Religion: A set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, especially when considered as the creation of a supernatural agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs.

Its 5:45 p.m. I’ve had a bath, worn some decent clothes, looked out of the window and thought to myself, “Wow, what a pleasant day!” I’ve got just enough time for the 10 minute walk to Church. But then “Satan” influences me and I decide not to go, but rather write about religion and the jazz it brings with it.

25 years back on valentines day, when chicks were getting rings, and guys were getting laid, the little Lovell D’souza was baptized. He now belonged to the strongest and most powerful religious community in the world; the Roman Catholics. The same people who came to Goa around 500 years back, destroyed temples and gave the locals an option to build their churches else die had now acquired another soul. Lovell D’souza was now cleansed off original sin.

As a RC you enjoy the pleasure of seeing some nice fancy churches, hot chicks (that’s if you are in Goa), eat fancy food and a lot more. But you also land up at these strange charismatic meetings where people will start talking in tongues, acting all weird and freaking the shit out of you. As a kid, I had the great privilege of attending a lot of these meetings. There would be some dude or a priest up front screaming into the mic and going “Alleluia, Alleluia!!” and I’d be like, “What the shit!” Most of the time I’d be scared, as people were fainting, talking gibberish, getting possessed by the Holy Spirit and what not. It was like a dignified metal concert. Thank God that phase stopped. Amen!

My take on religion

I think that religion is the biggest brainwashing shit out there! I’ve said this many times and I shall say it again. Religion must have come up when some people, who had a lot of problems in life just did not know how to solve them and then decided, “Oh lets pray to the Superior Forces and all our problems will be solved”. And hence religion came into existence. All this over a period of hundred of years thereby brought upon the jazzing up of religion and people started to let their imagination run wild. Now, we all know about all the religions out there and all the nonsense rituals they have, so I shall not elaborate.

The Christians

These are people you would love to avoid. They go to church everyday, think that the Lord loves them and blah blah, but will come home and not even bother to be good to others. And, on top of this, they will judge you for not going to church and because you are not pro-religious like them. Other facts about these people are that they will come to you and convince you that the world is coming to an end and you have to join their religion to be saved and all kinda bullshit like that. Like, who the fuck cares if the world is coming to an end. You can casually let them know that you are not interested, but they will keep nagging you over a period of time till you decide to invest in that shotgun you always wanted to have. A lot of paragraphs can be dedicated to these moron, but for now each community gets just one. Yeah, don’t forget the conversions.

The Hindus

I’ve been told that Hinduism is not a religion, but a way of life. Well for now lets consider it is a religion as a lot of people believe so and I shall be with the masses for once. The Hindus have like a billion gods. They have a lot of pornographic temple carvings too. If you don’t believe me, do go to Hampi (as erotic as the name may sound, its a really nice place) and check out the temples. They are also very very very noisy. Every festival of their will be dedicated to destroying a few amps and scores of loud speakers. These people are not dangerous, but most of the time they are just irritating in the manner they communicate to their gods.

The Muslims

Now a lot of you dumb fucks will start thinking Taliban, 9/11 and 5 bearded guys running towards you with bombs stuck on their chests. Please get this picture out of your head right now. The Muslims are not violent people like the way the media projects them. Yes I do agree there are radicals (like how we RCs have the Vatican :P) but please don’t confuse the radicals with the other normal Muslims. So, the Muslims, they think that their religion is the most superior to all religions. Makes me scratch my head coz I think all religions are crap. They have this agenda that it is their responsibility to save all the kafirs and take them to heaven. According to them Jesus was not the son of God, but a servant of Allah. This statement made some of my Christan friends get upset. The Muslims pray a lot and follow the Quran like nothing else in the world is the truth.  But they make amazing Biryani and Haleem (which tastes superb when you are drunk).

More rants

So I was home a few weeks back and mentioned to my mother that I’ve been reading the Quran. She was like, “What the shit!” Well I’ve been reading it just to know what’s up with my Muslim friends, to get to know their side of the story and also coz the Bhagwat Gita is too freaking boring.

So my mom was like, “Wheres your Scapular?”.
I was like, “Er, it broke, but its there somewhere.”
“I have a new one for you.”

