Religion - The pain in the wrong place




I hate festivals. There….. I said it. And now I can imagine you all giving me that infamous ‘saas-bahu-serial-SHOCKED-wala-reaction’. You know where a particular shocking expression of some hausfrau is repeated like 100 times from all the 360 angles with Taabad-tod music score in the background. But… but before you go all sanctimonious-judgy on me, just hear me out!

It all starts with “The Religion”. When one man does stupid things, its called stupidity; when millions do stupid things, its called religion. Yup stupdity. I tell you, religion’s a huge throbbing pain in the wrong place. I mean even if you choose to ignore all the hatred, the riots and going bat-crap crazy to blow up innocent humans. Every time people gather to celebrate some old-ass tradition or some hula-hoops festival, every other thing gets messed up.

Allow me to explain.

Let’s start with the “Kaanwar Yatra”, shall we? So where should I start? Okay let me tell you a bit about this Yatra. Apparently it is some sort of a build up for MahaShivratri where people in Fanta-colored clothes with decorative stuffs walk by in ants-formation to get the ganga-water. Now in one year of my pathetic existence back in Haridwar, I once got stuck in a traffic jam for over 3 hours because of this. I tell you the road was traffucked worse than that chakka-jam scene from ‘Nayak’. Now I don’t have anything against celebrating and doing stuff like walking 387654321 miles out of devotion for a bowl full of water. But man, three hours of traffic cluster-fuck was slower and frustrating than the IRCTC website on Vodafone 3G. Really, DaFaq man!

Let me not even get started with JAGRATAS. People in my neighborhood get all cranky if I play ‘Pink-Floyd’ a bit loud coz apparently it is not “music” and apparently there are some “old people on ventilators” who will just stop breathing with a single extra decibel sound. And yet they don’t blink their eyes twice before organizing a DJ Jagrata in the middle of the road blocking all kind of traffic. And then on top of it they go on playing all kind of crappy Mata remix of chutiya Bollywood songs aaaaall-night-looooong. You want to cross the road? Well boo-hoo! You can’t! Coz ugly-bald uncles and fat aunties are busy SCREAMING songs in falsetto with their lungs out. I mean, Mata-Rani is not deaf, you know. She will hear you even if you whisper the songs.

Now you might think that you know all about Holi, that there is to know about. But let me give you a news flash, my brada. It’s not what you think it is. I have read this somewhere in Vedas annotated by ‘Maharishi Makuna Hatata’ that Holi is originally derived from a Sanskrit word named ‘Asshole’ which means “Yoooo-Hooooo-I’ma-gonna-put-gulaal-in-your-mouth-Yo!,-Rip-off-your-shirt-Yo!-and-guess-what?-put-hideous-Terminator-wala-silver-paint-on-your-body-Yo!.-Now-quit-whining-like-a-baby-about-allergies,-and-be-SPARTAAAA!”. Yup, Holi is the most playful form of molestation and sexual assault, found in India. Holi somehow also means getting hit by eggs and water balloons and gobar by random drunk guys in cars and bikes that proclaim their OBC affiliation.

And at last but not the least, the king of all festivals. Nothing brings out the terrorist-aspirations in children and adults alike, like Diwali. You need to watch where you walk because you might just step into a Nazi bomb. Or you might get surprise-buttseksed by a random-ass rocket. And by the end of the evening if you still haven’t gone deaf, it will be taken care of by more Jagratas and Mata remixes.

So if you have read till here, I would like you to thank you for not bursting into a firecracker. But if you are one of those who insist on scaring the neighborhood dog just to impress the girl next door, I have one advice for you. Light one rocket up your behind and see the city with clouds from above. I am pretty sure you will find that it looks pretty without all the smoke and noise.

PS: Maybe religion is Gods typo.
PPS: I don’t know who this ‘Maharishi Makuna Hatata’ is but I’ve heard he is like awesome and intelligent and other things.


Harry Potter in a Parallel World


Once upon a time there was a little boy. His name was Harry. He lived at ‘number four of Privet Drive’ with his parents, James and Lily. The boy was small and skinny for his age. He had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses and looked like a normal kid. But he was not. To be very frank, he was a bit peculiar. Always lost in his colorful world of dreams and imagination.

Harry did not like the other kids. Mainly because he could not mingle with them and the fact, that they bullied him. You see, he had hard time speaking properly. He would with great difficulty string together words. Mostly though, he let out low rasps, was a desperate attempt to talk. So the other kids made fun of him. They called his raspy voice ‘The Snake Language’. Harry did not like the other kids at all.

So instead of playing with other kids, he would spend his time looking for ‘hidden doors and secret passages’ in old walls or chimney. And when he was not busy being Sherlock Holmes, he would sit by the window of his room observing a ‘tabby cat on the brick wall’. As time flew by, he grew lonelier and lonelier. Often he used to escape his room and hide ‘under the stairs’. He liked the compact dark place.

“He is special in his own ways”.

That’s what his parents would tell everybody. But deep down they were worried about him. And a horrific episode made things worse.

