And since the rains are here, we can blame the rains for all the problems that would otherwise plague our life..
Like waking up late, and reaching school late, and missing the schoolbus, and getting your clothes wet, and losing your water bottle, and reaching class late, and coming home late, and getting your shoes dirty and mucky.
And for people like us, like if you want to miss office for a cricket match, or if you want to miss going to a dull party at night, or if you want to spend some more time with your girlfriend before returning to your wife, or if you are required to email an important presentation from home, or if you are caught sleeping with your girlfriend's best friend because you shared and incredibly romantic moment by the seaside where the rain drenched her and showed you the tender side of her cleavage...
Ofcourse, there are advantages to being caught by the rain too...
Like wearing shorts, and drying your hair without a hair dryer, and getting a crush on the really hot girl in the inadequate salwar kameez, and fighting the rain in a rickshaw with flapping rainguards, and wearing gumboots, and eating hot vada-pav under a polythene roof, and putting out buckets under the leaking roof, and wading in knee deep water (only knee-deep), and drinking hot choclate, and making sailing boats from paper, and missing school officially, and also college, and wearing trench coats, and honing your Antakshari skills by candlelight, playing football in the rain, and listening to the old radio, and searching for batteries to power it, and watching insects coming out of their holes, and smelling freshly crushed caterpillars, and smelling the nice new earth.
And following rainbows to see if they have pots of gold at the end.
utekkare,
pranay
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The day I died and went to heaven. Almost.
And so I decided the other day that I might think of commiting suicide.
And since I decided to think about suicide, I automatically thought about the reasons I wanted to commit suicide. Well, heaven, ofcourse is the most important reason to commit suicide. God is always quite lenient on self-murderers. He understands the value of a single human life and consequently the reasons for extinguishing the life.
And since life is not so much fun right now, death seems so much more appealing. And Sharon might call on my cellphone after a week to see if I'm in Mulund on a Monday night to have coffee. And my mother will tell her I am currently sightseeing in Samarra. So she will write about me. And she will tell her friends that I died. And Smita will probably never find out. Because she was busy and assumed I might be busy too. And maybe she will give me a missed call. But floating souls have pathetic motor skills. And no strength to return missed calls. And Trevor will call up to make plans to meet. And when he finds out that I am dead, he will come to meet Mom and Dad. He is a good friend. My generation's answer to Yeh dosti hum nahin chhodenge. And Ryze messages will pile up. And requests for friday night meetings will go unanswered. But I will not care. And life will go on. and on. And Sonia will celebrate her birthday and go to Canada and sell her piano.
And when I die, people in the gym will think about the boy who made too many bad jokes. And why he decided to quit life. And people will try to connect with me. And maybe people will read my blog. Utekkare. And people will understand the brilliance of Utekkare. As a word. As a paraphrase. As a movement. And people will compliment the subtle delicacy of my articles.And they will reprint my articles. In newspapers. And magazines. And people will interview my father. And my mother. And my friends.
And women will express their hidden love for me. And they will grieve. And all my dreams will come true. Such optimism emerges only from morbidity.
But it would be nice if I would be alive to experience all of this.
So marna cancel.
utekkare,
pranay
And since I decided to think about suicide, I automatically thought about the reasons I wanted to commit suicide. Well, heaven, ofcourse is the most important reason to commit suicide. God is always quite lenient on self-murderers. He understands the value of a single human life and consequently the reasons for extinguishing the life.
And since life is not so much fun right now, death seems so much more appealing. And Sharon might call on my cellphone after a week to see if I'm in Mulund on a Monday night to have coffee. And my mother will tell her I am currently sightseeing in Samarra. So she will write about me. And she will tell her friends that I died. And Smita will probably never find out. Because she was busy and assumed I might be busy too. And maybe she will give me a missed call. But floating souls have pathetic motor skills. And no strength to return missed calls. And Trevor will call up to make plans to meet. And when he finds out that I am dead, he will come to meet Mom and Dad. He is a good friend. My generation's answer to Yeh dosti hum nahin chhodenge. And Ryze messages will pile up. And requests for friday night meetings will go unanswered. But I will not care. And life will go on. and on. And Sonia will celebrate her birthday and go to Canada and sell her piano.
