Diggers and Buggers

It was just two days ago that a site in the outskirts of the Lallupanju village gained historical importance. This village is in UP, some 30 km from Noida.

So, what happened there?

Well, a couple of days ago, an excavation was carried out. The officers of the DFOS (Digging and Finding Old Structures) had some information that the site bore historical bearings on kings and kingdoms and what nots.

The excavation and digging-up continued for half a day and nothing was found... but a photograph. Now, if you are an Indian who watches tv, you must have seen this photograph all over the news channels... and we're sure you must be sick of looking at it by now.

Let's take a look at the picture first.

Notice the different aspects before we talk further.

It looks like a deserted railway station... and one that you'd base your horror stories on.

So, where is this place? What about it?

Since yesterday, all news channels have been showing the story throughout the day. It's just everywhere... and all of them are showing inconsistent views.

Let's look at what we're facing:

-Channel 'No-Laaj Tak' has been showing the photograph in the 'breaking news' section. It claims that the Lallupanju village was once a railway station. Then, there was a huge storm and everything was annihilated. 'In fact, the remains of the station could be found several kms deep inside the land', is how they conclude.

-Channel 'Andy Biwi' claims this was a house that belonged to King Davai Maan Singh. They continue, 'the king was pretty lazy to travel in cars and got a railway track made right outside his house'. They also claim the photograph is from 800 years ago, and surprisingly, even before the railways and cars and digital photography got invented.

-Channel 'Makkaar Plus' is confident this proves that primitive Indians were cleanliness freaks. The channel has been continuously making red circles around the blue dustbin and claiming how clean the station was being kept. Surprisingly, they don't have a version on the existence of the station itself... at least, yet.

-Channel 'No-Idea TV' has, like their usual stories, one of the absurdest versions around. The channel is claiming that the gods of Lallupanju village have been facing difficulties travelling around... and interestingly, they want a railway station built here. The photograph is a signal they have sent to humans.

The whole nation is beaming around the different versions, trying to add pieces together, and make some sense out of it. People are seemingly split with their loyalties to different channels and their versions.

Caught in this brouhaha, we decided to interview the minister of state Sataya-wati. She has expressed happiness on this historical event and ordered for her statues to be built on ground zero. People of the country are yet to react to that.

So... finally... we reached outside the office of the executives who were working on that 'digging up'. We wanted to understand what they think about it all.

Our conversation with the senior officer lasted... a minute.

We asked him what the photograph conveyed. He stood silent for some time. Then, he answered, 'it was only a post card... they just didn't bother to shoot the back side of it'.
-----------------------------------------END--------------------------------------------------------------


This post was published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15, the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers. The topic for the edition was the image that you see above.

The post did not fetch even a single vote; hahaha :)

Kahani Khaali Ghar Ghar Ki

How do we respond when a good friend tells us...

 "mere ghar pe koi nahi hai"

??

Well, the response to this depends on our gender and age. And here's what I observed:

@ Males, Age 20-25: Ok. So, mai apni bandi (gf) le aau? Look at them - just licking their lips. These guys can just think of opportunities to get physical with their girlfriends. Jawaani ka josh hai ji!


@ Male, Age 25-30: Cool. Peene ka scene banaye phir? For males, there comes an age when girls take a step back and alcohol takes one forward. Now, they are in search of places they can drink without hassles.


@ Male, Age 30+: Achcha? Khana kaha se kha raha hai phir? Poor guy. Now he is married... and not much into alcohol equally. He would now only be interested in petty things.


@ Male, Age 60+: Hey bhagwaan? Kab hua yeh? Toone bataya kyo nahi? Well, it's the age factor now. Old man think his friend's wife's dead. Not his fault.

That was all about males. Stupid males.

Now, talking about females, the sensible gender, they will probably say...
.
.
.
.
.
@ Female, All Ages: Why? Kaha gaye sab?

