The Adventures of TharoorMan! Vol. 1
Posted by Khamba
in April 29, 2010
Bite Me.
Posted by Khamba
in April 26, 2010
God knows I’m an animal lover. In fact, I’ve flown to
Lately however, 13 mutated rabbits that have taken complete control over my residential colony’s bylanes are testing my love for animals. They look like street dogs, but really, they’re rabbits. It is biologically impossible to procreate so quickly if they weren’t. One of them even gave birth to a baby without an eye. I call him “The chronicle of Riddick”. So anyway, this group of rabbits has taken the colony by siege worse than the 26/11 attackers of the Taj Hotel in Mumbai. You can’t go out because the minute you open your door, they hit you worse than a gassy fart in the Delhi Metro compartment. Effectively, you’re locked indoors after 7 PM (unless you wear Sanjay Dutt’s costume from the Youngistaan ads) and it’s impossible to go to sleep at night because they all like to fuck to a soundtrack of the Sai Baba Temple bhajan’s and the neighbourhood mosque’s call for prayers. Then at sunrise, they perform their daily takedown of a senior citizen and lap up his milk besides using the newspaper wallahs rolls as chew toys. In short,
Now, in a country that doesn’t have time for humans, it’s hardly surprising that the Municipal Corporation would refuse to pick up and sterilise the 262,740 strays roaming our streets and say “Humein Paap Lagega” on being requested to kill them. In addition, Maneka’s foot soldiers are overburdened, underpaid and can only take care of a certain number. Thus, to avoid such exclusion, I have come up with a list of solutions for the
Ship them to
Send them to the Chinese border and start a rumour about their body parts being excellent aphrodisiacs: Not only will the Chinese army waste some bullets on our dogs instead of our jawans; we might even be able to create a false demand-supply gap and convince them to give us parts of Arunachal back in return. Trade deficit FTW!
Declare it our national animal: As I have stated in one of my previous posts, the quickest way to destroy something in our country is to give it a national adage. (Sport, animal, museum, bird, flower whatever) As soon as we do this, people will stop hunting the Tiger, Mahendra Singh Dhoni and the guys at Aircel will sleep easy, and poachers will put their attention to strays. Though given their large number, there is a risk that their value might reduce – sort of like pussy at an Eastern European nightclub.
Get Dharmendra out of retirement: As much as I love Sunny Deol’s dancing (and I’m totally gay for Abhay Deol) we need to get Dharmendra out of retirement to help us on this one. However, it would still be a half-assed solution given that he only drinks kutton ka khoon. Kuttiyon ka piya hota, to Hema Malini zinda na hoti. Bitch.
Start some cause related marketing for
Enact a “You feed it, you keep it” law: And finally, there needs to be a law that requires people who feed stray dogs to keep them in their own houses. If you want to feed the dog, fine. But if it poops your food out in front of my gate, you can best be sure that I am bagging my own poop in a plastic bag and dumping it in front of yours the next morning. Let’s just say I love corn, and it will not be pretty.
P.S. No animals were hurt during the writing of this post. Except a goat. These Burra Kebabs are bloody awesome.
Image courtesy www.movieinf.com
Open letter to Navjot Singh Sidhu
Posted by Khamba
in April 24, 2010
My dear friend,
I realise I’m about to violate the first rule of minorities by criticizing a fellow member, but if the Maulana of Azamgarh can criticise Ajmal Kasab and Lindsay Lohan can bitch about Samantha Ronson, I guess I can too. I wanted to do this over the phone, but since you have the attention span of an armless man suffering from syphilis, I have resorted to a letter instead. I hope you can manage the time to read it in between your marathon “Quoting at the drop of a Turban” sessions disguised as GRE preparation.
Let me start by saying - ever since you have come on the scene, our people have had to suffer more pain, persecution and injustice than the Jews at the hands of the Germans. The wounds of 1984 had only recently started to heal before your commentator act ripped them harder than a hungry Taliban fighter seeing a goat after 3 years. The emotional damage you have caused has been so immense that there is perhaps no difference between you and Jagdish Tytler anymore. In my mind atleast, whenever I see you, there is always a riot.
And to think, you had so much promise at a time when our community had no real role models. Music was confined to Jat boy's woofering their time away to Punjabi MC’s bass lines. Manmohan Singh was as visible in the public spotlight as Shivraj Patil during a terrorist attack. The movie Border had been a thing of the past and people had had enough of Sunny Deol trying to reinvigorate deaf's people's eardrums. Montek Singh Ahluwalia was a tongue twister, Khushwant Singh was continuing to jack off fantasising about Shobha De and Akshay Kumar was still harping about being a Khiladi instead of rapping with Snoop Dogg. Heck, even Harbhajan Singh looked like he would fall on the pitch because of the weight of his topknot instead of being the slaphappy MILF hunter that he is now.