And when I die, people in the gym will think about the boy who made too many bad jokes. And why he decided to quit life. And people will try to connect with me. And maybe people will read my blog. Utekkare. And people will understand the brilliance of Utekkare. As a word. As a paraphrase. As a movement. And people will compliment the subtle delicacy of my articles.And they will reprint my articles. In newspapers. And magazines. And people will interview my father. And my mother. And my friends.
And women will express their hidden love for me. And they will grieve. And all my dreams will come true. Such optimism emerges only from morbidity.
But it would be nice if I would be alive to experience all of this.
So marna cancel.
utekkare,
pranay
Aap Kataar mein hain
You are in queue. Please wait.
There are lines for everything in life. Grocery lines, Ration lines, Civil lines, Tan lines, Straight lines, Immigration lines, Fishing lines, Ant lines, Hairlines, Waistlines, Clotheslines, Fashion lines, Credit lines, Pickup lines....
But we are in line. All our life is one big line. And we are all queued up to get to somewhere.
Like We are in line to go abroad. And some people get to the head of the line when they're 14. And some when they're 40. I got to the head of the "foreign-travelling" line when I was 25. Some just make it by default because they are on someone else's arm.
Like we are in line to complete our education. Some of us are jostling for space with others, and frequently, we are pushed out of the line for a year just because we are too busy jawing with someone , or trying to pick up a chick from the line next to us. Or because we fell asleep while standing and all those young kids with a superior intellect pushed us to the back of the class, and elbowed their way through.
Like we are in line to fall in love. And when we reach the counter, and meet the woman we want to fall in love with, we become speechless, and are sent away to the back of the line to work on our communication skills. And this time there might not be the perfect woman at the counter. And because it is too late in life to go to the back of the line once again, you have to make do with the woman that came with the counter, and make it count all your life. Because you were speechless the first time round.
Like we are in line to earn money. And there are so many lines running concurrently to earn money. And we must choose which line we must join. And there are fast moving lines that end up god knows where. And there are slow moving lines. And most of them are extremely slow lines. And all of them end up in a vacation condo with a middle aged secretary smiling like a cheshire cat while the greying middle level executive who was standing in line once upon a time with visions of a home in the country, and a pension, and a dog lying in the porch, is caught with his pants down.
Like there are man-eating lines. Where you could be standing in line, and instead of looking forward, you have to be looking over your shoulder. Because they will slash, and cut, and maim, and gouge, and bomb, and shoot, and spear, and bind you down in ropes of thorns till you have bled the blood of the healthy. Best to avoid those lines.
And there are lines with storm clouds hovering above them. With hypothermia, and cold feet, and no couches, and bloodshot eyes and glazed looks and uncomfortable silences. And there are lines with creeping insects and scurrying rats and gridlocked conversations and frustrations, and aggression, and insults. And racial insults. And inequality. Where you are thrown to the back of the line just because you are ill. Or you have AIDS. Or you are a particular skin color. Or a particular surname. Best to avoid those lines too. Like the plague.
Like we wait in line for fame. Our 15 seconds. Ofcourse, this line is the most ragged and disorganised. Because the counter could open where you are standing. And it could stay there for 10 minutes. Or for 5 hours. Make the most of it.
And 2 weeks ago we are all in line to meet with God. And here there are no shortcuts. Everyone is as important. And it doesn't matter if you are rich or poor or crippled or famous or intelligent or badly dressed. God is always smiling, and he is waiting to meet you. Ofcourse the conversation is tremendously short and it is always one-sided.
And there is a very small, special, select line. For those whose prayers are heard.
I wonder if I am in that line.
utekkare,
pranay
There are lines for everything in life. Grocery lines, Ration lines, Civil lines, Tan lines, Straight lines, Immigration lines, Fishing lines, Ant lines, Hairlines, Waistlines, Clotheslines, Fashion lines, Credit lines, Pickup lines....
But we are in line. All our life is one big line. And we are all queued up to get to somewhere.
Like We are in line to go abroad. And some people get to the head of the line when they're 14. And some when they're 40. I got to the head of the "foreign-travelling" line when I was 25. Some just make it by default because they are on someone else's arm.
Like we are in line to complete our education. Some of us are jostling for space with others, and frequently, we are pushed out of the line for a year just because we are too busy jawing with someone , or trying to pick up a chick from the line next to us. Or because we fell asleep while standing and all those young kids with a superior intellect pushed us to the back of the class, and elbowed their way through.