Return

It's 9:30 a.m., time for the milkman's greeds,

He gets the cow, her milk is all he needs,

Then he says, it's 10 a.m. now,
So go get lost, you stupid cow,

He pushes her outside and beats her with a stick,

And sometimes a punch, and sometimes a kick,

Then he lets her go and wander in the city,

And like every day, the cow leaves in self-pity,

And then the cow keeps roaming, that's her daily routine,

The milkman takes the milk and disowns her, he's so mean,

He won't keep her daytime; he doesn't want to arrange for her lunch,

So he just sends her away, knowing she'd find something to munch, 

While the cow remains clueless on the milkman's behavior,

And so she prays for someone to become her savior, 

On the roads she sits, and sometimes the pavement,

While people abuse her and, sometimes, the government,

Every day, she puts her life at great risk,

While the traffic goes past, quite brisk,

She looks everywhere for something to eat,

While the milkman sells milk and buys some wheat,

In the evening, she heads home, just after being caned by the traffic cop,

And on the way, kids throw stones at her, while she wishes for them to stop,

The milkman sees her enter and abuses her twice,
While the cow wishes every day for him to be nice,

This keeps happening all the time, so I decided to ask her one day,
"Dear cow, why do you bear all this, why don't you just run away?"

She looked at me and smiled, and then I saw her laugh,
"You fool, return, I have to, for the milkman has my calf".

She returns home despite bearing all this torture... for the love of her calf! A typical mom.
---------------------------------------------E---N---D-----------------------------------------------------

This post was published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 14, the fourteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers. The topic for the edition was 'Return'.

Another Adult Annihilated! (55 F)

Azaad and Aman altercated at aunt Annie's abode.

Afterwards, Aman absconded.

Aunt Annie arrived and asked Azaad about Aman.

Azaad answered, 'am ain’t aware'.

Aunt asked again.

Azaad answered, 'an alligator ate Aman'.

Aunt, agitated, averred, 'asshole'.

Azaad answered, 'abuse again and…'

Aunt, annoyed, aimed an axe at Azaad’s abdomen.

'Aaaaaaaaahhhh…'

----------------------------------------END---------------------------------------

That was my first 55 Fiction.
'Okay, that's nice!! But what the hell is a 55 Fiction?'
Err... simply put - it's a fiction in 55 words. I tried to make a unique one by having all words with A. The above was published by GingerChai on their Web site at: http://www.gingerchai.com/2010/07/29/another-adult-annihilated/ Thanks GC.

Aah Want a New Technology

This post is my submission to HP's 'My Demand contest' on Indiblogger. The contest simply wants participants to think of a new technology... and demand the same! My demand follows...
-------------

"And the judge has sentenced the chief minister Papayawati to 20 years of rigorous imprisonment for causing 29, 384 lakhs Aah of pain to the people of Uttar Pradesh."
-
-

I want a technology that measures things that we allege to be non-measurable. Basically, I want everything to be measurable!

Pain, Love, Hate, Boredom, Anger, Corruption, and so on... can you measure them?

...wouldn't it be great if you could measure everything non-countable as well?
...and how about a unit of measurement for everything?

Confused? Let me explain. Since Papaywati caused pain; let me use 'pain' as my example.

--
Pain should be measurable from now on, physical or mental. The unit of pain, I propose, should be 'Aah' (as you see in the judge's verdict above). And we should have some basic thresholds like anything above 50 Aah is severe.

So, all I want is a technology to measure pain in Aah. Note that Aah does not take a plural form - it does not become Aahs. (And why? Ask the creator please...)

Now sample this: 'Mom, dad just fell down in the porch... and he is having a pain of 28 Aah.'

To which mom replies, 'relax son. 28 is less. Remember - it has to be 50 or more to be serious!!!'
--
And here are some other usages I could think of:

a. Office Gossip: I heard Rita had 88 Aah of pain during her labor. God! She must be brave.

b. School: Ma'm, I did not come to school yesterday because I had a stomach ache of 36 Aah... and here's the certificate.

c. Lovers: 'I could go through hundreds of Aah for you.'

d. Death: 'O.. I have been hit by a bullet... and it's really painful'...to which the listener would respond, 'yes, I can see. 91 Aah it is. O, and it's increasing'.

e. Facebook Status Message: 'Had a 36 Aah toothache today'.
.
.
.
...and so on. Make it measurable, will you.

Okay, here's a bonus example: I had 49 Aah of pain in my head after reading this post ...and you know where that comment goes, don't you?

But yes - I firmly believe... everything should be measurable. I would also propose the unit of love as 'dil'. I love my blog more than 99 dils.

Bring on the technology please.

