Irresponsibility of Adulthood

South Asian cultures place a high degree of importance on adulthood. How many times have you heard your parents tell you, be nice to so and so because they are elders of the family? Even if you know that said elderly is being irrational. If you are born and raised under south asian influences, this theme runs rampant in our families. Tolerance, acceptance, and silent deference are taught from a young age.

But let me ask for once. What earns one respect? Respect is not given by default, its earned through your behaviors, actions and words. Being an older adult is not an automatic license to win respect. And when the  very adults who are supposed to act as role models to the youngsters become the petulant child, what is a person to do?

Adults who do not pause to think how their actions affect the youngsters do a huge disservice to the society and their circle of influence. Yes, we make mistakes but setting a good example is not a matter of rocket science, its a daily discipline. As adults (anyone over the age of 18 really) we live and we learn. We make mistakes and when we do, our maturity requires that we admit it, use it as learning point and pass the lessons to our youth.

Online behavior of adults has been a matter of huge discussion ever since I joined India Forums. I've maintained this that although I am an adult, I am not in the business of mommying anyone on the forum, unless I get to know them personally. To that end, I have resisted "telling" anyone to behave in a certain way. I understand the fine line i walk everyday, given that my adulthood gives me certain confidence and experience to really influence young minds, if i chose to. I have seen many who quickly establish credibility among the youngest members through their poignant posts, compelling fan fictions and rib-tickling sarcasm. This is all well and good as long as the intent is to have fun at the expense of a show and its characters.

The forum is very young and easily excitable. How responsible is it of adults to rile the forum to get what they  want? How you ask? Here are a few examples.

Use your formidable strength of words to create petitions after petitions, rousing the young to focus unilaterally on a purpose and providing fodder to the angst of the young. What we adults give our young is perspective in life. Yes, a show is important but only for the 30 minutes of the life we set aside for entertainment. Yes, you must stand for a cause beyond yourself, but the cause has to be worthy enough to touch another humans life in positive ways. Yes, we all know we want a certain actor to continue working on the show, but despite his million appeals and clarifications, we continue to seek a fall-guy to blame others for a decision that is his. We need youth activism and young hot blooded energy to make the world an exciting and lively place to live. Without the young, the world will be full of grouchy old people. But we also need to work on understanding when to stop our activism, a wisdom that comes with experience (not age). As adults, most of us can be excessively aggressive on the forum yet revert to our lives like sane people. An impressionable mind is often unable to do that.

Use your clout in the forum to get what you want. How many times have you received PMs inciting you to do this or that? The PMs range from emotional appeals to threats. Someone decides to leave the forum because they were hurt by XYZ and sends mass PMs to others. This in turn causes mass hysteria of "why are you leaving? please stay, don't worry about "them", we will teach them a lesson etc etc etc" My question to adults is - is this necessary? If you were hurt or wronged by someone, you are the adult, send a pm to the person who wronged you, sort it out in private, don't create mass hysteria among supporters to massage your ego. And if you want to leave, just say goodbye with grace and leave. Do your reasons matter to anyone besides you? By using forum clout to show who's the boss, we tell our youngsters that its ok to use high school bully tactics to gain support.

Use the forum to amass support for a cause, using public berating and abuse to silence others into submission. My question to any adult is this - was this your absolute best solution to a problem? We are taught to look at problems from many angles and seek counsel from others to gain different points of view, identify a set of solutions and alternatives. We get to the root causes of a problem and try to address the cause not just the symptom. This is what adulthood teaches you. However, when you decide to air your dirty laundry without considering alternative solutions, you've just shown how irresponsible you are. Rousing a young forum to incite bullying and "put someone in their place" is not problem solving, its a form of online harassment.

Finally, using your adulthood as your stamp to legitimacy. Sorry, just because you are older does not automatically grant your views legitimacy. Good reasoning, sound experience, middle ground thinking and a nurturing attitude makes you an adult.

That felt good to let it out of my system.

The Flight

Khushi settled into her first class seat - 1A, the coveted window seat, as she rearranged the pleats of her beautiful Jill Sanders beige suede skirt and kicked off her latest walnut Jimmy Choo shoes, relieving her aching feet that had been standing for hours on shoot location followed by a long wait at the airport.

She looked out the window of the Chicago bound United Airlines flight and saw the murky Washington DC skies ready to declare a rainstorm any minute. The flurry of activities on board indicated that the crew intended to take off any minute, reaching high into the "friendly skies" before the storm hit the airport. She noticed the seat next to her was still empty and she was somewhat relieved to get the unexpected privacy. She was in no mood for pleasantries or the commotion that usually followed as a late harried road warrior got on-board and tried to settle his or her belongings into the cramped overhead bin and plunked heavily into the seat. What usually followed was gushing over her presence, million questions about her work and the usual starry eyed fan admiration, all of which tired her. She hated those guys, especially on days like these where she craved solitude owing to a grueling morning schedule, harsh camera lights on her face for hours and a very irksome, slick politico from the mayor’s office who was none too cooperative.

There were traces of thick pancake make-up that applied since 4 a.m, in preparation for the last day of weeklong reporting gig. She had been excited during the day, as she could fly home after this leg was over and take a break from all the rush of on-camera reporting. Her full lips showed a deep seated stain of a professional and subdued mauve lipstick ideal for the part she took on camera. Her makeup took on that well-settled, smooth, dewy sheen that happens when it has been on for hours.

Her eyes still had the perfectly applied mascara beautifully framing her doe-eyes, which darted around the cabin to check her fellow passengers furtively. Thankfully, none seemed familiar and to her satisfaction, none seemed to recognize her. It was another annoyance she had begun to detest these days when fellow passengers recognized her, they stopped by to say hello and asked about her work. She appreciated their attention but of late it had become a tiresome routine. Her cheeks would ache from the fake smiles but she imagined that was the prize she paid when she left her anonymous back-road reporting to a highly visible on field and news room reporting.