Like we are in line to fall in love. And when we reach the counter, and meet the woman we want to fall in love with, we become speechless, and are sent away to the back of the line to work on our communication skills. And this time there might not be the perfect woman at the counter. And because it is too late in life to go to the back of the line once again, you have to make do with the woman that came with the counter, and make it count all your life. Because you were speechless the first time round.
Like we are in line to earn money. And there are so many lines running concurrently to earn money. And we must choose which line we must join. And there are fast moving lines that end up god knows where. And there are slow moving lines. And most of them are extremely slow lines. And all of them end up in a vacation condo with a middle aged secretary smiling like a cheshire cat while the greying middle level executive who was standing in line once upon a time with visions of a home in the country, and a pension, and a dog lying in the porch, is caught with his pants down.
Like there are man-eating lines. Where you could be standing in line, and instead of looking forward, you have to be looking over your shoulder. Because they will slash, and cut, and maim, and gouge, and bomb, and shoot, and spear, and bind you down in ropes of thorns till you have bled the blood of the healthy. Best to avoid those lines.
And there are lines with storm clouds hovering above them. With hypothermia, and cold feet, and no couches, and bloodshot eyes and glazed looks and uncomfortable silences. And there are lines with creeping insects and scurrying rats and gridlocked conversations and frustrations, and aggression, and insults. And racial insults. And inequality. Where you are thrown to the back of the line just because you are ill. Or you have AIDS. Or you are a particular skin color. Or a particular surname. Best to avoid those lines too. Like the plague.
Like we wait in line for fame. Our 15 seconds. Ofcourse, this line is the most ragged and disorganised. Because the counter could open where you are standing. And it could stay there for 10 minutes. Or for 5 hours. Make the most of it.
And 2 weeks ago we are all in line to meet with God. And here there are no shortcuts. Everyone is as important. And it doesn't matter if you are rich or poor or crippled or famous or intelligent or badly dressed. God is always smiling, and he is waiting to meet you. Ofcourse the conversation is tremendously short and it is always one-sided.
And there is a very small, special, select line. For those whose prayers are heard.
I wonder if I am in that line.
utekkare,
pranay
Monday, May 15, 2006
I don't like beggars
I don't like beggars. I think they stink and they're dirty and rotten, and I think they are a stigma to society. A slur on mankind. A curse on the upper middle class urbanite.
These beggars are extremely inquisitive. They want to know where you've been, who you've been talking to, and what you eat. They want to know where you stay, and how you travel and how fit you are. And they want to be paid handsomely for all the services you obtain. Compulsorily. If you dont pay them, they want to know why. They want to know why you paid them a little less last year, and how much you'll pay them next year. And then want to know today. They take your money and make it look like a favour by accepting it.
And I dont like beggars invading my office, and my home, and breaking down the glass of my new imported car, and throwing me out of it and charging me for the privilege.
And these beggars will rummage through all my old papers, and charge me with not having papers even I did not know I would need. And I definitely do not like them coming home for dinner and breaking down my moulded ceilings that hold up my chandeliers. Yes, JUST my chandeliers. Imported from St Petersburg.
And when you politely ask what they did with your money, they will rave and rant, and go on strike, and beat you up, and throw a bunch of mildewed papers they have labelled "Official Secrets Act" in your face and you will suddenly have to be conversant with the twisted meaning of the phrase "need to know".
And their chief beggar stands up every year on the 28th of February in front of 500 odd other buffoons, and extols their virtues of insolvency, greed, debt and economic insecurity before the populace of this country. And people applaud, and grandstand, and are making all kinds of intelligent statements. But everyone knows that these are beggars, who are the lowest form of humanity.
And the chief beggar will tell you how he "plans" to divide your money amongst all those 500 buffoons. And you can count on the fact that a your money will be divided amongst all the buffoons. And each buffoon will take some of that money and use it to line his pockets, redecorate his house, pay his bills, send his son abroad, and marry off his daughter.
And he will use the money left over to evade beggars. Successfully.
utekkare,
Pranay
These beggars are extremely inquisitive. They want to know where you've been, who you've been talking to, and what you eat. They want to know where you stay, and how you travel and how fit you are. And they want to be paid handsomely for all the services you obtain. Compulsorily. If you dont pay them, they want to know why. They want to know why you paid them a little less last year, and how much you'll pay them next year. And then want to know today. They take your money and make it look like a favour by accepting it.
