As always, like a good author, I’d like to throw a disclaimer at your face saying the content that you are about to read and the photos that you are about to see may be very disturbing and offensive, so please read on (you bet you wanna) at your own discretion. Having said that let me dive into the crap that I titled (drum roll) – “The Shit We Eat”.

First lets get to know the “We” in picture. We would be, my people, my family. Basically the Goan family. We eat a lot of shit that you people would not even think were edible. If it moves we eat it. If it’s on my plate, smelling good and tasting even better, we eat it. If it’s not tasting good, we make it taste good and then we eat it.

Below is a photo of my mom at the butchers shop at the Mapusa Market in Goa.

Now please do not be offended if you see your God’s leg hanging and being bargained over. That shit tastes real good. It may smell bad there hanging from a hook, blood dripping (which is good, fresh) from it. But now imagine that shit, on your plate smelling awesome and tasting real good. How do I explain that?!

I think we bought some cow’s tongue that day. Yes we eat tongue. Name the animal, state if it got tongue or not, send it through the kitchen and we are eating it next thing. Didn’t I just say, if it moves we eat it? Well the tongue is lying somewhere in the butcher’s shop. If you are a regular, you get the best meat and the other body part will be available on request.

Cow is just one of those poor animals that make it to our kitchen. Pig being the other regular. Will dissect the pig later and let you know what we do with that. For now, and as far as my knowledge is concerned, I shall try and recollect what all have made it onto my plate, into my stomach and now resides in our septic tank. Cow, pig, tortoise, swine, deer, camel, porcupine, duck, frog, goat, sheep, rabbit (?) and a lot more I guess. Even if I had to eat human, I’d eat as long as it tasted good.

Now I know all you People for Animals, Save our Animals and ‘OMFG I dunno why I’m an animal activist’ people might really hate me by now, but how do you expect me to control my hunger for blood. It’s the freaking Goan food chain. Eat the meat else be banished from the family. Yes, I’ve seen all those PETA websites and advertisements, and yes, I fell sorry for the manner in which the animals are treated. And, let me stress on this, no one has the right to slam an animal on its head and kill it. That’s really bad. But at the end of the day, the meat eaters are not gonna stop eating meat.

Alright, now to the real shit that we eat. Its pig and its called ‘Sorpotel‘. Wikipedia threw up some bullshit and I could not find any relevant information, so now I’m gonna share the graphic recipe of preparing the all so famous, Sorpotel.

Ingredients:

1 pig (piglet will do too, depending on the number of hungry people waiting to eat)
A few Goan women (mothers preferred, grandmothers a bonus)
A few Goan men (to catch and kill the fucking pig in the first place)

Now that we have what takes to get this shit started, lets dig into the details and learn how to catch the fucking pig.

A typical Goan house would consist of a front yard, the house, the family pet running around, a well and a nice spacious backyard. Now, this is the typical Goan house. Most of the house are not so typical, like our. The front yard is so fucked up that there is no front yard. I’m gonna fucking break that shit and make a front yard, but don’t let my pop know, not while he is alive at least. The house would be this thick walled stone structure that’s like really high and with a tiled roof. Tiles are sexy. Concrete is fuck all. The family pet could be a cat, a dog or the neighbor’s dog. The back yard, and yes we got this fucking shit right. It’s this awesome huge area with a well, a lot of plants and trees and enough of space to keep animals that we can kill and eat some day.

So the typical house would have a back yard with hens, pigs, snakes and sometimes cows too. Now we never had cows but yes we did have a pig and we baptized that fucker ‘Slayer’ and slay he did. Mother fucker listened to heavy metal and head banged and threw the horns at the neighbors pig. Satan was there in our back yard. The sty was the moshpit.

Well, seems like I got a bit carried away and drifted way outa topic. Okay, now that we have a back yard and a pig. Lets get on to “How to kill the mother fucker”.

How to kill the mother fucker

First, make sure all the exits of the back yard are closed. Make sure the back door is closed too. You don’t wanna sacrifice the swine in the bed room. Not that its uncool, more because you don’t wanna have blood all over the walls. Once the exits are sealed, get hold of some of the local butchers. These guys can be found at the local bars or ghados (tea/snack stalls). If you cant locate one of these dudes, just leave a word at the bar or local joint and the dude will show up at your door step. Lets baptize him as Pig Killer.

Pig killer will show up at your back door and take you by surprise. Most of the time you and the whole village know the pig killer, so lets make it clear that he is not dangerous and he will not rob your house even if its unlocked. Pig killer will come, have a look at the pig and then go for a walk. In his absence, the women in the house will keep the knives, utensils, etc ready. Pig killer will go and get a few more men depending on the size of the pig. He will also smoke a few cigarettes have a few pegs of the local liquor and then turn up at your door step once again. Now, its not a bad thing to have stinking men roam around the village, its actually very cool and part of the culture. Our drunken men happen to be very nice and effective.

