Just saying, no offence…butt plz don’t kill me #1

If I die young young and alone, bury me in sand so that I can feel the love walking upon me.                                                                    – @m!|

I see many people in a day…well if I do go out often then sure I do see many people in a day. There’s always someone new around. It doesn’t matter what you wearing when you go out, coz in India if you are a guy, it doesn’t matter how you look. One particular reason is that girls hardly approach a good looking guy and well since I myself don’t have so much guts to approach a girl on my own so why should I even bother to get myself ready….right? Seems like a valid point right?

But here’s a thing. Do girls matter so much to a heterosexual guy like me? Or should they matter so much to me? Umm sometimes they do….but I won’t say all the time. Seeing a hot and cute looking girl with bunch of guys wearing leather jackets, it makes you feel that probably they just want what we all know what and I myself could’ve done much better than them. I can write poems that can change the world of a girl around…let’s call it with power of words. And I do have the valour of tongue. But sadly not the body of Hercules. But I often hear girls saying they don’t care about the body of the guy or the looks at all. But if that’s the thing then why most of the times I see such girls with such guys? Am I looking at wrong place? Maybe or maybe I am not.

Quite a time ago I saw a question on Quora where a girl asked that why do I end up meeting bad guys who have bad intentions? A therapist on Quora gave such an awesome reply. She told- Shy guys or let’s say good ones either take a lot of time to approach a girl or they just don’t. They just keep it inside them. Now in the mean time guys who are mostly womaniser or so called casanovas, they approach these girls and obviously impress the girl quite easily. And well having so much experience already, they do actually have an effect on these girls. And then we all know what happens after sometime. Girls realise what the guy actually wanted and thus it’s all back to square one where girl just wait and wait and that day hardly comes when a so called good guy actually approach her.

But that’s what that therapist think. What I believe personally is something different. I always say it depends on person to person and it literally does. Some girls do like such guys, yeah they do. Not everyone like poems. I even met a girl who didn’t even care to see my work and that’s my biggest weapon to woo a girl. So when that backfired I was quite in shock. And why it mattered to woo that girl? Umm I really don’t know but just wanted to have a good conversation. I actually most of the times somehow find a way to talk to a girl. Just don’t know how but I do. Some like poetry, some like music, some are crazy about some kind of TV show and some just like to talk about anything. There are so so many types that you can’t even imagine. But let’s come back to the point, do these girls matter to me so much? Well again the same answer, maybe, maybe not. Sometimes it’s nice to talk to them and sometimes it’s too much to handle that I just close my all the gadgets and all and just sleep. It’s so peaceful.

But!!!….Yeah…there’s always a nice butt around…well you just have to look carefully. Haha. Well enough with the pun. But the thing is that after such a long silent pause and soothing time, you start craving for the same thing you tried to run from on the first place. Sounds weird right? Well what can I do… I am a stupid human. It’s like you were tired of listening to songs and you closed the music, but then after a time you feel like you are deaf. And thus, you go back to the same routine. Talking about a new crap with someone known or someone new this time. So do girls actually matter to me that much? I think they do, I don’t or can’t find any reason why but surprisingly they do, butt…. Yeah….but not all the time.

And PS… If you actually read all this then you maybe wondering why such gloomy quote above and who wrote it? Obviously I did and why gloomy. Umm that’s the time when I came back from the peace time to see if someone really tried to contact and no one did and Awww…. My heart felt bad and thus those words came out just like that.

But the words are quite oozing with feeling right! Well that’s my- Valour of tongue(thanks to Macbeth)…obviously just kidding 😝.
Well enjoy it again-

“If I die young young and alone, bury me in sand so that I can feel the love walking upon me.”

 And…. HELLO! This is me!…….signing off—



Just another mind full of humor #2

Note- If you’re a person who gets pissed off easily on matters which aren’t even that appalling or if you are a kind whose feminism and chauvinism rise to the level where no one can bear to talk to you anymore, then I am politely asking…don’t read any further.

Do you like Tits?

What would your reaction be for such kind of question? Well if you’re a guy, most probably you’d say -“yeah absolutely”(just in case you’re interested in more masculine features only then maybe the answer could differ). If you’re a girl, then again the answer depends on your sexual orientation(lesbian alert). But why am I asking this… is that what you thinking? Well, coz someone else asked me that and I thought what if I ask it to everyone else. So here I am asking-“Do you like tits?


Well, now what was my response if you feel like knowing. So the point is, that well almost most of the times I am seen by my acquaintances as a person who just studies and does nothing else aka called Nerd. Though I am seriously not a Nerd. So one of my well known friend(a girl…the significance of why I specified it to be a girl will be quite clear in a moment) came to me while I was studying in library and said these beautiful four words terminated by a question mark- Do you like Tits? Maybe now you know why I mentioned that person being a girl coz it’s quite uncommon in India.

As commonly expected I said in a very perplexed manner- “Yeah? 😛That’s an obvious answer. But why you asking this…you like them too? 😳 Coz that would be something absolutely new.” With a poker face 😒 she replied-“Shut up… All day I see you here in this stupid library studying and doing nothing else. Don’t you have a life beyond the boundaries of this bookish world?”

“Girl don’t go off the track here. You were saying something about Tits.” I asked with a curious expression on my face, “So how are tits related to my studies and all?”

She said-“Why you all men are same? That was just an anonymous question that are you even interested in anything else than your bookish crap. Listening to your response, it seems you aren’t that nerd after all.”