And I dont like beggars invading my office, and my home, and breaking down the glass of my new imported car, and throwing me out of it and charging me for the privilege.
And these beggars will rummage through all my old papers, and charge me with not having papers even I did not know I would need. And I definitely do not like them coming home for dinner and breaking down my moulded ceilings that hold up my chandeliers. Yes, JUST my chandeliers. Imported from St Petersburg.
And when you politely ask what they did with your money, they will rave and rant, and go on strike, and beat you up, and throw a bunch of mildewed papers they have labelled "Official Secrets Act" in your face and you will suddenly have to be conversant with the twisted meaning of the phrase "need to know".
And their chief beggar stands up every year on the 28th of February in front of 500 odd other buffoons, and extols their virtues of insolvency, greed, debt and economic insecurity before the populace of this country. And people applaud, and grandstand, and are making all kinds of intelligent statements. But everyone knows that these are beggars, who are the lowest form of humanity.
And the chief beggar will tell you how he "plans" to divide your money amongst all those 500 buffoons. And you can count on the fact that a your money will be divided amongst all the buffoons. And each buffoon will take some of that money and use it to line his pockets, redecorate his house, pay his bills, send his son abroad, and marry off his daughter.
And he will use the money left over to evade beggars. Successfully.
utekkare,
Pranay
Sunday, May 14, 2006
The Great Gamble(r)
I would like to think that I am an inveterate gambler.
But I hate gambling. I think it's wasteful, and tempting, and wrong, and an adam's-appley type activity. I never went to those slot machines. I never tried my hand at the computer poker games. I never got addicted to card games (except for a brief passage of time when I was 5 - but I was too young to bet it all). I never liked casinos, and their flashy neon signboards. Ofcourse it helped that gambling is illegal in most parts of Bombay. In Mumbai, its now allowed in select areas that are taxed a gazillion percent.
Yes, I hate gambling. I'm using the word 'hate' here. I do not like twists of fate, and I do not like roulette, and I do not like Blackjack. And I do not like Slot Machines. And I do not like Horsing Around. Especially in a three piece suit in the middle of April on a scorcher, amidst really cute women who are supressing a smile as I drippingly stroll by, desperately trying to loook nonchalant as I place my minimum bet.
I also do not understand newspaper listings of horses, and I cannot understand how odds are placed, and how much I would win if I placed my bet on a short animal and if I placed it on a long one. I suppose the longer one had the edge if it came to a photo finish. If only.
I simply do not like the fact that my life could be changed by the simple rolling of a dice. Or the placing of a bet.
But I tempt life everyday. I cross the road in the face of speeding cars without a care in the world... I climb mountains for fun. I run on treadmills and I push weights. I shave myself looking in the mirror, and I step out of my house, and I wake up from sleep, and I brush my teeth and I wear my clothes, and I predict my future, in the expectation of living my immediate future exactly the way I plan it.
Now, If you are like me, playing a slot machine is something you wouldnt lay odds on.
But crossing the road is something you could lay odds on, and most probably come out a winner. But not always. Since it is common knowledge that crossing the road kills more people every year than terrorists, air crashes, and predatory second wives put together, I would say you're taking a bold step with your life.
And remember, when you gamble, you are betting your money. When you cross the road, you are betting your life against a few stolen moments to add to your seemingly relevant and hectic day.
And it is a one in a million chance that you could wake up and be surprised by an earthquake. Or that you could walk out your house and be struck by lightning. Or you could slip onto a road and be run over. Or you could meet someone seemingly special and end up counting the days that you have spent lamenting your fate when you're 40. Or you could get stuck in the life and die of suffocation. Or you could have an accident and be run off the road by a madman. Or you could be caught in a fight and sustain injuries. You could get caught in a hailstorm in May in Mumbai and be pelted to death. You could catch a cold, contract pneumonia and die.
Nature has many queer and wierd ways of killing you off.
Ofcourse none of this could happen. Life could go on as planned and it could stretch into tomorrow and the next week and the next month. Ofcourse it could happen too. You could also live a 100 years through 3 world wars and the bombing of berlin and live to tell the tale.
