Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Disclaimer - For those who wanna shit and don't wanna hear about it and for all those who wanna do foul things but don't wanna hear or read about it, This is not for you. Please get your royal ass out of here. Others read this self improvement piece - author.
Toilet has always been a fascinating place for me. Not just for me. Have you seen the kids in toilets in the morning? While the mommy is running here and there as if it was she going to school, our young scientist would be sending probes to Pluto, believing it to be planet as it would remain so in Indian text books for next 10 years. Some children develop Lewis Caroll in them in toilets by making silly rhyming poems like Ram had some jam in the bottle, steaming tea in the kettle.... so on. Ram is the evergreen noun used in grammar classes, especially in Hindi. We have called Ram so much time that I wondered that my Hindi 'ji' would one day see Lord Ram himself. Ah... I digress. Back to the point. We are talking about toilets. I, myself grew to be a great philosopher with toilet being workshop and constipation being the spark of ignition.
There was this 2 year old kid, Murugan near my house when I was 8 years old. He was naughty boy unlike myself. When he wants to pee, he peed where he wanted. The place of choice was usually the 'vadgam' his mother placed in the home stairs for drying. He always likes to play with 'vadagam' and tamper them rather than playing with 'chitti saamaan' (miniature utensils for toddlers). One day i heard a loud cry and lot of commotion next door. The mothers of all the homes in our neighborhood crowded near Murugan's home. There I see this kid with his ass so red like it was on fire and our murugan was crying with finger in his mouth. The story is that, like always our 'Teetoddler' Murugan has sat on things in the stairs to pee, only difference being that the things left on stairs to dry are Red hot chillies but vadam. His softie smart ass was deep fried along with chilly flavour. His ass looked like fried chicken before being dressed. This is what you get if you are bad enough not to use Toilet. You bear god's wrath not by eye-poking(Tamil kids are threatened to eat with this), but ass-frying.
Damn it, I'm drifting away from the topic, again. Constipation has to be declared not as a disease. It offers many solutions to simple problem. While they say Newton got the idea for Gravitational theory under an apple tree, I wonder what he was doing while shitting in the toilet. This, probably, is due to the fact that he doen't practice the art of constipation. Otherwise he would have got learnt it there and even could have finished with formulation before emptying his bowls. Toilet was a invented later. Before that they were leaking and shitting in open grounds which provided aesthetic views (apart from others s(h)itting like us) and gives you morning oxygen which is good for lungs and Indian crouching position is very good yogasana. Only problem with that is you have to move a little once in a while because pile of shit reaches your hind. But toilet is good too. They are now having artifacts and even TVs in toilet. But the good old Newspaper or some bestselling shit would be enough. Nowadays we have more bestselling shits than the toilet counterparts. So, you have shit at both ends.
Among morning tasks the most concentration-seeking job is s(h)itting in toilet. Toilet-sitting is the first ever training that happens to a kid. In his child hood every human beings would have taken long time at a stretch in toilets. Constipation is a initial spark for developing meditation at young age. While i was a kid, i was advised to say 'um' for further crapping. This 'um' is like 'ugh' that give pressure to rectal muscles which constrict to let the crap get out in tubiforms. This 'um' like 'OM' gives you the spiritual psyche, that makes you compatible for any tough job. When Constipation gets tough, this becomes more in the line of delivering a child, like 'push'.. 'push'.... and all. But i personally don't support this and ask you meet the doctor immediately. Otherwise you might as well give birth to shitty kid like the one here(link). And it also affects your spiritual endowment.
Big leaders like Mahatma Gandhi have had constipation at their young age, where they developed their courage, spirituality, sacrificing mind and non-violence. Since he became mastery of this virtue, he later on went on to get self-treatment for it. You could see that he experimented self-treatment for this which was a gift of this wonderful practice. There is a lesson to be learned from this. He used the skills acquired by this practice for the social cause. Hence, i recommend you guys to make India by practicing concentration out of constipation.
I will teach you, 'how to play concentration games in toilet', in forthcoming post.