She settled in and loosened her white crepe chiffon blouse around her waist, and shut her eyes in anticipation of a short sweet nap en route Chicago. She rested her head on the navy-blue airline pillow squished into an odd shape to support her head on the side panel. She felt movement on the seat next to her. She cracked opened her eyes a tad and glimpsed at a handsome profile of a man in full uniformed regalia. She noticed an array of medals and pins on his uniform as he spoke to the flight attendant, requesting some drink or snack, she couldn’t quite tell.

Curious, she opened her eyes further to get a better look when he suddenly turned in her direction and caught her off-guard ogling him. This was embarrassing and unusual for her to say the least, as she was typically the object of ogling. He immediately broke in a warm smile defined by two rows of perfectly pearl white teeth in neat alignment. There was something about that smile she could not resist and she shot a smile back. He extended his right hand awkwardly to brace himself before he settled further into the seat.

"Hope the weather stays up in Chicago" he stated casually, trying to break the ice. 

Her mind knotted giddily at the forceful voice. The cabin played some strange music she could not quite decipher and for the first time in her life, she felt something strange inside her. She reprimanded herself for losing control of her confident composure even if it was for a second. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind she decided to dislike this stranger as a matter of self preservation. A person in complete control of her emotions, she found it was hard to let go even for a second but this was a first for her. Apparently, he was oblivious to her star stature and did not seem particularly aware of her breathtaking beauty. This was another first for her. She had gotten used to men fawning over her, showering her with praises, and following her for casual dates, hoping to end it with a quick romp in the sack. His indifference towards her obvious beauty irked her further making it easier for her to dislike this person.

The man busied himself with loading his carry-on bags and getting his drink while she resumed her nap. An announcement cracked through the cabin speakers. It was the captain. He had expected to take off before the storm but it seemed that weather in Chicago was equally bad and the control tower did not clear them for a take off. A collective ‘aww’ erupted but the captain continued to explain that it was for passenger safety and it might be a few hours before they could be on their way. As a last straw, he added that the passengers weren’t allowed to deplane at that point. Mild protests and exasperated tones were heard. On cue, infants and toddlers on board decided to go on a screaming tantrum. She could imagine the hassled moms who did not expect a delay and were caught unprepared. She had nothing waiting for her except her drive home and a warm soak in her elaborate bathtub, specially ordered from Italy. That would have to wait for some more time, she imagined.

Her nap seemed to disappear with the announcement and she felt the need to riffle through the pages of on-board shopping catalogs and in-flight magazines. She picked a few magazines before settling on the latest issue of Time. She skimped through an article on Iraq war. It seemed to go on and on for pages. The bloodied pictures reminded her of her own brief foray into Iraq as part of news coverage team from WPS station. The events that had followed after her assignment to Iraq had shaken her world to its core. Her crew had lost a cameraman and a reporter in a fatal series of land mine blasts. She was lucky to have survived the blast with a sprained neck and few superficial injuries.

The memory of the blast still reverberated in her ears, the deafening sound had hit them from nowhere. The ensuing mayhem, noise, commotion, billowing dust masking everything in sight left her team members and her in complete disarray. The desert dust had settled in every exposed surface of their bodies. Putrid odors of burnt flesh and gun powder filled the air. The jeep that transported them had been reduced to a tangled mess of steel and burning tires, smoke had engulfed the entire vicinity.

There were more blasts but it was hard to tell one from the other as they happened in fast succession and her ears had gone numb by the loudness. She felt someone over her body, shielding her from more falling debris of steel, glass and rocks. The body that shielded her was a man who was shouting urgently, muffled and raspy because of the dust and grime he inhaled, and his earnest impatient voice commanded “Move, move away, Go Go Gooooo!”. There were people shouting and screaming everywhere, scuttling and running in all directions. Then the blasts stopped as fast as they had begun, the man shielding her seemed to have gone limp and exerted his entire weight on her small frame. She was curled up, knees under her body, her spine exposed and the man’s body positioned awkwardly over her neck bearing down its entire weight and tearing her neck ligaments. That was the last thing she remembered.

Later, she awoke in the nearest army make-shift hospital and was calmly updated on the loss of crew members and her reporting partner. She had no tears at that time, she had no feelings other than a numbness in her ears that dimmed all sounds to a dull muffle. She was told that the jeep that transported her moved straight over a land mine triggering a series of blasts. The death toll was huge but she was too scared to find out the exact tally.

She had taken a transfer from field reporting to local news. The change proved good for her. The frivolity of local politics suited her fine. These reporting tasks were empty and shallow after what she had been through but she never dwelled too long on that. Upon further inquiries from her, the army had notified her that the solder who had shielded her was one Sgt. A. S. Raizada. The official channels notified her that the soldier had been responsible for saving her from the worst of the blast by shielding her from the devastation and injuries, He had survived with an amputated left arm. 

Every time she thought about that day, the dull ache of her sprained neck returned and the raspy voice of the soldier echoed in her ears. She intentionally avoided the coffee room conversations for days after the incident. As months passed and as fresh reports of horrendous war crimes poured in, it became an old forgotten story.

She shook herself out of her reverie trying to focus on the present and saw the flight attendant on her third round of service. She ordered a strong coffee; it always helped her clear her head. She decided it was too painful to continue on the article and was about to place the magazine back into the front pocket.

“May I?”, asked her co-passenger taking her by surprise. “Sure”, she replied handing the magazine to the man. “I was there you know”, he pondered aloud looking at the picture on the front cover of the magazine. She did not understand what he was talking about and then it occurred to her, he was referring to Iraq. “Oh yeah! Me too”, she replied with a mustered casualness. “Really, when?”, he asked with the genuine interest of a school boy who just met his favorite baseball player. She thought it was odd, since he seemed to be a decorated soldier and she was a mere civilian for whom the Iraq war was a minefield of rich reporting bonanza until that fateful day when the minefield took on a literal meaning. She tried to appear dismissive and replied, “I was reporting on Iraq war with WPS station.”