Chao-ffic

9:45 p.m., Delhi...
Voooooooooooooooooooo.... Voooooooooooooooooooo.... (ambulance)

The sight of an ambulance in the rear-view mirror discomforted Resham. 'I hope none's dying', she said to herself. Next, she moved her car to the adjacent lane giving way to the ambulance. While the ambulance passed, a quick peek inside did not reveal anything. 'Maybe it's going to pick someone... or maybe someone's actually there... god bless', were her last thoughts.

In the meanwhile, the ambulance driver was coated with perspiration. It's a hard job, mind you. He had to reach before it was late. His assistant, sitting next to him, understood the seriousness of the situation—he did not speak a word. There were another 4 kms to go.

Four kms would have been an easier job in any other city, but this is Delhi. The traffic is so heavy that every meter you travel is itself a successful outcome in life.

The driver looked at the traffic, which was as-usual congested. Next, he looked at the assistant in a what-do-we-do-now kind of manner. The assistant looked at his watch. It was 9:50. He then looked in the rear of the van. It was all lifeless there. No movement no nothing. He then looked behind the van.

The madmen they are, Dilliwaalas were fighting for the spot immeditely behind the ambulance. They knew the ambulance would pierce the traffic and move forward easily. Why miss the oppotunity then? Just get behind the thing and you progress too!

The driver cussed the traffic and blew the horn incessantly. The Vooooooooooooo continued simultaneously!

It was getting really nervy. The assistant hurled truckload of abuses at a couple of two-wheeled vehicles that the van encountered. It was getting late, he knew. I personally don't think anybody could feel as helpless as these guys. But they were professionals, is my second thought.

The driver's phone rang at 9:55. He did not bother to pick. Actually, he never got to know about the phone call because of the Voooooooooooo. By the way, I am not even sure if he'd pick had he heard.

Desperate times now! Just 1 km left and there was so much traffic. It was so bad that the vehicles in front did not even have much space to let the ambulance through. It was all clogged... jammed... and disgusting!

The ambulance then scratched a car. O shit! But, the car owner did not mind. This was his share of karma. He just hoped the patient reached on time. The driver did not look apologetic. He was on a mission and could not be late.

A number of onlookers watched the ambulance struggling. They all prayed. Some wondered what if their family member was in there... struggling with life and the traffic equally. Others just abhorred the traffic situation. Anyways.
..
..
..
..

Finally... after much Voooooooooooing, the guys turned right and stopped a 100 meters later. The time was 10:05.

But... instead of hurrying things up, they just sat there. Both of them were really sad. They stared at each other.

They knew the Dilli thekaas close at sharp 10 p.m.

---------------END!


PS: Through this post, I thank my friend Maneesh Makheeja (InfoPro). He has helped me on a number of occassions on a number of things. Thanks Maneesh. Why this post? Because I know you love beer :)

I hate you... CHARUUUUU!

Charu is a fucking piece of shit,
He knows cricket not one bit,
Still he blabbers with his zero wit,
I say feed him a candle after it's lit.

I don't want to see Charu on TV,
People please go and burn his CV,
And ask him to stay with his biwi,
And then we do haha hoho hehe.

Chunnu, Pinki, Pappu, Simmi

Mom: Pinku, tumhara friend Mohit aaya hai...    
Pinku: Maa... Please Pankul bolo.
Mom: But uska naam toh Mohit hai na?
Pinku: Offo... mujhe Pankul bolo. Friends ke saamne Pinku mat bola karo.
---

I am going to write about nicknames in this post—the same nicknames that we run away from in public... and are indifferent to in private.

I don't know if any other country uses nicknames like we do... and as much as we do.

But I have to tell you that nicknames are wonderful!

There are just too many pluses about nicknames. I can't even guess why you are embarrassed of your nickname. Here's my take:

a. Nicknames Don't Want Your Intelligence: You don't need to be intelligent for nicknaming someone. Do you? You can just call him/her anything as you please. Even the dumbest of people nicknamed others.

And probably that's why we have nicknames that sound so stupid—for example, Dabbu. By the way, what the hell is Dabbu, if I may ask?

b. Nicknames Don't Want Your Time: Do you know, girlfriends-boyfriends, often, in their midnight calls, talk about how they would name their kids?

"Ladka hua toh Pratap... and ladki hui toh Pramila..."
"Uska naam 'L' se rakhenge... classroom mein roll number beech mein rahega..."