Now I’m back to wearing my scapular. Not just coz I wanna show off that I’m RC, but also because I think its like really sexy to wear a scapular. So now you see me wearing the scapular around my neck and notice people going, “What the fuck is that black shit?!”

The “Real” Religion

Metal!!! \m/

Long time ago, lets say around 8-9 years back, when I was in the prime of my puberty and wondering why my testicles were getting so hairy, a new religion starting to engulf my soul. It included a lot of hair (stop thinking of my testicles), a lot of beard, tattoos and a lot of screaming and growling. No I’m referring to bestiality, I’m referring to Metal. The Music. The Real Savior!

Of course over a period of time it went from the the nice commercial stuff that even the wannabes listen to, to stuff like Meshuggah that 90% of you dumb fucks don’t understand.

Metal is an acquired religion. You either get it or you don’t. I also know that almost all of you will not watch the complete video that has been posted above, but that’s alright, I’m not forcing my religion upon you.

If you land up watching the video, you will wonder why and how can I listen and watch this shit. Let me stress upon a tiny fact, that childhood trauma is the worst, and it will always come back to haunt you. Remember, I mentioned before that the charismatic meetings where like a metal concert? As a kid I heard a priest/preacher screaming into a mic. Now I hear the band’s singer doing so. As a kid I heard the hymns that I never understood. Now I hear complicated guitar riffs and time signatures that goes over my head. As a kid the preacher would suddenly go crazy. Now the singer suddenly goes crazy. As a kid I saw people faint, fall and act weird. Now I see people in moshpits, they fall, they crowd surf, they act weird. As a kid I would look around and think, “What the fuck!” Now I look around and think, “Yeah, what the fuck!”

And you think I’m not religious?

PS: Comments that directly offend any religious community will be deleted at my discretion.

I knew I shouldn’t have fallen for the old ‘get 1 ticket and get another free’ scheme. But I figured, I’d try it out anyways. Since, I would be flying to Kerala, I thought I would pay for one way and get the return free!! Woohoo! *NOT*.

I mean, I know there’s the usual fuel surcharges, pilot’s tip, tax, air-hostess MAC kit charge and all that shit, but I still thought I’d only pay half the price.

Yeah sure, who was I kidding?

As soon as I booked the ongoing ticket, I got a prompt mail from Cleartrip.

Your “Free Ticket” Coupon

Hey there! Congrats on booking your ticket with us and as we promised – here are the coupon(s) that can take you on a “free flight”!

IMPORTANT: Please read the instructions below carefully on redeeming the coupon(s) before proceeding. There are some restrictions on the usage of coupons.

This is where it starts to get messed up. I should have known when they put Free Tickets within double quotes.

Like I mentioned before, 1 way ticket costs 3k (approx) . Now the conditions stated that I should use only a Spice Jet Flight for redeeming the coupons.

Normal Flights from Hyd to Ker route is…well Hyd to Ker

BUT

Spice Jet gives me the privelge of travelling to Mumbai, get stranded in the Mumbai airport for 2 hours and then fly back to Hyderabad. Awesome! All this for Rs.18,765 only. ( I’ve always wondered why they put an only after huge amounts).

But hey! I don’t have to pay this, cos I am eligible for the “Buy 1 ticket and get a load of shit free” offer.

I now have to pay 5000 Rs only and add to that a 2 hour layover in Mumbai. Perfect! #fml

I said ‘Fuck this shit’, I’m going to get around their scheme. Since I will be going to Mumbai next month, I figured, I’d use this coupon to “redeem” my “free flight”, since there are direct flight’s from Mumbai to Hyderabad.

Guess what! I got around this shitty scheme. I now get a whole 100 Rs. off! #fml

I don’t normally do book review or things of that sort, but The Alchemist was one of those best sellers that I had heard of and I just had to read. I managed to get my hands on a nice pirated copy of it and thought to myself, ‘Now I shall read this shit and I can converse with the masses on what a great book it is.’ Or so I thought!

Now, if you are a Paulo Coelho fan, or if you are Paulo Coelho himself, you may be offended with what you are going to read next. So let me warn you, like I always do, this post may really hurt your feelings. Let me also warn you that I’m gonna save all you aspiring readers from reading the book by telling you what happens in a few paragraphs. So you may thank me at the end.