Pig killer (and his men) will survey the area. Pig by now knows that he’s gonna fucking die. Pig radar and telepathic pig signals from kilometers away (even from other villages) have already informed pig that the stinky Pig killer is here to kill him. Pig goes into defensive mode. Pig surveys the backyard for exit points. Pig killer sharpens knives. The stove in the kitchen is lit up. Water is set to boil. Pig killer approaches pig. Pig’s defensive mode turns into panic mode. Chaos breaks lose, pig shoots towards the exit, pig killer chases pig, pig killer’s supporters distract pig, pig gets scared, runs into the wall, tries to jump, no hope, runs back, runs around the back yard. Pig killer and associates corner pig. Pig makes a dash and tries to run past them, pig killer manages to grab hold of pig. Associates jump in and pig killer ties up pigs legs. The squealing can be heard kilometers away, other pigs mourn the what would be the demise of one of theirs for the sake of a family meal. Pig is properly tied up and brought to a stone or step where what would next be the cutting of the neck.

Seeing that pig is all tied up, the women of the house brings out a bowl of hot water and another bowl to collect the pigs blood. No this is not for some voodoo or mumbo jumbo ritual, its to add to the taste of the what would become sorpotel.

(Lovell D’souza is hungy now, he steps out for dinner.)

Pig killer now has a tight grip on pigs snout, his knee digs into pig’s body disabling any moves that pig could throw at him. And, in one clean swipe with precision that would impress the best of surgeons, pig’s neck is slit.

(Please stand and observe two minutes of silence for pig.)

Pig’s blood is collected in the utensil. This is taken to the kitchen. Pig dies in a few minutes and Pig killer loosens his grip. The hot water is poured onto pig so that the hair is loosened up. With a blade, most of the time a Wilkinson, pig is cleaned and ready to be chopped up. The chopping part happens in the open, amidst the other animals including the neighbor’s kids. This is a very important event in the life of a Goan child. The killing of a pig is a significant symbolic act depicting the beginning of a family feast. Oh yes, it also makes you immune to those PETA vidoes on Facebook and YouTube. Now, I’m not saying don’t kill the animals. Kill them. But kill them with respect, like the way Pig killer does.

Pig’s body by now is fully chopped up. Pig killer will chop pig up as per the instructions of the woman of the house. The only part of the pig that does not go into the Sorpotel are the pigs hooves. Or wait, maybe they do. I’ll have to ask my mom. Anyway, then entire pig is chopped up and all the body parts are ready to be cooked. The heart, kidneys, lungs, brain, intestines all form an essential part of the all so great Sorpotel.

Intestines get a little more attention compared to other body parts. Mainly because, well er, they fucking lead to the asshole. Now pig would surely shit when he sees Pig killer, but some shit would of course be lying there, deep down at the end of the lower intestine just waiting to make it onto your plate. But, NO! The intestines are nicely cleaned and the food, shit, etc is pushed out and what we are left with are nice, clean, washed intestines. Yay!

How to cook this shit

The women set the kitchen abuzz. Pig is now ready to make it onto the stove. I’m not going to go into these details, so please refer to the recipe link on top. Oh did I forget to mention, I hate the smell that it emits when being cooked.

The conclusion

Oh wait, did I forget to mention? I don’t eat Sorpotel. That shit fucking stinks and tastes like fucking shit!

Yes, 6 young boys jump into a Sumo at Guwahati ready to hit the road and explore Arunachal Pradesh (AP). Now for some trivia on AP. Nice sexy state lying on the right sharing borders with Bhutan, Burma and China. If India were ever to punch China in the nuts, AP would be put to the job. Now China’s and India’s love for AP is so immense, that there was this battle some few decades back. Some Chines dudes were like, “Neehaw, we is going to takes the AP to China!” And, India was like, “Fuck that shit, we are keeping our momos.” All this meant we needed a damn permit to enter AP else if we were to die, we’d be buried in Bangladesh.

Now we could get this permit from some dude in Tezpur. I’m not really sure who he was, but he surely was some smart ass important government official and he had to sign the damn permit stating that 6 suicidal boys have expressed immense pleasure and interest in entering AP. If they were to die we will take them off the Indian head count. It also stated that no one will give no shit and we would be served under the name of some exotic meal at some Chinese cafeteria.

Mr. Someone Important who had to provide us the papers had gone somewhere to do something that somehow nobody gave a shit about. Basically that meant we were at his house in the middle of the night ringing the bell only to be looked at by a locked door. We were like fuck him (actually we had no option), lets just go to Bhalukpong (the Assam and AP border), spend the night there and then figure out what to do the next morning.

And off we were. Now that I’ve given you a whole lot of boring bull, let get straight to the jazz.

Location: Bhalukpong. Assam – AP Border
Time: Sometime around 9 pm
The Scene: Heavily armed army personnel, a lot of police and really short locals

Our sumo stops at the check-post. Army guys head over to scan the vehicle. We step out and look around.
One army guy comes up to me and says, “We were told that some people in a silver sumo were clicking photos.”
I was like, “Er, yes. That might be us.”
Army guy, “Come with me, there are some people who want  to talk to you guys. Call the driver also.”

Fuck, what’s gonna happen now? As soon as I reach the police check-post, one really tiny local fucker starts jumping and pointing the shit at me and goes ballistic. I was like wtf, hope the other guys are behind me, I’m gonna fucking shit in my pants if I don’t have support.

Tiny fucker goes on with some jazz yelling some shit which sounded to me like I just eloped with his new born calf. Army guys, cops, tiny fucker and his associate, me and Rahul Rishi are there. A crowd builds around us. Fucking scene. Get me outa this shit someone. I want my mommy.