The man’s eyes grew wider and she knew he was going to ask her about THE incident she had feared and avoided for 8 months. She knew it was coming and she could do nothing to prevent it without sounding callous or thoughtless. She braced herself for the questions. He paused, looked at her face and then took on a reflective expression. He did not ask her anything. 

Suddenly, he rose from his seat she caught sight of his military name tag with its clear white letters declaring – Sgt. A. S. Raizada!

He stood up as if to straighten his travel weary uniform. Her chest was thumping as she saw gleam of steel where once used to be his left arm. He animatedly held out his coffee cup for the flight attendant with a steely mass of simulated fingers, wires and metallic clasps. Her eyes fixated on the steel. She breathed heavily with a strange stifle in her chest. Months of suppressed memories flooded back all at once. His gentle face turned to her as he sat down. There was silence; their eyes held each other’s expressions in a perfect harmony of knowledge and cognizance. He moved his left arm made of steel and she tenderly reached for it feeling the cold steel with her right hand, instinctively, as if it were the most natural thing to do. Their sas smiles conveyed volumes on life and irony. Unshed tears hung on the edges of their lower lids, threatening to stream down any minute.

She mouthed the words “Thank you” but words never came out. He nodded his head ever so slightly in response. Words weren’t needed; their eyes spoke to each other in complete understanding.

A new FF

Hello readers

started a new FF.
http://thefiligreedsun.blogspot.com/

hope to see you there too with your lovely comments and feedback.

SJ

The Hut Fockers - A Consummation Movie

Posted: 31 May 2012 at 11:37pm | IP Logged

Originally posted by MentalExotica

Warning: The stunts in this movie were performed by professionals, so neither you nor your dumb buddies should attempt anything from this movie.

Disclaimer - We are not responsible for any damage to your private property caused by the accidental interchange of U and O in our movie title The Hut Fockers. You are on your own with that!

Symbolisms 

1. Khushi's aerial hug - you know who will more frisky in bedroom

2. Khushi poked and bloodied by branch - need i say more

3. Goon saying I will eat food or it will go Waste - LOLL!!!! ASR wont do it. I will eat you, why waste iski Jawani

4. ASR breaking the Mesh (Jaali) - Need I say more?

5. Goons ruining the Sex Party - Goons are Star Phus execs. Party poopers!!

6. Boxes ke Peechay kya hai? - Full Body Rabba Veyyy

You're too sexy and you know it - Im ready

Dedicated to Bhatika

Jab Mano Met Mama

Circa 1975.

Mamaji, a 24 year old strapping Raizada was one of the most eligible bachelors of Delhi. But he had a problem. A plight so severe and grievous that it left him incapacitated of finding a single girl to marry in the entire city of Delhi. No, it wasn’t a physical deformity or male deficiency as god knew mamaji had a fairly solid libido. It was all in his name. 

You see, Mamaji, before he actually became a Mamaji, was always called Mamaji (does anyone know his real name? see!). He was a universal Mamaji. He was always called Mamaji by everyone in the neighborhood including the children, grannies, aunties, vendors, shopkeepers and household help. To his extreme sadness, the young eligible nubile beauties of his neighborhood by virtue of his moniker called him Bhaiyya (brother). How this moniker came to stick was not clear nor its origins known, but since the time he could remember he had been, well, a Mamaji. 

Needless to say, it had become a constant source of agony and pain for him. It elevated him to the status of a brother to everyone who was marriage material and of an Uncle to anyone who was not marriage material. His conundrum usually reached its painful zenith on Rakhi, a day of pure torture, and trauma for Mamaji, as each and every girl of the family’s acquaintance, each girl more beautiful than the other, lined outside Shantivan to tie rakhi on Mamaji’s kalai/wrist. Rakhi was a sad day for Mamaji. The way things went, Mamaji had no hopes of finding a suitable marriageable girl in the neighborhood, none of those girls whom he had crushes on , would want to settle down with him because he was a Mamaji and therefore a Bhai to those girls. His mom seemed oblivious to his plight.

It was during that time Mamaji had to be in Kanpur in order to meet a leather wholesaler to discuss his next venture. He had driven into the city in his spanking new white Ambassador car and had attracted a lot of attention among the neighborhood children as he drove into the narrow alleys and backstreets of Kanpur. As the car slowly negotiated its way into a somewhat congested and pothole ridden section of Jajmau road, a large drove of excited children gathered and followed the car with cries of delight, too happy to see a rarity in their god forsaken neighborhood that reeked of industrial sludge and tannery wastes. Mamaji was a new driver and was having trouble finding a good parking spot. His eyes frantically searched for a fairly open space that did not have parked push carts, rickshaws or piles of cow dung, all banes to a new car owner. As Mamaji looked about, he saw a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

A garish apparition in a kurti of deep splashes of purple, red, neon green and gold over a bright orange shalwar, bordered with gold gotas walked by. The lass did not hesitate to swing her flaring hips seductively, her long braided hair snaking over her right shoulder, held in her right hand and flung about in a rhythmic circular motion, her mouth full of red paan ready to find a home or a freshly painted white wall to receive its irreverent dark red spit, her neck and arms covered in cheap trinkets leaving little real estate for any flies of the streets to settle on her, her kohled eyes dismissing admiring glances as cat calls and whistles left the mouths of young lads on either sides of the street. Life seemed to have stopped as she waltzed by, gaping guys stood in awe, waiting and entirely unable to resume their normal humdrum of life until this sight passed through. A radio perched on the push cart of a Chat wala suddenly blared as the vendor jacked up the volume to assist the passing lady find her swinging rhythm “BABA, dhing, ting ting tiiiing, dhing ting ting tiiiiing, BABA” 

Mamaji watched in utter shock at the confusion of colors walking towards his car from the opposite direction. The lass noted the car with curiosity, looked inside to check on the owner, and paused to deliver a coquettish smile to Mamaji. She turned her face without moving her eyes that were trained on him and delivered a long trajectory of paan spit, which landed on the shirt of the nearby Balloon vendor. The man gave an audible sigh of satisfaction and looked visibly delirious at being the chosen recipient of lass’s spit. A wave of sigh was chorused by the other bystander guys as if instructed to do so on cue from a band conductor. “Haiii Mano Raani, ek baar idhar bhi thoonk de”, (Hai, mano darling, grace us with your spit too). Mamaji was mesmerized by the strange sight dancing in front of his eyes, which struggled to focus on one thing among the many things fighting for attention on the girl. Then he heard a loud crash.

