My life just got a bad taste,
Got an eyeful of a whole lotta’ junk,
Maybe its just ma’ fate
Love making between Adam and the bitch
Naked in lust, writhing in ecstasy,
Looked like a satanic orgy,
Of some perverted sin.
But, life don’t stop,
It must go on!
What’s gone is gone,
No lookin’ back,
It’s the future that counts.
So, man, get your kicks in life
Before this shithouse
Goes up in flames of strife!
Got it and if not,
It’s going to be,
One Hell of a lonely walk

This is your new blog post. Click here and start typing, or drag in elements from the top bar.My mind is helpless
Drawing out a desperate cry,
In the midst of the city night,
Where did you go, my only friend?
No letters to receive,
Only a mundane sigh!
Heart-break who shall say so,
Was I the one to blame?
You-reaching out for a higher ground,
To settle again in a heap of dust and bones
Feeling the cold touch of a dead man’s grave.
Sweating in the A.C Room,
Pangs of guilt or drops of fear?
No one has the answer,
Cause it’s the cold touch of a dead man’s grave.
Chants, curses and invocations,
Swirling in my mind,
My hand reaches out,
For a puff of the higher ground,
Only to feel a hand stopping me
The cold touch of my dead man’s grave.
Life after death,
Could it be true?
Not in my wildest dreams.
Till I felt the cold touch
Of a dead man’s grave.

It’s a jungle out there,
Where the mind treads with fear,
A beast at every corner,
Wanting a piece of me,
That’s my loving city,
My own jungle of fear.
In the midst of the night,
Strange cries wake me up,
Maybe a hyeana’s cry or a
Rapist’s satisfied sigh,
Cries of a trapped deer,
Or the painful sighs of
A little girl, oh so dear!
A night’s prey for the city’s beast,
One night, yes. But that’s her whole life.
So, hey all of you join the gang,
The jungle beckons you,
No roses to smell,
Only the smell of burnt leaves,
Life feels like a nightmarish dream!

Night becomes day. Day becomes night.
Life goes on without a moment bright.
Lost in a cacophony of dullness,
With nowhere to run & nowhere to go,
Standing alone on the shore of madness
Waiting to quench my insatiable lust!

Oh my sweet beloved city,
It’s really a great pity,
That change take place only in name,
Isn’t this a real great shame?
Cause even the little Bard had said,
What’s in a name?
Sadly his thoughts stand drowned,
In our roads, potholes and water logged,
Should we call this a natural calamity?
Or just intellectual depravity,
Don’t get me wrong,
I just wanna’ see my city on song,
Of course, below decibel level,
But closer to Heaven rather than hell!

It’s 9:00 clock. Only I’m not sure, whether it’s morning or night. Feel like a wreck and a half. Seems like, two elephants were copulating all through the night, using me as their bed. Where was I last night? Hey, I think it’s coming back. Went to the disco with Suniti, two tequilas, had a reefer with Ankush and then to the dance floor. Morrison’s ‘Light My Fire’ was blasting on the stereo. Went wild, fell down, got up, again fell down, but unfortunately, on some old Gizmo’s wife. Then it was a free for all punch up happening. Some teeth fell, some blood maybe mine. O, Fuck then I knocked someone senseless with my wine glass. I was sozzled. From then on it was happening in a maze. Someone dragged Suniti and me away; people were shouting, maybe at us; remember being pushed into a car; then vomiting on the backseat and then there was silence. Peace on earth. That’s when I went to sleep. Christ, talk about weekend fun. But, what the hell, where am I? Whose bed is this, and who is that naked girl sleeping beside me? Looks familiar. Hey, that’s Suniti. Gosh, what happened to her clothes and mine? I think we have really fucked it up, literally. Isn’t she marrying Vijay next week, and wasn’t I going to be the best man? Yeah, this was supposed to be a party in honour of her, and the last time we school friends meet, before she gets into conjugal matrimony. Man, the Last Supper has turned into the ‘Last Fuck’. Shit, what do I tell her when she wakes up? How far had we gone? Did we take preventive measures? Definitely not; I was barely able to walk straight, so how could I remember about taking precautions. I just feel like running away before she wakes up. Where to? Maybe to Timbaktu or Iceland. No, I couldn’t be such a coward. Maybe it was all a dream…. No, no I mean nightmare. Maybe our clothes got spoiled or we were feeling hot, so we took off our clothes. Balls! This is all wishful thinking. I’ll never piss up like this again. Why the fuck can’t I remember anything? Aw, Shucks! Who cares or do I?