You would have been perfect! People still respected you for your ability to treat Shane Warne like Anand Jon did his models. They appreciated your improving attempts at fielding in the latter half of your career like they do Dev Anand's present day movies. Instead you came in and started vomiting the Websters dictionary as if you were 8 months pregnant and starting cutting people mid-sentence like the Chief of Sanjay Gandhi’s vasectomy campaign. And telling Geoff Boycott to fuck off on television? Didn’t you know what happens to people when they piss off people with twisted faces? Ask Lalit Modi. Sherry my ass, your nickname should be Crack diluted Absynth.
But then again, maybe you are fearless. After all, you did (accidentally) kill a man. Still, you were still courageous enough to make sweeping statements about yourself however like “I have never thought about the future and have never bothered about the past.” I mean that's like George W. (accidentally) dropping a nuclear warhead on Mexico and saying "Ah well, atleast the burritos will cook faster".
But then again, maybe you are fearless. After all, you did (accidentally) kill a man. Still, you were still courageous enough to make sweeping statements about yourself however like “I have never thought about the future and have never bothered about the past.” I mean that's like George W. (accidentally) dropping a nuclear warhead on Mexico and saying "Ah well, atleast the burritos will cook faster".
As if that wasn't enough, you decided to be a judge on The Great Indian Laughter Challenge. Phew. You're going to have to give me a moment on this one. Let me describe what i felt while watching you during that show. So imagine me in my room right - having a drink, chilling and shit. Then, i turn the TV on and you are in the middle of one of your sermons.
(Keep calm. Stay clam. Count to 10. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU PERSONIFICATION OF LIZARD SHIT STUCK ON MY TUBELIGHT DRESSED IN A SUIT PIECE OF EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING ARGGGHHHHHH !!!!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FRAKING HELL UP!!! LALALALALALA!!! IM NOT LISTENING TO YOU LALALALALALA!!! A paragraph does not comprise solely on quotes!!!! Quoting shit does not make you intelligent, it only makes you a rattebaaz!!!! Why can't you let other people talk? Did your mother never give you a nipple to suck on as a child?!!!! I SWEAR TO GOD if you do not shut up i will PERSONALLY come to your set and shove Shekhar Suman's dick in your mouth like i plug my jacuzzi. SHUT UPPPP!!!!!!!)
However, i know that reacting that way would probably not help the situation. So i'll respond to you by quoting another famous person you might have heard of. Fran Lebowitz once said "The opposite of talking isn't listening. The opposite of talking is waiting." I don't know what to wait for though - you to stop talking or for me to kill myself. (That said, I understand the next couple of seasons with Mandira Bedi, I would kill to grab a closer peek at those noodle strapped caressed knockers)
(Keep calm. Stay clam. Count to 10. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU YOU PERSONIFICATION OF LIZARD SHIT STUCK ON MY TUBELIGHT DRESSED IN A SUIT PIECE OF EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING ARGGGHHHHHH !!!!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FRAKING HELL UP!!! LALALALALALA!!! IM NOT LISTENING TO YOU LALALALALALA!!! A paragraph does not comprise solely on quotes!!!! Quoting shit does not make you intelligent, it only makes you a rattebaaz!!!! Why can't you let other people talk? Did your mother never give you a nipple to suck on as a child?!!!! I SWEAR TO GOD if you do not shut up i will PERSONALLY come to your set and shove Shekhar Suman's dick in your mouth like i plug my jacuzzi. SHUT UPPPP!!!!!!!)
However, i know that reacting that way would probably not help the situation. So i'll respond to you by quoting another famous person you might have heard of. Fran Lebowitz once said "The opposite of talking isn't listening. The opposite of talking is waiting." I don't know what to wait for though - you to stop talking or for me to kill myself. (That said, I understand the next couple of seasons with Mandira Bedi, I would kill to grab a closer peek at those noodle strapped caressed knockers)
And then there's the politics. Oh dear lord the politics. I’m willing to bet Raghu Ram’s Roadies career that you joined the BJP because the saffron matched your grotesquely chic suits, ties and turbans. Who the fuck designed your wardrobe anyway? For once i'd like to see you wear something that has not been created by Stevie Wonder and Manish Arora's love child running amok in a nondescript Bombay textile mill. Your entire wardrobe is so loud that Jadoo from Koi Mil Gaya can still hear and see you on his planet. I have also sent an application to the Ministry of Civil Aviation to make you stand on the runway at Delhi Airport
Or who knows, maybe Capt. Amarinder Singh’s much more stunning and rambunctious moustache put you off joining the Congress. We all know how proud you are of yours. Either way, I hope you can spend a lot more time on governance issues connected to the formerly gorgeous city of Amritsar Golden Temple
In the end, I would like to say that it is perhaps fitting that you were re-elected from Amritsar
Your fellow Singh.