A stunned mamaji stared ahead.While he was distracted, his brand new ambassador car had crashed into a store located at the dead end of the street, and it’s bangles, trinkets and display jewelry completely crushed into smithereens, with bits and pieces of broken glass, beads and ear rings strewn on the hood the of car. A billowing and screaming man came running from the nearby tea stall delivering a heart-wrenching cry. Mamaji surmised that must be the store owner. The man came running with his hands resting on his chest to steady his racing heart and assessed the damage done to his store.

“Hey Ram, What have you done?”, came the gut wrenching cry as the man realized that his entire wares were damaged beyond repair. Then he turned to Mamaji, his anger rising quickly to its full fury. He rushed to the driver side of the car and before mamaji had time to react, he opened the door and pulled mamaji out by his collar. 

“You wretched man, you filthy, rich bastard, you ruined me, see what you’ve done? See that? Now how will I feed my family? How will I get my daughters married? You heathen, you ruined me!” , the desperate man crumbled to the ground with uncontrollable sobs of resignation. 

“I will marry your Mano, Uncleji, you don't worry”, a young man with grubby face and dirty teeth answered, the words repeated again by the chorus of lads who surrounded the crying man. Then one of the guys yelled, “Maaro saalay ko (Lets hit him), they think they can get away with murder, don’t spare him”. A group of scruffy and mean looking men surrounded Mamaji as he backed himself to the car, fear and sweat dripping through every pore of his body. If these men acted out, Mamaji was sure he would die a virgin. The men rolled up their sleeves and begin to zero in on Mamaji, closing in a circle around him. Then a bright idea struck mamaji.

He folded his hands and appealed, “Please, it was an accident, I will compensate the man his damages”

“That you will mister, no doubt, but who will feed his family, eh?”, countered a gruff ruffian among the group, twice mamaji’s size

“Yeah, who will feed his family, who will marry his daughters with no dowry?” another rude one opined.

“Uh! I, I will give him a job in my factory in Delhi”, Mamaji was trying to think as fast as he could on his feet.

“Oh yeah, and then what about his family, who will take care of them?” said another dirty face. The circle closing in on him, Mamaji could smell the collective mix of sweat, tobacco, paan and dust. His mouth went dry with fear. 

“Uncle ji, you don't worry, we will make sure this AmeerZyada (rich sloth) pays you,” a newly minted local guardian of the shop keeper chimed, “And I will marry your Mano, uncle ji, you don't worry”. At that point the downed shopkeeper wailed even louder and started hitting his chest with his fists in desperation.

“I don’t think he likes the idea, Bhaiyaa”, Mamaji tried to reason

Local guardian now glowered at Mamaji and spat, “what do you mean he doesn’t like it, how do you know what he likes? Hah! What do you know in your rich cars and houses, you know nothing,”. He spat on the ground landing his spit next to Mamaji’s foot.

With that the local guardian punched mamaji’s gut and mamaji let out a pained groan that seemed to bring some satisfaction to the men gathered around.

“Nahiiiiii” shrilled a dramatically high pitched voice and all the heads turned in the direction where it came from.

“Unhe math mariye (please don’t hit him)”, the colorful kurti came running and pushed through the gathering of men, once in the epicenter of the furor, she twirled around in a slow dramatic turn with her palms covering her ears as if to protect her from ungodly sounds, and her head shaking a no in a dramatic appeal to stop the fighting. She turned a couple of more turns in this manner, with every man in the circle feeling her pain and agony more than her. 

“My life is ruined, but it’s unfair to blame this man, it was an accident, after all.” She wailed and continued, “I am ruined and no one will ever marry me without dowry”. A collective audible shock wave went through the gathering and the men seemed resolved to take action.

“I will marry you Mano”, came the first responder

“No, I will marry you,” came the second one

“I will”, “I will” and before they knew a scuffle broke out among the men all laying their first claim to marry Mano. Mano looked at the men with wide eyes and bewilderment fit for a drama queen and settled her eyes on Mamaji who was still backed against the car nursing his gut that was hurting from the blow earlier. 

“Aap theek hain”, she swayed her hips and walked over to Mamaji

Mamaji raised his palm to tell her he was fine and assessed the skirmish that went on ignoring the two reasons that started it all – the fallen shopkeeper who was still sobbing on the dusty ground and the girl who was now fascinated by Mamaji and his car. Mamaji looked at the girl once more as she ran her fingers on the side of the car, and suddenly everything around her faded as if adjusted by soft focus lenses with her coming into sharp focus at the center. She stood there, her fingers caressing the car, her eyes fluttering and her ruby red lips smiling at him in a come-hither. Mamaji saw redemption from his years of torment of living a lonely, inexperienced, and virginal existence.  

“I will marry her”, Mamaji announced mustering the conviction and victory knell with which Sir Edmund Hillary must have announced when he reached the top of Mt. Everest. The skirmish stopped and all the men looked agape.

“I will marry her”, Mamaji repeated, not letting this new found redemption easily slip away.

“Like hell you will”, the local guardian roared.

“I will marry him, I accept", she quickly added lest he change his mind.

Every pair of eyes in the maelstrom turned towards the lass. She stood there fluttering her eyes even more, restless to settle the issue once and for all.

“Array, array!! hold him, he has fainted”, a bunch of men ran to catch hold of the local guardian as he landed on his back, hearing his dear Mano's rejection.

“You guys can all disperse now, the man has spoken and I accept”, commanded Mano, eager to seal the deal before anymore objections followed among her eager group of suitors.