Tiny fucker to the cops, “Someone in the back of the sumo was clicking photos of us and on top of that they did not allow us to over take. They blocked out vehicle.”
Rahul to cop, “No Sir, it was not us. We were just clicking photos of ourselves.”
Tiny fucker, “He’s fucking lying, there were two people in the back of the sumo. Him (me) and him (pointing to Mukesh).”

Suddenly a bell goes off in my head.

Flashback: Mud road. Back wheels kicking up some sexy dirt. Headlights behind us flashing. Amazing photograph it would make. Out came the bad ass Canon EOS 1000D. The cheapest in the EOS series. Click, click, click, click. Review, review, delete, review. I’m fucking awesome. Photoshop here I come.

Ah fuck man. Shut the fuck up tiny fucker.

Me to cop, “Yes, I did click some photos while we were on the road.”
Cop, “Get your camera. Lets have a look.”

I head back to the vehicle and get back my camera. Tiny fucker goes berserk again pointing to the camera, point to me, saying some shit. Fuck you tiny fucker. I show the photos to the cop. Tiny fucker start to point and yelp again seeing his headlight in the photograph.

Tiny fucker, “That headlight, that’s our car. That out light. He fucking captured the light from our car without asking our fucking permission. That’s against the laws of AP. Kill the Goan fucker who looks like a Sardar.”
Cop, “Okay fine, delete these photos.”
Me, “Okay, sure (I don’t wanna fuck around with tiny fucker).”
Tiny fucker, “Now, become a Murga (video) and say sorry.”
Me, “Dude, I’m sorry man I’ve deleted your photos, isn’t that okay.” (But the fuck I’m gonna do a murga for you mother fucker, fuck you).
Cop, “It’s okay, let him go, they are tourists, they don’t know of you fucking nonsense.”
Tiny fucker, “yelp yelp yelp murga yelp yelp.”

Thanking my stars, I walk away from the scene. In the meanwhile our man, Vignesh ‘I dont know a single fucking word in Hindi’ Anand was conversing with an army guy, in Hindi! I was like wtf are those two talking about.

Vignesh, “Abba abba, amma. Thank God you guys came I don’t know wtf that dude was talking about.”

What he did manage to derive from the conversation was that all AP people are psycho and that they only want to pick fights and the army does not involve tiffs between civilians, else he would’ve beaten the AP shit outa the AP guy.

While all this shit was going on and while everyone were thanking their respective Gods the great Mukesh Mukhi comes and announces that he got the permit. How he got the permit, who he spoke to, what he did will never be known. But all we know is that he did get the permit and all it required was to have our fucking names on it and we were off to AP.

And this is what took us in.

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Before I start Part 3, let me throw some light on the content that you are going to read. Please consider this as a work of fiction. The characters are real no doubt, but the manner in which they are displayed is exaggereated a lot. Danny is not really a paranoid fellow, Rahul does not use ‘Dude’ and ‘Awesome’ so much, I do not swear the whole day, and so on for the other characters too. I have used real characters, real events, but the content is part of my imagination or lets say ‘talent’.

Also, after some feedback I got from some readers, I’ve now decided not to censor any of the foul language.

Part 3: The Day, The Wait.

Yes, finally the day to leave had come. All of us were in office, all filed in our half days and were ready to hit the Himalayas. The enthuisasm was high and none of us even bothered to do any work. The flight was scheduled for the afternoon, but I guess the entire morning went with us discussing about how exciting the trip was going to be and stuff like that. The mini conference at Johnny’s cubicle was in full swing once again.

Vignesh who was slogging his ass off in the United States of the one and only America had just hit Indian soil at around 1 a.m. the same day. He caught on a few hours of sleep and was ready to hit the road with us in no time. What I learnt that night was that that thing called jet lag, it either does not affect machaans, or they just don’t know that something like that exists.

Rahul: Dude, this is so awesome dude! Just a few more hours and we will be on our way.
Me: Fuck you man. Don’t remind me. I can’t wait.
Johnny: Ya man, let’s do this!
Vignesh: Machaan, I hope I haven’t forgetten anything. I feel like I’m missing something.
Me: Yeah, your brain you fucker.
Danny: Somebody tell him to stop swearing so much.
Me: Fuck you man. Cock sucker. Suck my cock mother fucker. Son of a bitch.
Danny: Hehehehe.
Johnny: Okay, now listen. I’ve booked a cab. It shall be here in the afternoon. I want all you fuckers to be ready on time. If any of you are absconding then well will leave without you.
Me: Yeah, fuck you fuckers.
Rahul: Dude, this is awesome, I’m so excited!
Me: Fucker, take your awesome and shove it up your awesome ass man. Fucking UP choot pakoda.
Rahul: Hey, hey! No regional violence okay? No regional!
Vignesh: Machaan, but what about girls da? You think there are hot chicks there?
Johnny: Dude, the place is white listest. All good stuff. All firangs (foreigners), but the Indian maal (stash, wrt women, not supposed to be offensive) is good too. And, for that matter, all the women who go there, Arabian chicks too.
Vignesh: Danny machaan, heard that? Arabian girls. Surely from Muscat.
Me: Fucker, if Danny even thinks of doing a girl on the trip, Jesus will fall from the cross.
Danny: Arrey, what are you fellows talking all rubbish.
Rahul: Dude! Awesome man! I love chicks!
Me: Ya, I hope you find a real hot chick, who has a cock. Fucker!