“Girl, you’ve no idea how many tits I’ve touched my whole life, you can’t even guess.”

“Really? How many? Seeing at your current state… I bet not even a single one.”

“Well there were 26 cows in my farm and each cow have 4 tits, so it would be 104 tits in total. See…a century of tits”, and then I raised my pen in the air like a batsman does after scoring a century.

(See how happy a cow gets when someone milk her tits.)

That was all she could bear to listen and thus she left. Well, what other response a farmer could’ve possibly given? She talked about tits and I told her the truth. But I am still saying, I am not a nerd.

But hey talking about cows. You all know how sacred a cow is to all the Hindus in India right! Well, let’s not talk about the religious stuff here. So what I wanna tell is that I have a unique habit of manipulating languages that I know. I am no expert of any language but well that doesn’t affect my habit. For example, one of my friends once asked me that what kind of girlfriend do you wish for. I thought for a while and said- “an intellectual bimbo”. So now you can all guess why I am still single.(a 2 minute silence for those who didn’t understand this).

So well moving on…as I was saying that languages can be so so funny sometimes; given that you know more than one. Yeah so I was on my to the college and saw two cows standing erect in middle of the road like they usually like to stand, though I’ve no idea why they suddenly forget to walk in middle of the road. Anyway, so I have a hobby to talk to animals(it’s a really nice hobby let me tell ya), so while passing by them I said little out loud-“Hey Gais(cows)”. 


And just beside them on the other end of the road three girls were standing and they looked back and replied -“Oh Hi” ☺️. They were quite good looking, so a wave of hand was all I offered in response though they thought I was gonna say something more. So that turned out to be totally opposite. On the other hand, the cows didn’t even replied back, how rude right?

So if you ask that how come I came to find out this amazing similarity between languages…well it goes way back to my school days. I can still recall that day. Our school had recently won indoor cricket tournament trophy and the team was on the stage and were being praised and applauded in front of the whole assembly. Just then our principal came and said-“look at these guys and learn something from them.” As soon as he said ‘Guys’, a loud ‘Moo’ came from the house built at the back of our school. So that day I learned that even Cows are very educated creatures…well at least they know their name. 😂

Talking about these so funny similarities between names… well I saw something really interesting yesterday in my news feed on fb- 

Now imagine an Indian visiting Turkey and asking for a dish made of Turkey- “I’d like to have Turkish meatballs.” The waiter would get furious since he is himself Turkish and don’t know that you’re actually asking about the bird 👿. But he still replies keeping his calm- “Sir we don’t have Turkish meatballs, but we’ve Hindi meatball instead.” And well who knows if you’re a Hindu, you might take that as an offensive joke. Now just imagine I’ve not even talked about the scenarios in case of other countries. So languages can create such hilarious situations.

One more such instance which I can recall is when I was on a train to Coimbatore for my SSB. So many a times and in almost all the stations where a train stops, you will find vendors selling various kind of things, mostly eatables. Since speaking English or Hindi is not their forte, but they still try to speak ’em to sell their items. Though sometimes it results into some unique situations. Like, they usually say Khaina’ instead of usual Hindi word for food- Khana’. Now most of the times people traveling in these trains get a wrong impression and start looking for the person who they think is selling the commonly known tobacco product ‘Khaini’. So well that happened quite a few times while I was travelling.


And guess what I found in Google while searching for images of Khaini

So now we know what Brad Pitt is busy with nowadays.

Now coming back to my story of my travel to the southern India. When our train stopped in Tirupati I saw a kid carrying a basket full of Samosas. Since morning I had seen so many unusual things, that seeing a familiar face was like a delight to me. I called the boy and asked how much for one Samosa. He said something in Telugu or Tamil, now I’ve no idea in which language, but he said something. Okay, so all I could understand was dus ke teen and the word-‘Singdya’. Now to the people who don’t know, in Garhwali(since I am a Garhwali) Singdya term is used for a person whose nose is flowing all the time, I mean exactly like this little kid in this image-

I was like what did you just say to me? Singdya? Why would I buy Singdya? Just then a guy sitting beside me said-“Singdya is a local name for Samosa here”. So that’s how I learned that not just the languages, even the dialects have similarities with other languages.

Too long? So let’s finish this post with one more such funny instance related to language. What’s the first thing we are interested in knowing in a language about which we don’t know anything? Any idea? Come on… make a normal guess…it’s not that hard.

Well either it is how to say I love you, which I can guarantee I can say in 15 different languages including the most difficult one that I find to speak in i.e. Manipuri-“ei nang yamna nungshiye”. So now that I am so good in saying I Love You in Manipuri, all I need now is a cute Manipuri girl to say this to… right? Anyway, what’s the second one then? I’ll tell you, it’s cursing someone, yeah the slangs(gaaliyan). Right?

So now that’s not something which interests me in a language. I am more of a romantic person so learning to say I Love You in a language is something quite of an interest to me. But coming back to the incident.

So I was inside the Indian Naval Academy for my SSB and with me there were 62 other guys(men okay, not Gais again… to be really clear). So at night before taking a nap few of us decided to take a bath and well I thought it’s a great idea so I asked to join them as well. It took me a while to get my undergarments and reach the common bathroom. Others were already there laughing about something. I asked them what’s there to laugh, tell me as well. One of my batch-mate said-“Ai Poda Patti”. And they all started laughing again. After a while, one of the guys told me that it’s a slang. The guy who was actually saying it left just after that and me presuming that since he was Marathi so the slang would be in Marathi only, thought of having some fun and went back to my dorm and said it on the face of another guy-“Ai Poda Patti”. Okay before I explain what happened next, this slang is in Malayalam and the guy I said this to was a Malayali himself and adding to that he was 6’2” with a stout body. Now you can imagine what would had happened next. So next time before having some fun with another language, be really careful. And guess what, the meaning of Poda Patti is not that lovely even though it sounds so similar to Potty 💩.