I am telling this only to reflect upon the time and thought that go into naming your kids. You spend so much time and thought on thinking of real names. In fact, real-naming a real kid is a real trouble... so many suggestions from people, dictionaries, FB messages, midnight calls, Google searches... etc etc.

Whereas, nicknames don't ask for your time. No, seriously, who spends time thinking about nicknames? You can nickname someone in the time you take two breaths. Seriously. If you take two deep breaths, that itself can give you an idea "Deep"... leading to Deepu! Am I talking like a wacko here?

c. Nicknames Are Short: No hassle at all. You can call the person quickly... shout at him/her quickly... type his/her name quickly... SMS quickly... write his/her name on sand quickly... write his/her name on paper and do a new kind of voodoo quickly... tell his/her name to goons for giving a supari quickly... and do many more things quickly.

Ever heard someone with a nickname like Padmanathan? Never! I'm sure Paddu is so much better.

d. Nicknames Convey Love: If you recall, a nickname is like something jo pyaar se bulaya jaata hai. Isn't that a stamp of love itself? Someone calling you by your nickname is like someone calling you lovingly, if I may translate it that way.

e. Nicknames Are Funny: How does Minni sound? And what about Haggu? Pappu paas hua kya?

There is an element of casualness and humor in nicknames. They sound friendly. They don't throw an air of seriousness. Ok, look at the following sentence:

Duggu, mai tera khoon pi jaunga... It doesn't sound too great, does it? Do you think Duggu would be the kind of person someone would say this to? Don't think the speaker is serious. Duggu ofcourse sounds like a stupid and harmless fellow.

f. Nicknames Can Be Multiple: Once you have a real name, you are likely to take it to your grave. It will stick with you on all marksheets, appointment letters, insurance plans... and wherever. Just wherever. Even on the damn shaadi ka card that I am running away from at this point of time in life.

But nicknames... you can have 100 nicknames! ... and still counting. If you have 20 close friends, you are bound to have at least 4 nicknames. Very cool, isn't it?

g. Nicknames Don't Have to Mean Anything: Well. Do I need to explain this? The real name is supposed to mean something, which is why parents are so much into this business of finding good real names.

But nicknames, oh, we don't care a shit if they don't mean a shit. Look at the title of this post and tell me if any word means anything to you.

h. Nicknames Are Easy: Remember, it's not what you would want to call someone... but, often, it's what you feel like calling someone.

There are many off-the-shelf ones lying around... just pick anything. It does not have to be really different from the world. You don't really have to put much thought into it.

And the second and very easy option is to mutilate the real name... for example, Tajas becomes Teju, Rajesh becomes Raju. So on. So easy.

i. Nicknames Are Lover Friendly: This is easily one of the most overlooked advantages of a nickname.

Suppose a girlfriend dumps her boyfriend... and the boyfriend is filmy... what do you think he'll do? Of course, he will inscribe his gf's name on his hands, legs, forehead... wherever. Of course!

Now, imagine if his gf's name is Rajyalakshmi. He will have to cut his whole body to fit the name somewhere. In such a case, he could use her nickname. A simple Rajjo will be fitting and less painful.

Don't you think so? Just look at our lover boy on the right.

-----

That brings an end to this post. I know there were some points that could be merged... but hey, chill "Readu" (nickname for readers)!

So... do you agree? The concept of nicknames is so wonderful.

Then why get embarrassed when someone calls you by your nickname? ... at home or bahar... office or playground... meeting or conference... personal call or client call... anywhere!

In fact, you should now ask people to call by your nickname... pyaar badhta hai!

~~Written by Sonu~~

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PS: In case you are commenting... do tell me your nickname, please.

Under the Clock

It was the 12th of January… doesn’t matter what year!

Every year, the 12th of January was our mini-alumni day. That is the day the gang used to meet up and discuss the happenings of the year. It was on the last day of college that we decided for this mini-alumni event. All of left with a promise to make it to the event year on year.

Of course, we did use to stay in touch through sporadic phone calls, but the 12th was special!

Members of the gang:

• Me (Keku), the fattest of all
• Dalip, the dumbest of all
• KC, the smartest of all
• Bakshi, the craziest of all
• Raahu, the bravest of all
• Paandu, the stingiest of all

Yes! Our gang had a number of superlatives personified. We all stayed in different parts of India. Only KC and Bakshi came from the same—Gwalior.

