Thursday, 26 November 2009

They were all just passing by

One fine noon, when I sit under the tree,
In my college, named W.T.F I E
Keeping out a very keen eye,
I watch, all these people pass by.

"I have the best make-up kit" girls,
hairdos with a 100 million curls,
with a record for the most insult hurls,
They were all just passing by.

I watch the Kamas and the Thamas,
and rest of the college maamas,
with their usual list of dramas,
They were all just passing by.

Famous drinkers, smokers, ones without who-who dillies,
the drooling starers, the wankers, the hilly-billies,
easy little targets for all the college bullies,
They were all just passing by.

The dopers and the junkies,
with their early morning funkies,
Just another troop of monkeys,
They were all just passing by.

One more honest pervert goes past,
with shameless lines that leave us aghast,
people with indecency unsurpassed,
They were all just passing by.

The teachers, and the "Teach-Her"s,
the flirty faculty creatures,
party poopers cum canteen squatters,
They were all just passing by.
The desperado and the "seductress",
Doubles for monsters from Lock Ness,
everyone who is trying to impress,
They were all just passing by.

The ones who think racing is cool,
"I am a racist" says one fool,
and every other kind of tool,
They were all just passing by.

The nerds with their glasses tight,
The exam dates giving them a fright,
mugging up with all their might,
They were all just passing by.

The nerdy girl with the broken back,
the useless kid who wants to hack,
a decent brain is all they lack,
Yet they were  passing by.

The noisy girl+boy gangs,
playing attention seeking pranks,
a funny mix of losers and skanks,
They were all just passing by.

And now a stanza dedicated to some mongs,
people who will take offense to this song,
diplomatic fags dunno where they belong,
They were all just passing by.

Best are the people on their own,
licking up an ice cream cone,
talking on their mobile phones,
They were all just passing by.

There is a B.E College for everyone and probably one in every kind, in WTF Institute of Engineering.

Monday, 2 November 2009

My weird neighbourhood - Top 10 characters

Since I am leaving this neighbourhood, I am feeling a bit nostalgic already. And I have decided to mention a few sweet lines about the weird characters in the neighbourhood. Maybe I will write one about my new neighbourhood soon. And since only the first character in my story reads my page, you feel free to leave comment ;)

First is DPT Shake-her!
I just picked her first because of the amusing nomenclature. DPT is known to have the only forehead visible from space.It amounts to 1/4th the total surface area of earth. It is responsible for reflecting most of the infrared radiation from the sun back to outer space, unless she is wearing a helmet. She tried to run me over with her car a few times, failed miserably.

Second is Mrs.V
She is what you call a career petty thief. Yes. Thief. A cheap one at that.
She is passionate about stealing
*left over cakes of detergent soaps.
*torn chappals that are left outside
*Even morsels of food meant for the neighbours children...
with the title track of Dhoom 2 playing in her head during every one of her skilful con jobs.
Occasionally she also makes away with some unattended 3000 in cash and gold jewellery on her lucky days.
However, all the items in this list are as real as it gets. No exaggeration here. If anyone thought stealing was cool, they must really meet Mrs.V

Initially I thought she just had some mental disorder, but later realised she was just passionate about her skills at flicking left-over cakes of soap and torn chappals etc,.

Oh, btw she is overweight. She accounts for 1/4th the total volume of earth and is also the established newspaper of the street. She has all the details about every person on the street. If some woman regularly beats up her husband, Mrs.V will know how many blows he has taken.

I had decided to award her the character of the year until I discovered ANC Yamma, her tenant.

Yo mamma..ANC Yamma!
She used to live next door until Mrs.V stole a neat 3000 from her purse one fine day, a few years ago. They evacuated in a month.
ANC Yamma was under the impression that her purpose on earth was to speak English, Albeit in the most haphazard way, and go back to where she came from. Land of the Butler English probably.

She called herself "Working ladies-u" and thought it was more important to mention in an introduction than her name itself.

"Hi, I see you just moved in here, I am working ladeesu, and you are?"

Infact, the 'working ladies' part always appeared in a conversation, however irrelevant it may be.

For example:
Aunty no 1 (Govinda for short) says: "The power cuts are so frustrating these days isnt it?"

Aunty no 2 says: "Yeah, when do you think we will get regular power ANC?"

ANC: Hmmm? No idea Im working ladeesu no!

Govinda: My friend said the it was given in the Deccan that the power issue will be resolved in a week.

Aunty no 2: Oh is it? Who gets Deccan get Deccan don't you ANC?

ANC: Uhh? Im working ladeesu no? Im hardly familiar with these housewife concepts!

Well, I guess she thought she was the next Iron lady of India or something of the sort.
Once two people of our neighbourhood were busy talking in soft tones when she nudged in between and asked with full confidence
"Talking with personal-a?"
Other hit dialogues include

"Going with temple" (To say I'm going to the temple)

"Coming to tomorrow" (To say, I'll see you again tomorrow)

She is the deserving winner of  "The Nanny of the year" award for 10th main 1st cross, door number..
Anyway, whenever she whispered, she woke us all up and when she shouted she brought a few trees down. She recently got married. She had a great pair of twins, (who were born to ANC Yamma) and she took good care of them.

The Twins
This will be short. One twin was almost blind while the other was almost deaf. Oh the kids these days!

Mr.V & Chota V

I call him pussy cat. For no particular reason. We also called him Pa Pa Pandu. But we should really call him the goat cause he married Mrs.V.
When the desperate housewives of our street set out to claim the record for "Most blows delivered to hubby", Mr.V really is at the receiving end.