With that most of folks there grossed out and we decided to go to our respective desk and do some work. Well at least we pretended to be doing some sort of work. John Paul was frantically typing, trying to convince eight women that everything will be okay in the few days whe he will be gone. Danny dialed a number that took him straight to his lady love and then the two of them started speaking in some language that I could not understand. May be it was arabic, but then again, I got a hearing problem I think. Well that’s what I tried telling myself, but I guess I did not hear myself well. Vignesh went to get some coffee for himself and disappeared around the corner.

Rahul and I headed off to the urinal. Rahul on his way telling people how awesome their desktop wallpapers were. We both enter the room marked ‘Men’ and relieve ourselves, ah, bliss.

Me: Fucker, you know what would be really sad?
Rahul: If it’s one of your cock jokes, then don’t bother.
Me: Fucker listen at least.
Rahul: Okay, okay!
Me: Yeah, you know, if we are taken hostage, we escape, but Danny dies.
Rahul: Hahahaha!! Oh, and you know what would be even worse?
Me: What?
Rahul: Say, we all are abducted, no once can do anything, not even Mayawati. We all die, but somehow, against all odds, Danny escapes and comes safely back to Hyderabad and goes home. He is just about to enter his house, he slips on the door step, bangs his head on the door knob and dies.
Me: Hahahahaha!! Oh fuck, that too funny man! Hahahaha!! Shit, if we tell him that he will cry man.
Rahul: Hahaha.

We head back out and return to our respective cubicles. The seconds tick by slowly. The few hours seemed like forever. Then I get a call.

Guy: Hello Sir, am I speaking to Mr. Lowaal Bear-neeard Deeessuuu.. er…
Me: D’souza (fucker), it’s D’souza.
Guy: Yes sir. I’m ‘some-tamil-name’ speaking on behalf of Citibank. Sir, is this a good time to speak to you?
Me: Regarding?
Guy: Sir as an esteemed customer of Citibank.. blah blah blah.. credit card.. blah blah.. Birla Sun life insurance.. special offer.
Me: (fuck, I shoud have said ‘no’).
Guy: So sir are you interested in the offer sir?
Me: No, thanks.
Guy: Sir, but as a Citibank Credit Card holder, you are one of the lucky..
Me: No thanks. I already got myself insured.
Guy: Sir, but this offer..
Me: So, are you from Citibank?
Guy: No sir, I’m from ‘some-fuck-who-gives-a-shit’ marketing company. I’m calling on behalf of Citibank, we are authorized to..
Me: Are you from Birla?
Guy: No sir, as I said, I’m from ‘some-fuck-who….
Me: Then you are not from Citibank and you aren’t from Birla either.
Guy: Sir but our company..
Me: Wait, I’m too busy right now, speak to my assitant.

Enter into the scene Mukesh Mukhi. Also known as Mukesh, Mukhi, Babu and Anna. But most of the time referred to as Mukhi or Babu. Mukhi wasn’t on the trip due to health reasons, so he shall not be documented in detail.

Me: Babu!
Mukhi: Cheppu Babu. Wassup?
Me: Phone Babu. Some Citibank poser. Selling me some shit. Insurance I think.

Mukhi puts his hand out. My phone flies across a couple of cubicles and lands into Mukhi’s hand.

Mukhi: Helllaaaa.
Guy: Sir, am I speaking to Mr. Lowaal Bear-nard Dejuja?
Mukhi: Noooooooo. But why are you calling sir?
Guy: Sir, I’m speaking on behalf of Citibank sir.
Mukhi: But why are you calling everyday and disturbing sir? Sir is a very busy person.
Guy: No sir, I don’t call everyday.
Mukhi: Now you are lying. Everyday you call and say you are from Citibank and asking to buy credit cards, insurance, car, house loans, etc.
Guy: No sir, I’m speaking on behalf of Citibank..
Mukhi: Oh! So you are not from Citibank!
Guy: No sir, behalf sir.
Mukhi: What is this behalf? Can you explain?
Guy: Sir, our company is an authorized marking company for Citibank sir.
Mukhi: But you told sir that you are selling some Birla insurance. Are you from Birla?
Guy: No sir, behalf. We are authorized to..

Just then Vignesh passes by. Mukhi signals to him and calls him to his desk.

Mukhi: Where are you calling from?
Guy: Chennai sir.
Mukhi: Ah, Chennai. So you must be knowing how to speak Chennai right?
Guy: Sorry sir?
Mukhi: Chennai people, you speak Chennai right?
Guy: Sir, I ‘am’ from Chennai.
Mukhi: Yes, I know. That language, ah, Tamil, you speak tamil right.
Guy: Yes, sir. I speak tamil sir.
Mukhi: Ah nice. I got my tamil friend here, speak to him. He will know what you are saying.

Mukhi hands the phone over to Vignesh who starts some inga inga illa iila. He goes on to ask the guy why he keeps calling me. The guy is in tears by the end of the conversation. We felt bad for him. But at the same time, screw him. If they don’t understand the meaning of “No, I’m not interested” then to hell with them.

I look at the clock. The conversation did not eat more than 7 minutes of the long wait. Forever felt like forever++. I put my head onto my desk and sleep.