Toilet has always been a fascinating place for me. Not just for me. Have you seen the kids in toilets in the morning? While the mommy is running here and there as if it was she going to school, our young scientist would be sending probes to Pluto, believing it to be planet as it would remain so in Indian text books for next 10 years. Some children develop Lewis Caroll in them in toilets by making silly rhyming poems like Ram had some jam in the bottle, steaming tea in the kettle.... so on. Ram is the evergreen noun used in grammar classes, especially in Hindi. We have called Ram so much time that I wondered that my Hindi 'ji' would one day see Lord Ram himself. Ah... I digress. Back to the point. We are talking about toilets. I, myself grew to be a great philosopher with toilet being workshop and constipation being the spark of ignition.
There was this 2 year old kid, Murugan near my house when I was 8 years old. He was naughty boy unlike myself. When he wants to pee, he peed where he wanted. The place of choice was usually the 'vadgam' his mother placed in the home stairs for drying. He always likes to play with 'vadagam' and tamper them rather than playing with 'chitti saamaan' (miniature utensils for toddlers). One day i heard a loud cry and lot of commotion next door. The mothers of all the homes in our neighborhood crowded near Murugan's home. There I see this kid with his ass so red like it was on fire and our murugan was crying with finger in his mouth. The story is that, like always our 'Teetoddler' Murugan has sat on things in the stairs to pee, only difference being that the things left on stairs to dry are Red hot chillies but vadam. His softie smart ass was deep fried along with chilly flavour. His ass looked like fried chicken before being dressed. This is what you get if you are bad enough not to use Toilet. You bear god's wrath not by eye-poking(Tamil kids are threatened to eat with this), but ass-frying.
Damn it, I'm drifting away from the topic, again. Constipation has to be declared not as a disease. It offers many solutions to simple problem. While they say Newton got the idea for Gravitational theory under an apple tree, I wonder what he was doing while shitting in the toilet. This, probably, is due to the fact that he doen't practice the art of constipation. Otherwise he would have got learnt it there and even could have finished with formulation before emptying his bowls. Toilet was a invented later. Before that they were leaking and shitting in open grounds which provided aesthetic views (apart from others s(h)itting like us) and gives you morning oxygen which is good for lungs and Indian crouching position is very good yogasana. Only problem with that is you have to move a little once in a while because pile of shit reaches your hind. But toilet is good too. They are now having artifacts and even TVs in toilet. But the good old Newspaper or some bestselling shit would be enough. Nowadays we have more bestselling shits than the toilet counterparts. So, you have shit at both ends.
Among morning tasks the most concentration-seeking job is s(h)itting in toilet. Toilet-sitting is the first ever training that happens to a kid. In his child hood every human beings would have taken long time at a stretch in toilets. Constipation is a initial spark for developing meditation at young age. While i was a kid, i was advised to say 'um' for further crapping. This 'um' is like 'ugh' that give pressure to rectal muscles which constrict to let the crap get out in tubiforms. This 'um' like 'OM' gives you the spiritual psyche, that makes you compatible for any tough job. When Constipation gets tough, this becomes more in the line of delivering a child, like 'push'.. 'push'.... and all. But i personally don't support this and ask you meet the doctor immediately. Otherwise you might as well give birth to shitty kid like the one here(link). And it also affects your spiritual endowment.
Big leaders like Mahatma Gandhi have had constipation at their young age, where they developed their courage, spirituality, sacrificing mind and non-violence. Since he became mastery of this virtue, he later on went on to get self-treatment for it. You could see that he experimented self-treatment for this which was a gift of this wonderful practice. There is a lesson to be learned from this. He used the skills acquired by this practice for the social cause. Hence, i recommend you guys to make India by practicing concentration out of constipation.
I will teach you, 'how to play concentration games in toilet', in forthcoming post.
 |
| For Rich ass |
 |
| Most inhumane punishment |
Friday, December 18, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Everyday dawns
yawns
stretches in between.
Everyday brightens
darkens
Vanities of life.