Chota V:
This 2 year old kid resembles both his parents. Looks like his mum when he is flicking something and looks like his dad when he is being whooped by the girl kids of the street. Otherwise he is quite cute and cuddly.

The Mini Skirt
She claims that she got the nickname because she used to wear a lot of mini skirts. (Eww thank you for that picture I said.)
Her special super power was her ability to cry...during anything.

She cried when she was sad,
she cried when she was mad.
Where she came from,
Crying was the biggest fad.

If she had nothing to do, she would like to cry and fill up the boring gap. She was also a self confessed 'over sensitive' being. The first and only person I met who confessed to being sensitive.
She was also alien to the normal human world and normal human communication. Once when speaking to a friend, she dropped in and I asked both of them what plans they had for the next day. This happened to be on Feb 13th. My luck. In true Mafia Wars style, she asked her boyfriend to ATTACK ME for "asking her out" for Valentines day. The poor bloke..sent another poor bloke to "sort out the issue" with me. And later he ended calling me and apologised for nothing.
I wonder why I was confused for 3 days!

Oh btw, when the whole issue was resolved - she celebrated by crying.

The Tailor house
This is by far the weirdest family I have seen - ever. They claim to be animal lovers, and by what I have heard, their favourite animals are Cockroaches. Yes!!!!! Cockroaches. Funny, because the last time I checked, cockroaches were insects.

The story goes that Mrs.V had been inside their kitchen one (un)fine day. When the lady of the house opened a box of sugar to make tea/coffee for the guests, about 4-5 cockroaches ran out (probably shouting "I'm free I'm free"). And when she was done taking few teaspoons of sugar, our Tailor the Jailor 'captured' all the roaches and put them back in the box. Saying something like "Get back in there you naughty. Where do you think you are going?".

I seriously don't see how anyone can like roaches. The very sight of those wretched creatures make my stomach churn and I get a puking sensation. That's one living thing that the world can do without.

Btw, their dog sucks!

And finally, after mentioning the Top 10 weirdos of the street, I must end this write up by mentioning the weirdest and the most deserving character ever to have walked this street. It's called saving the best for the last. The person is none other than me. The whole neighbourhood was confused over what kind of a guy I was.
Half the people will swear I am the angel of the area, while the other half has put a bounty on my head. I say, its just a simple reflection of how they have treated me. The easiest way to locate our house in the street was to mention my name and "mentally disturbed" in the same sentence.

Sucks to leave this house and the people around, but all good things come to an end.


Sunday, 1 November 2009

Dad's Khat-khatiya

Have you seen my dad's noble steed?

Theoretically its a scooter. A two wheeler.

Practically, its just metallic rubble twisted and turned like a totalled car which manages to go from A to B with a lot of noise and multiple break downs. When we had moved into the neighbourhood we stay in now, people had run out of their houses screaming, the first few times my dad came home on his khat-khatiya(Christened so based on the kind of sound the machine makes when rolling). We have forgotten where the wheels are.

When the local seismograph measures a consistent 4-5 on the Richter scale, the authorities know that my dad is out on his stallion.

Dad bought it on my 11th birthday(Which means I was 10) and I didn't get to ride on it. Of course, he took every other kid in the street and also all my cousins. No, this is not a sad "Dad didn't take me for a ride" story. Its just the irony that I mentioned.

Anyway, my dad rides it at an astonishingly high speed of 0.009 KM/h. In fact, its so fast that every time he rides, there is a reverse sonic boom we have to contend with. That is, the intensity of the noise generated from the khat-khatiyan is so high that it travels one full circle around the earth and hits him from behind a few hours after he started the journey, by then, he would have travelled about 800 meters from the starting point.

At one point, we all suspected that Valentino Rossi was my dad's secret love child.

I once had him on pillions and rode at around 10 KM/h. Khat-khatiya sounded like she was breathing after centuries, but my dad almost had a heart attack. Khat-khatiya never breathed like that again.

We once put a board "Please steal me" on it and parked it in the compound with the keys in the pawn the whole night. Next morning the modified sign now read "No thanks". We thought of adding a 100 rupee note the next night, but figured he will just take the note and leave.

The scooter was supposed to be the In-thing/best technology in the market when it came out and he dished out a small fortune on it then. I still wonder why. He has dished out more than 3/4ths of the small fortune on its repairs till now.

On a good day, khat-khatiya breaks down only twice. Dad pushes the metallic rubble for about 1 KM. However, its the reason he is in such good shape. So to travel a distance of roughly 5 kilometers, he spends about 200 ML of petrol and 2 tablets of Isordil.

But everybody forgets the good things khat-khatiya has done. Where would all the mechanics/service-guys and their children go, where would they be without Khat-Khatiya who has fed them all these years? Is there no value to social service anymore?

This post is dedicated to the best Khat-Khatiya in the whole wide world, and my daddy owns it! My daddy can beat your daddy at the Super Slow-mo Championship.

ಸಿರಿಗನ್ನಡಂ ಗೆಲ್ಗೆ

\ಎಂ/ ಯೋ ಮ್ಯಾನ್ ಯೋ!! \ಎಂ/

ಕನ್ನಡ ಟೋಟಲಿ ರೂಲ್ಸ್ ಡೂಡ್... ಯೋ!

ಬಾರಿಸು ಕನ್ನಡದ ಡಿಂಡಿಮವ ;)