In my hand was the great book. I start reading it. Some dude staring into a lake of some sort and all that jazz. Out of this world kinda stuff. Paulo, you are bending my mind. You are awesome! The reviews said it is a book that would change my life. ‘Change my life’ it did. I almost gave up reading.

The story is about this young shepherd who takes his sheep around Spain I guess, and keeps dreaming non stop. He sees Egypt in his dream and some treasure is to be found and all that jazz. Amazing setup. Young boy, seeks glory, has sheep, ready to travel. Brilliant! Lets name him Mr. Dumb Ass. Oh wait, he is Spanish, we shall baptize him Senior Culo Tonto.

So Culo Tonto, stud man sexy Spaniard that he is, decides to go to some fancy place to sheer his sheep in front of some rich mofo and say, “Ola Senorita” to the mofo’s chica. Culo supposedly is in love with this chica. But no! He meets some smart ass old man on the way who I bet got a lot of chicas in his glory days (coz he is some kinda king), who convinces Culo to give him his sheep and says, “Go chase your dream tiger, grrrr.” And Culo was on his way. Les Pyramids, here I come. What happened to the  chica no one knows. I bet the smart ass old king kong musta shown her some shamalama ding dong and lets not go any further.

Oh yes, king kong also gave Culo a couple of his shiny nuts. He pulled em off his chest plate. Some kinda shut. I guess its some Spanish tradition or something. I don’t really know why so much fuss was made over this scene considering that those nuts were not even used anywhere in the book. Okay, they did fall a couple of times, so what?

Culo is now on his way to the great Pyramids. Ambitious dumb **** that he is, he gets robbed and decides to stay at some lousy town and work till he can make money to buy sheep. Lots goes on here. Our Culo Tonto becomes Gran Culo Tonto and somehow he and this shopkeeper make some monies and Culo is back on track.

Culo then thinks, screw these sheep. I’m going to Les Pyramids! He now has to cross the desert. Which is a long boring journey with other men. Like when did the Spanish men start hanging out with men? Somewhere here I think I thought of committing suicide, but no! I had to read the book! It was going to change my life. I bet the life changing scene would be at the end. So read I did.

Somewhere and somehow all these men land up at an oasis. And voila what do they find? Chica #2 (and dates and water too). Chica #2 is equally dumb as Culo. We shall get back to her in a moment. Now everyone is chilling at the oasis, you know, smoking up their weed, abusing in Arabic, having a good time while doing their own shit. Until Culo decides to take a walk and sees two hawks flying in the sky. One hawk kills the other and Culo goes psycho. He tells the dude who runs the show at the oasis that they are gonna be attacked. Like who gives a shit in the first place?!

Chica #2. She comes to know that Culo is going see Les Pyramids and gets all senti. But says that she is a ‘woman of the desert’ and she will wait for him. Like yeah right. She gets all upset and watches him leave.

On the way to Les Pyramids, Culo (and his friend, some Alchemist guy) get robbed by some bad men. Who make Culo talk to the wind and the sun. Real dumb scene this was. Like I pushed my imagination to the limit but still could not figure out what problem the sun had with the wind. But the two were like having this face off in the middle of the desert (like its not already hot enough) and then Culo is the stud man again.

Back to seeing Les Pyramids!

So stud man Culo the Spaniard is back with his Alchemist friend and the two are en route. But Alchemist dude suddenly decides to pull back and like as though it was some kinda movie scene, he lets Culo go on alone from now on. So our man is now almost near Les Pyramids, he sees them and then starts digging a hole. And… and… and.. tada!!! He gets mugged. And for the third time Culo the dumb ass gets robbed. Oh, and if I forgot to mention, he did not find any treasure.

He comes back to Spain, to the spot where he had the dream and finds some stash there. Amen. Life changing book!! My culata!

Oh and Culo is an Alchemist to.

Somebody stab me for Christ’s sake!!

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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Now that age old question might have propped up by now, who the hell blogs at a wedding? The answer is me.

Now lets document the crap.

First on the list are the people, the crowd, the guests. The card says the reception will start at 7.30 pm, it’s 9pm now and there is no sign of any activity. The guests is the major factor that screws up weddings. My piece of advise to you would be, “when you get married, Fuck the Guests”. If they don’t turn up on time, fuck them, let them make their own snacks. So, fuck the guests.