We also had some crazy discussions like who was the  real saviour. Jesus, Hanuman or Mohammed? The great Buddha also became a serious contestant after learning that most of the people on the north are buddhist. Lots of content from this discussions shall remain classified. We even tried to convert Rahul into following Christianity, but he was too attached to Hinduism and did not cave in to our pressure. Having two Roman Catholics and one Protestant, we even thought of a mass conversion and building churches. But that never kicked off.

We saw Pakistan, hot chicks, met Minissha Lamba and some gay actor who’s name I can’t recollect. Almost got killed by a crazy driver (but later realized that Rahul maybe on dope) and almost skid off cliffs on multiple occasions. Got caught in heavy rain, hail and snow in a matter of hours. Ate some stuff that tossed everyone’s stomachs. Rode up and down one of the highest motorable roads in the world, almost froze to death, got punctured tires, trekked for hours and hours together. We even saw some breathtaking landscape, stayed on private boat house, had a dedicated butler, got stuck in some violence in Srinagar and survived. Collectively clicked more that five thousand photographs, had fun and loads of more stuff.

And here my friends, is a documentation of the trip up north!

Part 1: The Cast

We shall begin with the brainchild behind this trip. The one and only John Paul Sankardhas.

You don’t mess with the John Paul. The man hails from the army. His father is the Major Superior General Something Something Big Man in the Army fellow. Basically John Paul sh*ts in his pants whenever his father comes home. Having spent his entire childhood loitering around the hills of North East India, this man was nick named ‘Ibex’ after displaying immense hiking skills on a previous trip to the Himalayas. John Paul takes the final call on disputes during trips. Also, it has been noticed that the women have some kinda fetish for the fellow. In this documentation, we shall refer to him as Johnny, John, Baap, Saale, mallu f*cker, etc. You get the drift.

Next on the list is the machaan from Chennai, Vignesh Anand.

The Machaan is known for his fetish of bikes. Show him something that has a motor, a chain, two wheels and a petrol tank, and he will shut down mating season to ride it. The man is is denial about Tamil Nadu being part of India. Well I can’t blame him for that. He got a bad reputation as far as stamina was concerned, but little did we know that on this trip he would go on to surprise us all. He is also known as the poser, coz he poses for all photographs. But I now think its just a tamil thing and not really his fault. Machaan, will be referred to as Machaan, Vignesh or Vig.

Third in row, the paranoid f*cker, Rahul Rishi.

The other poser. My theory of tamil boys being posers was at stake after this guy start asking me to click his photos. Anyway, the man is from the really screwed up state in India, politically known as Uttar Pradesh. Which is now being split into like 800 parts. Yes, that state where murder is cool and robbery is a family past time. His presence is always appreciated, especially as we are kept entertained non stop. His negotiation skills are really good and his paranoia sometimes reaches to an extent such that everyone around him appears to be murderers and hardcore criminals. He shall be referred to as Rahul, Bosad, Saale, Ch**tya or Rishi.

Number four. The Good Boy. Daniel Peddity.

The above photo was clicked at the start of the trip, when we were in Delhi. It speaks a lot. Daniel Peddity, our nice holy boy, wasn’t too excited about the trip. Right here he was thinking, “Muskit Muskit, safety safety”. It took a lot of convincing, abusing and some pressure from his better half to get him to say yes. Now this is the one person who we did not want dead on the trip. A lot of people depends on the young man. His Church would have to shut down if he died, I am not kidding. When you get a phone call from your Pastor, who is half way down the nation, on why you haven’t come to Church, you ought to be someone important. His hands are gifted. Yes, only the hands. Counter strike champ. Plays the guitar, drums, piano, TT, chess and can basically do anything with his hands. More about him in detail later. Daniel will be referred to as Danny, Dan, Peddity, Peddity Bhai, Satan, Soitan, Muskit and Daniel.

Fifth on the list. Another machaan named Maruthi Raj Manivannan.

This man, I met him for the first time. He is a friend of the original machaan, Vignesh. Besides that, I did not know who he was, I did not know what he did or who he did, but all I knew was that he was Maruthi. He would also land up playing a vital role in reinforcing my theory that all tamil boys are posers when it comes to photographs. Now since I don’t know him too well and he is not within punching distance, I shall not abuse him that much. He is referred to as Maru or Maruthi.

Sixth. Anand Narayanmurthy. No I don’t know if he has a Facebook profile.

This man, yes he sealed my theory on the tamil boy poser thing. He is another friend of Machaan and I did not know him before the trip. He also shall not be abused brutally. He will be referred to as Sharja (no don’t ask me from where that name came), Anand or Sarjah.

And last, Me. Lovell D’souza.

Foul mouthed Goan guy. I’m also in denial when we say Goa is part of India. Clicked like three thousand photos and annoyed everyone with the shutter sound. My role was to throw around 200 highly abusive and sensitive questions to Danny in order to get him to abuse, but failed. I abused Rahul at times too. I documented the trip by clicking photographs, taking GPS readings, recording the paths we trekked and  making candid audio and video recordings. I shall be referred to as Me or I.

And that is the cast. The seven of us who went out to explore the great state of Jammu and Kashmir. Not knowing if we would come back alive. But knowing one thing, that Danny would surely come back alive and would tell the world what brave people we were and what great adventures we went on. The trip up north begins!

Update: Part2: The Dying Sequence is now up.

Now to what happened.