So I hope you Gais enjoyed. And do comment and like if you really liked the post.

Just another mind full of humor #1

This is just a way I sometimes express what I am seeing around nowadays and what I observe, so if someone gets offended or instead like whatever I said- please do comment in the end!

So in past week I did upload two stories and got appreciation from many(I had to tag people to do that though… well pardon me for that, I am just starting). But yes I do received some critical comments and I truly appreciated those people as well. I had made thousands of mistakes and I am extremely thankful to those who still kept on reading till the end. And lastly I wanna thank few people who did help me in improving those errors. So moving on…

There are crazy things happening around me all the time and I just can’t wait to share that with everyone. For example yesterday when I was sitting in a bank filling out a form for changing my registered mobile number, I came across a section where they had asked my cell number. Well I really didn’t remember it that time so I thought to call a friend to tell me(yeah my own number!). But before I did try to find a way to get it, my cell rang. It was a credit card company trying to sell me one. Well I heard them real nicely and paid full attention, just to politely deny at the end with a question- Can you please tell me what my number is? So that’s one of those instances.

Another such instance happened this morning when I was washing my clothes. So the thing is that I live just beside the runway of an airport and it’s covered by a huge wall. Around those wall from inside are watch towers and there are CISF personnel above those towers keeping a watch. So the thing is that every morning about 10 they have a roll call through their Walky Talkys! So while washing my clothes I fortunately heard there roll call names out loud. And you know what the roll calls are- Papa 1, Papa 2 and like that there are 9 Papas. Well I just can’t imagine how that guy feels everyday calling so many guys his dad. And the other security guards in other lanes have some different ones of their own which as I heard included 7 Romeos, 8 Shaktimans and 6 Batmans(Well last two I just added on my own but sounds amazing as an option right?)

Another incident few weeks back happened when I was travelling to Gangotri with my relatives in our Scorpio. While asking me hundreds of questions about what I was doing in Delhi, a very interesting topic came into light. The question for debate was- a job with power and respect or one with money, which one is bigger deal? Well my maternal aunt gave an example in favor of the job with respect. She said that once there were two old men, both had one son each. One was in America working in a big company earning 5 lakhs a month and the other one was DM of a particular region here in India only. The father of DM said to the other old man that hey your kid earns so much, sure he is a bigger deal than my son and to that both agreed. Few months later the son of second old man came back to India. He had some paper work to be cleared by the Indian authorities so that he can bring his money to India and so he asked his father to talk to his friend whose kid was a DM to help in this matter. And so this old man did what he was asked. At this moment the first old man said that looks like his son was a bigger deal than the one in America. And again to this both agreed. After telling all this my aunt said that this is what power and respectful job can do and how bigger deal it is. She was quite satisfied with what she said and was feeling that she had put the final nail in the coffin. Well just then my younger uncle told his version of the same story. He said that after this the american guy goes back to America. Few months later the first old man whose son is DM, he gets sick. Turns out that he has a huge tumor in his lungs and nowhere in India is the cure for his illness. Well so his sons asks the other old man to ask his son in America to help him in this time of need. And thus with his money and approach, the son of the second old man saves the life of the first old man. And then my uncle said that- that’s how the whole story ends. Well we had a big laugh at the end.

My time here at home in this vacation was amazing. I qualified ACET and was really rejoiced about it. After really hard preparation for almost a month when I finally got free from my studies, I thought of meeting old friends. So first I went to one of my closest one’s house. We had a great chat and suddenly out of nowhere another old buddy joined us. Well we thought what if we all pals from school time gather together and have some snacks in a restaurant. So we all got in our bikes and went to other guys homes to bring them with us. What funny thing happened in all this was that when we were picking up one other guy from his house, we all parked our vehicles outside his house and went inside. I came in at last. All other guys when entered, they saw our friend’s mother and greeted her by saying Namaste and joining their hands as we Indians usually do. When I entered, I straight away went close to my friend’s mother and touched her feet and greeted her. Seeing that all the other guys felt little awkward and one of them without wasting a minute bent down and did same. And then there were series of such greetings from all the other 8 guys (well they kinda had to as one did). And I was like what the hell is happening here?

And this last funny one happened this morning when my brother came back from Delhi. As he reached he took out all the things from his pocket and straight away went in bathroom to freshen up. I was just sitting there drinking my coffee. Just then my father came out well dressed as he was on his way to work. My mother too came out of kitchen with a plate in one of her hands. She had brought breakfast for my father. Just then she saw a peculiar thing kept on the table(it was an iPhone with black body). She inquired- is this a phone? I nodded in affirmation. She examined it very closely and then showed it to my father by saying- See, it has screen on both of its sides! And then my father showed her that there was just one screen and the other side was the back one. But he then said- “well that’s not even the oddest part, the weird thing is that they have written Phone at it’s back. Like if they trying to tell us that this is a phone if you couldn’t realize in first guess. Haha, how stupid do they think people are?” And then I said- “Appa, you forgot to read the ‘i’. It’s written ‘ iPhone’, not just Phone.”