Gursimran Khamba
under:
Navjot Sidhu,
Open Letter
Types of Old People in Delhi
Posted by Khamba
in April 23, 2010
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Foreplay:
In the 23 years of my existence, I still have not solidified my take on ageing and old people. Let me break it down:
Old age as a concept: This pisses me off. Simply because I’m afraid of being frail, irrelevant and leakier than a Delhi Jal Board tanker. I think about the way I treat my Playstation 1 CDs and the fact that someone else might treat me like that in the future makes me want to pull a Hitler (Suicide you scumbag, not killing Jews. Kosher Meals and Hummus FTW!) Which is why I’d like to die young. Not only because it seems more romantic (try debating that with a Haitian) but also because there is a better chance of people remembering you as compared to people wondering WTF that dude is still alive? (Refer most Bollywood movie endings with a 45-minute death speech) And in case I don’t die young, I’ve decided to voluntarily check myself into a spare room for other homeless men (aka old age home) with the money I save during my productive years. That’s because I know if I have ever kids, they will be assholes. (Proof – my personality + evolutionary direction as observed in today’s young people)
And then there are old people. Most old people I have observed have little practical application in society. Sure they are the harbingers of history, contribute intellectually while they can (and in the case of Khushwant Singh, de-virginise half the teenage hotties of
And herein lies the hypocrisy, I would never ever say this about my own family, and I doubt anyone else would too – but as a group they are perhaps one of the most purposefully neglected groups in society. Especially if they don’t have a trust fund. All I know is, I don’t want to be one to mind when I grow up.
I don’t know if our culture and values (bullshit – I still don’t know how they got so much time to fuck in between fighting the Mahabharata) will manage to make ageing a more “pleasant” experience and our young people take better care of us once – but I do know most of us, when we’re old, will be thoroughly useless.
And that brings me to the actual post, types of Old people in
The Kartikeyan: The Kartikeyan is the guy who still likes to prove that he can do things on his own by driving on the mean old streets of Lajpat Nagar. The car in question is invariably a Maruti 800 where Kartikeyan’s hands have to be stuck on the steering wheel with Super Glue. His glasses resemble a 50 MM Lens in a Nikon D40 and makes for a peculiar sight as his torso is .73mm from the wheel thanks to the driving seat being pulled as far up as the car’s hood. You can honk as much as you want – but the Kartikeyan wouldn’t be able to hear a Krasnopol shell if it exploded behind his ass. This leads to extended traffic jams where steel pipe delivery boys from U.P show him the finger (which he mistakes as a reference to extreme heat) and decide they’re better off as Mayawati statue sculptors.
The Stallone: The Stallone can be found in almost every neighbourhood park early morning, sometimes with his friend The Schwarzenegger. He believes that constant working out and participation in laughter clubs will increase his lifespan by a couple of years. All it really does however, is make it easier to lift him while putting him on a stretcher and/or ventilator. The Stallone also constantly pisses off The Pitts and Cruises of the jogging track by not swerving fast enough and hurting their lap time. He also has the best network amongst the neighbourhood and keeps track of everyone’s household situation better than the presswallah. Always endearing, The Stallone also has the maximum attendance at his eventual funeral.
The Cruella Deville: NEVER EVER EVER trust an old woman with facial hair. Every old woman who I have met with a beard / moustache has turned out to be a major home wrecker. It makes sense. If she doesn’t care about hair growing out of her double chin, why would she care about your opinion or your life? Maybe its for the added effect of looking cruel, but she is the one person who will create enough conspiracy theories to put Rehman Malik to shame. Apart from the women with facial hair, also avoid those who have Henna dyed orange hair. It will NOT end well. (Before you hit the comment button – friends’ family, not mine)
The Woman Who Never Dies: Every neighbourhood has a woman who never dies. Her sole job is to complain about being old and reminding everyone about how old she is. She then promptly tells her 3 servants to get her a pillow, a cup of chai and turn on the TV respectively. She then continues to outlive the pope, the re-unification of
The Kim Jong Il – The Kim Jong Il puts the dick in dictator. He is normally friends with the woman who never dies whom he considers a kindred spirit and would have totally fucked had they met when they were younger. The Kim Jong Il will take your ass if you park your car in front of his house, lodge an FIR against the Dominos delivery boy if he accidentally presses the wrong bell and consistently harass the Electricity and Water boards in case there is a cut of any sort. He is also every courier boy’s worst nightmare and cannot vote because he chased the Voter ID registrar out with his 5.1 Dolby Surround shouting and carbon fibre walking stick.