But I gamble. Every day. And I tempt fate. And I use the greatest prize of all to play with. My insignificant life.
utekkare,
pranay
But I hate gambling. I think it's wasteful, and tempting, and wrong, and an adam's-appley type activity. I never went to those slot machines. I never tried my hand at the computer poker games. I never got addicted to card games (except for a brief passage of time when I was 5 - but I was too young to bet it all). I never liked casinos, and their flashy neon signboards. Ofcourse it helped that gambling is illegal in most parts of Bombay. In Mumbai, its now allowed in select areas that are taxed a gazillion percent.
Yes, I hate gambling. I'm using the word 'hate' here. I do not like twists of fate, and I do not like roulette, and I do not like Blackjack. And I do not like Slot Machines. And I do not like Horsing Around. Especially in a three piece suit in the middle of April on a scorcher, amidst really cute women who are supressing a smile as I drippingly stroll by, desperately trying to loook nonchalant as I place my minimum bet.
I also do not understand newspaper listings of horses, and I cannot understand how odds are placed, and how much I would win if I placed my bet on a short animal and if I placed it on a long one. I suppose the longer one had the edge if it came to a photo finish. If only.
I simply do not like the fact that my life could be changed by the simple rolling of a dice. Or the placing of a bet.
But I tempt life everyday. I cross the road in the face of speeding cars without a care in the world... I climb mountains for fun. I run on treadmills and I push weights. I shave myself looking in the mirror, and I step out of my house, and I wake up from sleep, and I brush my teeth and I wear my clothes, and I predict my future, in the expectation of living my immediate future exactly the way I plan it.
Now, If you are like me, playing a slot machine is something you wouldnt lay odds on.
But crossing the road is something you could lay odds on, and most probably come out a winner. But not always. Since it is common knowledge that crossing the road kills more people every year than terrorists, air crashes, and predatory second wives put together, I would say you're taking a bold step with your life.
And remember, when you gamble, you are betting your money. When you cross the road, you are betting your life against a few stolen moments to add to your seemingly relevant and hectic day.
And it is a one in a million chance that you could wake up and be surprised by an earthquake. Or that you could walk out your house and be struck by lightning. Or you could slip onto a road and be run over. Or you could meet someone seemingly special and end up counting the days that you have spent lamenting your fate when you're 40. Or you could get stuck in the life and die of suffocation. Or you could have an accident and be run off the road by a madman. Or you could be caught in a fight and sustain injuries. You could get caught in a hailstorm in May in Mumbai and be pelted to death. You could catch a cold, contract pneumonia and die.
Nature has many queer and wierd ways of killing you off.
Ofcourse none of this could happen. Life could go on as planned and it could stretch into tomorrow and the next week and the next month. Ofcourse it could happen too. You could also live a 100 years through 3 world wars and the bombing of berlin and live to tell the tale.
But I gamble. Every day. And I tempt fate. And I use the greatest prize of all to play with. My insignificant life.
utekkare,
pranay
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Turning over a new leaf...
Dear Aunt Jezebel,
I am sorry. very sorry. I am sorry about all those things I thought of you. that you are rude. and uncouth. and irritating. and flippant. and flighty.
That you do not know my life. not at all. that you set the standards so high that I cannot reach them. As it is, I have a weight problem. its so difficult moving forward in a straight line that I cannot even imagine reaching up. I suppose the grapes can be labelled as sour. If they aren't sour today, they will be some day. Because nobody can reach them.
Yes. I know that you are beautiful, and people seek your company. And people are interested in you. And they get excited if you touch them. That they feel its good luck even if they see you around them.
I also know that you are depending on me. To stand up and be counted. To fulfil my destiny. To become like you. Tall. Graceful. Fashionable. Desirable. Yes, I also want those things. I would love it.
But it is far more difficult to change myself. I cannot see into the future. I just cannot.
I am fat, and round and shapeless. I cannot sit in one place for too long, and I cannot travel too far. I get tired very easily. I would have loved to laze around all day, but my appetite belies my size. After all I am trying to fit all the food I would need for an entire life in a few short weeks.
I just want to curl up in a corner and not be noticed. If my luck is good, I will be like you.
No. I am tired of hiding, and running, and being scared. If Robin wants me, let him come and get me. No more retreats, and camouflage, and no more subterfuge.
If the leaf is there to be eaten, I will eat it.