Oh! I forgot to tell you the place of meeting. It had to be, of course, our favorite post-college hangout spot… the clock tower, 3 km from the engineering college in the town of Nahan in the state of Himachal Pradesh. Pretty interesting choice, eh? We loved the place.

So… coming back to the 12th this year—the last we met… and maybe the last ever we met.

Four of us had reached on time. The two Gwalior boys were missing… and late, as usual.

I remember the day well. It rained all through the day and maybe till the next morning. It was 2 p.m., an hour after the scheduled meeting time. The four of us were really happy to see each other. All three claimed I had become fatter… and they wanted me to shed some kilos before the next meet. As it continued to rain and we were waiting for the Gwalior boys, we had nothing to do but tell stories.

It was 5 p.m. and still no sign of the Gwalior boys. We could wait… and continue our chitchat. Possibly stirred by the incessant rain and the general monotony, the topics of our discussions turned to be a little paranormal.

Dalip recounted to us the tales of buses losing their control and falling into ravines after encountering ancient ghosts that haunt the bends on mountain roads.

Raahu then told us of jinns who engage themselves sportingly in fierce battles on moonless nights, leaving huge trampled circles in the corn fields. If not to the jinns, Raahu said, "to what else could these circles be attributed, for there were generally no storms or even rains on the previous night?"

As the sky turned gray and the downpour heavier, we had become confined to the old clock tower. As the clock struck 7, we saw a young man approaching toward us. Hey!!! That is KC. We were so happy to see our gang about to get complete. But why was he alone? Where was Bakshi?

The clock tower was desolate at that hour of the day. All shops were closed, except for a dimly lit tea stall that faced the clock tower. We could see steam coming out of hot tea that a merry old man was pouring into glasses. A young boy rushed to the tables to attend customers with a sense of emergency. We looked towards the tea stall as we talked and derived pleasure from the sight of steaming tea—it was very cold now—before it descended upon us that we wanted to have some tea too. Paandu gestured to the boy in the tea stall to bring five glasses of tea.

We all hugged KC and let him settle while the tea signaling was being done. The next thing had to be obvious. I asked, "where is Bakshi?"

The downpour still continued, and the last bus was making its appearance at the bus stop next to the clock tower.

Next to Dalip sat KC, who, after the question was hurled at him twice, opened his mouth for the first time. I forgot to mention earlier—KC looked very tired and sad. We had in our minds blamed it to a tiring journey.

KC said Bakshi was not…

"Not???" we asked.

"Around," he said.

"Not around," what does that mean KC?

KC cleared his throat. It looked like he was about to begin a story. I guessed it was some long story that would explain why Bakshi was missing and what KC meant when he said that Bakshi was not around.

KC was a fine storyteller! It must be mentioned here—he could describe faces with astounding precision, mimic voices and walks, and tell of mannerisms and habits of his subjects. Such were his talents that if he’d ever describe to you a man you haven’t met before, you’d recognize him the next time you bump into him. KC lit up a cigarette and immediately put up an air of thoughtfulness, while Paandu gestured to the tea stall to bring the tea jaldi. Meanwhile, we made ourselves comfortable on the low concrete fence that bordered the clock tower. KC continued…

"As you know, Bakshi liked boxing and would practice for hours at the club, sometimes with me and sometimes alone. Hours of practice had made Bakshi quite good; he moved his feet briskly and delivered powerful punches. In some friendly bouts, he had almost knocked his opponents down in a few blows. Though not very strongly built, he derived tremendous force from the speed with which he administered his blows."

KC then stopped to puff at his cigarette. It was still raining just as hard, and dark had begun to descend. All of us were now immersed in the story, keen to know what was wrong with Bakshi. After a couple of long puffs, KC continued.

"You know Bakshi had a very uncommon temperament. He would always get interested in bizarre things—anything that would give him a sense of novelty or adventure. He’d pretty easily get bored of routine. That, to me, seems the explanation why his passion for boxing gradually left him and why he turned to ganja (drugs). I remember him telling me how wonderful he felt after a round of ganja. He would advise me to try it, but I resisted. I knew this thing was not good and tried to get him interested in something else, but nothing worked.