One night it was raining and thundering. A thief infiltrated their home. The masked thief got down to his business straight away. Little did he anticipate that Harry would see his silhouette on the wall! Out of the fear of monster, Harry started crying out loud. The masked thief didn't know what to do. And in the chaos he hit him hard with his torch. But James and Lily had already heard the cry. They rushed into Harry’s room and witnessed the horror. James did not need a moment’s hesitation to get on with the masked man to save his family. It was a gory tussle. Guns got out, there was blood everywhere and then it was silence. Finally ‘you know who’ was dead.

They were all safe now but the little boy was not same after that incident. Harry had a severe head injury and it had left him with ‘a scar on his forehead’. The trauma of his worst nightmare coming true, leading to all the gun-shots and the blood, caused him to loose his mind and a memory lapse. Inside his head, he had killed the ‘nose-less monster’ (masked man) but lost his parents in all the firing and blood. The last memory of him about that incident was ‘a blinding flash of green light (torch) and a burning pain on his forehead.’
Although James and Lily did everything they could, to make him remember back his memory. But he didn’t remember anything at all.

“Who are these people?” he would often wonder.

They loved him with all their heart. They bought him all sorts of toys and games. But he thought these toys were probably for their other son.
He was their only child.

He grew lonelier and stranger day by day. To encounter all the loneliness, his mind started imagining things which were not there. He was even violent now. He started throwing things at others. And hurt the neighborhood kids who bullied him earlier. Harry didn't know this though. He would see these things happening on their own. Almost like magic.

James and Lily were sad. Their efforts were failing. First, gently they tried talking Harry into not doing all these things. But when he wouldn't stop, they had to ground him and punish him for his misdeeds. They never wanted any of this. James and Lily were very sad.

But how could Harry make them understand that he is not the one doing all these things. No one understood him. He missed his dead parents now more than ever. He hated living with these distant relatives now. He wanted to run away. He felt suffocating. And the more he felt suffocating, the more things started to get out of control.

James and Lily started getting a lot of complaints now. Almost in every mail letter, issues about Harry were addressed. James tried to hide all the complaint letters from the Harry. 

They didn't want him to get more upset. But when the letters wouldn't stop coming, they finally thought best to go out for a vacation. Somewhere far-far away in some ‘blah island’.

But they knew this wasn't a permanent solution. So they consulted Dr. Albus, a famous psychiatrist, about his behavior. Dr. Albus, in his wisdom, then advised them to admit him to the ‘Hogwarts Institute for the Mentally Challenged’, so that he can be treated.

It was a very hard decision for them. Lily was devastated. But it had to be done. They celebrated his 10th birthday. And the next day institute’s Mr. Hagrid came to pick him up. Hagrid empathized with the poor couple and he was very kind to Harry.

“Come on Harry, it’s time to go.” said Hagrid with warmth in his eyes.

Harry was finally going to escape this place. He was going to a Magic school. That’s what the huge man told him. He was a wizard. Harry couldn't have been happier.





Growing Up!


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Growing up! I think growing-up has been the stupidest idea ever. Don’t you think? Now don’t get me confused with getting older. Because you can’t really help getting older. Its not an option. But growing up is. One day there you are with one hand dipped in the ice cream-cup and watching “Popeye-the Sailor Man” and the next day you are flipping through channels to find like, anything. That innocence and simplicity you had is gone! Whoosh! And with that your happiness takes the route to wonderland. I mean, I don’t wanna bum you out or something by saying out this aloud but I think a man’s happiness peaks at the age of four. Yup! We are all messed up now. Too much going on in our minds. With couple of footballs knocking up into a pair of breasts.... to .... worries and planning and all the troubles in the world. It’s a shitty-crappy-palace, our mind, I tell you.

So I liked it when I was a kid. I wish I was a little kid again... skinned knees are easier to fix than broken hearts. I remember, I used to come out of the bath and it used to be a great tussle for my mom to get me into the clothes. I used to run naked the whole house and the street with the towel tied to my neck like a superman or something. You can’t do that now! I mean, you can try. But man o man are you gonna get the looks in the market. And let’s not even speak about being tasered.

 Yeah, it was fun being a kid. 

 You know, just this other day, I was sitting in the back of our car with my little cousin. And he was all smiling and staring outside the window constantly for 15 minutes. There was nothing outside there, so I asked him, “hey there cubby, what ya thinking?” And he replied with a big smiley face, “Candy!”

Candy! Can you believe it? A kid is happy with just that thought. Tell me, when was the last time you thought about candy for 15 minutes? Huh! You can try but I promise, you won’t get far enough. Yeah let’s try it, shall we?

“Hmmm Candy … Candy …. Oh Cavity … Cavity? … Oh Doctor … No money …. Oh where am I …. Who am I ….. AM I GAY?”

And it always ends with that question. But then you see a hot girl coming across the street. You walk into a pole while staring at her and there you go. You are as straight as that pole.

Anyways, you know what else comes with growing up? Living-with-your-parents become your purgatory. Yup! Living with your parents is like Police work. It’s the long-long hours of boredom interrupted by moments of unbelievable horror in the form of yelling and screaming.

So pay heed to my unnecessarily lengthy blog post and DON'T grow-up. It’s a trap.
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