The Camp David: The
The Fish Out of Water: Any Bengali in a Punjabi neighbourhood and vice versa. The former cant get enough money for the Durga Puja pandal and the latter for Baisakhi celebration. Thus, they live their miserable fuck existence thinking about what could have been before eventually dying where other residents’ attendance becomes an example of
What other kinds do you know? Anyone referencing Baghban will be condemned to death via firing squad.
Image courtesy www.tribuneindia.com
Brief guide to studying abroad
Posted by Khamba
in April 22, 2010
Everyone wants to go study (sic!) abroad. Some career and MBA minded people work their ass off and get scholarships only to start celebrating St. Patrick’s Day 3 weeks into their programme thinking he is a third cousin of St. Valentine. Others, who are bored of banging their fathers black money earned BMW into labourers pay their way through to a wonderous experience of talking to white women as opposed to staring at them in shady bars, acquiring an accent and updating their Facebook photos with geo-tagged self-clicked party pictures. Those who are left sell their kidneys and land only to be conned and left in the Moroccan desert. Nonetheless, it has given a large part of our population a sense of purpose, and Brett Lee an alternative career despite having the oratory skills of Mohammad Azharuddin. Keeping that in mind, I hereby provide my brief guide to the various countries you can go to study.
That being said, I really don’t understand why people (apart from those at the ANU) decide to go there. I mean surely, there are cheaper ways of getting your ass kicked in broad daylight and getting skin cancer from the ozone hole while you’re at it. So what gives? Can’t be the education – that is universally nowhere on the map. Can’t be the quest to study with 89 other Chinese kids in class and teach them how to make Maggi. Can’t be the thought that being cricket nations it’ll be easier to pickup Aussie women. Can’t be because you’re a Kathy Griffin fan. And if you are invariably going to end up hanging out with the same bunch of Indians anyway, why not stick to IIPM? Atleast here you will pay half, not get your ass kicked, still have the same job and salary prospects and still have a 50% higher chance of securing your future by hooking up with a rich daddy’s girl. Think about it. You can’t even increase your dowry demand with
My recommendation: Get 45 CT scans within 3 days and get the same results instead.
Thanks to the
If one has to go to
The
That being said if you have money to blow, you can’t go wrong in the country that invented the Baconator, the Double Down Sandwich,
The European Union
I’m a big fan of EU universities. They are extremely student-centred, have great programmes and leave you with a lot of flexibility as to how you want to approach your academics. In India however, more often than not people will not have heard of the university you go to. Though they will oooh and aaaah if your destination is exotic. (Think
That being said, education is cheaper than an Indian life if not free, you can annoy the shit out of your Twitter followers by saying things like “Off to Prague in a bus in 2hrs…super excited!!” and you will realise what a skin-head looks like. Go to
China
Just to show people in Shanghai Jiao Tong University that Indians can come to their country to study too. Just to freak them out and shit, you must go.
For more student counselling, please send me an e-mail. Standard rates apply.
Tips for young people to become normal again
Posted by Khamba
in April 20, 2010
Young people don’t know how good they have it. They live in an increasingly inter-connected, exciting world where Sreesanth is a role model, an iPad is considered useful and Pepsi decides to name an entire country after them. Nonetheless, most young people nowadays are illiterate, pretentious, horny and largely clueless. In short, like Tusshar Kapoor. Thus, here is a list of steps they can take to be considered normal.
Stop using “Ma”: I don’t know if you’re fans of Shashi Kapoor movies, but the next time you use “ma” in your sentence, I will shove your teeth so far up your own fucking ass that even a Japanese whaler’s harpoon won’t go deep enough to be able to fish it out. Seriously, is this some faux attempt at proving your love for your mother or did your priest make you miss grammar classes during kindergarten? The word is “my”. Repeat after me.