“Chalo chalo, sub, move, clear out”, a police constable appeared serendipitously and dispersed the crowd. As he passed Mano a silent wink passed between the elderly cop and the girl, one that went unnoticed by Mamaji and others. 

Thus began Manorama Champaklal’s epic journey from the back streets of Kanpur to the haveli of Shantivan. And Mamaji, who thought he would die a virgin found his release.

KKGSR Dabba Service - A Stupendous Success

An ODE to Mumbai Dabbawalas

Trust ingenious Mumbaikars to run an organization as old as India, with Sig Sixma Certified perfection and efficiency. The organization is none other than the revered and honored Mumbai Dabbawalas Organization 

http://mumbaidabbawala.org/. 

An uncommon story of a common man.

Khushi was terribly inspired by the Mumbai Dabbawalas. She decided to open a branch office in New. Delhi. The business became an instant success, with thousands of Dabba's delivered to offices across Delhi.
 

She was so successful Prince Charles himself sent her congratulatory note on expanding the organization's reach to Delhi and personally enquired about the possibility of her starting a unit in U.K.

UGGHHH WRONG PICTURE...

Her business became a Harvard case study on corporate expansion. Even the Japanese wanted to meet KKGSR to understand how she took the idea from one metro city and replicated it successfully to another metro city in the complex yet fundamentally different ethos of Delhi from Mumbai. 

KKGSR Dabba Service made waves across the country.

 

Anna Hazare On Khushi's Business
Khushiji has shown how to run an honest business. She is a true Indian, an anti-corrupt business woman (except that one time she hid the truth from Raizada's about Shyam)

Baba Ramdev speaking at Annual Yogic Convention Themed "SAY NO TO GAS"
He cited Khushi as the best Satvik Food Maker of the century. KKGS Dabba Service prepared food that complied with his yogic principles, Baba was heard saying, "See, Learn, Khushiji has laid the ideal ground for a healthy Delhi. Delhiites, no more Ghee on your Rotis, cream in your Dal Makhnis, or Tandoori Chicken. Simple, eat salad. Say no to gas"

Poor Delhiites had no idea what hit them. Was it a UFO or a meteorite?

And unbeknownst to rest of Delhi, KKGSR Dabba Service had one Very Very Very Very Satisfied Customer.....The Coming of Mighty ASR!!

Khushi's REVENGE - ASR's Seduction: Its a Game Two Can Play

Disclaimer 1 – I don't do hot scenes any justice. It’s the truth. No, no, I am not fishing for compliments. However, here is my second attempt (first being Arnav's gift). If you really want to knock your pants off, no literally, read Passions Avenue by HeadOverHeels, or Munchy’s Blog or Whispered Monologues by TeleFan. They do it much better.

Disclaimer 2 – I am at my wits end because the episodes are not inspiring me to write much. I like to pick scenes from the actual show and give it a seduction series spin. But I can’t quiet write a seduction scene about the canteen, right? Perhaps, I could. Hmmm.

Disclaimer 3 – Please don't tell me the last paragraph smacked of cliche. I know it is cliche. But it felt right to me and I wrote it. For the record, I don't condone or condemn virginity. 

Oh just read it already, and be kind with your comments.

A soft moan, a silent whimper escaped her. She couldn’t take the mix of pain and pleasure anymore.  She felt a tingle run up her arms and settle on the nape of her neck when he picked her fingers one at a time, put them in his warm moist mouth, sucked on them like they were nothing short of a delicious Popsicle. He repeated the action with her other fingers, each time savoring them with lush strokes of his tongue. She felt odd sensations having her finger sucked by him. “These fingers have magic in them Khushi”, he whispered between his ministrations, “They are delicious just like the food they make”, he continued. “Mmmm, Arnavji, it tickles”, she mumbled amidst her agony, squirming her shoulders as goose bumps settled on the arm with the fingers receiving his special attention. “Stop, please, before I die”, she pleaded. He did not relent, making sure every last finger of both hands were relished by his eager mouth.

Then just as suddenly, his strong arms held her wrists down, stretching her arms on either side. His stubbles tickled her ear as he sunk his nose into her thick hair, taking long deep breaths to inhale in her fragrance. His yearning body descended upon her, sinking her lower into the mattress under his sheer muscular weight. He peppered feather kisses along her left temple, following an excruciatingly slow and deliberate path along her hair line towards the other side of her face. It was a drug, an addictive narcotic, pulling her deeper into its web and she felt helpless, half asleep, and half awake under its influence. She struggled to peel her eyes open, caressing his cheeks with her long lustrous lashes in the process, causing him to shudder at that mere touch. She noticed his Adam ’s apple straining up and down as he swallowed hard and she felt an irresistible urge to kiss it. She licked it once with her tiny pink tongue.

He stopped his trail of kisses at the unexpected display of courage. He lifted his face over her, hovering millimeters away from hers, their breaths intermingling and warming each other’s faces, their smells becoming a combined symphony and their skins shining with a light sheen of perspiration, all the elements intermixing into a heady cocktail of lust. He looked at her, his eyes blazing raw passion and declaring their intent to continue this lustful journey.  He smiled and scooped down forcefully to claim her lips with a practiced authority. She in turn responded by opening her mouth, receiving him, matching his eagerness, and inviting him in with a desperate need of her own. “Mmmm”, he groaned with satisfaction at her openness. His tongue sought hers, as their lips and saliva greeted each other with joy. He traced his large hands down, finally reaching between her thighs, parting her legs, which offered little resistance. His fingers grazed over her curls, exploring, discovering and finally caressing her sensitive sweet spot.

“Aaah”, she cried in pure delight, a signal that it was a welcome gesture. He continued his torment, while deepening his kiss, his tongue mimicking a silent rhythm that his manhood screamed to follow. She arched her back to press herself against him and he obliged by circling his arm under her and roughly pulling her closer to him with nothing separating them but their inflamed skins. His need pressed harder into her belly and she instantly acknowledged it by rocking her belly against him. “Aaarnav,ohhhh”, she moaned yet again in between their kisses.