Next in the line of morons are the wedding couple. These two are the biggest nuts of the night. They don’t realize it is their special day. The fucking fools sit in the car waiting for the guests to turn up. I don’t understand this nonsense. I think it is a trend now, which couple can set the longest guest wait record.

Just picture this.
Couple #1: We waited for 4 hours till the guests showed up.
Couple #2: We waited three days, and then decided to postpone our wedding.

Like who the fuck needs guests to get married?

Once again, as I said, fuck the guests.

Up next. The Ugly Fucking.
Now I don’t mean to be rude here, I know there are a lot of you ugly people out there and I don’t have a problem with you being ugly. The ugly fuckling are those people who are ugly and dress up like they are the hottest piece of shit around. This stuff is though to document. I don’t want to hurt my people here, yes you ugly people, you are all my people. Well the ugly fuckling is that one who tries to hard but grasses me out. I mean like seriously, if I see you ugly fuckling first thing in the morning, I will fucking shit I’m my pants, puke and go into a coma. My advise for you guys is to go some place far, away from society, and die.

Next. The kids.
All the kids at weddings. Well, all, and I mean ALL of them are freaking retards. The should die too. They chase confetti and run around. Makes me wonder whether they had the zygote fused with some some animal DNA.

Father: Hey baby, my soldiers, when they all swim to your castle, well only one soldier will make it in. Was thinking if you’d like to have a lion soldier invade your castle too?
Mother: Oh sweetheart that would be awesome.

Too bad the lady at the sperm bank gave them a pig soldier and now the fucking kid is rolling on the dance floor squealing like a wild piglet.

Shoot the kids.

The biggest pain in the ass next is the MC. The so called Master of Ceremonies. I really don’t know what MC stands for. As my good friend from UP would put it, I think MC in this case would be MadarChood.

The fucker is paid to talk shit. Like “ladies and gentlemen I’d like you to now kick me in the nuts and tell me what a wonder experience it is”. Woohoo, fuck you MC. Hope you choke to death.

Now for the ‘Best Man’.
No the best man is not the groom. Yes I’m confused too. Like who the fuck came up with term best man. Yeah like steal the grooms thunder. He’s now married and gonna get fucked anyway, lets fuck him a little more and call that ugly fucker by his side the ‘Best Man’. The best man should die.

Oh fuck no! The toast master is gonna start. This role should be killed from weddings. If anyone can fuck the MC then it’s the toast master. When the battle of bullshit, as far as words are concerned, starts, these two lock horns. Thwarted toast master is just one of those useless people who make you wonder, who the hell wants to hear his crap. Just show me the food and the booze. They will talk about how the grooms is such a nice boy, MBA, PHD earns a million a week. And then he will talk about how the bride is a talented young piece of shit and done her MBA and then decided to fuck her career and put her certificate on the wall instead and stare at it when she needs to reach her orgasm. Fuck the toast master, he is making me a bad person.

Don’t kill the toast master, kill the role. Save all brides from screwing with certificates in their heads.

I need some booze, where is the fucking bar?! Ah Yes,m Old Monk!! Now on with the post.

Next. The wedding march. This should be renamed to the death march. Have you ever seen prisoners lined up and walking? Well at least the prisoners are upbeat. The wedding march is like a death march.

Ah this Old Monk tastes so good. Screw this post. Old Monk I’m coming back to you..

Posted by Wordmobi

And yes, screw the new year. I know all you jackasses are like “yay, it’s the new year.” But seriously, screw that. It’s just another year, so face that.

Over and out for now.

Posted by Wordmobi

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.

Part 2
In office one morning. At Johnny’s desk.

Me: Danny is coming for the trip.
John: What? F*cker are you serious?
Me: Ya, f*cker. Why the f*ck would I joke for no reason?
John: F*ck.

Eight heads pop over to the cubicles and give us blank stares.

Me: Not so loud man.
John: F*ck them!
Me: Vignesh called him from the US. Threw some senti dialogue and convinced him. Said something something, Jesus something, you have to come something. Basically he is coming and I’m gonna book his ticket right now.
John: Awesome news man. But I think he will ditch us at the last moment.
Me: He can’t man. F*ck him. His wife said to take him and show him the world. Said he is a boring fellow and he needs a holiday. So we have her green signal too.
John: F*cker, what if he dies on the trip? Who will take care of his kids?