The recent attacks on the Parliament and the more recent terrorist activities in Mumbai have clearly shown how terrorists are holding an entire nation to ransom! Leave aside the common people like us, what safety measures are taken for our so-called Corridors of power? That’s why I want to narrate a recent incident, which I felt was a prime example of the inadequacy of our callous security system, safeguarding the people who run the nation.
The incident I want to narrate now may cause tension among lots of our top ministers. This happened in Kolkata in 2006 about 3-4 days before Independence Day. Three of us had gone to Writer’s Building to make a presentation to the Tourism Ministry on behalf of our agency. The day before the presentation we got a call from Writer’s Building, and our names were noted down.
We were told that there was top security and we should not even be carrying cigarettes. Well, we didn’t. Anyway we reached there around 1:45pm, as our scheduled meeting time was 2:00pm. At the gate there were 15-20 policemen, who were supposed to check identities of every person getting in. But we were not even carrying pictures of ourselves. They just ticked our names off from a list without checking. For all purposes I could have been “ Osama Bin Laden” but still no one would come to know. After that we went through a metal detector, which made a lot of detection noises when we passed through it, but no one took notice. For all purposes we could have been carrying catchments of AK-47s and other arsenal. Well then we took the lift to the 4th Floor. We were greeted by the sight of a lone policeman with his feet up, in deep slumber. He didn’t budge an inch when we walked past him. The entire floor was devoid of security, which had quite a lot of Ministers in attendance. When we finished our meeting and were on our way back the policeman was exactly in the same position as earlier. We took a leisurely stroll through the building and visited all the floors. I mean if a person wanted to commit an act of terrorism, there could not be a better and easier opportunity than this. He could pick and choose at will which ministers to kill and then walk out without any hassle. And this was supposed to be a High Security Period, where there were chances of terrorist attacks.
This article is not meant to snub anyone. I just wanted to showcase the callous nature of security personnel. It makes me wonder that if the security of Ministers is in such a state, what will happen to us “The General Public”? Alas! I shudder to think of that day when we will be led like goats to the slaughterhouse………

To junk or not to junk – that is the question? Well, the answer is quite clear; in fact there is no other answer. To tell the truth I knew about the answer even before I thought of the question. I have to stone. It’s imperative. When was it? Yeah class IX, after school, the puff of freedom. Get into a real spin, nothing matters, everything’s so peaceful, life’s a breeze. The streets of Kolkata seemed paved with gold. It was more like the Garden of Eden. And, I’m not talking about the fuckin’ cricket field.
Joduar thek or the more Americanised version of “Jo’s – whichever way U look at it, he was our point of salvation in the streets of Kolkata. And believe me this was an anti-inflationary movement. Rs.5 in 1991 and Rs.5 in 2006. U had the poor man’s version “puriya” costing u a mere 5 bucks. Then u had the 12buck packet, graduating to 25, and for the connoisseurs with a strong inkling for the pure stuff and a healthy pocket to boot, you had the exclusive Rs.50 and Rs.100 packets.
Heh, heh, I remember that Friday evening- me, my big bro’ and a cousin. U know, it was a kind of brotherhood of a junk fraternity. Well, as U know once stoned the milk of love and emotion passes through you like a turbo speed jet cutting through the mother fuckin’ blue sky. So it was my duty, my fuckin’ prerogative to reach ma’ cousin home. There was this fuck all level crossing one had to get through. I couldn’t let my bro cross that, stoned that he was. U must be laughin’, thinkin’ look at the junkie talking! Yeah, I was stoned but that didn’t matter, cause’ when u stone u feel confident of anything, why crossing a level crossing, I can cross that god damn Niagra falls if I felt like it. Then, there was that one hell of a day. The day I came (punnily enough!) to know the fuckin’ deadly combination that grass and pussy make together. Until you have experienced it u cannot understand it. It’s a fuckin’ fabulous high.