He broke their lip lock and dipped his head further, blazing a trail of kisses down the center of her body, and she began writhing in anticipation of what she thought was about to happen. Then, a tentative flick of his tongue and a first taste from him sent her screaming in pure frenzy.  “ Arnav please!” came the breathy approval, enough for him to begin his sweet assault on her, one that started from her center and fanned out like wildfire.  She screamed, she moaned, and she screamed some more.

Words tumbled out of her, of their own volition, asking him to go on forever and never stop. She whimpered and ached louder as she beat her head wildly side to side, sinking under the overwhelming sensations that threatened to push her over the edge of sanity. “Mmmm Khushi, you taste so sweet”, she heard him gasp. “Aah! Aapko meetha khana mana hai”, she countered as a matter of habit. His body shook with laughter but he was not about to stop. She thought she would explode with the odd new sensations welling inside her, ready to break the dam and flood her with fulfillment.

Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably, convulsively, helpless and possessed by forces unseen. Suddenly, she felt her shoulders gripped by vices, shaking her hard and beckoning her to wake up. A distant sound called her, getting louder by the moment….Khushiiii, Khushiiiii

“KHUSHIIII, KHUSHIIIII! Are you ok? Can you hear me? WAKE UP, KHUSHIIIIII, WAKE UP!!!”, ASR was shaking her by the shoulders.

She opened her eyes and looked blankly at him.

“Khushi, are you ok? Are you having a nightmare? You were shaking uncontrollably”, he asked.

Still in a trance, she blinked a few times, taking time to bring her back and take stock of what just happened. He was leaning over her, gripping her shoulders, genuine concern writ all over his face. She breathed in and exhaled.

“Khushi?”

“I am ok Arnavji, you can let go of my shoulders”, she composed herself.

He looked a bit surprised and recoiled at her sudden colness, “I, I thought you were having some sort of an episode”.

“I was”, she replied, pulling herself away from her dream of almost complete seduction and yet, still feeling the very real throbbing between her legs.

“Oh! OK. Do you want me to…”, he paused, unsure of the right platitude he could offer to calm her. She raised herself on her elbows, and scooted into a sitting position resting her back on the headboard.

“I will be fine Arnav ji, please don't worry about me, you can go back to sleep”, she said in a small voice, feeling guilty of her unexpected forage into a wet dream.

“Alright”, he stood up, “Call me if you need anything”. She could not meet his eyes for she was shrinking with embarrassment and guilt. She averted her gaze and spoke a bit too sternly than was needed, “I will be quite alright, thanks”.

He clearly picked up the dismissal and headed back to his poolside makeshift bed. Once safe, she shook her head in disapproval and a suppressed giggle left her. “Oh! My word! Did I just..oh no…hey Devi Maiyya! What a sordid dream! What’s happening to me?” she half smiled and half fretted over this new development of emotions in her. Here she was, all out to seduce the mighty ASR and instead, she ended up getting herself almost seduced, in a dream of course, but seduced nevertheless. She was a deep sleeper, but had never slept through anything like this before. She darted down under covers to hide herself from the silhouetted man stretching languidly by the pool, seemingly lost in his own dream. She shut her eyes tight.

ASR stared up the skies with a wicked smile on his face. He had gotten his first taste of her and good heaven’s she tasted sweeter than the Jalebi syrup she so loved. It was probably not right to do this to her, fully knowing that she slept like a log and a bomb blast couldn’t wake her from her cherished sleep. He could not help the sight of his nubile, sleeping wife, who had hours earlier signed the conjugal contract in a fit of fury and then had gone right ahead and breached it by pushing him out of the room. He had only wanted to find out if she felt anything for him and her response gave him all the assurance he could ever want. But he had to stop from going all the way with her, when she started shaking violently, almost scaring him that he might have pushed it too much, too soon for her. Judging by her reaction, he would have to take it very slow with her. She was an innocent, it was evident, and he felt an unprecedented pride at the knowledge that he would be the first one, perhaps the only one, to find out her intimate details, her little secrets, her quirks in bed and have the honor of teaching her the art of making love. His chest puffed with pride.

And then it happened….the first stab of guilt and pain at what he had done to her. But he wanted this with her, it had to happen, it felt so right. In that case, he assured himself, it will all happen in good time. The terrace was calm, the pool was calmer and the promise of a better scene tomorrow descended over Raizada Mansion.

-THE END??? You tell me.

And then it happened to you… The bedroom scene flashed through your mind, once more rearing its ugly head, and reminding you of your running obsession with ASR and all things IPKKND, your forgotten duty to your family and friends since June 6th, 2011, and your revenge on CVs for giving shitty tracks. And ya’ll collectively screamed, “Yes, Yes, Oh, Yes, We want MORE”. Presumptuous Me!

Nimboo Achar & MissUnderstandings go on a Date

Nimboo - Hey Babes, whats up?

MinorMissUnderstanding(MMU1) - OMG OMG OMG, I am so happy, my twin is visiting me on April 5^th

Nimboo - like seriously? There are two of you?

MMU1 -Yes Nimbs, there are two of us. Identical too. I am so excited to see her.

Nimboo -Two MMUs? This just got more interesting. Can I meet her?

MMU1 - Of course you can! She'd be delighted to meet you. We should go on a group date or something.

Nimboo ( a bit disappointed, he had a threesome in mind) - Does she have a BF?

MMU1 -Not sure, we haven't really talked about it. Btw, is you handsome cousin Achar still on the market?

Nimboo -Achar? You mean that jarhead? Yes, he is free as a bird.

MMU1 -Do you think we can set the two of them on a date?

Nimboo -Sure, we can try

April 5th^th, MajorMissUnderstanding (MMU2) arrives from Hawaii and the identical twins are ecstatic to see each other.
The next day on April 6^th,  Nimboo, Achar, MMU1 and MMU2 go on a group date.

Achar -I heard you just got back from Hawaii, how is the surf this time of year?