And maybe, just maybe, I will be a social butterfly some day.
utekkare,
Pranay
I am sorry. very sorry. I am sorry about all those things I thought of you. that you are rude. and uncouth. and irritating. and flippant. and flighty.
That you do not know my life. not at all. that you set the standards so high that I cannot reach them. As it is, I have a weight problem. its so difficult moving forward in a straight line that I cannot even imagine reaching up. I suppose the grapes can be labelled as sour. If they aren't sour today, they will be some day. Because nobody can reach them.
Yes. I know that you are beautiful, and people seek your company. And people are interested in you. And they get excited if you touch them. That they feel its good luck even if they see you around them.
I also know that you are depending on me. To stand up and be counted. To fulfil my destiny. To become like you. Tall. Graceful. Fashionable. Desirable. Yes, I also want those things. I would love it.
But it is far more difficult to change myself. I cannot see into the future. I just cannot.
I am fat, and round and shapeless. I cannot sit in one place for too long, and I cannot travel too far. I get tired very easily. I would have loved to laze around all day, but my appetite belies my size. After all I am trying to fit all the food I would need for an entire life in a few short weeks.
I just want to curl up in a corner and not be noticed. If my luck is good, I will be like you.
No. I am tired of hiding, and running, and being scared. If Robin wants me, let him come and get me. No more retreats, and camouflage, and no more subterfuge.
If the leaf is there to be eaten, I will eat it.
And maybe, just maybe, I will be a social butterfly some day.
utekkare,
Pranay
Saturday, May 06, 2006
User Manual for the Human Body - Part Deux
Dear Consumer Spirit,
A thousand apologies for cutting you off that day. We were sidetracked by a sudden inflow of bodies from an earthquake. We were called onto urgent sorting duty by the God-who-never-talks-but-points-obliquely-at-what-we-should-be-doing.
Well, no, as a rule we do not recycle human bodies. Each human shell is unique and is especially designed for the spirit it carries within. We design human bodies based on the stringent parameters laid down by the Elders Guiding Council based on past sins, future progress on the path to Nirvana, and all affecting factors, namely parenthood, previous mishandling of human bodies, premature disposal of the human shell on some trivial mishap (e.g.suicide). The guiding council lays down parameters when a spirit approaches conception, and decides on the broad outlines of how the human shell is to be constructed:
A. The morphology of the body: Whether it is superficially normal or deficient in some physical respect - i.e. a missing or deformed toe, or finger. Or it could also have additional fingers "added on", although these could also be rare manufacturing defects that usually cause no harm and are not usually important in determining a human shell's karma. e.g. Hritik Roshan.
B. The internal workings of the body: Whether there is some kind of inbuilt allergy discoverable later, and that can be used as a stern test of the spirit's character, and is usually employed when the spirit is trying to break into the next level of karma.
C. Grave physical defect: This state of human shell is used either to punish an errant spirit (But not so much punishment that it is relegated to a lower life form), for past misdeeds and exceeding its brief in a single life, or for misusing a human shell in a previous life - too much smoking, drinking, womanising, and / or drug abuse could lead to this. The only other reason a physical defect is implanted is to offer the human spirit a chance to jump 2 levels of karma towards Nirvana. This is therefore considered a double edged sword, and dear consumer spirit, be very careful whilst spending your celestial dollars on a human shell from us. If your brief this life is to lie back and enjoy the ride, you might be rudely surprised.
In very rare cases, where there is a malfunctioning human shell, we have instituted ways to deal with it. You could apply for a miscarriage or for a still birth. Both proceedures are frowned upon (although it is due to no fault of your own), the Guiding Council's stipulations clearly mention that on acceptance of a human shell, you are bound by their rules and you must try to make optimum use of the human shell alloted to you for that life. These means of returning to the counter could prove dangerous as it closes out an entry into life for that particular cycle, unless you find another slot to fill, which is not guaranteed, given our long waiting list waiting to enter this ultra modern world.
Note: For miscarriage, please read and fill application forms in Appendix XII.
For still birth, please read and fill application forms in Appendix XIII.
Our representatives from the hard luck and consolation division are standing by to take your calls and offer you free counselling if you should get a bad deal.
Now back to the further analysis of the new and improved Human Bodies on spirits nowadays:
As detailed earlier, the brain is extremely updated, and now with increased levels of fitness, medical training, we have employed spirits with good karma to be able to work wonders with small errors in brain configuration even in the middle of a life.