Well funny things happen around us all the time, what we just need to do is see and observe and then share for others to laugh as well. Well I think like that, really don’t know how others feel about it(after all I am clairvoyant but not a psychiatrist).

The Weekend Mail

It was summer and half of the Paata village was already empty of its male inhabitants. The war was on and almost every men was called upfront by the Gorkha Regiment. Vishambar the postman was one of the few men left in the village along with some of the retired folks. In the hills, mostly the men either get enrolled into Army or they move to the big cities to earn some livelihood. It was high time as Pakistan had infiltrated into Indian villages in Kashmir. Vishambar on his radio had recently heard that there might be a nuclear war between the two nations. Being a high school graduate, he did not know much about the gravity of the situation, but the way the news reader told the news, he could sense that it was something really big. But nothing of any sort mattered to him- people killing each other, men assaulting women, kids indulged in tobacco intakes or nations bombing each other. He was aloof from all this nuisance, or one can say he never bothered to care about such things. That’s one of the many reasons why he never got married. He was an orphan, brought up by his uncle. His uncle was the one who persuaded him to go to school and become something useful. He told him about the opportunities that lay ahead in future and what a boon it would be to be a literate. Even now he could never thank him enough for his advice. Even with his meagre job, he was content with it. He preferred to be a mail man sitting mostly in a government provided hut rather than either getting killed on the border or working in the stepped fields.

Vishambar in his youth worked in a hotel in the capital. He had seen the city life enough to get sickened of it. He never liked it there. Though his lifestyle was really influenced with whatever time he had spent in the city. When he got the job of a postman, he brought his radio along with him which he really enjoyed listening to. He even took a lot of pain in bringing his cycle with him to the village with the help of a local matador; though he later realized that it was of no use there in the hills. Now he just used the cycle when someone parceled something really big from the city, which had as bleak possibility of happening as snowing in June. He had a maid who did all the small chores for him which included preparing meal two times a day. His salary was well enough for him to have such luxuries. Reshma, his maid, was a local villager whose husband had died as a martyr on the border. To meet some ends and earn something to run her family, she worked errands in Vishambar’s little hut. In his 24 years of posting here in Paata, Reshma was there helping him for a decade now. For him she was like a little sister and that’s exactly how he treated her. He often lend her some money for courtesy. And she in return gave him pulses, onions and other things which she grew in her fields, which Vishambar usually send to his Uncle’s house.

Usually he just sat and did nothing because anyone hardly posted anything. Almost all the village people were illiterate and seldom would anyone go and ask Vishambar to write a letter to any relative. Mostly the newly wedded brides used to come to Vishambar to write a response to a letter from their husbands who were mostly posted at the border. And most of the times Vishambar only was the one reading them. The effect of matrimony takes its time to diminish itself from someone’s mind. The desire to hear a word or two from their husbands was what they all craved for. Whenever they passed through Vishambar’s hut, they always inquired if there was any mail.

But with war on head, the frequency of mails increased. After a long long time Vishambar had finally realized how nerve-wrenching his work was. He received two or three dozens of mails on a weekly basis now which were forwarded to him through headquarters in the capital. And distributing those mails was not the only thing he had to; he had to read them as well. And if felt necessary, he often had to sit in people’s porch to write the response and later post them. It became really difficult for him to do so much so sudden. He would’ve happily done all this if he were in his twenties or thirties. But it really was a tiring job for a person of his age, as he had to move up and down from house to house to give the mail and then read them as well. The best part though about all this was that he often received sweets and food items for bringing those mails. The villagers loved him and his work. After all he was like a messenger of God for them and Vishambar too liked this thought very much. Though bringing a sad news of someone’s death made him real sad as well. He couldn’t bear to see the newly wedded girls crying and their mothers often fainting and falling down. Seeing that Vishambar used to think that how unusual his job was. For some he was a little oasis in a desert whereas for some he was a sign of death. They all showed no sign of happiness or sadness on their faces until Vishambar start reading their letters. For them it was the day of judgement.


After finishing almost every household and sharing their mails with them, Vishambar used end his part of the job by visiting the last house which was situated at the end of the valley. There lived an old woman named Bachaspati Devi. She was in her eighties and anyone seeing her could tell that she was on the verge of leaving this planet for good. She had only one person alive as her kin, her grandson named Vijay. Her son and the daughter in law, both died a long long time ago in an accident. She was the one who brought up Vijay and made him what he was today. She was strictly against her grandson’s decision to enlist in the army as he was the only one left in the family, but who could change the mind of a hill-born adamant young kid who has decided to serve his country. Vijay often wrote letters to his grandmother and as usual Vishambar read them to her. She would grab Vishambar’s hand tightly as soon as he start to read. She used to be so happy to hear that letter that quite often she would ask Vishambar to read it twice or thrice. Vishambar never denied the old lady’s requests. He could understand the pain and feeling’s of that woman’s dreaded soul captured inside those little shackles of bones. Every week on Sundays when mails reached to Vishambar, this old lady would sit in her porch since afternoon and wait till the dusk when he finally reached her house. He often used to dine that particular day in old lady’s house. He would ask Reshma not to cook on Sunday nights.