I wake up in the morning, actually it was more like an afternoon. But on a Saturday, my morning begins post noon. The guy who takes care of the house was in our balcony. This guy is also the laundry man of the colony, and he uses our terrace to dry his clothes sometimes. We are cool with that as long as there is someone to keep an eye on our place so that robbers and murderers stay away. And, the terrace is huge, so we don’t really have to look at someone else’s underwear hanging around. I don’t really know this guy’s name, so lets call him Appa.

Appa greets me can calls me sahib  (thats like ‘sir’ in hindi). I feel good. My morale is boosted. Alright!

Appa: You guys came pretty late last night. Wasn’t it around like 2 am?
Me: Yeah we did come late.
Appa: Had to work overtime I guess.
Me: Yeah, theres a lot of work. (If only he knew what bad people we were, he would stop hanging the clothes on our terrace).
Appa: I was ironing clothes late into the night. Even I have a lot of work nowadays.
Me: Yeah I noticed you. (Sh*t suddenly he makes me feel so bad).
Appa: You guys were awake even after that, I saw your balcony light on.
Me (F*ck, hope he did not see how we disposed the bodies): Ya, there was a dead cat here and two dead mice too. We were disposing the bodies.
Appa: What? Only one cat?
Me (Holy mother of the Phantom): What? There are more dead cats here???!!!
Appa: Yes.

Appa walks to a small cemented block in which our water meter takes shelter and points to it. And there lay another dead feline. It’s body under the meter, with one paw on top of the meter and another pointing towards the North Pole I guess. It had bled through the nose, all the blood dried by now. Disgusting sight. Well, not really that disgusting, but disgusting to some extent nevertheless. Appa puts his hand into the  water meter compartment, finds the tail of the cat and tugs on it. It does not budge a bit. Must have died last night and it’s body had become stiff. Appa gives another hard tug and manages to get the dead cat out. It’s body had taken a very weird indescribable  shape. He carries it to our gate, and in one smooth swing of the arm, he flings it in to the dumping area we used the previous night. Blood drops from the cats nostrils flew into the air and went splat on the cemented road outside.

The second dead cat was disposed. Let me stress on one point. The manner in which we disposed the bodies the previous night was much more respectful. Something just short of a 21 gun salute.

Appa: Ah, that was that.
Me: What happened? How come so many dead animals in our balcony suddenly? Is the house haunted? I bet it is! No wonder the landlord gave it to us for such a low price.
Appa: No sahib, no no! This house is not haunted. It is the best house in the colony.
Me: Then what happened here?
Appa: Well yesterday just before Vignesh sahib could come some cats were fighting. One male cat came and started fight. It must have killed the two cats. Lots of noise sahib. Even the ladies next door came to watch what was going on.
Me: They came to watch? Couldn’t they shoo the cats away?
Appa: What to do sahib? I am only a laundry man, if I tell them what to do, they will stop giving their clothes to me. The cats were fighting for quite a while. I think the male cat killed the other cats. The mother cat is still somewhere around.
Me: Hmm, that’s disgusting. Male cats tend to kill kittens which are not theirs, and are in their territory.

Appa leaves and then I start to put all the pieces together. Two dead cats, two dead mice. Mother cat alive. Male cat killed the cats. Cashew nuts. White liquid out of the first cats mouth. A paranoid Vignesh.

Okay, so here is what might have happened that gory night.
Mother cat and her two kid cats must have come across the two dead mice or must have caught and killed them. The mice must have been poisoned by our crazy neighbor, surely. Kid cats must’ve been enjoying the evening snack and spending some quality time with mother cat. Male cat arrives and realized that those two kid cats are not his. All hell breaks lose. Male cat starts a fight. Mother cat starts to defend the kid cats. One kid cat runs and hides under the water meter. Male cat grabs hold of the first kid cat’s neck. Mother who is not as big and strong as male cat is not able to defend her kid cat or do anything. Male cat’s jaw are too strong for the kid cat’s neck. Kid cat starts to choke. Male cat shifts his attention to the other kid cat. He grabs hold if its next and chokes it to death. The second kid cat dies under the water meter. Male cat for some reason decides to leave. The first kid cat chokes to death slowly. The poison from the mouse starts to take it’s effect too. Vignesh comes home to see the mess of a murder. Panics and calls me. I’m too engrossed with the glass of rum in front of me. I talk him into coming to Club 8 and drinking too, not knowing how bad the situation was. Vignesh, with his fetish for alcohol, caves in and comes to Club 8. Somewhere between then and 2 am, the first kid cat dies. Two mice and two cats are left dead.

Case solved.

And, here are photos of Dead Mouse #1, Dead Mouse #2 and Dead Cat #1. The photographs are blurred, but if you are one of those people who go eeeeeewwww for no reason at all, then you are warned.

My phone buzzes.

Vignesh: Dude, there’s a cat in our balcony and I think it’s dying. Where are you?
Me (in my head): F*ck you man. Kill it. Make the weight on Mother Earth less by a few kilos.
Me (in reality): I’m at Club 8 man.

Club 8
The place everyone loves to hate. Nothing fancy about this place, just that play some good metal numbers and it’s shady to some extent. The pros: They play stuff like RATM, Nirvana, etc. Bad @$$ pro: Very, very close to our house. The cons: No chicks. Real bad @$$ con: Some Telugu annas sometimes start to dance. Really freaky, but very amusing. Lets leave the cons aside, coz anyway we just go there to abuse and have drinks with some good people.