Now we shall enumerate the features of our central pumping station - the heart:
The heart was placed, after much debate on the left side of the human shell. We use some of the raw ends from your soul to connect into this organ. That way you have control (or atleast communication) with both, the brain and the heart. These are the most important decision enhancing centres of your body. Always remember that because there is a lot of energy being utilised by the heart, the decisions offered through this organ may save on energy and appear simplistic. However these short cuts have the ability to make your life difficult. We are working on making the heart more rational, but however, we have been cautioned that this may trigger a drop in romanticism across the board, which will cause our factory sales to slow down.
Although it is an ethical issue, we are doing our best to strike a healthy balance between a rational heart and an impulsive heart. However, diverting the heart from these decisions also has an effect on the basic working, and causes sudden pains, and chest pains caused by the erratic pumping of the living fluids - in this case, blood.
Watch this space as we talk in more detail about the heart and expound on the other features that go into the making of a human body. Your Human Body.
Live smart. Choose the Celestial Human Body Shop.
utekkare
A thousand apologies for cutting you off that day. We were sidetracked by a sudden inflow of bodies from an earthquake. We were called onto urgent sorting duty by the God-who-never-talks-but-points-obliquely-at-what-we-should-be-doing.
Well, no, as a rule we do not recycle human bodies. Each human shell is unique and is especially designed for the spirit it carries within. We design human bodies based on the stringent parameters laid down by the Elders Guiding Council based on past sins, future progress on the path to Nirvana, and all affecting factors, namely parenthood, previous mishandling of human bodies, premature disposal of the human shell on some trivial mishap (e.g.suicide). The guiding council lays down parameters when a spirit approaches conception, and decides on the broad outlines of how the human shell is to be constructed:
A. The morphology of the body: Whether it is superficially normal or deficient in some physical respect - i.e. a missing or deformed toe, or finger. Or it could also have additional fingers "added on", although these could also be rare manufacturing defects that usually cause no harm and are not usually important in determining a human shell's karma. e.g. Hritik Roshan.
B. The internal workings of the body: Whether there is some kind of inbuilt allergy discoverable later, and that can be used as a stern test of the spirit's character, and is usually employed when the spirit is trying to break into the next level of karma.
C. Grave physical defect: This state of human shell is used either to punish an errant spirit (But not so much punishment that it is relegated to a lower life form), for past misdeeds and exceeding its brief in a single life, or for misusing a human shell in a previous life - too much smoking, drinking, womanising, and / or drug abuse could lead to this. The only other reason a physical defect is implanted is to offer the human spirit a chance to jump 2 levels of karma towards Nirvana. This is therefore considered a double edged sword, and dear consumer spirit, be very careful whilst spending your celestial dollars on a human shell from us. If your brief this life is to lie back and enjoy the ride, you might be rudely surprised.
In very rare cases, where there is a malfunctioning human shell, we have instituted ways to deal with it. You could apply for a miscarriage or for a still birth. Both proceedures are frowned upon (although it is due to no fault of your own), the Guiding Council's stipulations clearly mention that on acceptance of a human shell, you are bound by their rules and you must try to make optimum use of the human shell alloted to you for that life. These means of returning to the counter could prove dangerous as it closes out an entry into life for that particular cycle, unless you find another slot to fill, which is not guaranteed, given our long waiting list waiting to enter this ultra modern world.
Note: For miscarriage, please read and fill application forms in Appendix XII.
For still birth, please read and fill application forms in Appendix XIII.
Our representatives from the hard luck and consolation division are standing by to take your calls and offer you free counselling if you should get a bad deal.
Now back to the further analysis of the new and improved Human Bodies on spirits nowadays:
As detailed earlier, the brain is extremely updated, and now with increased levels of fitness, medical training, we have employed spirits with good karma to be able to work wonders with small errors in brain configuration even in the middle of a life.
Now we shall enumerate the features of our central pumping station - the heart:
The heart was placed, after much debate on the left side of the human shell. We use some of the raw ends from your soul to connect into this organ. That way you have control (or atleast communication) with both, the brain and the heart. These are the most important decision enhancing centres of your body. Always remember that because there is a lot of energy being utilised by the heart, the decisions offered through this organ may save on energy and appear simplistic. However these short cuts have the ability to make your life difficult. We are working on making the heart more rational, but however, we have been cautioned that this may trigger a drop in romanticism across the board, which will cause our factory sales to slow down.