It was the third weekend of the month of June and Vishambar’s pouch was yet again full with letters. Keeping his daily preparations short and having a very light breakfast, he commenced his journey from the first house on his way. On the judgment day, Vishambar hardly ate anything before leaving, he used to get a lot to eat in almost every house. So whole day after distributing and reading all the letters, Vishambar finally reached the old lady’s house. Every time she used to wait for him anxiously. Vishambar sat on the charpoy which was there in the porch and took out the last letter of the day from his pouch- sent by Vijay Singh. It was all usual for him as he tore the corner of the envelope and pulled out a white sheet. But this letter was somewhat unusual… he could sense that it was one of the unwanted ones, the one which made people to lose hope in their lives. As Vishamber unfolded it, he saw that it was typewritten instead of the usual handwritten; and Vishambar understood the rest of the story. It was such a sad moment. The old lady was sitting anxiously in front of him and waiting for him to speak and he thinking in his mind that in what way could he tell this woman this tormenting news, so that she wouldn’t just die listening to it. Vishambar couldn’t think of any way to do that without hurting her. He just couldn’t bear the fact of sharing something like that to this poor soul. She had no one except her grandson, who too was now deceased. He was in a really awkward situation and there was silence in the air for a long time, which was finally broken by the old lady.

She grasped his hand as she usually did and said- “Aren’t you able to understand what he has written?”

To that Vishambar gave the hardest fake smile he had ever given to anyone and said- “No amma, writing is ok, I am just reading it myself first.”

To which she said-“Just read it out loud, I will listen as well.”

By now Vishambar had made up his mind that he couldn’t dare tell her the truth that her only grandson is no more on this world. He wasn’t too weak to speak that but was too weak to see the old lady remorse and give up on her life. So he decided to make up words of his own and speak to her in the way Vijay usually wrote. And he read the whole letter framing words of his own. Lying to a kid is real easy, lying to a man is even easier than that but lying to a woman takes up a lot of convincing. But even their hearts melt in ignorance if it’s either about their lover or their loved ones. So the old lady as anxiously as she used to, heard those precise words coming out of Vishambar’s holy mouth. To his surprise she didn’t ask him to repeat it that day and then like always she started cleaning the corner where Vishambar usually sat to have his dinner. But Vishambar said he wasn’t hungry today and might have some complications with his stomach. He wanted to get out of the site of that pious woman. He wasn’t that much religious of a person but he was scared of the fact of lying to that old woman and was completely filled with anxiety that he was surely going to the hell made for people like him. The old woman tried to make him stay at her hut only and asked him to let her help, but he insisted on going back to his place. With long strides down the valley, and heart pumping in the very unusual way he reached his hut at around ten o’ clock. He straight away washed his face which was pale red by now. He emptied the pitcher of water in one go to calm himself and then he lay down on the mat beside his working table . He wanted to surrender himself to the goddess of sleep as soon as he could and wanted to forget all that had happened in the delusion of dreams.

It was a new day and Vishambar got up bit late from his usual schedule. Usually this day was his real weekend as on Sundays he worked whole day. He still had a faint glimmer of the deed he did last night in his mind. All day he tried to convince himself to believe in what he did was humanly the best thing he could do. If he had told the old lady the truth, her soul would have left her body by now. Moreover he thought that she was going to live just few months more and keeping in mind how long the last war lasted, he thought he made a good decision not to tell her. With this notion in his mind he felt little relieved. He now made himself clear that his intentions weren’t wrong and he did a great deed. Vishambar now prepared a letter of his own for the old lady every week. He often added some stuff which he believed would make her happy. And she really did like it. She rejoiced at the fact that her grandson is fighting gallantly in the war. Vishambar was really happy too of his decision. And this went on for few more weeks till the war ended.This time Pakistani army retreated back within 2 months of a fight. The Kargil was back in our control again.

But this win was more of a nightmare for Vishambar coz he realized that when the men will come back from the border and the old lady will see them coming, she would ask questions about her grandson’s whereabouts. It was time for Vishamber to tell her the harsh truth… even though she would be really heartbroken to hear that. So he wrote a last letter, the way the government usually send those for the martyrs. And he then went straight to the old lady’s house, there were no letters for anyone else that day as almost every man had reached back or were on their way back to home. As he approached the old lady’s house, he saw her coming out; she had a little rosy smile on her face, perhaps she had heard from the local folks that the war was over and the troops were coming back. The smile broke Vishamber’s heart; he was already feeling remorseful from inside for what he was about to do. As he reached her porch, he sat down in the charpoy. The old lady was busy washing some clothes which belonged to some man. She was probably cleaning the old clothes of her grandson. As soon as she saw him, she stood up and washed her hands and greeted him. He could see the excitement in her eyes, the energy which was running inside her.

She asked- “Vishamber ji! How come are you here today and that too at this time? Aren’t you busy distributing mails?”

Vishambar said- “I just received one mail today and it was for you Bachaspati ji.” And then he pulled out a mail from his pouch. As he was just about to read the letter, the old lady stopped him.

She said- “Vishambar ji, you must be tired of doing all this on your own, reading everyone’s letters. Let my grandson do it today. Even I wanna hear him speak after so long.”

And then say said out loud- “Vijay! Can you come out a bit beta?”

A tall handsome man with a fair complexion came out from the other room. Vishambar was shocked to see him. He couldn’t believe that it was the same guy who was mentioned as deceased in one of the letters few weeks back. He came directly towards him and touched his feet as he greeted him. Just then Bachaspati pulled out a Khaki out of the tub and gave a hard stroke at it and then put it on the wire to let it dry. And on that Khaki was a name written in a badge in bold letters- Vijay H. Singh.