Vignesh: You there?
Me: Yeah man.
Vignesh: What should I do? It’s breathing hard man. I think it’s gonna die soon.

Now you’d be wondering, why the hell does Vignesh have to call me to save a dying cat? Well to add some context, I’ve been the proud master of a female cat named Tommy and I was expected to play Superman in this situation.

Me: Give it some water. Or, just give it a slight tap on the back man.
Vignesh: Tried that, nothings happening. Actually, I was moving the bike back, but it was wasn’t budging, and then I realized the cat was behind the tire. I think I must’ve hurt it.

(Aha!!! Murderer!!!!!!!!)

Me: No man, don’t worry, the cat would’ve ran away the moment you touched the bike.
Vignesh: But what to do? It’s gonna die any moment! There are some cashew nuts in the house. Should I give it cashew nuts?
Me: I don’t think it’s gonna eat cashew nuts, but yeah you can give it some.
Vignesh: I’ll do that. But I really think it’s gonna die. What should I do.
Me: Come to Club 8, lets drink. The cat will probably go after a while.
Vignesh: Ok, I’m on my way.

Three minutes later he is at Club 8 and the drinks are on. Cheers!
From Club 8 we landed up at a colleagues place, indulged in some anti-social activities and once we were done we decided to head home around 2 am.

Open the main gate and, f*ck! Dead cat. Sh*t, f*ck this cat, couldn’t it have utilized the other 8 lives that it had or gone somewhere else and died? Bl**dy dead cat. Son of a b*tch cat.

So I go in an turn on the balcony light, and voila! Two dead mice on either side of the dead feline.

The badly screwed up crime scene
The dead cat was in the middle of the of the balcony. Near it’s mouth lay some cashew nuts. Yeah, cats don’t like ‘em nuts imported from Goa I guess. It’s neck had some puncture marks, but there was this liquid that had flown out of it’s mouth. But hard to say weather it had choked or it was poisoned. On it’s right, just at the foot of the stairs that lead to the terrace, was a dead mouse.

Dead mouse #1 looked like it had been choked and had it’s neck broken. It’s body was intact and in one piece, but yet it looked disgusting.

Dead mouse #2 was on the other side of the cat. This was one badly mutilated body. All that was left of it was its head, the backbone and the rear end of it’s body torn in a manner such that it was inside-out with the legs and tail facing the back of the skull. Very disgusting, hard to explain.

Vignesh: How do we dispose this stuff?
Me: Hmm.. dunno man. I think I’m high, lets do it tonight itself, else tomorrow morning when I wake up I won’t be able to do nothing.
Vignesh: Maybe we should toss a coin and the loser cleans the mess.
Me: Yeah amazing plan! Nobel award winning material you are. F*ck your plan, I’m going and getting a stick or something and we shall fling it out.

The front side of House #48, Hanuman Nagar Colony, faces an open deserted area, dedicated to disposal of waste by all the people of the colony. It also serves as a dumping spot for carcasses, and tonight we were gonna put it to some good use!

I walk around bout can’t find a stick. Just then my eyes fall upon a… oh wait, the manner in which we disposed the bodies would be considered ‘inhumane’ by a lot of people. Keeping that in mind I shall not document it. Lets just say that the 3 carcasses made it’s way into the deserted area with respect and some skills that would make Tiger Wood smile with appreciation.

Me: Alright, cool work man, high five!
Vignesh: Yeah, thank God. Hope I don’t get any nightmare with cats tonight.
Me: Screw the cats man.
Vignesh: Why do you abuse so much?
Me: Screw you too.
Vignesh: Goodnight machaan.
Me: Yeah.

And with that, the Tamil boy and the Goan boy go to their respective room and sleep.

What had happened that led to the death of the cat and mice? Was it Vignesh who ran over the cat with the bike? Was Vignesh the murderer? Why was it mentioned that there were two dead cats, but only one accounted for? How did this all happen? Will the readers get to see photos of the crime scene? Is Shiney Ahuja really ‘Bhai’-sexual?

For these answers, stay tuned for the next blog post! :D

Update: The Murder Mystery Solved is now up.

Mr. Newman Fernandes was the principal of St. Xavier’s College, Mapusa, Goa while I was there from 2002 to 2005. I by no means want to attack or ridicule him but I just want people like him to know that his actions are not justified.

Let me begin with the part when I hit puberty and then started to grow a beard. Yes, suddenly the face started to fill up with lots of hair and I for some reason (mostly and maybe because I was a metal fan) though that it was really cool. Well, to set the record straight, I still think beards are cool. If Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni and Tom Araya could keep a beard, then so could Lovell D’souza!

Newman for some reason never kept a beard. And I, being a nice student of the institution, for some reason never asked him why. I could have just walked up to him on any given day and ask him, “Sir, Michelangelo had a beard, but where is yours?” Well I never did that. But one fine day, I’m standing outside the St. Xavier’s college canteen gate, quietly sipping on my cup of tea, checking out all the hot chicks that made it to the institution. When suddenly this hand grabs hold of my beard. Well guess who zeroed in on me. The principal was standing there with my beard in his hand while time froze for a few seconds till I could recollect what exactly was happening. My brain over-clocked trying to recollect what nonsense I might have done in the past few days.

