The best part of my dream

Sleeps like a child.

He has dreams.

His toes twitch,

He shrugs his nose,

He shudders as though

He had been caressed

By a gist of  a cold wind.

He looks beautiful

Even in the mornings.

I tell myself to stop staring.

My mind succeeded just once

But my heart won twice over.

He sleeps like a child

The best part of my dream!

I’m no poetess,

Yet, on this cloudy September morning

Words just flow.

What happens when

The best part of your dream

Sleeps like a child?

What happens after

All things are said and done?

What happens when

You are heartbroken and smitten at the same time?

What remains is..

(From the little that I know)

Calmness, Clarity and more than a pinch of Sadness.

A crafty little tear drop

Steals this precious moment in time

As I watch him sleep.

And I

Smile.

Note:

This was written for my Smileyman who puts a smile on my face.

ANIL THEKEPARAMBIL, 39

Anil Thekeparambil woke up with a start. He could not remember the name of the woman whom he had brought home last night. The woman had left early and that brought over him a sense of relief. He didn’t have to put up an act of “how great last night was or that they should get back real soon.” She was a lousy fuck anyway. Michigan seemed to be a pain in the place where the sun didn’t shine. Anil genuinely thought that every woman that walked in Michigan was a lousy fuck. He thanked God (me) day in and day out for making him a man and he was also extremely pleased with his 5” action machine right in-between his legs with which he thought that he could bring any woman down to a screaming orgasm. I thought that I had only given him a moderate sized penis. Ever since the Tower of Babel, the tongues of the humans never failed to amaze me. That one particular organ had the maximum alternate names in every given language.

Being an Indian, Anil thought that Kamasutra naturally flowed through him. He loved admiring his naked body every day before the mirror.

Mirror? That is an understatement. His house was filled with mirrors, especially his bedroom. His king sized bed was surrounded by mirrors on all sides, including the bedroom floor. Mirrors boosted his fucking ego, literally.” Kinky bastard!” That is what most of the women who had slept with him thought.

Anil Thekeparambil came from a long line of circus acrobats in India. He was so happy that he no longer had to do the flying trapeze. He was grateful that he was spotted by the late Mr. Ian Wakefield whom he fondly called as his ‘Daddy’.  If it hadn’t been for ‘Daddy’ Anil would have led a rather miserable hand to mouth existence in India, traveling from town to town. Daddy was on a holiday in the backwaters of Kerala where Anil’s troupe had been performing and by divine (my) intervention daddy’s eyes fell on the then eleven year old Anil’s body. Daddy was retired Broadway jazz performer who lived mostly in his glorious past. The day his eyes fell on the young Anil, he felt like he saw himself performing in Broadway. It took nearly two years for Daddy to legally adopt Anil and bring him to Michigan. Daddy also had to promise his parents that he would send periodical reports of Anil’s well being and he also had to send a certain sum of money till Anil turned 21. Anil and Daddy shared a deep love for each other touching the shades of incest and pedophilism. Both of them thought that it would take another hundred years to understand what they felt for each other. Daddy made him very sexually aware. Anil enjoyed having sex with men as much as he enjoyed having sex with women.

Today, as Anil stood stoking his body before the mirrors, he was falling in love with himself all over again. One of the most important things that he had learnt from his Daddy was love. Anil knew that love was the purest form of energy and self-love was the best. A gist of a cold wind blew across his bare back and it brought him back to his senses. But it also brought a smile to his face because the wind reminded him of Angelo. Angelo was the man he was planning to get down and dirty with, so had to hatch an elaborate plan..

p.s - this chapter is dedicated to my biggest fan, a jobless goldenrockie doctor who hates my work but has the time read and re-read it and write epic length satires about them. I'm flattered and you sure love being the jobless man that you are.

Mazala Salza

Hello people, I am writing my book 2 and it is called as Mazala Salza. The central theme of the book is going to my favorite dance form Salsa and this is going to be the first time where I am going to have more than 8 central characters. This whole process of writing as a third person and thinking as a man/men is also very challenging for me. In the following weeks I intend to introduce the other characters of the book but first allow me to introduce my favorite character in the book, Vikram Arora.

PS. This is the first draft so forgive me if you find any grammatical errors.

