So, both bread-maker and bread-winner are poor women (colloquially called abla naari). Even if you are fired, Alia would keep doing shaandaar or some movie to pay the pending bills.

3. A narcissist flatter-loving father-in-law: Indian damaad would love to flatter their father-in-law to get some goodies in return. Just shower praises about his good old Aashiqui days, and his bold moves, Bhatt Saab may offer you something which you would never refuse. May be a movie-contract in sex-loaded murder mystery in exotic locations? You won’t mind a itchy-scratchy dad-in-law boring you with his harangues. Would you?

4. Not-so-hot wife: Indian men drool at  sexy hot women, but would pledge to break your teeth if you ogle at their wives. Maladies of having hot wife can be asked to cricketer Stuart Binny, whose wife is discussed more than his cricket. Alia somewhere fits in that bubbly charming girl who may be spared of lecherous, lewd look probably.

5. Little dumb, as they say:  From ages, the right to grab the newspaper in morning, and switching news and sport channels had been a men thing. Women who do so or get into this social activism etc., end up with divorce. I won’t get into made-up Alia jokes. I am assured she can definitely order things online and get all the household plumbing work etc. I don’t know if she knows cooking a good rajma-chawal though.

6. A stray brother-in-law: Hahahaha! Enjoy! Its all yours now.

Note: Author scribbles satires on gender equality, and this blog is in similar series, and wish not to offend any one. Besides, author doesn’t think any of the male readers would ever get Alia.

Desi mid-life crisis

“Sir, you look pretty young, must be in twenties!” The callous bubbly girl remarked.

I never realised how swiftly I entered into 30s and close to heading what they say ‘midlife crisis’ or ‘frustrated forties’.  Could have been a genius-in-day-hoodlum-in-night kind during my college days, and then the pursuit of Dilli-waali girlfriend (read my old blog). Unbound uninhibited. For most of the born middle-class, this fool’s paradise gets over with a simple-yet-effective word called ‘marriage’. Its a symbolic end to any imprudent or luscious desire.

For many mischievous incorrigible young goons, marriage would be ultimate weapon to bring them on track. “Beta! Abb to shaadi ho gayee. Abb to sudhar jaao.”  (Now you’re married. better fall in line!). Even people like Ajay Devgn began doing movies like ‘Bhagat Singh‘ and ‘Singham‘ after marriage, while skimpily clad gyrating Kajol decimated her career to kid movies and Alpenliebe chocolate ads.

So, it wasn’t inapt for me to ignore the lively charming girl. Given a choice between Katrina Kaif or Konkana Sen, I prefer to go for Konkana’s movie which carries some substance-as they say. Wonder why these calculative producers pay so much to Katrina, a woman without substance? These ‘hot’ and ‘oomph’ don’t quite register in mind……anymore. The definition of ‘substance’ for me has flipped for good, like ‘Congress-to-BJP’, a character reversal, moderates to hard-core rightists. No other women. No indulgence. No freedom. No wits. Restrict to roman code of ethics and the supreme boss- your spouse. Konkana couldn’t hold me for long, and gradually the interest for movies died. TV soaps or those millions of singing idol shows were equally brutal.

Aren’t men cheering up Sachin and Yuvraj while gobbling on chips and drinks becoming rarer? I don’t remember when I last watched a test match. What would men do if they are stripped of historical ‘couch potatoes‘  status? With women conquering the couches watching all TV shows, should we begin calling rather ‘couch tomatoes‘?

To make it worse, era of ‘bigbasket’ and online shopping confiscated the lone birthright of indian husbands- shopping vegetables. I remember men enjoying evening walks to shopping ‘haats’ and fish-markets, a healthy respite from family woes. They would drift around, have long chat with buddies, have a ‘bhang-sip’ or a small ‘drink’ based on local preferences, discuss women may be or an unchaste joke. And there was no mobile to track you down either. Deprived of this casual pleasure, I have slowly forgotten the contours of gourds, and colour of flours. Big Bazaar revolution eliminated the pleasure to explore.

While driving back home, I was crooning an oldie, “O bade miyan diwaane, aise na bano” (an old song based on a moonstruck middle aged fellow). The girl who complimented in morning suddenly flashed in the rear-brain. She must be in her twenties or could be even younger. Huh! a kid. Yet, she brought in me a conceited grin, a quick look on car mirror and a stroke through own beard. May be I am still so young and charming! Day-dreaming I reached home. My spouse was surprised to see an exuberant beaming face instead of routine insipid fatigued profile. Mirror was even more surprised to find me staring at it for long. Everything seemed in tone, except the bulging tummy. I began coming home early and rushing to the gym. After lifting plenty of married life burdens, those weights and dumb-bells looked so wispy and light. Soon, my gait transformed from kyphotic bent Neanderthal to a Modi-style bold bloated stance.

Funky T-shirts, kamaal-khan sunglasses, a goan rejuvenation escapade and counting female stranger ‘likes’ on facebook. The new life had begun. Essentially, a suave doc was turning into a silly lampoon.

The tummy kept its contour intact not even budging for an inch. I sweated, panted, pushed up, tread-milled. Futile attempts of revival. God pushes you into such a karma-cycle that the only girl who would ever genuinely appreciate you, is your wife, sometimes more imposingly termed ‘life-partner’. A sacred elaborate marriage ritual and those seven-pheras glue you forever to somebody. Bond becomes even stronger with kids stepping in. The concept of ‘yours’ , ‘mine’ and ‘ours’ kids never crept much in Indian familes except a few like famous Mukherjeas where family lived like a riddle never knowing which son or daughter have come from which womb.

Coming back to the bubbly girl. She deserves some credit for bringing a sense of revival in me. A life lost in undesired burdens and imposed routine. A much early mid-life crisis which engulfs most of the married, divorced, or never-married people, is simply unwarranted. A ball-room dance with spouse may be extreme for many, but may be a bunch-of-roses would do.

What nonsense is buzzing in background when you write such a serious blog? ……Daddy mummy nahin hain ghar pe…….uncouth lyrics, oafish gestures.

Note: All characters (including me) are fictional and any resemblance is mere coincidence.

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