Everyday breaks
With hope
Ends up broken.
Everyday is
A Babel
Bloodsport of maverick god
Everyday designs,
Realigns
House of human cards.
Everyday inhales
Exhales
Puffs of forlorn dreams.
Heavily inspired from a guy whom I happened to meet over a hill.
yawns
stretches in between.
Everyday brightens
darkens
Vanities of life.
Everyday breaks
With hope
Ends up broken.
Everyday is
A Babel
Bloodsport of maverick god
Everyday designs,
Realigns
House of human cards.
Everyday inhales
Exhales
Puffs of forlorn dreams.
Heavily inspired from a guy whom I happened to meet over a hill.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
This is a poem i wrote when i was in front of my study table, pretending to study. This is not exactly a poem. But you should have known that when it is from me! I didn't try to make impression with this p... er... thing! But if you are a girl, please come to gmail chat. I'm always ready to impress you. This is just a silly romantic poem i wrote seriously with my humble heart open to any girl who does have a mobile and free sms of minimum 100 in number*.
This is more like a chat between a boy and girl through mobile short messages. But it was misunderstood to be a poem by the writer, due to all the rhyme and hymn of the material. It might break the heart of the writer, if he knows the thing he poured his heart in turned out to be a coffee shop conversation, rather than a poem. So, let us all enter into an alternate reality through a worm hole, where it would be considered as a poem. Come aboard!
Are you sure you are in love?
Don't you know this is love?
You are loving whom?
It came upon me like a boom.
You are loving... whom!
I afraid, without him life is doom.
By God! Are you sure you are in love?
As hot as a stove!
Then, you love whom?
He Whisked past like Zoom!
Asking out of exasperation, What is your love?
Whiter than a whitest Dove!
What are you trying to say?
Lucid poem, not essay!
Tell me, you love whom?
Are you dumb?
How come?
Unadulterated mud, you have as a brain
If so, how come u call me friend?
This is why, you assume, you are just my friend.
If not friend, what can i be..... it can't be!
Yes, what can you be?
Then, you love....
* - conditions apply. No recharge will be done by the writer, unless I get to see her face. With the lift of section 377 of the law the writer is afraid of many applications from males adulterating his already overwhelming female applications for the post of his girl friend. Audition to be held soon.
This is more like a chat between a boy and girl through mobile short messages. But it was misunderstood to be a poem by the writer, due to all the rhyme and hymn of the material. It might break the heart of the writer, if he knows the thing he poured his heart in turned out to be a coffee shop conversation, rather than a poem. So, let us all enter into an alternate reality through a worm hole, where it would be considered as a poem. Come aboard!
Are you sure you are in love?
Don't you know this is love?
You are loving whom?
It came upon me like a boom.
You are loving... whom!
I afraid, without him life is doom.
By God! Are you sure you are in love?
As hot as a stove!
Then, you love whom?
He Whisked past like Zoom!
Asking out of exasperation, What is your love?
Whiter than a whitest Dove!
What are you trying to say?
Lucid poem, not essay!
Tell me, you love whom?
Are you dumb?
How come?
Unadulterated mud, you have as a brain
If so, how come u call me friend?
This is why, you assume, you are just my friend.
If not friend, what can i be..... it can't be!
Yes, what can you be?
Then, you love....
* - conditions apply. No recharge will be done by the writer, unless I get to see her face. With the lift of section 377 of the law the writer is afraid of many applications from males adulterating his already overwhelming female applications for the post of his girl friend. Audition to be held soon.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Time: 17.45. I just entered the railway station when the automated voice announced that the Mumbai express is about to start five minutes. I was afraid that my reddish eyes and untidy hair might draw some attention towards me. Luckily it did not. I don’t want to make any scene that might ruin my opportunity. I moved my eyes over the crowd, scanning. This might be the last chance I could have. I have to find him, soon. There is not much time left. Everything must happen the way I planned them.