VIKRAM ARORA, 24

That night was a crazy night. Crazy and a beautiful night. Crazy was not because of the three beers that Vikram had (he could have eight beers at one go) but it was because of that one crazy not-so-salsa-yet-almost-salsa dance that he had with a woman named Sylvia. The reason why it was beautiful was because she made him smile. Sylvia’s body seemed to have an innate fragrance and when it became amalgamated with her deodorant, the earthy aroma was intoxicating. He was smiling even when he hit the sack at 2am. Sleep had betrayed him but the smile didn’t.

Vikram had danced with more women than he could remember but he was able to remember clearly, the way tiny streams of glimmering sweat trickling down her neck and then vanishing down into her cleavage, when he held her close while dancing. The bad boy in him had wanted to trace the sweat streams with his tongue but then it was only the gentleman in him who was dancing with her. He thought that he was dancing with a beginner but within a short while he was rather stunned by the natural sensuality of her moves and her contagious enthusiasm. Vikram had never seen such a combination of quality in a person before. He enjoyed watching her as she let the rhythm take over her body and loved moving to her rhythm. Sylvia was not beautiful is a classical sense but she seemed to have a distinctive personality which would be hard to miss anywhere. While dancing, Vikram could also not help but notice her mouth and the way she bit her lower lip while doing a shimmy. And Vikram could have bet on his pants that he had never seen anything or anyone so sexy.

Vikram was inexorable on the dance floor. For him, the whole world was a dance floor. He is the kind of who would mind dancing on the dance floor or in a crowded café or in a dingy street or by the beach or on the bed (oh, yes, the bed!) or in the public toilet. He could never really dance by the counts because for him, dancing was all about the musicality of the song. Since he was so attuned to rhythm of the dance, it appeared that he was dancing to the perfect count of 1-2-3,5-6-7. At times while doing that, there would be a wickedly delicious smile on his face and he would think to himself that he had pulled off an awfully impossible con job in the world. This smile of his would often be misinterpreted by the lady with whom he is dancing, as a lustful smile. Some were flattered and some were scared. Vikram wondered what Sylvia thought of him.

And talking about women, Vikram Arora now thought that he could figure out women easily. It was very simple according to him. There were only two kinds of women. The first kind of women were the ones that he had impressed with his moves. They would repeatedly ask him to dance, look at him with long batting eyelashes, follow his every move over the dance floor, smile at him more than necessary, ask for his phone number, ask him out for coffee, (sometimes, to come over their place for a hot cuppa and more.), through a few direct sexual innuendoes and finally one rather desperate older lady in Kyoto said”I want to have your baby, just be the sperm donor.”. They more they did that, they more he became determined to save his chastity belt (by the way he has been looking for that since college.). Alright, Vikram was neither a pricey saint nor a punk-as sinner but he definitely was not a virgin.

Ever since Vikram became prominent in the national and in the international Salsa scene he had women drooling, reeling and literally tripping over him. He started dancing when he was twenty-two and within ten months of dancing he had participated in the Asia Pacific Salsa Championships with his dance partner Katie and won in the Amateur category. After that Vikram and Katie had won the Australian Open Championship and the Kyoto Asian Open Championship. And after that Vikram came into the limelight in the Salsa scene and has stayed in it. This was pleasantly surprising for him because he was a painfully shy, plump kid in school and he would blush and turn beet red if he were to speak the girls of his class.

Now that brings us back to his second category of women, whom he called as Queen B type. These were the women who would play very hard to get whether or not they were worth it. His partner Katie was one of them. She would act as though he was invisible after the practice sessions and completely ignore him on the social dance floor. Vikram would often wonder how it would be if he were to take her down by the jugular and throttle her till she turned purple. That thought made him feel good and it made him smile. Vikram was a smart guy; he had other ways of taking it out on Katie. Though Vikram had great balance and even better reflex in place he would deliberately drop Katie down during the lifts n tricks session during the practice hours. He would simple say, “Chill, buddy!!” and walk out with no remorse. This gave him enormous satisfaction. He would wish that all the Queens B’s should be lifted up in a 100ft tall crane and should be dropped down.

Sylvia was introduced as the cousin of Anjana, a fellow salsero. It appeared that she loved dancing with him. He was sure that he got the vibe that she was so into him. He was sure that she would gesture to ask her again to dance but that did not happen. Vikram had also read somewhere that women related dancing to sex and he was absolutely sure that she wouldn’t be able to be equally sensuous with all the other men that she would be dancing with. He was wrong again. She was equally sensuous with all the men who had asked her to dance with them. Perhaps, she was unconscious about her sensuality. Vikram, on the dance floor, never had considered any man as his competitor but that night, he felt a little threatened. Was it because of the fact that he might lose out Sylvia to another man? He was not too sure and he tried to calm that feeling. After a long time, his eyes were shamelessly following the moves of a woman all around the floor. Vikram was intrigued; he was determined to know more about Sylvia. And he was so sure that he was going back home with her number. Yet again that did not happen that night. Sylvia seemed to have vanished into the thin night.  He thought to himself that the chase was on.