• Broke college property? – No.
• Abused someone verbally? – No.
• Came smelling of smoke for practical sessions? – Maybe.
• Caught screwing around with some girl in college? – In my dreams, Yes. In college, No.
• Faked lab reading and staged experiments? Yes.

Sh*t. This guy is the principal. And right now I’m so screwed. Before I could give him the “WTF” look he said, “You fellow, where do you think you are come? This is an educational institution this is not the way you come to college!” Ok, so I was wearing some real dirty  jeans, must have had some metal band black t-shirt on by default, but surely I wore a clean underwear. And then he lets me know, “You are growing this beard for what? Is this some new fashion? You think anyone will give you a job with that beard? You give me your I-card.” Ah, the classic statement – “You give me your I-card.” “Tomorrow come to my office first thing in the morning and show me if you have a chin and then you can take your I-card back.”

“F*ck you man, I don’t give sh*t”, that’s what I thought. :) But I just said, “Ok, Sir” and he left. You don’t mess with the head of the institution when your career is in his hands. So there went my I-card, “Lovell B Q D’souza, SYBSc” up with the man to his office into the box of blacklisted students. The disgrace of the college would be collected in a box in his office. Well that was that.

I walked up to my cousin Ryan D’souza who saw all this happening and was enjoying all of it. Nothing like amusing yourself at someone else’s cost. I was like, “He told me to shave my beard.” Ryan, “Tell him you have some sickness and you can’t”. Me, “duh!”

Part two: The Psycho relatives.

Now if you stay in a village with all your relatives being your neighbors, life can be bliss, life can be a sh*t hole. I had my share of both. Till today I find my relatives very amusing. Yes, somehow I find their conversations very funny, not that because they crack god jokes, mainly because they talk sh*t most of the time.

Some relative to my mom, “Is you son sick? Why is he so thin? Hope he is not doing anything bad you know.. like ‘bad’. May be he is in bad company. And what’s that? No one in ‘our family’ keeps beards. What is this rubbish?”

Me (in my head), “Well f*ck you!”

First of all I wasn’t sick. Yes, I would get the occasional fever and I still get it now. Thin? WTF? I always though I was on the heavier side. By ‘bad’ I assume they were referring to sex, drugs and booze. Well the answer is no. Bad company, well maybe yes, but I don’t regret any of the nonsense I’ve done in life. You f*ckers, the so called ‘bad company’, you know who are, you guys rock! And, who the f*ck defines which family gets to keep beards and which family doesn’t?

Back to the beard.

So I sadly cut off my maybe four inch long beard with a scissors that might have never been used again. Then the rest of the remaining hair got shaved off. Next in line was some amount of Pop’s Original Old Spice after shave. That stuff burns, especially if you’ve shaved after months.

The next morning I’m back in college, standing there at the college canteen gate, like a rape victim. Feeling the cold morning breeze hit my chin. No a good feeling at all. I get a few stares from some people who see my face for the first time since they ever joined college. My friends laugh at my baby face look. We exchange a few set of highly sophisticated abuses and have a good laugh.

I walk up the stairs to that dreaded room labelled “Principal’s Office”. I step in and Mr. Newman Fernandes gives me a big smile. I give him a big smile too, more out of sarcasm. He runs through the content of the box, locates my I-card and hands it over to me. I get to walk free. I give him a nice, “Thank you, Sir” and I carry on with life.

Well Newman, now this part is for you.

Two of my other friends and I wrote the final year exams with our beards, nailed the exams with our beards, gold plated you and the name of our college (when we secured the highest number of distinctions ever), with our beards. We walked up and collected our certificates from you, with our beards.

I got a job, with my beard. I interviewed for one the biggest company in the world, with my beard. The guy who interviewed me had a beard. I got the job, with my beard. I proudly took my beard along with me on my first day, and my I-card also has a photo of me with my beard. And, till today as I type this I have my beard.

So next time, any of you fools out there ever discriminate a young guy because he has a beard think twice.

PS: Please do not leave any comments targeting Newman directly (I shall delete those). He’s a nice guy, but stereotypes too much. Let him live his life. But yes, you can post politically correct comments.

Power to the beards!

Yes, our insane blogging community had kinda died. Of course those lousy ones are still out there, but the class of an ass in the lions hide has deceived us for a while now.

Then I have the sad moron who I share half a cubicle with, yes our very own Koti Ivaturi who started some crap called Biztrivia and turns to me and goes, “Dude, read my blog”. I’m like, “Wtf, you expect me to read that crap”. And then we indulge in some verbal profanity and get back to work.

Then there is myself who bought myself a not so new toy. The Canon EOS 1000D. Yeah, the cheapest in the EOS series. But that has made me ignore my crapsite and work on some photographs and read up on photoshop tutorials. Yes, photoshop is indeed a cool tool that rapes you computer off its RAM.

And, above all. Lets blame it on that thing they call recession. Whatever that was, I think it played it’s part in making a lot of blogs inactive.

So all I have to say now is, “Where have all the blogs gone?”.

I ask the guy at the counter, “Can I touch?”
And I touched!

Ok, enough of the soft core pornography.

The new obsession is photography.
No really, it’s new! Ok, might be a little old, but new is new!
And guess what, I’m really good at it. No seriously, I am.
If you beg to differ, you may speak to my lawyer. Yes, I have a dedicated lawyer.

All the good photographs go over here: http://click.lovelldsouza.com . All the bad photographs remain on my desktop :P

Over and out for now!