The bulge in my pocket was clearly visible. I felt the gun in my pocket with my fingers. My heart was pounding as if it was about to burst out of the rib cage. I took my hand out of the pocket to avoid police suspicions. He should not show any outward signs of danger. My fingers were etching towards gun. I wanted to take the gun and empty all the bullets in cartridge in his chest. He has to be attended. But time has to come. I know how many guys have ended up in jail since they acted in wrong time.
I just remembered that he always travels in the I Class A/C compartment. I pushed through the crowd towards the passenger name list chart near the door. I scanned the list, ah…… I found him. His seat was not near the gate. So I moved deep into the train. He was there, fumbling through his bag for something. Time: 17.50
I asked, “Mr.Bose?”
“Yes”
I pointed the gun at him and said “You have asked for it, haven’t you, Mr.Bose?”
He stared at me curiously for few seconds and his face lit up. He asked
pointing me with the eye glasses in his hand, “ Ajay, right?”
“Yes”.
He sat up straight and asked “Tell me, what this stuff is?”
I took some breath and started “This is just an ordinary regular revolver, nothing special. 6 rounds, Takes time to reload for unpracticed hands, makes loud noise, easy to use but less accuracy. No silencer can be fitted, definitely not suitable for people like you.”
“This is not for me, just for my boys.”
“So, what do you say?”
“I’ll take it”. He took the gun carefully from my hands and packed it carefully beneath his clothes.
“Thank you, it has been pleasure doing business with you.”
I stood up and hesitated for a second before moving. Finally, I inhaled deeply, and asked “Do you know Mothilal, my father? He was working in sugar factory.”
“I can’t remember well. What does he do now?”
“Nothing. He is dead”
“Oh, I remember now. It is the guy who was found dead in sugar molasses?”
“Yes”
“I feel sorry for you. The investigation is going on, right? Don’t hesitate if you need any help.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He waved his hand in dismissal.
Time: 17.55. I got out of the train. My hands were trembling. I was furious with anger. I was not able to control myself. My whole body was shaking. I know, he is the one who was responsible for my father’s death. But he acts as if he barely knew him. He should be punished. But how could I ever do that? He is a man of power. He has money and power. I could not allow myself to be caught for any murder. I have a family that needs me. My complaints will not be accepted. I have got no other choice. It has to be like this.
Inside the train, Bose packed the bag with gun securely, and kept it beside him. When he looked down his seat to check his other lug gages, he found a white parcel. He weighed it with his hands to guess what is inside.
Time: 18.00.I came out of railway station. I look around for it. I found it and moved towards it. I went directly into the booth and close behind me. “Hello, control room? …… I have information…….yes……..my identity is unnecessary……cannot say the source…… there is a bomb in ….”
P.S.- My tamil Blog friends could have read this story already in tamil. It was English I wrote this story at first. I did this in a Creative Writing Workshop, to which I got selected from my college.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Old men, Rocking chair
It rocks
In the cottage
To and fro
Like a boat roped to the abandoned shore
Gentle and silent
A wavering mind
Dithering like pendulum
Over two different ideas
A time warper to an old man
Who becomes reminiscent of his past
Laid near a fire place
He rocks on that chair
With a hot coffee cupped in his hands
Sipping slowly
Nostalgic of callous and fertile past
Laid in a corner
In darkness
Another old man sits,
Numb with cold, with a nippy coffee
Untouched over the table nearby
Reminiscences of a blundered past
As a clever man learns from his past,
An intelligent man learns from others’
- B.பிரபுகுமார்
It rocks
In the cottage
To and fro
Like a boat roped to the abandoned shore
Gentle and silent
A wavering mind
Dithering like pendulum
Over two different ideas
A time warper to an old man
Who becomes reminiscent of his past
Laid near a fire place
He rocks on that chair
With a hot coffee cupped in his hands
Sipping slowly
Nostalgic of callous and fertile past
Laid in a corner
In darkness
Another old man sits,
Numb with cold, with a nippy coffee
Untouched over the table nearby
Reminiscences of a blundered past
As a clever man learns from his past,
An intelligent man learns from others’
- B.பிரபுகுமார்
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