Love is the first time that we met.

Love is the reason why we couldn’t take our eyes of each other.

Love is the instant that we connected.

Love is our future that is meant to be.

Love is the butterflies in my stomach when I see you.

Love is the time that I can’t wait to wrap my arms around you.(I swear that I want melt into you.)

Love is the eye contact that you make with me in a crowd.

Love is your need to stay with me.

Love is the conversations dragged over many cups of coffee.(you prefer tea and I don’t like coffee.)

Love is the mindless caress.

Love is same thought that we share.

Love is every time you complete the sentence that I begin.

Love is your faith in me.

Love is the way you make me feel so sure.

Love is the dimple on your cheek, when I asked to smile.

Love is the widest smile that spreads across my face in the shortest of our conversations.

Love is your drive to best in everything that you do.

Love ,baby, is your immortality pill.(I know)         

Love is the nights I’ve without sleep with you in my mind.

Love is the night I saw you as the father of our unborn children.

Love is the stupid phone call you that made to say “I called just like that.” And yet have nothing much to say.

Love is my Esperanza and yours and theirs.

Love is this poem that would never end.

Love is the every song that makes me feel good.

Love is four o’clock in the morning when you were speaking about me.

Love is your ambition and love is my patience.

Love is why I want to feel this way all my life. I want to spend it with you.

Love is the acceptance of your shortcomings and mine.

Love is the kiss that you owe me. (you said that you owe me.)

Love to me baby, will always be you.

Note:

I guess, I'm in love.

A lot can happen..

I have a hot sexy boss, a lot can happen like..

I take my dog out for a walk, a lot can happen like..

I would trip and spill my coffee over someone, a lot can happen like..

I would sign up for dance classes, a lot can happen like..

I would be disposing garbage, a lot can happen like..

I would meet a childhood friend in the railway station, a lot can happen like…

I would be buying popcorn for my nieces, a lot can happen like..

Ok. My point is, this year we have to give ourselves some leverage this year. No more crappy valentine’s days for me and neither should it be for you. We deserve all that is good and more. I’ve just realized that love happens only when we allowed it to happen and it happens only to people who allow it. All we need to do is just to figure out what we want and the universe will figure out how..

A lot can happen to make you happy…

Ps: I had been suffering from the worst bout of a writer’s block. Am recovering..

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!Ok!
One
more time now!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!
Oh!
Yes!! I did it.
Feels so damn good and I want to shout and scream. My
dream has come true ‘cause I never gave up on it.
For all the writers out there who are dreaming to get
published dream big and chase it.

My book “Shall we dance, Mr.Koshy?” is out. For all the people
who couldn’t get enough of Abe and Candace, sorry to have kept you waiting. But
hey!! They are here now, go and grab them at any big store nearby you. If it is
not there, place an order with them. For those who are not in India, place your
orders through www.amazon.com.

Most importantly, here are my acknowledgements.

My mom, thanks for wading through an alien manuscript.
That alien script was, of course, mine. I can’t thank you enough.

In no particular order

Mahesh Suvarna, thanks for doing what you did.

Rahul, thanks for being supportive and for never giving up on me.

Finally, finally a big, big thank you to Headlines Today for keeping me sane most of the time.

Do read my book and you can write to me at bronzegoddess_bright@rediff.com.

If..

“What are you staring at?”
He broke my stance.
“I was thinking about last night.”
“What were you doing last night?"

“I was thinking about you!
I was thinking, if you had been with me,
I would have grabbed you,
I would have hugged you,
And the world can take a hike
I would have shocked you,
I would have stunned you
I would have been your woman
On Top!

I would have left you wanting me more.
I would have had you flipping
I would had you fumbling
I would have been the only dream
That you would ever dream
I would have loved you,
I would have loved being you lust
Baby! I would inflamed your brain.

I would have stood by you forever
I would have caught you slipped
I would have still had you falling
For me.
I would have bound us, buried us in love.
I would have had you drenched in me
I would have had me draped around you.

