Woah!

Ok Mr. Cock! You brought in good news from me. Scorsese is not my only favorite director. Mani Ratnam is too. Among many many many others. And in Guru, Abhishek Bachchan says, 'Jab log tumhare khilaf baat karte hey, tho samjho tarakki kar rahe ho..'. Now I understand just because you call yourself cock, it doesn't mean you totally are one or that you don't understand hindi. So I am guessing you got my point.

Next time, make sure you put your name. If your cock comes along with a set of balls that is.

And to all of ya' all, my next post if goin to be out soon. Cocks' or Pussies' don't intimidate me. Comments that are critical don't intimidate me either. If there is anything that intimidates me, then its the fact that you read my blog. Yes, my blogs are only for intellectuals.

P.S: So, cock. Are you the one who stole my password and compromised my account? And can I call you dick?

The Renegade - 2

Long Post. I think you need to give the person you are chatting with online a break and read this one. Oh, if you want to read the first part(which has got a minor relation with this one, then you know where you gotta go)







(Somewhere in Brighton, Pre-Indian Independence)

The 42nd street lay quiet in the moonlit night. The time was 2 A.M. The uniqueness of the street lay in its ability to contrast two different strata of the society from one point. When a man stood there, he could view the Davenport Mansion where the aristocratic guests belonging to the Davenport family were often ushered in and on the opposite side was the fruit and vegetable market situated across the 41st street. At this damned hour of the day, neither of the streets were buzzing with cacophony as they would have been, if it were the daytime. The silence was undisturbed. Until...

Footsteps. Crisp and loud were heard. They neared the 42nd street. A tall and athletic silhouette was drawn up against the moonlight. The silhouette faced the Davenport Mansion. The ground floor of the mansion had its lights turned on. The figure glanced at the mansion one last time and slowly turned towards the street. His walk was composed and determined in every step. He walked along the length of the road and had held a bottle of Wine in his hand which had its cork taken out a mysterious liquid ran down the bottle because of the angle at which the stranger had held it. He then stepped on to the cobblestone pavement and rested his back to a wall. The liquid still flowing down freely. He seemed totally alright with it. The bottle was soon empty, as the stranger gazed into the darker parts of the streets. He then dropped the bottle down. Put his hand inside his waistcoat and drew a shiny box on which were embossed the words "GOLD FLAKES". He opens up a box and pulls out a cigar before he reached for the matchbox. He lights up a match and puts it close to his cigar and puffs two or three times before he puts out the match. He slowly raises his head.




The moonlight hits his, tall dark face. His cheekbones were significant and his nose was pretty straight except for the nose bone which was predominantly huge. His lower jaw, converged into a sharp, wedge like object. His lips were exceptionally pink and thin. But the most attractive part were his eyes. Solid yet beautiful. Artistically curvy but definitely male. A slight amount of light fell on his left eye pupil and it shimmered brightly. He kept smoking the cigar. He looked intense.

The silence befell upon the street once again. Except for the occasional burning of tobacco and heavy breathing, nothing could be heard. The stranger now was lost in some train of thought. A summer's day flashed in front of his mind's eye. A beautiful woman smiling at him. Then a new born baby in her arms. The neck tie was getting too uncomfortable. He removed it and placed it in his pockets. He unbuttoned his waist coat and knelt on one leg and rested his arm on the other. Once again, he got lost in thoughts. He had a sudden urge to grab the woman and to caress the baby in her arms. After a while, the stench of the liquid brought him back to the dark streets of Brighton and the Davenport Mansion. He stood up. He took one deep, long puff of the cigar. He stopped the smoke in his lungs. Then, almost in a surrealistic manner, with perfect precision, tossed the lighted cigar on the liquid. Suddenly, the cobblestone pavement was ablaze. Must have been an inflammable liquid that. Within a moment's gap, the fire spread from the pavement to the street and then it followed a path into the Mansion. At this point of time, the stranger was looking straight at the Mansion. In slow motion, the fire crawled into the Mansion and there was a huge blast. The stranger's eye pupils contracted, but his eyes remained steady and they kept gazing at the Mansion, unaffected. Then he breathed out the smoke he held in his lungs. Moments later, debris started falling on the ground. A foot long piece of wood fell on the street where he was standing. He slowly walked towards the mansion. He smiled and then he turned back. A multitude of footsteps were heard running towards the Mansion. The stranger turned back and walked slowly into the streets. The darkness, absorbed him.