Time for some context. Danny’s wife is actually his fiancee. And they do not have kids. John Paul’s and my conversations are always over exaggerated and we make things sound like the end of the world is near.

Me: F*ck his kids man. I mentioned that Danny could die, she said “Danny can’t die” and that Jesus will keep him alive.
John: Ch**tye he is not even married.
Me: Yeah, screw all that man. He wont die. Jesus will save him.

‘Jesus does not exist. Hanuman is the real God’, shouts Rahul from nowhere. He joins us at John Paul’s desk.

John: Abbey saale, we are both Roman Catholics here, we will convert you and your whole family!
Rahul: Hahahaha, Mayawati will convert you guys as soon as you reach UP man.
Me: Lets take a fire truck to his house and spray his whole family with holy water.
Rahul: Abbey, teri behaan ki…..
John: Okay, okay, Important news here. Danny is joining us for the trip.
Rahul: Dude, that is such awesome news dude!
Me: Yeah, f*ck that sh*t.

Danny arrives and place his bag at his desk.  He puts each and every strand of hair in place and starts walking towards us. All the ladies stop what they are doing, time slows down and then you hear a collective siiiigghhhh. Danny joins us. The ladies resume work.

Rahul: Dude, I heard you are coming for the trip. This is such awesome news man!
Danny: Arrey, what da. I don’t know man. I’ll decide today and let you know.
Me: F*ck you man. Lets go my desk and book the tickets.
Danny: We shall book it later man, I’m not sure.
Me: Suck my c*ck, motherf*cker, f*ck your sh*t and just come to my desk and we will book the f*cking ticket, b*stard.
Danny: Arrey.. but..
John: Ch**tye, just book the tickets and you can decide later.
Rahul: Dude, book it man, this is awesome dude! Don’t worry Jejus will protect you.

More context. We weren’t just seven of us. There was actually eight. The last person on the trip was Jesus.

This is not a joke, nor is it supposed to be any kind of mockery. Yes, Jesus was on this trip too. Little did we know that He would be playing an important role in the trip later on. Jesus will be referred to as Jesus or Jejus.

We all leave to our respective desks. Johnny unlocks his computer and resumes chatting with eight women, yawns, scratches his head and resumes consuming his cornflakes.

Me: What’s your problem man? Too much fuss. Just shut up and come for the trip else f*ck off.
Danny: Hehehe, what are you saying man?
Me: F*ck you come to my desk, lets book the tickets.
Danny: Okay.

Danny reluctantly comes over and we start the process of locating flights and in the next half hour or so the tickets were booked. Daniel Peddity was officially part of the trip. The spoilt brat who could not live without air-conditioning, fresh water or toilet paper was now in for the trip of his life.

Me: Now you are in.
Danny: I can cancel the tickets man.
Me: F*ck your cancellation. If you even think of that I’ll get some 400 horny hairy f*ckers from Madhya Pradesh to gang rape you!
Danny: What are you saying man? Disturbed child you are. Did someone abuse you when you were a kid?
Me: My b*lls are disturbed. Now go to your desk and do some f*cking work. Ch**tya saal, talking too much for your height!

Danny laughs and goes to his desk. A days work begins.

1230 hrs IST.
John Paul’s stomach starts to growl. The smell of chicken and mutton travel from the cafeteria into Johnny’s nostrils triggering a chain of events which results in him locking his computer. Fourteen women are now left on their own. They will have to wait till Johnny comes back. Nothing stops the John Paul from satisfying his hunger.

John: Chal, lets go.
I look above my cubicle and see a hungry John Paul ready to sink his teeth into the next thing that moved provided it tasted good.
Me: Go where f*cker?
John: To the loo, to hump the guys there, ch**tya. Lets go.

I lock my computer.

Me: I don’t wanna hump any guys man. F*ck you.
John: Abbey saale, lets go eat.

I leave my cubicle and throw a drumstick at Danny (who sits diagonally opposite me). It missed his head by a few centimeters. Danny turns back all surprised.