He lost health, vivacity, and even confidence. Within a matter of months, he looked enervated—a lost soul plus an absolutely purposeless fellow. It saddened me. He began to miss his boxing sessions and would spend time at lonely places. On one of his lonely strolls down the Pir forest, he even discovered a little creek at the foot of the mountain—which was also the location of the royal cemetery. Bakshi had somehow developed a real liking for the cemetery. He once told me that ganja and the cemetery were all we wanted."

We sensed something bad had happened to Bakshi. Dalip’s face clearly suggested he was upset that things went that bad and he was never informed. KC resumed.

"A few days before Diwali, I had accompanied him to the cemetery on his insistence. I read the epitaph on one of the tombstones—it suggested that the grave belonged to the commonwealth war, when English soldiers were stationed at Gwalior cantonment. I have to confess that I immediately took a liking for the place; there was something inviting there—in the indolent October sun, bright marigolds that grew in plenty and the sensuously warm tombstones. Peace everywhere. No doubt Bakshi liked the place and would spend hours reclining at the tombstones or taking strolls in the narrow trails that winded down the creek. Often he’d bring a marigold or two along on his way back. As of me, I didn’t visit the place again. And as Bakshi began to spend more time at the cemetery and in the forest around, I didn’t meet him for days... until Diwali, when I saw him walking up the market street in the middle of the night. He passed by like a stranger. I noticed that he was carrying a pale marigold in his hand. I called out his name, but he kept walking. I then walked up to him, turned him about by his shoulder, and asked if he was alright.

For the next two minutes or so, Bakshi kept uttering something in English. He was talking about his "troops" being given some wrong information about the location of the "enemy". Moreover, Bakshi claimed that the enemy had shot everyone in his unit… and he should die too. He then stopped as abruptly as he had started and walked away into the dark.

What Bakshi had said was undoubtedly weird. But what struck me more was the fact that he had hardly uttered one correct sentence in English all his life. You remember how he used to stutter when it came to English?"

We nodded.

"And there he stood telling me the story of some troops killed by the enemy… with a diction that was so unmistakably English… as if…"

"Then?" said Dalip.

"On the same night, his lonely strolls came to an end when he reportedly fell off the cliff near the cemetery… and died."

"WHAT?"

I can’t even describe our reaction to what KC had just mentioned. I admit I was not very shocked because the way the story was unfolding, I had started to expect it. Dalip and Paandu cried. KC wiped something off his face and continued.

"The doctors at the civil hospital said it was the effect of excessive ganja. The drug, they said, made Bakshi act in rather peculiar ways and it might have been the delirium that took Bakshi on that night to the edge of the cliff. People believed this explanation; it was, after all, the most educated one. But… I know! It was not ganja."

And that was all that KC could tell us. He then puffed at whatever was left of his cigarette and started walking toward the back of the tower. Our public open-air urinal stayed there.

We were really sad. Something terrible had transpired. I began to ponder over what he had told us.

The noise of the rain suddenly returned and seemed to grow louder by the moment. It had grown quite dark by then, and the rain was coming down just as hard, which made a jet of water on the road moving swiftly down the slope.

The stillness broke with a honk, and the headlights of an auto rickshaw pierced the dark. Someone stepped out of the rickshaw and started walking toward us. The visibility was poor initially.

But as the person came closer, it turned out to be… Bakshi.

We all froze at once. He looked at us, a little unsure as to why his friends weren’t so welcoming. He did not look that happy.

We had no clue what was happening. But then I figured KC had made a fool of us. It was a really difficult point of time.

Bakshi looked at us, and said "KC is no more. I got late because I was at the cremation ground… had to take the next available train."

I looked in the direction that KC was supposed to come back from. No sign. Paandu, Raahu, and Dalip just sat. I have no idea what was going on in their minds.

Bakshi continued. "KC had been depressed since last few months. He claimed one of his friends from the the Gwalior cantonment had died at his hands in the war."

We listened helplessly.

"And then one day, KC fell off the cliff next to the forest."

The next moment we saw KC joining us. This had to be the most helpless I ever felt. I did not know what was going to happen next. Were they both lying?

The moment Bakshi saw KC, he jumped in his direction. KC screamed, "Officer, I’ll kill ya… ya enemy" and charged toward Bakshi.

The two crashed into each other right next to us… and whoosh…

...they disappeared!
---------------------------------------------END------------------------------------------

How Many Stars... Mr. Mohan?

Vikrant Mehra: O my swee'heart... You're a born magician... You've performed a magic trick on me—I just don't seem to think of anything other than you.