(Queens, NY, 7 or maybe 8 decades later. Yes, India is Independent now)

"Dood. You remember the artificial neurons I created last week in my research lab? They passed away last night."
"What? But how? They seemed alright when you conceived them. He he he. OK sorry. Maybe its the Jews."

"Shut up 'Jiggle-o-doodle-dick', the stray currents that circulated in the incubation box might have formed a minor electromagnetic field which might've come in contact with the neuron's EMF and eventually damaged them. But that is just a case."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know JODD. I should've used a non-ferrous material for the inner coatings. Damn! The prof is going to cancel my fee waiver or RA now."

"Fuck that's bad."

"Yeah."

"Its time for a Bud."

"You bet."

The two teens went into "the Urban Manor", there favorite hangout in all of Queens. Jodd was drooling over a single girl at the bar while the other guy was searching for someone anxiously. House music was playing loud.

"Hey genius, check out the girl with the healthy lungs across the hall.", screamed Jodd.

"Will you keep your voice down Jodd head, my girl is gonna be here any moment now."

"Relax hero. She won't be here for another.."

Just then, a girl arrives. "Hey baby! I was searching for you from 10min. Heard Jodd's voice and found you."

"Hey!", exclaims the guy.

"Hey babe.", says Jodd.

"Manners Jodd."

"Yeah right. Anyway, I'm gonna go fishing now, the lady over there just smiled at me."

"Fishing?"

"Forget it. You lot never grow up."

"Get lost JodDICK."

Jodd was off. While the guy and the girl were, err.. what can I say? Puckering their lips? Perhaps. The guy's cell phone then rings. The display reads "Mom-India". He shows his girlfriend the display of his cell phone and puts a finger on his mouth indicating her to stop talking and both of them walk out of the bar, holding hands. After they are out, he picks up the call.

"Ma! 'Sup? Yeah. I'm ok. Me? I'm in the campus, with some of my friends working on the science project. Yeah will call up when I'm done. Bye."

"Science project", said the girl.

"Yeah. I was noting down the amount of calories being burnt while we were making out."

"Geek-o. Where is your bike?", asks the girl while she is adjusting her hair.

"Its in the garage. Making a few changes to the base engine. So what say? A ride to San Diego next week?"

"No bey. I need to go to India. Granny is unwell."

"Awwwwwe. C'mon!"

"Seriously? What you are feeling bad now? Remember last week? You were supposed to take me to Vegas and you said you were conceiving micro-electro-biological babies ??"

"I actually was making something. Ok listen. I don't want to start all over again. When are you returning from India?"

"Indefinite."

"Fine"

"FINE!!"

They turn their backs to each other. They were burning with anger. 10 seconds pass. Then they turn back and start making out against a lamp post. After sometime, the guy gets another call.

His eye pupil's contract. Suddenly, his love-fed face becomes intense. He answers the call.

"Yeah.", his voice heavy and his eyes sharp.

A long silence. The girl keeps staring at the guy. The guy hangs up without another word. He catches the girl's hand and says,"C'mon baby. We need to rush".

"What happened? Where was the call from??"

"The Davenport Mansion."

Both of them start running. Darkness absorbs them.

Boozing/Fagging/Doping=cool??????

“Tell me what your friends are and ill tell what you are”. A philosopher once said so. But today the philosopher can be re quoted as, “You are what your friends are”Nevertheless can we suppose he’s totally right? Most of the boozers of today were boastful teetotallers yesterday. What then drove them over the brink?It is the company or bad company to put it better in most cases."

This, and some more paragraphs, adorn the 'about me' part of a very dear friend of mine, on one of the social networking websites(where I never waste my time).

Though I'd like to put the whole of it, I didn't. Because this is my resurrected space. I cannot put the whole thing and make you believe he is a better writer than I am. Which he totally might be. But no. I am not the one who is going to tell you that. And decrease my site traffic. No!

Well, the reason I actually put this thing here is, that I've been having too many complaints. That I told them some stuff is bad and I started doing it myself. But may I tell you, the word 'hypocrite' is thrown around a lot these days when people take my name. What irks me, is that you get to use that amazing word, and still ask me questions. If you call me a hypocrite, you cannot ask me why I am not a teetotaller anymore. If you ask me a question before you call me a hypocrite, then I think you are an asshole.