The old lady said- “Vijay, take a look at the letter Vishambar ji just brought and read it out loud.”

And just then Vishambar stood up as soon as he could and said goodbye to the two and started walking back to his hut.

Vijay said to his grandmother- “Dadi ji what just happened? Why did he just go away like that without even showing us our letter?”

His grandma replied- “Maybe he brought an old one with him. Well he is getting old as well kid. We old ones often act crazy my dear.”

CHANGE – a short story


It was a vacation morning and like any other youngster, Rehan lay upon his comfy bed enjoying the holiday!

“Nikhaar… Nikhaar!” a loud cry from the verandah woke him up from his sleeping porch. Out of every voice in the world, his mother’s was the one which always rung like an alarm in his ears. Rubbing off the glimmering dust-bowl from his eyes he snatched a lethargic look at the clock ticking away, above his study table- it was 6:30!

Just then he heard another shrill cry –  “Nikhaaaar…where the hell are you? … get up you lazy kid…we have to prepare a lot of things for tomorrow. And wake up your lil’ brother as well.” Listening to that Rehan recalled that it was Eid ! And like every year, his work was to accompany his Abbu to the grocer’s and help him carry back the things they’d buy for preparing the dishes.

With a towel in one hand and bucket in another, Rehan headed towards the washroom. Someone was already inside. As he knocked, a shrill sound of someone cleaning his throat came from within. It was his father’s. Keeping aside his belongings, he took out his brush which he usually kept in his towel and decided to finish the first step of cleanliness until his father came out.

He opened the tap, and putting the brush underneath the running water, gave it a gentle rub to make the bristle little wet. He then took a long curvy paste strip upon the bristles. No matter how hard he tried, he never could make one like the way they did in the commercials. He again opened the tap to make it wetter. But the flow of water took with it, the paste itself. Rehan was little angry upon himself, for this acute misfortune happened almost every time. He eventually had to do this process all over again.

Just then his Abbu came out and in surprise, exclaimed – “Well, well. Look who has got up so early today! Han?”

Rehan blurted out a little froth and in a mumbled voice, greeted – “Morning Abbu“.

His father said-” Good lad…get ready quick, we gotta go to market in half an hour or your mother is going to scold us both.”


“Kya Karim bhai? You give me 1 kg cashews when I asked for 2! What’s wrong Karim miyan…did khaala jaan forget to feed you almonds today! Haha!”

Rehan’s father’s little remark made everyone snort with laughter. Rehan didn’t understand the joke clearly, yet rather than standing there, in the pretension of understanding it, he gave a skittish smile. He had learned from the experience of his years of growing up; this tact behind fitting in the adult world whose prate he sometimes found totally stupid.

He pondered on how almonds were related to someone forgetting something. But like always he put his query aside in the question bank at the back of his brain (which was going to blurt out in a continuous flow either on his father or his teacher, later) and he sat there smiling like a little clown to observe further proceedings.

“One thousand four hundred and ninety-seven Farukh miyan…that would be all or anything else?” asked Karim.

“No…that’s all Karim bhai.Rehan’s Abbu took out a pink and a yellow note from his wallet and handed them to the shopkeeper.

“Kya Miyan!” complained Karim, spitting betel juice out of his mouth and upholding his tribute, “this is little torn from the side…!”

“Arey Karim bhai. I am sure you can fit it in someone else’s bundle, rakhlijiye na.” Farukh requested.

And with an unsatisfactory smile Karim opened his drawer for change. There lay a lonely 1₹ coin all ready to be given away. Karim had to return 3₹ as change, so adding two Alpenliebes with that coin, Karim gave it to Farukh. Rehan found the exchange a little over the top– why would Karim Chacha return candy instead of money? Farukh, as he was supposed to, gave those toffees and one of the carry-bags to Rehan and commanded him to take it straight home as his mother was eagerly awaiting for those ingredients, to prepare the ceremonial delicacies for the day to come. His father had some other errands to run, so Rehan did exactly what his father had asked him to do.


“Haanu beta get up its eight already…don’t you wanna go with your brothers to the field to fly kites?” Rehan woke up and saw his mother sitting beside his bed and patting him on the head. Hannu, as obvious was his pet name which was  exclusive to the family members. Though among his friends it was a joke and this Haanu became Hanuman. But Rehan was used to such reference now for he had made his peace with it. He dressed up and came out of his room just to find all his brothers already gone. He didn’t know how to fly a kite but always got excited to see someone flying them. He put on his white PT shoes and washed his hands and was about to dash out of the door when his mother said- “atleast take this rolled chapati with you…aren’t you hungry? See I’ve put jam in it.” He said- “Ammi I’ll eat later. The breeze is on right now, it might go away soon, and the chapati isn’t going anywhere.” And with these words Rehan took his Avon from the porch and paddled away towards the field. Quite often when we are away from our home, we realise how much we miss that rolled piece of bread! But Rehan, just 8 now, had to travel a long road before arriving at such a realization!

“Oye Abdul… sai se kanni de” Rehan’s elder brother, Rehman bawled with disapproval at his mate who held the kite’s both ends high above his chest. Seeing his little brother approaching, Rehman said -“Abdul you leave it. Haanu my lucky charm come here, and grab the kite.” It was Rehan’s annual task to uphold these paper birds before they were made to soar in the air. He never actually got the chance to get a hold of the string. And being the youngest, he never even had the leisure to complain about it.