Although it is an ethical issue, we are doing our best to strike a healthy balance between a rational heart and an impulsive heart. However, diverting the heart from these decisions also has an effect on the basic working, and causes sudden pains, and chest pains caused by the erratic pumping of the living fluids - in this case, blood.
Watch this space as we talk in more detail about the heart and expound on the other features that go into the making of a human body. Your Human Body.
Live smart. Choose the Celestial Human Body Shop.
utekkare
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
The Serial Kisser
I have not seen any films starring Emraan Hashmi. or is it Imran Hashmee (pronounced EEM-RAAAN HUSH-ME).
But I have seen promos. And footage. And interviews. And I have read Page 3. And I see posters. And music videos. And once, I have even seen Emran Hashmi in his Honda Accord listening to noise canceling headphones in the front seat. (Maybe the multi-thousand rupee honda stereo system was not working.) More plausible is that perhaps he needed the music penetration straight into his ears, since his ears must have been ringing from the resounding slap he must have received from that woman who rebuffed his advancing tongue.
And so I will write about what I feel is Emran Hashmi. He is the protege of the Bhatt camp. Mukesh Bhatt. Mahesh Bhatt. Pooja Bhatt. Koi bhi Dooja Bhatt. I suppose he does films "zara bhattke"...bad joke.
His films have a heroine. Whom he kisses with unfailing regularity. Rumours abound that he pays scriptwriters, and screenplay writers, to write in "tastefully handled" kissing scenes.
His films have popular music. And he is always the hero. And always the central figure. He and Himesh Reshammiya are destiny's children. They have been given iconic status within a very short period of time.
I think that Mr Hashmi enjoys kissing women. His facial expressions are geared around looking sincere just after kissing a woman.
Mr Hashmi is getting married. I wonder if his wife will be present at the sets for future scenes. I suppose you have some kind of a guarantee of satisfactory performance when you marry Mr Hashmi. (How many women have you kissed in life: A-More than 20 B-More than 40 C-More than 100 - All of the above!)
Well, I have been invited to watch "Gangster - A Love story" - it deals with the rehabilitation of murderous mafia dons, and the exceedingly optimistic attitude of a drunk and an Indian bar room crooner.
And after Saturday, I will not be able to say that I have not seen any of Mr Hashmi's films.
Ofcourse I am hoping I forget the tickets at home, that I find traffic on the way, and that the electricity goes away for a while.
utekkare,
Pranay
But I have seen promos. And footage. And interviews. And I have read Page 3. And I see posters. And music videos. And once, I have even seen Emran Hashmi in his Honda Accord listening to noise canceling headphones in the front seat. (Maybe the multi-thousand rupee honda stereo system was not working.) More plausible is that perhaps he needed the music penetration straight into his ears, since his ears must have been ringing from the resounding slap he must have received from that woman who rebuffed his advancing tongue.
And so I will write about what I feel is Emran Hashmi. He is the protege of the Bhatt camp. Mukesh Bhatt. Mahesh Bhatt. Pooja Bhatt. Koi bhi Dooja Bhatt. I suppose he does films "zara bhattke"...bad joke.
His films have a heroine. Whom he kisses with unfailing regularity. Rumours abound that he pays scriptwriters, and screenplay writers, to write in "tastefully handled" kissing scenes.
His films have popular music. And he is always the hero. And always the central figure. He and Himesh Reshammiya are destiny's children. They have been given iconic status within a very short period of time.
I think that Mr Hashmi enjoys kissing women. His facial expressions are geared around looking sincere just after kissing a woman.
Mr Hashmi is getting married. I wonder if his wife will be present at the sets for future scenes. I suppose you have some kind of a guarantee of satisfactory performance when you marry Mr Hashmi. (How many women have you kissed in life: A-More than 20 B-More than 40 C-More than 100 - All of the above!)
Well, I have been invited to watch "Gangster - A Love story" - it deals with the rehabilitation of murderous mafia dons, and the exceedingly optimistic attitude of a drunk and an Indian bar room crooner.
And after Saturday, I will not be able to say that I have not seen any of Mr Hashmi's films.
Ofcourse I am hoping I forget the tickets at home, that I find traffic on the way, and that the electricity goes away for a while.
utekkare,
Pranay
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