MMU2 -oh, it was awesome. But when I got MMU1's text that she really could use my help here to back her up at Raizada's I could not refuse.

Achar -How long do you plan to be in town?

MMU2 -oh! it really depends on the CVS, you know. I could be done tomorrow during the MahaEpisode on April 7^th and go home next week or I may have an extended stay of 6 months. It really depends on MMU1's boss.

Nimboo -How are the Raizada's as employers?

MMU1 and MMU2 both speak together

MMU12 -we only deal with ASR, he is brilliant! We really owe it to him for keeping us gainfully employed. And he really listens to our ideas.

MMU2 -Tell them about the terrace scene project you did MMU1.

MMU1 -oh yeah. This one time ASR was on the terrace and I launched my maiden project on him. The terrace scene was so effective; ASR gave me the contract for next 6 months.

Nimboo -your contract ends in 6 months?

MMU1 -oh god! Don't remind me of my future unemployment. I may have to ask Anjali to hire me once ASR is done with my work.

MMU2- But She will be a piece of cake for you sis!

Achar -Wont you stay back to help your sister?

MMU2 ' Again, it depends. Anjali is not my expertise. I may have to bring in our cousin NoMoreUnderstanding. She is an expert at destroying any limited understanding left among Raizada's.

Nimboo -how about CompleteUnderstanding?

MMU1 -oh! That almost never happens. And we don't call her until the very last episode.

MMU2 - Besides, I don't like her, she kind of ruins our projects.

Nimboo and Achar take a short break to the boys rest room.

Nimboo ' Looks like a family of Understanding hotties

Achar ' yeah, we need to seriously get ourselves lucky.

Back at the bar.

MMU1 - O EM GEE! MMU2 here just had an idea. You know you should come over to RM on MahaEpisode.

MMU2 -Yes, seriously, think about it.

Nimboo and Achar look at each other.

MMU1  - Yeah, and if things go really bad, we will have everyone suck at you two for instant amnesia.

With a proposition like that Nimboo Achar could hardly refuse!

Khushi's REVENGE - ASR's Seduction Day Five

Khushi fished out the battery operated scorpion from her Jhola. She had found it lying in the far corner of the pool garden and had picked it up with amusement. Why would anyone have a battery operated scorpion toy in RM? There were no kids here to play with it. Then she had an idea. 

She summoned HP to bring fresh batteries and replaced the dead ones and tested the toy. The little scorpion whirred to life, moving helter skelter, bumping into furniture legs and changing direction every time it did so. She laughed with glee. Perfect. 

ASR left the lawyers office. He was seething with naked fury at the behavior of his lawyer. First, the lawyer could not stop laughing at ASR’s description of his dilemma that led to his marriage to Khushi. Then when the lawyer had calmed down and wiped his tears of laughter, he asked ASR what more could he do to help. ASR shared what he had on his mind. 

That's when the second round of peals of laughter began. In the midst of his laughter, the lawyer kept apologizing but really could not help himself. Finally, he saw the look on ASR’s face and composed himself. 

Lawyer – ASR, you know it’s impossible to draw a term limit on a marriage. You cannot form a marriage contract, its illegal.

ASR – You are the lawyer, figure it out. I want her out of the house in 6 months. Do whatever it takes.

Lawyer – Well, she has promised to leave, right? Then what’s the problem. Let 6 months pass then you can file for divorce. Just avoid her.

ASR – yeah, but these 6 months are going to be pure torture

Lawyer – Why?

ASR remained silent. A knowing smile crossed the lawyer’s lips and then the third round of laughter began. ASR kept quiet. Finally, when this round subsided…

Lawyer – I see, the mighty ASR wants to formulate a conjugal rights contract

ASR – Yeah, something like that

Lawyer – well, that can be arranged. It is within the boundaries of IPC marriage act. Let’s see, what do you want included? Once a week, once a month…

An impatient ASR interjected - "Twice every day".
The lawyers mouth hung open. 

Lawyer – Twice? Every day? Are you sure? No breaks?

ASR – That won’t be necessary. 

Lawyer closes his gaping mouth - “Ok, twice daily, every day for the next 6 months, anything else you want to add”

ASR – yes, she should be ready for different, ummm, you know, errrr.

Lawyer – Positions?

ASR – yes and locations

Lawyer – ASR, you know that won’t fly legally. You will have to work that out with her. I can only add the frequency of the act, I cannot add clauses about positions, level of satisfaction or even a guarantee of satisfaction.

ASR – Alright, alright, I get it. Can you fax them to me first thing today.

Lawyer – sure thing

ASR shook hands and exited the office. As he shut the door, he could hear guffaws of laughter from behind the door. He was furious at his lawyer’s audacity and made a mental note to take his future business elsewhere. 

Khushi walked into the room and found ASR sitting on the recliner hunched over his laptop. She set the glass of milk next to his laptop.

Khushi – Suniye, your milk. I will be sleeping in a few minutes, is there anything else you need?

ASR – Haan, yes, Sign these papers

He shoved the papers towards her face without lifting his eyes from the laptop. She took them tentatively and started reading through the contract. 

Contract

I, Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada, wife of Arnav Singh Raizada, in sound mind and body, hereby agree to the following terms and conditions of marriage with my husband

1.       The undersigned agrees to engage in conjugal relationship with the co-signatory twice everyday. Once before the undersigned wakes up first thing in the morning and once before she goes to bed.

2.       The undersigned’s spouse can request consort at other times of the day as long as he has not used up his quota of two acts a day.

3.       In return for this agreement, Arnav Singh Raizada will sign the same affidavit confirming his involvement with the undersigned and guarantee that he will do his utmost to grant satisfaction to both parties involved.

4.       These terms and conditions apply only for the duration of the marriage, and should the parties divorce, the undersigned will have the right to refuse co-signatory.

SEAL OF LAWYER”S OFFICE

Rs 250 STAMP PAPER

Khushi’s eyes widened and she looked at ASR.

Khushi  - yeh kyah hai? What is this?

ASR – Contract

Khushi – what? Contract for making love?

