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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.

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.

The Goan Omelet Pao!

Now if you ever land to Goa, you would like to eat an omelet pao because (in order of preference)

1. It’s cheap.
2. It tastes amazing.
3. You get to meet friends.
4. Someone lands up sponsoring you omelet pao (high five!).
5. You get to check out chicks, as these omelet pao guys open shop at strategically placed junctions.

There are a variety of omelet paos that you could choose from, but I would suggest you go to the guy at the Mapusa taxi stand, not only because the stuff there tastes good, but also because that guy has employed human robots. More about them later.

Now for some omelet pao etiquette.

Rule #1: You do not, and I mean do not, eat omelet pao alone. You should always make sure you have company.

Me (on the phone): Hey, !@#$%^ lets go eat omelet pao.
Lesley (who stays like 3 kms away): Eh, wtf man, I’m watching TV. !@#$ off.
Me: !@#$ you man. Screw you. Just come. It’s on me.
Lesley: It’s the woman volleyball finals man.
Me: Screw them.
Lesley: I will.
Me: Are you coming or not?
Lesley: Parcel it and come to my place man.
Me: @!#$#(@$*#@$@#)%*&^&#(@$@#$ . !@#$ you man, I’ll eat alone. Lemme know who wins.

Srijay: Hello.
Me: !@#$%^ lets go eat omelet pao.
Srijay: !@#$ you man. I stay in Porvorim (which is like very far from where I or Lesley stays).
Me: Lesley is coming man. And we may go and play some Counter Strike too.
Srijay: Cool, I’m in. Where do we meet?
Me: Taxi stand, omelet pao.
Srijay: Okay.

Lesley: Hello.
Me: !@#$%^ I spoke to Srijay, he’s coming to Mapusa to play some Counter Striked. He said he wants to meet up and go beat some school boys in Dust 2 (a Counter Strike map).
Lesley: Where are we meeting?
Me: Taxi stand, omelet pao.
Lesley: Cool, will be there in 10 mins.

And, this is just one example on how you do not break Rule #1.

Rule #2: You always eat your omelet pao with the roas. Roas = Chicken curry.

You have the option of consuming your omelet pao without the roas, but if you are gonna do that, I suggest you’d might as well eat a newspaper. Besides, the newspaper would be 1/10 the price.

The essence of the omelet pao is lost if the curry is not allowed to create a thin slimey, juicy layer between the omelet and the pao. This being the primary tastemaker.

Thus, Rule #2 should not be broken, yet those who do so may be allowed to go unpunished.

Rule #3: Order some juice.

It should not come as a surprise that there always is a guy providing fresh juice right next to the omelet pao guy. This is the age old marketing technique that they do not teach you at MBA class. The juice guy provides the exact balance between hunger and thirst. Hunger being satisfied by the omelet, thirst being quenched by the juice. Now imagine eating a lovely omelet pao and then not having anything to drink. FAIL!

Rule #3 is not mandatory, but should be followed. So order some juice.

These are the 3 main rules that are to be adhered to when you venture out to eat your omelet pao.

Now back to the human robots. The means and speed of the delivery of you omelet pao is directly proportional to the experience of the human robots at the omelet pao stall. Older the human robot faster you get your omelet pao. Lets refer to these human robots as hubots. Hubots are of a special breed. They do not have something known as hand-eye coordination. Their eyes and hands function separately. They also use their mouths a lot primarily to pass on information from one hubot to another. They produce anywhere between 6 to 12 ready-to-consume omelet paos in a minute.

The way you acquire your omelet pao is as follows. You shout for your order. One hubot picks up the information and registers it. And signals that he has heard you and your order is on its way. What you do not notice and realize is that the rest of the hubots have also registered the same information and are already preparing your omelet pao.

The hubot precision of omelet pao preperation is unmatched. One hubot breaks a couple of eggs which land onto a massive frying pan. In seconds another hubot has had them fried. A third hubot busily cutting loaves of bread in the middle, suddenly puts his arm out with the pao, only to grab hold of an airborne omelet which slip right into the pao. This omelet pao then moves into the hand of another hubot who adds the roas and next thing you know your omelet pao is wrapped into a tissue and is handed to you by one of those mobile hubot.

The mobile hubots are the ones who make sure you enjoy your meal without having to go to the counter to place your order or have to watch the other hubots at work. The mobile hubot also get you juice from the jucie guy if required.

Next thing you do is bite into you omelet pao. Aah! Life is bliss! The Goan Omelet Pao!!!

Now you may be wondering what happened to Lesley, Srijay and me. Srijay who stays in Porvorim which is like 10 kms from Mapusa has to take one of the local buses, get down at the Mapusa bus stand and walk to the taxi stand which is right opposite the bus stand. I stay in Parra, so jump onto the so call ‘Beast of the Road’ aka the Honda Activa and ride 3 kms to the Mapusa taxi stand. Lesley, the lazy b*stard stays in Mapusa, 3 minutes away from the taxi stand. As protocol always an important part, Srijay reached first by default, I reach a few seconds after he arrives and Lesley, that moron never turns up on time.

Srijay: Where’s Lesley?
Me: Dunno man, he should be here anytime. (One mobile hubot catches my signal for two omlet paos).
Srijay (on pohone): Where the !@#$ are you man?
Lesley: Ah, I’ll leave now.
Me: He just left right? (Sirjay nods, our omelet paos are in our hands by now).

Lesley decides to show up after 3 minutes. On an average 30 omelet paos must have been produced by now.

Lesley (to Srijay): !@#$%^ what do you wanna game suddenly?
Srijay: Me? You are the one who came up with the idea.
Lesley: B*lls.
Me: Hey looks, hot chick man. Looks known, must be our junior.
Srijay: !@#$ you man, you are paying for our omelet paos.

Amen. Goan Omelet Paos!!!

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!