Danny: Arrey, I could have got hurt man.
Me: F*ck  you, Jesus is protecting you. Nothing will happen. Lets go eat.

Danny locks his computer. One girl is left waiting. We head towards the urinal. More sighs are heard. The output graphs of the female members in the team take sudden dips whenever Danny is found walking around the floor. We reach the men’s room. Three of the seven sh*t compartments are occupied. We head to the urinals and relieve ourselves. A collective sigh is hear, but this time out of relief.

Me: Johnny, lets beat the sh*t out the first guy who comes out of any of these sh*t compartments.
John: Hahaha, dude, I think they are beating themselves right now.
Me: Hahahaha!
Danny: You fellows are so bad.

And saying that Danny heads off, stares into the mirror and starts adjusting every strand of hair on his head. There are times when I felt the mirror would crack after having to look at him do this at least five times a day. Johnny and I wait outside while Peddity grooms himself. He comes back out after like, forever.

Me: F*cker I hope you go bald.
Danny: Hehehe, dude what’s wrong with him?
John:  Dunno man, never really bothered to ask. But seems like he is okay. If he stops abusing then that means something must be wrong.
Me: F*ck you both, motherf*ckers. Suck my c*ck.
Danny: Disturbed child he is.

We head off to Rahul’s desk and drag him for lunch.

Rahul: Arrey, saale, kamine log, let me work man. I’ve created this awesome tool man..
Me: F*ck your tool man. Shove it up Danny’s ars* f*cker.
Rahul: Dude, what’s wrong with him?
John: F*ck him man, let go to eat and plan for the trip.

The four of us head to the cafeteria. A majority of women stop eating and stare at us.

Rahul: Dude, all the girls are staring at me.
Me: F*ck you, they are staring at me. These Hyderabadi women, they like guys with beards. So f*ck you.
John: Ah, chicken! Woohoo!! (And heads off to serve himself).

Danny adjusts his hair and puts that stray strand back in place. The place goes sigh again. In a few minutes we are done serving ourselves and head off to one corner of the cafe so that we can survey the entire floor for hot women.

Me: F*cker sit on the other side, f*cker.
Danny: Huh?
Me: B*stard, you are committed what the f*ck do you wanna check out chicks for?
Danny: Arrey, what are you saying?
John: Abbey saale, go sit on the opposite side.

Danny reluctantly goes and sits on the opposite side of the table with his back facing a freak show of colleagues. Rahul comes with his plate filled with some vegetarian nonsense.

Me: F*cker how can you eat that sh*t?
John: Ya f*cker, eat some meat.
Rahul: Oye! I’ll complain to Mayawati, she will eat you.
Danny: You guys are crazy!

John: Okay, now serious stuff alright. Just few days left for the trip. We need to plan everything and make sure nothing goes wrong.
Me: F*ck that man, lets just go all out and if we have to die then so be it.
Danny: I don’t want to die man, I have to come back and marry my girl.
Me: F*ck your girl man. No offense okay, I didn’t mean it. All respect to her, but f*ck your girl man. F*cker.
Danny: You are really disturbed man.
Me: My b*alls are disturbed.
John: Arrey, f*ckers listen to me at least.
Rahul: Dude, this paneer is awesome man. Try it!
John: Abbey, shove your paneer up your ars* f*cker, now listen to me.

We all start munching our food while Johnny takes charge of the proceedings.

John: All tickets are booked and a list has been made of what to carry so make sure not to forget anything.
Me: You know what would be really cool, getting abducted by terrorists.
Rahul: Dude, yeah man. I heard they take tourists hostage sometimes.

Danny’s face goes white. He stops eating.

Danny: You serious man? I’m not coming then.
Me: Then f*ck you.
Danny: No man, I’m serious. I don’t want to get into this terrorist nonsense.
Me: Yeah hope they catch only you and cut your b*alls and feed it to the dogs.
Danny: Dude, if there are terrorists there then I’m not coming. I’ll go cancel my tickets in the evening.
John: Arrey f*cker, you think they will be standing there with boards saying that they are terrorists?
Danny: I can’t take the risk man.
Rahul: Dude, try the palak also. Awesome food today man.
John: F*ck your veg sh*t man.
Me: Danny f*cker, don’t worry. You won’t die man.
Rahul: You have Jejus also no?
Danny: Dude, it’s Jesus man, stop making fun.
Rahul: Ah ah! Jejus for me. All same. Jejus, Hanuman, Allah, all are the same.
Me: F*cker, Allah means God.
Rahul: Same thing man.
John: F*cker chill, we are there to save you incase we are taken hostage.
Danny: I’m not coming man, that’s it!