“Ye kaati! Haha…fellas, one down of the Golu gang!” said Rehman with excitement. Golu was the ringleader of a neighborhood village and his group often had such matches of cricket, football or a kite fight with the resident gang! The bet was, at its utmost, 50₹ and that money was generated by contribution from the teammates. Rehan hardly ever bet any money…he never got the chance to play. He came handy when either of the teams had one player short and in such cases he was made the common player, or as said by the local folk –‘beech ka bicchu’(scorpion in the middle). No one, in fact knew from where such a term came about but it was a dialectical tradition handed down for generations by their seniors and before that their preceding seniors since times immemorial.

Maanu bhai, one of our kites was cut off and it fell in the mango orchard,” said Hameed, one of the members of Rehman’s gang, running toward him. The Mango orchard was a neutral zone. If any kite fell there, it was an arranged protocol that whosoever got to it first, owned it. Finder’s keeper, loser’s weeper! Rehman passed the string of his kite to Rehan’s hand and said, “Just hold it and do nothing else until I get back. Don’t let it down. Understand?” As Rehan nodded in affirmation, Rehman and two other kids left for the hunt.

It was his first time when he had full control of a flying kite. Rehan could actually feel the tension between the breeze and the kite in his palms. For him it was nothing less than a majestic experience. Inch by inch as he released the string, the kite went higher and higher into the sky. In between he tugged it down in style, a little as he had seen his brother do often. He was experiencing the paragon of excitement at that moment. But alas! The adventure didn’t last too long as then the breeze died down. Rehan was in a fix as he didn’t know what to do in those circumstances. He thought that since there was no breeze, the kite would eventually fall down and tear into two; so he started pulling it toward him. He thought that way he could catch it before it reached the ground. Unfortunately, little did he know that the kite would have fallen safely without any complication, had he pulled it in the open.

But as the novice that he was, Rehan still kept on pulling it toward him and at last the dreaded happened. It was dashed down to the ground and with Rehan pursuing his experiment vigorously, it tore into two pieces. He knew exactly in what kind of trouble he was then. So he wisely thought of the better escape to the headquarters – his home. Wasting not a second, Rehan took his cycle and bolted straight towards home to the paradise of his hidey-hole.


“Haanu….!” a loud scream made its way to the kitchen where Ammi was busy preparing the Sewai.

“Whats wrong with you, Maanu? Why are you shouting like this?”, asked his mother.

“Ammijan, Haanu tore my Panchi today…where the hell he is hiding?” replied Rehman.

“Panchi? What’s a Panchi?” questioned his mother.

“It’s my kite’s name, my favorite one’s. Don’t ask me vague questions; just tell me where the hell he is hiding right now?”

Unable to understand the sentiment of attachment and possession a boy had for his beloved kite, his mother reasoned in accordance to the laws of elderly redundancy – “It’s just a kite Maanu, don’t lose your temper for such a silly reason.”

Thumping his feet hard on the floor, Rehman thought it was better to do the search himself rather than waste his time in listening to his mother’s sermons, so he ventured into Rehan’s room.

Rehan wasn’t one of the great hiders. Well it’s not every kid’s piece of chocolate to be apt in selecting an effective hideaway. When he was born, his mother thought of giving their relatives a surprise by calling a conglomeration and announcing his birth there, but as soon as his mother was about to say- “we have good news to share”, he started wailing from his nursery. When he was five, he learnt a new essay in class about his age, parents’ name and occupation and similar interests. So one day while he and his Ammi were traveling to their Grandmother’s house by bus, the conductor came and asked his age. His mother replied that he was 4 years old (so that the conductor won’t charge his ticket). Just then Rehan said with unparalleled enthusiasm -“Haww… Ammi don’t you know that I am 5 years old?”. And with many other such instances in action, it was quite well known to everyone that hiding wasn’t Rehan’s forte.

No sooner Rehman entered the room, than he saw Rehan hiding below his bed. Rehman flew into a towering rage. He went close to the bed and kicked him hard on his round equal shaped posteriors. Rehan, with one hand on his buttocks endeavored to stand but in vain for he unknowingly slammed his head against lower side of the bed. Rehman pulling him down and with one foot over his tummy and the other over his left arm, and getting a good hold of him, jabbed an angry finger at his face-“Gimme 5₹ for my kite that you tore off today.”

“Bhaijaan it’s not my fault, the wind suddenly, stopped and it fell down. What could have I done?”

“You idiot! The kite would have come down without any scratch but why would you have let that happen? You wanted to use too much of your brains like always. Give me my 5₹. I don’t wanna hear anything else.”

“Believe me I don’t have that much money bhaijaan. I just have 3 rupees in my pencil box.”

Rehman stood up and opened the pencil box. There lay a couple and a 1₹ coin. Putting them in his pocket Rehman left but with a deadline that Rehan must return the leftover money by that night.  Rehan became scared and anxious about the prospect of bringing another couple of bucks from nowhere – so he went to his mother.

“Ammi… Ammi…!” Rehan wailed hesitantly. But his mother was way too busy with work and after such a harsh reaction from Rehman, she was already pissed off. So Rehan with a sullen expression went to his father. When he reached the room, he found that his father wasn’t there. Just then something in the room caught his fleeting desperate eye. It was his father’s wallet. A brown greased old piece of leather full of notes!