Sweetheart Kumar (name undisclosed): (chuckles) Will you allow me to go out and perform these tricks on others? Like... I mean... Show my talent to the world?

Vikrant: You naughty baby! Don't even think of others... The world consists of just the two of us now onward.

...and they kissed each other...
...
...
...and another one... followed by a third... while a hidden camera captured the scene and made a 10-minute movie.

After the sweetheart left, Vikrant went to the camera controls, viewed the tape, and said, "perfect." Next, he took the tape out, put it in an envelope, sealed it, and wrote on it.

The envelope was addressed to Mohan Kumar who worked as the Senior Correspondent for a high-ranking newspaper. Mohan's job included movie reviews. He was often referred to as "Mr. Reviewer."

Oh! Another question—Who's that Vikrant... and that sweetheart?

Vikrant was an actor who'd done three movies in all... last being Papa Jaag Jayega (PJJ). And by the way, his sweetheart was Mr. Reviewer's daughter. No need to mention her name. Kyon badnaam karna faaltu mei?

Clearly... in the above scene, Vikrant was doing what he did best... acting! He was fooling her.

Coincidentally, two couriers were delivered to Mr. Reviewer's house that day.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

...CLICK...

...CLICK...
...CLICK CLICK...
0

Someone was clicking photographs without the subjects having any knowledge of it.

"Ah, this one will do," said the cameraman Paras. "This one" described a guy chatting with his colleague... pure chatting... no hanky panky, mind you!

Paras then put the photograph in an envelope and sent it to Mr. Reviewer's wife. The envelope read "Your Husband's Latest Affair."

A note about Paras—he used to be a cameraman in Bollywood movies, last being PJJ.

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"Helppppp... Helppppp... Helpppp...," shouted someone.

This someone was being kidnapped. The kidnappers had been hired by a certain Mr. Kranti Singh.

Kranti Singh who? Kranti was a prominent villain of the Bollywood industry. His last role was in a movie called PJJ.

...and the guy shouting for help was the teenage son of... you know... a movie reviewer known as Mohan Kumar.

On hearing the 'confirmation' from one of the kidnappers, Kranti picked up the phone and dialed a number...

Mohan... bahut review ka shauk hai tujhe? Tera beta mere kabze mei hai... hahahahahahahaha... hahahahahaha... hahahahahahaha... (hangs up).

[Mohan, you are very fond of reviewing, right? I have kidnapped your son... (laughter followed by phone hanged up)]
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News of actors, cricketers, and all do-biggers joining Twitter was making headlines. But, something that had been totally overlooked was the new blog created by a movie writer, Telgi.

Telgi was a Bollywood movie writer... his last movie was PJJ. After the disappointment of that movie, Telgi realized how the success of movies also depends on critics and other frill reviewers. Telgi had been gutted at the fact that one such reviewer had made the whole of his last effort look so dumb.

Anyways, this blog that Telgi had created was for giving review comments to movie reviewers. Yes, you read it right. Telgi, in his blog, would review the work of movie reviewers. The name of his blog was something similar to tu-toh-gaya-mohan@blogspot...

In this blog, Telgi had decided to make one particular reviewer's life hell. No prizes for guessing the reviewer's name.

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Meanwhile, a pretty lady was seen entering a local police station.

"I want to complaint about this guy... he has been calling me late nights... sending SMSs... and may even be stalking me..."

"Do you have any idea who it could be?"

"Yes... seems like this guy who works as a reviewer for this newspaper. His name is Mohan Kumar."

"Okay ma'm. Let us find out what's happening. Give us your mobile number..."

Meera Gagroo, the Bollywood actress, last seen in PJJ, had just made an exit from the police station.

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ENOUGH...

Ok. What's happening here, guys?

Kyon peeche pade hue hain sab Mister Reviewer ke... ??

This goes a month back in time. The movie PJJ was supposed to release. Its cast and crew were super excited about the whole thing. Most of them were quite fresh into the industry, and therefore, they had high hopes from the movie. They had put in a lot of effort over a period of 8 months, and naturally, all of them were nervous.

The movie was to release on Friday, and unfortunately, its release date clashed with a big-budget movie. It was a known fact that the public had become smarter and started going for movies only after having read the movie reviews floating in the market. A known name in this business of reviewing was Mohan Kumar (Mr. Reviewer).