I would have loved you without a reason
I would have had you loving me for that reason
I would have caged your needs
I would have taught you to fly
I would have rocked your world.
I have always loved what I can’t have.
Boo! What I can’t have is you.”

Author’s Note:

I was burning inside to see the lovers warm as a huge
chocolate chip cookie(they smelt good too.Geez!).

And all I could think of at that time was about ‘our man’, the one
I danced with the other day. I must confess that I have been fantasizing about him all week.

And then I closed my eyes.

“Hey! Wassup?”

“Hey! How’s it going?”

These are the most common questions that are asked to us and these are the most questions that we ask people every other day.

Analyzing these, they are the most meaningless questions and we give such bullshit as replies.

And even when we ask these questions how many times do we really mean it from our bottom of our hearts?

These questions are more like “ welcome to the urban rat race pack.” If you know what I mean.

Why do we ask them?

Why?

What for when we don’t really care?

There are times when we would want to say different things when such questions are asked but we come up with such lame answers like

“Good.”

Or

“Yeah, cool.”

How many times we wish that we could have probably blown the person away with an unexpected reply. Oh! How we wish?

After some very serious thought, I have come up some stunners, which will come handy when someone asks you those morose questions. However it all began when my Deputy Ops Head, left a scrap on my orkut page.

“Wassup?”

I replied, “Kittens, roller coasters and 3 shots of hardcore polka.”

So, here goes. Will not promise a positive outcome but it will definitely shock people.

1.”Wassup?”

“ I was researching on why a lot Bengalis wear such huge glasses. And the results are out now. Oh wait! The results point towards you.”

2. “Hey Wassup?”

I was thinking of an innovative way to take you down by the jugular and scream “Who is your daddy now, bitch?”

3. “Hey, wassup?”

“I was wondering what to have for dessert? Apple pie or you?

4. “Hey, wassup?”

“You tell me. What is the distance in liters between Sol star an star Sirius?”

5.”Hey, wassup?”

“Touch it, Break it, Stop. Format it.”

Keep repeating it and do little hip hop move to suit your rapping style.

6.”Hey wassup?”

“Skinidippin yo! So tripin yo!”

7. “Hey! How’s it going?”

“A little constipated in the morning. Smooth now.”

8. “Hey! How’s it going?”

Have dark sunglasses handy. When someone asks such a question, wear them and get into the MIB mode.

9. “Hey! How’s it going?”

“Yipee!!! I won the million pound lottery.”

10. Hey! How’s it going?

“Glamorous, fabulous, fan-fuckin-tabulous.!! Just heard that you are getting fired.

The bottomline is that life’s boredom is lot more bearable if you know to shock and awe. And Life’s troubles are a  lot more bearable if you know a plenty of swear words.

God bless!!

Ps. Don't leave bloody brainless comments like "wassup". u gotta be a friggin moron to leave one 

You gotta buy this book people. Period!

It is called as “Almost Single” written by Advaita Kala. The book is a brilliant piece of work, which is both insightful and also has the stuff in it that sparks uncontrollable laughter. I haven’t enjoyed a book as much since I don’t know when. I have even lent it to my best friend with great parting difficulty.

We are living in a time when the world considers every book written by a smart urban woman as a chiclit piece. If the book has the power to connect with every woman universally by boosting her spirit by saying “Hang in there girl. You are not alone”, then what the hell, why not? Let it be called chiclit. Someone once wisely said that a rose by any other name would still smell sweet. So there you are Advaita!

I am recommending this ‘chiclit’ most importantly to all the men if at all you have ever wondered what we the women think and what we talk behind yours backs over the phone and in the restrooms. (fyi, among the million things we speak, the topic ‘men’ is one of them. So don’t get carried away here.) I had even confessed to Advaita that I cant stop talking about her book.

This write up would not be complete without me inserting the actual excerpts from the book itself.

“My name is Aisha Bhatia, I am twenty-nine years old and single. I work as a Guest Relations Manager at the Grand Orchid Hotel. I dine at luxury hotels and stay in five-stars during my travels; I can name old and new world wines with great élan, and can tell my cheeses apart.I tolerate my job, hate my boss, and bond big-time with my friends, while routinely suffering from umbilical cord whiplash. I don’t really care for my vital stats at the moment, and I don’t have a cute/funny nickname either. Hence this introduction: it stinks, but it sticks. In fact, sometimes I think there should be support groups like the AA out there for people like me…’

Wickedly irreverent and laugh-aloud funny, Almost Single is a delightful romp through the five-star world of champagne brunches, gay soirées, and the dilemmas of hip, young girls on the lookout for love and matrimony.”