So, who is this friend and what is he indicating at?

Ok, hang on. Stop reading my post so fast. I hate it when you do that. In this post, I'm dealing with serious issues like alcohol abuse at a young age. You cannot read or scan through my post like you would look at half naked poster of Rakhi Sawant. You cannot drink it like its water. You have to taste it slowly. Like red wine. Let it wet your mouth at every corner.Let it tickle your jaws and strum the veins on your tongue like whiskey. And before you digest it, it needs to make its presence felt in your thoracic cavity and burn down your aesophagus(hope its not an intestine) and enter your bellylike rum . Then, only then have you read my post.

You didn't answer my question.
Of course I have not. Can't you hang to your unmentionables?

No. Anyway, whats your point? I need to go take a shower.
Fine go take a shower. Its not like I am stopping you. But wait. The point is, my friend says..

I know what your friend says. Tell me what is your answer?
Ok. In the past, I swore, that till I graduate, I wouldn't bamboozle my senses with stuff that lesser mortals are used to. Although, I knew I was gonna eventually try it out. Just because I don't discuss books, doesn't mean I don't read them. I mean yeah I don't read them now. But I was a kid too. I hated Nancy Drew since grade 3 (because her first name matched with the girl in my class whose nose always leaked and she always wept). So when I was in grade 6, I happened to read Mahatma Gandhi's autobio. Now I think that the book is a catastrophe. But back then, I read it over and over. I realised, that even people regarded as the greatest souls to ever dwell on earth, also initially served for dry leaves rolled into a paper with a light on end and a fool on the other. The way Gandhi described his attraction to 'blow rings of smoke into the air' caught my attention. Mind you, in grade 6. At that point of time, I cried at his weakness. Ten years later, it doesn't even matter me. I have my own reasons to 'fag'. Trust me, its a little more than the love for the cinema. More than the love fro Scorsese's immortal characters which are hardly seen without a fag.

I'm not supporting myself. Definitely not saying its not injurious to health. Keeping in my mind the fact that I have asthama. But just because I do it, doesn't mean I am a bad guy or a guy gone bad. It doesn't mean, my life has lost its meaning or I lost the right path to be what I wanted to be. Which is a writer. And writers smoke a lot. Which means I am means I am on the right track. Try out this random thing. Ok? Tell me, who is your idol? Think before you read. Ok now put that image of your role model/idol in your head. Does he/she fag or booze? There you go. There is your answer. Most of them do.

Winston Churchill for instance. He was a great man. Diplomatic and very powerful. Played a key role in the second world war. But not many people know he was also an unrepantant smoker. Did it make any difference to this world? Wasn't he married? Didn't he have any kids? Did any telugu girl look at him in disgust? No. Maybe she did but who cares? He was a mastermind behind the 2nd world war. A stupid telugu girl's opinion on how faggers should be hung to death is looked down up on, even by a dwarf/lilliput/leprechaun/Sachin Tendulkar.

But you have lung problems. Churchill didn't.
Yeah you are right. I am such an asshole. I am a disgust. I am like patch of dark spot on the white makrana marble. I should quit it.
Gotcha!
Ha ha. Screw Churchill. Ever heard of Che Guevara? I read his bio when I was in 10th. Do you know he had asthama right from the time he was born? He would refuse to take medicine when he had an attack. He would go pale blue and faint before he was rushed to the nearest hospital and given a proper medication. Smoking never stopped Che from being the ultimate rebel.

What about drinking?
Trust me, I am so glad I took a break and started boozing. Besides, in the last 6 months, I came all the way from being an underweight to growing a paunch. My mum couldn't be happier. (I swear to God I am going to kill you if she knows this).

So you say its not wrong?
I say lets all do it! Lets gets drunk and kick some cop-ass. No no. I am being sarcastic there. If you can keep it under control, then I definitely say its not wrong. Some of my female friends had really bad time dealing with over-the-top drunk guys. Seriously, I hate them too. But when its under control, then it aint bad. because baby, never underestimate, the taste.

And doping?
B'uh.

Ok question for you. Why do you think Telugu audience like senseless movies?

P.S: The title is a direct lift off from a junior friend of mine's article heading. Just to prove that at Meso Spaciosa, wine is never the same. Baby.