ASR – yes, you said this morning right? You wanted it in the contract, so here it is.

Khushi – you are weird. I can’t sign this. This is not how it’s done. What about love?

ASR (now mad) – Listen, I don't have time for love. I want to keep things clean between us.

Khushi – then why do we need this contract?

ASR – because that way I can be sure that you won’t pull a fast one on me. 

Khushi was incensed. How could he think of such a ludicrous thing? A contract? For heavens sake!

ASR – here is the pen.

Khushi was so livid that she snatched the pen and signed the piece of paper and threw it on ASR’s face. He sat there with a short smile lurking behind his iron mask. She stomped off to the bathroom to change into her night clothes. ASR picked up the flying pieces of paper, neatly bound them and put it in his wardrobe next to the treasure box that housed some pearls, an earring and a couple of pompoms.

Khushi walked out of the bathroom with lighting speed and headed straight to poolside.

ASR – Khushi, you will sleep inside tonite.

Khushi – That's not in the contract.

ASR – No, but I don't want di to catch your cold. 

Khushi was in no mood to listen and kept her march to the pool. ASR had had it. 

He took two long strides and lifted her off her feet from behind, holding her firmly by her waist. Khushi screamed and kicked her fists and legs in the air trying to free herself. She reach behind with both her hands and took hold of two generous clumps of hair on either side of ASR’s head and pulled it with all her might. ASR’s head felt like the scalp might tear off of it. He kept walking inside the door and to have her release his hair; he clamped his teeth on curve of her bare neck and bit her hard. Khushi screamed in pain and let go of his hair. He dumped her on the bed and stood over her, hovering and snorting like a raging bull. Not to be outdone, Khushi sprung from the bed and lunged for his face. He quickly evaded her blow and took hold of both her wrists in his iron grip. She struggled hard to pull her hands free, in the midst of screams and the best Lucknowi curses rolling of her tongue with fury. 

She freed her legs and began kicking ASR in the general area below his navel. He jumped back a bit to avoid getting hit in his very private area and that snapped something inside him. With a renewed force and energy he pushed her back onto the bed with full might. She lost her balance and fell on her back with ASR’s full weight pinning her down motionless. Her hands were pinned down well above her head and she felt his thighs pinning hers down with all its strength. She continued to squirm and struggle, trying to move her hands and legs but in vain. He was too overpowering for her. She decided to scream. 

She let it out with all her gut straight into his ears. ASR’s ears rang for a second with the shrillness of her voice. 

ASR – you idiotic girl what the hell do you think you are doing. Stop struggling.

Khushi (still screaming) – Chodiya humain, let me go. I don't want to sleep here, I don't like your room. 

ASR lost his patience. He pressed his mouth over hers, covering and drowning out her screams, and deepened the kiss to squelch out any sounds welling inside her. She tried to scream but her sound died between their lips, her resolve weakened as his mouth prodded her lips open and his tongue sought permission to enter her. She parted her lips to scream harder when his tongue dived into her mouth without much ado. She felt a strange longing shoot from her navel, ending between her legs. Her body softened and gave in ever so slightly to the torture. She opened her mouth, yielding further and accepting his intrusion, his demand, his need. An involuntary moan escaped her throat. She was shocked at her own response and gazed at him to assess his response. His eyelids were heavily leaden, enjoying the sweet taste of her freshly tooth-brushed mouth. Mmmm, Vicco Vajradanti, he thought. His tongue became more insistent in its desire to invade and explore her mouth further. She felt his entire weight on her petite frame and for a moment welcomed the warmth and protection it offered against the elements, both indoors and outdoors. Her husband, he shield, her protection.

And then it happened. 

The Romance Novel/Upanyas scene flashed through her mind, rearing its sensuous head, reminding her of the running saga of the heroine’s ecstasy, the hero’s demanding love making and their complete abandon in the bedroom

She could not believe it. She could not believe that it was finally happening to her, just as she had read in the sleazy Hindi Romance Novel – Jaag Utha Insaan (The Awakened Man, Author -  Serialjunkie) that Payal and she had borrowed from Savitha, read and reread it over a 100 times, its pages starting to fray, splotched with watermarks as they both took turns to read it in the bathroom while the shower head ran idle to mask their misdeeds. This is how it all started in the novel and it did not end pretty. There was apparently a lot of physical exercise and strain involved. The book was skimpy on exact logistics but it said something about the "man delved into her velvety ocean". She hadn't the slightest clue how a fully grown man could delve himself into anything in her and what the heck was "the ocean", the velvety ocean blue kurti she wore? Oh! but this felt like heaven, much like paradise. And then she could feel his need.

Khushi was now a jangle of nerves, "No, no, I am supposed to seduce him."

At that thought, she took hold of her senses and clamped on his tongue with her teeth. A shocked ASR let her go with a yelp! Khushi pushed him off of her, ran over the mattress straight into the bathroom and shut the door. She panted, trying hard to catch her breath and clear her mind. ASR sat on the edge of the bed, still reeling at the sharp pain in his tongue, his thoughts muddled by her sudden attack. 

Khushi – this is not how it’s supposed to be!

ASR – Shit, Shit, Shit

Khushi – I was supposed to seduce him.

ASR – Shit, Shit Shit

Khushi – I was supposed to use the scorpion and get back into the bed.

ASR – Shit Shit Shit

Khushi – Devi Maiyya, what sort of joke are you playing on me?

ASR – Shit Shit Shit

Khushi – I will sit here in the bathroom, all night, if needed

ASR – Shit Shit Shit. 

And then it happened. 

INSERT POOL SCENE HERE. No? Ok I will do it for you. 

The pool scene flashed through his mind, once more rearing its sensual head, and reminding him of his running saga of constant arousal, the painful state of his body with the self-administered help, his solemn conjugal duty, heck, need as a husband and his desire to completely possess his wife.  

ASR headed over to the bathroom and as he raised his curled knuckles to knock on the door, Khushi yanked the door open. Both stood there expressionless, staring at each other.