With that Danny goes into deep though. He starts thinking of the great future that is in store. He will marry his girl. Make small Danny’s. All talented. Yes all. One will play the guitar, one the drums and the other will sing. They will start a band and form a Counter Strike team. Danny starts to wonder why one of his son has a beard.

Me: Screw that, Johnny just think man, we are taken hostage and then the terrorists ask the government for a ransom. All the media coverage and in between we kill the terrorists man. We will become stars man. Chicks will dig us.
John: No man. What terrorists f*cker? If I got to die, I want to die after fighting a tiger man. Imagine a tiger comes and attacks us. I start to fight it and save you guys, but I die in the bargain. That’s the death I want f*cker.
Me: That’s so cool man! Getting killed by a tiger. Chicks dig that kinda stuff man! You will be a hero man. Imagine all the necrophilic chicks would so want to do you man.
Danny: What rubbish you guys talk.
Rahul: Dude, paneer man. Really awesome!
Me: Abbey vegetarian go f*ck your paneer and die!

John: Danny f*cker, listen. If any of us have to die, we will die in proper order.
Me: Sounds so cool man!
John: If we are attacked, I will die first.
Me: F*ck you man, I will die first.
John: Abbey saale, we will both die first f*cker. The point is one of us will die first. Then Rahul.
Rahul: What about Vignesh and those two friends? What are their names?
Me: One’s Maruthi. God knows the other guy’s name.
John: Suzuki.
Me: It’s not Suzuki man.
John: It’s a joke f*cker!
Me: F*ck your joke.
John: So lets do one thing. Let those two f*ckers die first man. We will use them as decoys. Make them do something to distract the terrorists and die, you and I will fight and let Danny run away.
Me: F*cker but I thought that you wanted to die first. Ah, nevermind. So let those two machaan die first. What about Vignesh man?
John: Vignesh will also die man but later.
Rahul: Dude, paneer. Awesome!
Me: This f*cker. They should kill him first. I’m telling you man. They should f*cking shoot Rahul even before they take us hostage.
John: So then it’s just you, me and Danny.
Me: F*cker, we will fight man. I’m not going down without a fight. I will f*cking kill at least two terrorists man.
John: Danny, f*cker. Stop getting upset. You won’t die.
Rahul: Dude, Jejus man. Jejus will save you.
Me: F*ck you man. Johnny and I will save him.
Rahul: Even I’ll save you Danny.
John: F*cker, you are dead.
Me: My b*alls are dead, f*cker!

With that we finished out lunch. We headed out of the cafeteria. Heads turned, sighs were heard. Danny was still in shock hearing about terrorists and death.

But one thing was fixed. The Dying Sequence. Rahul would be killed even before we could be taken hostage. If the terrorists did not kill him, we would. This would be done just to keep the sanity of the terrorists in check and save us from getting killed too early. Next, Johnny and I would come up with a plan on the fly and execute it commando style. We would use Maruthi and Suzuki as decoys, make them do some sh*t and distract the terrorists. The terrorists would in turn get angry and start shooting at the two of them. Johnny and I would then put up a fight against the terrorists while we instruct Vignesh and Danny to make a dash for safety. Maruthi and Suzuki die. Johnny and I would hold the terrorists for however long it would take us until we knew that Vignesh and Danny are safe. During this stand off Johnny and I would die. The terrorists would then spot Vignesh and Danny at the horizon, just almost out of sight. They fire shots. Vig and Dan are about to fall out sight, when one bullet hits Vignesh right on the head. Tall f*cker that he is, he did not manage to clear the horizon in time. Danny survives.

Danny would go on to tell, his three songs and the world, the story of how three machaans sacrificed themselves and how two brave men stood up against the terrorists to keep him safe. Chicks dig dying brave guys!

Update: Part 3: The Day, The Wait is now up.