There is a very peculiar relation between a man and his wallet. The thing about the wallet is that no matter how rich or poor the person is or no matter how old he becomes, he may change everything from curtain to wife, but never his wallet. He uses it as long as he could till either his or the wallet’s last thread strands out…

So moving on with the story, Rehan opened it and found a few coins in the left pocket. He thought about the negligence difference a vanishing 2₹ would make to his father’s wallet and thus, without any permission took out the coin and put the wallet back in place. He then went to the porch, where Rehman was sitting with glue and a piece of broken glass in his hand. He was gluing glass pieces to his Maanja. With glass pieces in a thread it becomes quite easy to cut other kite-strings in matches. Rehan came and put the two ₹ coin beside him and before Rehman could say anything to him, he ran inside.


“Haanu….Maanu….Nikhaar…Insha! Everyone…come here.” Farukh called in a furious tone.

“What’s wrong with this household today…why are you shouting at the kids Rehan’s Abbu?” said Rukhsaar (Rehan’s mother) in surprise.

“Begum you too come here…it’s a matter of concern.” said Farukh.

Hae Allah! What on Earth happened now?”

Everyone came to the verandah and stood there like accused criminals. Rehan already knew what the fuss was all about. He was shaking with fear from inside. He was pretty sure that he was going to get a harsh beating from his father. He knew his father’s anger was that sinister!

“Who stole money from my wallet? Tell me now and I’ll spare that person. But I want nothing but the truth”, conditioned Farukh.

“Stole money from your wallet! Who? How much?” asked Rukhsaar in bewilderment.

“Someone out of these four took 2₹ from my wallet in my absence, without asking me. No one else comes to my room except you, me and these four. Now tell me who did it?”

“Two ₹? Uff ho… I thought someone took a huge amount off your wallet. You must have lost it somewhere around the house. Just leave all this and come help me in the kitchen.”

“Begum I count my money every time before leaving. But this isn’t about money Rukhsaar. It’s about stealing, which is a heinous thing to do. Is that what we are teaching to our kids? Now you four…who took that money tell me.”

None of those four said anything. They stood there like Easter Island heads. Rehan knew that though his father promised he wouldn’t take any action against the convicted, but if he confessed his guilt, he would go back on his word and scold him. Thus, he kept his tainted silence.

“Alright…I am saying this for the last time… If you are too scared to speak in front of me, then by tonight put that 2₹ back to its place. And let this be a lesson. I don’t want any such activity in the future. You all heard me? Now be on your way.” and with these words, Farukh departed for the kitchen.

Rehan was regretful that he had lied to his father. But the fear of punishment took the better of him. A chill ran down his spine from the neck. He felt like crying but controlled his tears. He attempted to go back to Rehman and ask him to return the money, promising that he’d give him the due back later. But Rehman had already bought a new kite with the money so his last chance of retrieving the money went down the drain. In his mind’s eye, Rehan pictured his Abbu’s disappointment at the moment. He had been a disgrace to him. He came back to his room and sat there thinking with both hands on his cheeks about a possible solution to the wrong he did. And just then he saw the ‘God-send’ answer on his table – a couple! Lying together and shining brightly. And a smile flittered from the shadows of his gloom into his redeemed face.


Farukh came home late that night. Rukhsaar was still busy washing the dishes. The children were abed, tucked in with the jocund frenzy of the moon carnival. Farukh straight away went to his room. In his laborious prosaic, he had completely forgotten about the incident that happened earlier in the day. Yet he spotted a paper on his table – held in place by two Alpenliebes – and manuscripted in a childish font – “Sorry Abbu. That’s all the change I’ve left!”

An Unusual Usual

Said goodbye to his beloved,
Kept the phone down and was ready
To make love to the new girl.

Thousand miles away the girl slept,
Calmly with a belief of relief,
Having faith in his guy.

The cell rangs again,
Who is calling now?
The guy picked the call in frustation.

A girl sobbing and in pain,
“He’s cheating with me brother,
He is sleeping with some other girl.”

The new girl baffled asks-
“So what if he’s cheating?
Aren’t you doing that too?”

In guilty conscience he feared,
What a horrible human he was,
Though too late to realize.

Innocence at its best

Originally answered in Quora by Nishant Kumar for the question- What are the statements that 5-year olds make?

When my girlfriend was 5 years old, she was once sitting with her father on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Her dad asked if she needed anything and she craved for biscuits. Her dad got her a brand’s – Krack Jack biscuit.

Happy, she ran to the garden to savor every bite of it. Suddenly she saw her landlord plowing the land of the garden, planting some seeds. Curious, she went to him and asked what he was doing.

“I am planting beans! Soon they will grow and feed us all!”

She sat on the grass, observing closely the process.  

She suddenly became very happy. When he left after planting the seeds, she carefully dug 20 holes, all nearby, and planted one biscuit in every hole. She then covered it with soil, just like she saw him do.

In she went to her room, returning every 5 minutes or so to check if the tree of biscuit had grown. There was, of course, nothing.

She decided to wait.

In the evening, she saw her landlord giving water to the seeds he had sowed. She quickly understood her mistake and came out with a can of water. She carefully sprinkled water all over those biscuits she had planted.

Waited for another 5 minutes, nothing.

She decided to investigate. She dug one of the holes and to her surprise, all she found was a soiled biscuit, ready to get dissolved in the soil. She took it out and went to show it to her dad.

Her father said, “Dear, it doesn’t grow like this! It’s already an eatable!”

“But how does the earth know this??” was her innocent reply.

18 years later, this story still cracks her family with laughter!


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