For Her Eyes Only

To the only reader of this post besides his Unsanely Self, - "Am Still at work!!!" .

Homework Blues!!!

Its like childhood days all over again. I want to go out and partyyy. But instead of the HomeWork there is this dreaded "Work from Home" concept.

And there's such a lot of shitload of work that I can unfortunately run a biogas plant that will power almost all of India's legal and more importantly illegal power consumption and still be left with a few megawattage of amperes to spare. [Wattage a amperes he he he, damn my engineering sucks like hell, edision would get an electrical shock]

I simply and thorougly dislike putting all the effort I have to. Damn capitalism. Damn liberalisation.

I luve the bygone hindu rate of growth. It was so much better then. Nothing better to do than complain.
Now one has to complain about lack of time for complaining too!!!

Hai ...too much of work.... Sniff.

I dream of a complete breakdown in delhi tomorrow, calvinsh fantasies of snowfalls, tsunamis and floods clutter my mind. All to get one more holiday!!!
I should sincerely join the communists. I really hope you dont have to work towards causing a strike.

There's a repressed bengali inside this displaced punjabi, no.

Chalbe na, Korbe na, Complain bharpoor korbe naa!!!

Realty Bites

Its like colliding head on with the metal leviathan head on. The cold piercing metal assed realty running over you on and on with the frequency of jerks resulting when abruptly and erroneously shifting to higher gears at speeds where the tachometer flirts with motionlessness. No its not dissimilar to the sinking feeling of utter helplessness of arriving on a dance floor where the only nincompoop could perhaps be none other than you. The entire dance floor alive to effortlessness gyration of utterly seductive curvaceous figures and the only ugliness that needs to be severed be the the gruesomeness of your presence. Its like the humilating chilling awareness felt by debutant batsman feeling the heat of a billion pair of contemptuous stares, cursing, while he shivers, perspires and unadroitly fails to handle, like the proverbial eununch, the virile and scathing incessant bowling attack of the pakistanis. With more mortgage than my enfeebled shoulders can carry, with the awarness that I could be fodder for Big Sharks, with ample awareness of Mr. Chidambrams tinkering with monetary policy to appease the only audience that matters in the political gallerina, I plan to make some untimely foray in big bad world of realty in hariana.

Yep, Reality doesnt only bite, it leaves no nightmares to imagination.

PS: Bouncing the Realty Cheque
After wasting the entire Saturday and the only official holiday traveling from one corner of the goan to another I have belatedly come to the realization that the the carrot I dangle is smaller than the desi winny wanny, or dingy dangy whatever be the official term that junior is called by.

In the Darwinian scheme of capitalism it is below the dignity of second derivative of Big Sharks' prey's prey to even consider my carrot as perhaps even a snack. It was certainly a grade below reprehensibility for these goons.

Its official, even I wont own property. I will pass on the baton of owning of a kothi, conveniently on to my descendants, as has been the parampara in the household .

Most brokers while simultaneously raising their furry eyebrows and conveniently and ambidextrously playing with the rich produce of their nostrils refused to show me something other than slum dwellings while at the same time pointing me to unheard of places like Manesar and Daru-veda.

Daru the goons offered. No Please, I retorted. No Daru. I certainly did however ponder pointing eM to a certain blogestress who do be more than happy to consider all the daru in world.

Hobo dahling you're perspicaciousness is laudable. I am forced to consider joining the ranks of the perenial homeless.

If ever I had hopes of issuing a Realty Cheque, it has bounced back today with a vengeance.