My grandfather was a lawyer, who went by the oxymoronic name-title amalgam of Sharif Wakil. But in the days of yore when Persian was the official language of the courts (Grandpa was fluent in it) his profession was a reflection of his name. Practicing at the courts in Dapoli meant a seventeen kilometer journey each way from his house in Furus. For ( Read more... )

Late evening, and the highway could not live up to its name. It was clogged with those huge 12 seater cars with 3 people inside, the smaller autorickshaws with their unheeded shrill breeeeps and the little tiddly motorcycles making their way through like pee down a rough wall. The BEST had done everyone a favour by calling off the strike and ( Read more... )

For all the malchicks and the devotchkas who have been demanding another belteshaazar horrorshow from this droog can finally stop waving their yabzicks..No more tolchocking around the bushes, no more peeting endless cuppas of chais and no more rot revealin zoobies and govoreeting excuses ( Read more... )

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The holler about censored Chinese Internet- is an absurd crusade trying to express shock at how no one in China is allowed to know about the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Retort: do you really need a google-china to erase memories? Look, the Chinese people are going to remember Tiananmen regardless of governmental censorship ( Read more... )

Red and white plaid ( Read more... )

(This demonic pessimist essay was written for a contest.Obviously someone who believed in Secularism won the prize-his essay was damn good...might reconsider my depressing rant...in retrospect, this essay is flawed but am still in 7 minds about it ( Read more... )

allo, my phashunable bloody chubbywubby droogs ( Read more... )

Me and Sam decide to munch on turquoise lollipops(leechee flavor, but turquoise none the less...) on the way to the garden. I carry a grandfather umbrella that taps on the roads and suck on the lollypop at the same time ( Read more... )

Every morning when I walk from the station to college, the clean swept foot-bridge awaits me. When the sweeper is sweeping, the dust creates hues of unseen colours.And he always is scraping off the sundried spittle from the day before with his coarse broom ( Read more... )