So... while PJJ was being released... a sad story for its crew was unfolding simultaneously. As it was later known to the crew, the guys behind the big movie that was releasing the same day had paid a huge sum to Mohan Kumar and asked him to thrash PJJ—this would by default benefit the big movie.

The next morning, an excited crew read this in the movie-review section of a newspaper (on the left).

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Now... of course, please don't for a moment think that such reviews were allowed. Mohan got a big warning from his boss. The boss wanted Mohan to be specific and write about actual stories than generically talking about filth contained in movies. Mohan was okay with the big warning... the money he had received was big too.

Going back to the crew now...

Dejected... was of course the word. Even though the review did not talk anything specific about the movie, it had changed the revenues considerably... and in the negative direction. A lot of people, after having read the review, did not give PJJ any chance. Some of the people who watched it were confused as to why such a review was given... after all, the movie was okay for watching once at least.

And hence... it resulted in a pissed-off crew of PJJ. Making movies was their job... and now they wanted to seek a movie-style revenge... on Mohan! Therefore, they did what they did.

However, do you think the story could end here? Of course not!

Life always has its ways of getting back at people. Mohan was struggling big time... being hit from all directions. Let's summarize his state:

• His daughter was kissing flop actors and making videos out of it.
• His son had been kidnapped.
• His wife was complaining of him having an affair with some random colleague. She left for her mother's place... blaming Mohan for the kidnapped son.
• He was being questioned by the police for stalking this actress.
• His work was being ripped apart in some random blog by a movie writer.
• His boss was pissed off at him for making use of the newspaper's review section in the way Mohan did. Thankfully, the boss did not know the motive. Else...

Not good!

A month later, Mohan's things had considerably improved. His daughter vowed she'd never get close to anyone. The son had god-knows-from-where returned two days after the kidnapping. Wife was still not around, but he was okay with it. Police had acquitted him in the case of stalking the actress. His stories were still being scrutinized by Telgi's blog... and his boss was normal now.

Mohan knew very well what had happened. The timing of all the incidents and some of the people involved could not have been coincidental. He knew that PJJ's people had everything to do with everything that had happened. Not surprisingly, he even knew why they did what they did.

A month later, Mohan was visited by some of the crew members of PJJ. They wanted to apologize for everything. The producer even invited Mohan for the exclusive premier of their next movie, Chal Phoot Le. The producer told Mohan that most of the cast of Chal Phoot Le was the same as PJJ... and all were happy to invite Mohan over for the premier.

At first, Mohan did not believe what was happening. Anyways, he did not care much.

He had never for a minute thought the episode was over. He was waiting for opportunities to get back... and opportunity is exactly what he got!

...in the form of that invitation.

Having sat through the premier, Mohan was flabbergasted. A movie shot in a room with just one person sitting and narrating the incidents of his life... what kind of a movie was that?

Here's a scene from the movie... the actor sat like this for 3 hours... in almost the same angle... with almost the same expressions... and kept uttering something or the other. Replay this video in your mind for 3 hours, and you could almost get a pirated copy of the movie.

Rubbish!

"One stupid-looking actor... in the whole movie... blabbering nonstop all through. You call that a movie? You must be kidding me."

Mohan thought this movie was made with a budget of Rupees 100/-.

Anyways, he got what he wanted.

The next morning his reviews would be on paper even before the first show was played in theatres.

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As expected, Mohan did a royal thrashing of the movie.

His comments were so harsh that a number of people felt pity for the director. Mohan knew he needed to be specific else his boss would go mad again. He did so.

On the left is the article that Mohan did for Chal Phoot Le.

BANG!

A day later, a cyclone had hit Mohan's life.

He lost his job and reputation....

…immediately after his newspaper lost its high rank and credibility
…immediately before being sued by the team of Chal Phoot Le

Chal Phoot Le, apparently, had turned out to be a normal family movie... with usual scenes... usual songs... usual comedy. Its story was based on unwelcomed guests... bell-ringing salesmen... etc.

Mohan's review was not even 1% close to the actual. He'd been duped. He realized that the director-producer duo of Papa Jaag Jayega was planning bigger things while the other crew members were playing around with him.

The premier... the crowd... even the movie... all was a hoax! They never showed the real movie that day.

However, Mohan's bevakoofi was showcased for real!

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