“My name is Khan, and I’m a lameass actor”
NOT
“Ma name izz Khan, I’m a rockstarrrrr”
And while we’re on the subject, when did “Killer Shit” and “That’s gangster” become part of the lingo to express approval? What the fuck is killer shit anyway? Do you suffer from advanced colitis? Anal cancer? And gangster? You’re telling me this happened because of Shiney Ahuja’s film of the same name? What time between the release of his movie and raping his maid did he bless us all with this ridiculous verbal concoction? Even Inzamam Ul Haq would cringe at such Anand Jon-ification of the language.
Stop LOLing: If you take a walk down some parks early in the morning, you might come across groups of senior citizens holding their stomachs and making loud gratuitous noises. I want you to observe this act very closely. It’s called LAUGHING. NOT LOLing. LAUGHING. Why the fcuk cant you laugh at a joke? Why do you have to say “LOL” in a conversation? It’s not a chat room where you’re trying to impress a spambot so that it turns the webcam on for you to jack off. I’m standing IN FRONT OF YOU! Don’t you dare bloody LOL me you son of a bitch! If you want to smile, smile! Don’t say tee hee. If you want to laugh, laugh! Because if you don’t I’m going to rip your tongue out, wipe it down Navjot Sidhu’s asscrack and smack you across the face with it like Xena warrior princess. And stop LOLing at your own jokes. If you have to end your own sentence with a LOL, your shit ain’t funny to begin with.
Stop reading Paulo Coelho: When the hell did Paulo Coelho become the must read author to prove your intellectual chops? Is it the graphic love scenes in Eleven Minutes that turn your nuts to momos? Do you think reading “The Alchemist” is a short cut to become a pharmacist? Don’t stick your stupid Facebook and twitter profiles with Paulo Coelho as your favourite author. It just tells me you don’t really read and just bought one at a train station because everyone seemed to have one and you felt more generous than buying a copy of “Who moved my cheese?”
Stop showing me your boxers: Seriously son, pull those freaking pants up. I DON’T want to see your boxers. And I certainly don’t want to see your
Stop watching Shah Rukh Khan Movies: No. He is not the greatest actor of our generation and will never be. But then again, your probably believe he drives around Mumbai in a Hyundai i10 as well. Stop crying about him feeling bad that Kolkata lost. Stop telling me My Name is Khan was the greatest bloody movie you ever saw. It only goes to show you have the same IQ as girls who scream in the movie hall every time Bobby Deol makes an appearance.
Stop believing what Arundhati Roy says: Seriously, bitch will get you shot. If following socialist hotties is your thing, go with Brinda Karat. The worst that might happen then is you will have no friends left.
Stop giving a fuck about the EPL: I’ve said this before and ill say it again. NO ONE gives a fuck about whether you support Man U or Barca. They’re not YOUR team and their success doesn’t mean that YOU won. No matter how many jersey’s you buy from a trip to Thailand or Palika Bazaar, no matter how many soccer shoes you buy and wear at inappropriate places, NO ONE gives a fuck. Find some other goddamn purpose in life than tweet about players whose names you can’t pronounce and who you’ve only been exposed to in FIFA 2007. And don’t you dare rattle off Fabregas’s statistics if you can’t supplement those with Sunil Chhetri’s either.
Stop pretending to be into hip-hop music: Just because your car has a bass tube and you listen to 50 Cent and Afro Man does not mean you love “Rap music”. Go and learn atleast 7 rhymes of Biggie Smalls or Tupac before I bust a cap in yo ass. Stick to rock, its easier to pull off being a fan of Nirvana.
Stop wearing Che Guevera T-Shirts: If the only thing you know is “he was the dude from Motorcycle Diaries”.
Stop wearing tight t-shirts after gymming: Just because you go to the gym and your bicep increased by half an inch doesn’t mean you start wearing body-hugging nipple busting t-shirts and walking like a scarecrow. And take those fucking sunglasses off. Its 8 in the bloody evening and no one will judge you for walking around with a hooker as arm candy anyway!
Stop putting obscure quotes and pictures as your status messages: Seriously, you’re trying to tell me your low attention span excuse for a hamster’s brain was up reading Dante and Nietzsche? Stop faking and pretending to be an intellectual. We all know you just Google quotes on love, success, friendship to try and make sense of your life and give yourself some comfort when the milkshake hits the desert cooler. And for fucks sake, stop quoting people like the CEO of General Motors and other crazy right-wingers. I know language isn’t your thing, but you might want to check the dictionary for “context”. Also, don’t forget to check “Dumbfuck”. You might find your picture next to Shivraj Patil’s.
Follow these steps, and you will be well on your way to becoming a successful individual, and more importantly, a human being.
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