To know more about Advaita and her book, you must visit

http://www.advaitakala.com

And after that buy it.

PS.. I could not find a clear image of the actual cover.

 Intellectual Maturbation!! 5:- Did you give a damn about the things that you didn’t know about a BPO?

1)The urban myths like ‘Once upon a timezone’ written by Neelesh Misra which revolves around a Customer service agent who fell in love with a customer and  travels to the US of friggin A is all Bullshit with a capital B.

1.5) I hear that Ashok Amritraj is making a movie with Shriya and Jesse Metcalfe(the boy from Desperate housewives and John Tucker must die) on the similar story lines. Bah!! The urban myth re-emerges!

2) Whoever gave the junta that the BPO population is all promiscuous deserves to be shot dead. Right through the head.

1)    Nah!! I will do the deed myself.

2)    It is physically and mentally impossible to keep up that fake accent all day long. The ‘Indian -ness’(there goes my Ness too) seeps in without the speaker’s own knowledge.

1)    There are very intresting names that you will come across. Sample this

Dildora Evans, Gerald Dick, Andrew Bastard, Ulf and Ula LillKrona (Swedish Krona, if you know what I mean), In Park, Eliot Pimple, Elton John(seriously)

2)    The BPO industries hire the best of the English speakers in the country and yet there will be customers who have the fucking nerve to say the following.

“Transfer the call to a English speaking Call center.”

“Transfer the call to someone who can speak in English.”

“I want to speak to someone who knows English.”

3)    Sometimes there are these very pain in the butt customers who talk shit with you for 40 minutes without really arriving at a solution (this is mostly because they call on a toll free number). The deep fry your brain and it would feel as though your brain would pop out through your eye balls

4)    @#$% f$%k, MXC,BXC,f*#K EM ALL!!

5)    The first call that the agent takes is the most scariest of all the calls that he/she will take in the rest of his/her life.

6)    All the Customer service agents swear with the choicest bad words at an average of 10 times a day.

10.1) Infact the bad words become so integrated with the Agents that they do not mind when the Boss calls out “Hey! Chuth come here!” or when the agent next call out “Hey chuth, what the f*#k are you doing there.”

11) Hey!! Still not everyone is not Promiscous.

12) The most intriguing phenomenon of modern times in the BPO industry is that “Nobody is single.”

13) What’s more fascinating is the fact is that the couples look as though they were cosmically designed to be present together at any given time. Its like putting a north pole and a south pole together in a gigantic glass bottle and watching them get magnetically attract each other. Damn!! Newton and Einstein were both right.

14) 98% of all the BPO employees have already committed gastronomical suicides. With all the sticky, gooey, dalda dumped rice and chappathis, do people have a choice of life over death!! No way!!

15)Talking about bad food, the BPO industry has the champion farters. Don’t blame the people, blame the food.

16)Who said that there is no such thing as a free meal? Well, come to the BPO industry to see it to believe.

17)Attrition rates are always high. In other words, if a person sticks around for six months, he/she is considered as a pro!! Whoa!! Whatever happened to the times when people stayed in a company for 30 years and the people called them as pros?

18) After speaking for hours at a stretch with the customers, at the end of the day people do feel lonely and lost. Boy!! They are human too, what the hell did you think?

19) Formal workwear 4 days a week sucks the biggest of all times. There is no fucking scope for experimenting with any styles. Dare to get stylish, you get a friggin compliance memo. I hear that most of the BPO employees are willing to write a petition to formalize denim.

20) Information security is all in the name of the game. At an average a BPO employee is likely to have 7 passwords, which need to be changed periodically and have a minimum of 2 access cards and 2 keys to different lockers. Whew!! What a pain!!

21) What is thing about scheduled friggin breaks? Cant take a minute longer than that else it will go down against your performance.

22)Who the hell said that ‘a BPO is a cake walk.’ Hell no!! It is a damn cut throat competitive world. There are sharks and there are hooked baits at every turn waiting for you trip and fall.

23) What is this thing about women getting raped in the pick up cabs? Sometimes, yeah! It is scary but you can’t stop living and stop working, can you?

So yeah!! Welcome to the big bad (at times good) world of the BPO industry.

Coming soon, some samples of the actual conversations with the customers..