LonG nOsEs, EroTic PoSes..

ADOLF HITLER's journal…
21st January,2010..
10:34 p.m:

It’s a hard day’s night. I could be sleeping like a log. But I have promises to keep ,and miles to go before I sleep..

Today was another day, just like them all. Agonizing in self pity I woke up to the sound of the roosters in my farm .I have been working here since I …ehmm…“committed suicide” with Eva, my wife and Blondi, my dog. Oh wait…Shit... I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Ah.. Who cares anyway?

I love this quite little cozy place that Churchill gave me. It’s got one of those cute mills that you see in Dutch postcards, with sprawling lawns, peaceful mountains and cute busty farm girls…mmmm…what else could an ex-dictator wish for…?

I love doing what I do, raising chicken, growing potatoes and corn, shepherding sheep and slaughtering pigs. The ‘Nazi Swastik poultry farm’ has been doing really well over the years and that’s the only thing that drives me on now.

Anyways, waking up was followed by my usual dose of coffee and cigarettes. Then breakfast followed, which off course was prepared by my lovely housekeeper – Kim Kardashian –bacon , eggs and my favorite orange jew’ce. She ridicules me for writing this diary, ironically calling me today’s Anne Frank. I don’t retaliate. Considering her intimately erotic body, I don’t think anybody would, yes not even the Fuhrer.

Walking through the lobby, I went into the den for some quite time to myself. A sad ripple of a giggle broke across my face as I saw some of the books that I had written over the years, in honor of my friends – The Jews. The widely read graphic novel ‘Long noses , Erotic poses’ , ‘Hannukah with Santa Klose’ and ‘Concentrate your Camps: Vol I and II’ brought back nostalgic memories filled with sunshine.

We , i.e. the Jews and me, had always shared such a warm and amiable diplomatic relationship but the Americans exploited it, just like they are exploiting the Indians and Pakistanis these days. They just can’t tolerate the idea of world peace now can they?
I initiated the world unification and brotherhood movement back in the 40ies ( later termed as “Flower Power”) and started the ‘concentration camps’ where racists and communists were sent to ‘concentrate’ and ‘meditate’ among aromatic flowers and scented candles to let go off their negative vibes but oh no! We, the mighty Americans can’t live in a world with any bad guys now can we? How do we become heroes with no bad guys around? So let’s just frame the visionary philanthropist Hitler and destroy all his humane work!… Arrogant morons…



Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps and saw Kim entering the den in a cute little nurse outfit with her playboy bunny hat. I immediately stood up (in more ways than I’d want, but she hardly noticed, damn you fake Dutch Viagra). She had come to give me my daily insulin injection to control my diabetes. I had learnt long ago that cheesy lines about how it was her sweetness that caused my diabetes wasn’t going to get us anywhere, so I dint even try this time. She unbuttoned my pants to reveal my round plumpy buttocks and administered the injection (So what?! It hurts less on the behind, don’t judge me). She then proceeded to laugh as usual, looking at my tramp stamp – the Swastika that I had got tattooed on my left buttock after a crazy night of partying back in college. Well, before you start shaking your head in dismal disapproval, I was a) drunk, b) in college. You can’t blame me.

After the encounter with Kim I started watching T.V. while she got busy preparing lunch. And that is when my blood started to boil. The son of a bitch Osama Bin Laden came on CNN , still gloating about his 9/11 escapade seven years ago. It was my freaking plan! I wanted to hijack planes and smash em into the ‘Staute of Liberty’ a lady whom I’ve always wanted to ‘bang’ and that stupid turbanator couldn’t even hit the planes on target after he stole the plans from me. That dude is so gay, I mean who ‘hits’ two ‘erect’ towers when there’s a perfectly beautiful lady (The Statue of Liberty) nearby…?!


The news and anything to do with the modern world just increases my blood pressure and so I try to avoid anything to do with it. That is one of the two reasons why I have made my refuge in this remote farmland, the other being Kim off course.

All this thinking was tiring so I went to the bathroom to take a little shower and trim my goatee. The goatee is all I have now, since Charlie Chaplin, the irritating funny man started to imitate my exotic little mustache. I should have patented it while I still had the chance.

Dripping water all over the place, I went outside to sunbathe a little on my hammock wearing Kim’s bunny hat. The hazy sun, the shimmering pond and the lush green grass made me think. All that’s left now is pondering; lamenting and cynical thinking that governs my once lustrous and ambitious life. Times change, so do we ..but I wait…wait in silence..biding my time…my time will come…I shall rise once more to rule this minisucle Earth…whence all shall be my minions, cowering below my might to obey my commands..I shall be the supreme master of the entire universe..mwahahhahahahaahaha ……but in the meantime…goddammit....theres chickens to feed, potatoes to peel, ducks, goats, cows and sheep…miles to go before I sleep…

Lets gas ‘em all up!

(a memoir of the bhopal gas tragedy)





Hello. I am Fatima Bee. Lets travel back in time, you and i.

It was on a husky, hazy evening 26 years ago that I was cooking. Making a tangy kadi gravy with some boiled brown rice, the best we could afford mind you, Khan saab, my father-in-law might not have many teeth left but he is still very particular about food. The thick gravy boiled furiously, while the fire from the stove crackled, egging the gravy on, just like a master would, his slave. The tangy aroma swept through the room enticing all that came in its path.


Saleem and Nooyi, my 7 year old twins were busy swimming in the pond with their father, my husband Noor Ji, who had just returned from a tiring day’s work of pottery with his cousins. The whole village seemed to be splashing and squishing with the buffaloes there in the pond. It was quite difficult to tell the adults from the kids and the kids from the animals, if you ask me.

An uneventful dinner was followed by an even more uneventful night. Or so it seemed at the time…

Tucking the twins in and giving Khan saab a glass of hot milk I went back to my room and snuggled cozily next to my husband. Exhausted with the day’s activities we immediately dozed off, refraining to indulge into any more of our own.

The best part about dreams is that they seem real. I flew on through the mountains sniffing the aroma coming up from the boiling hot river of thick kadi gravy. “where are the brownnn riceeee” echoed one of the buffaloes in khan saab’s voice. Hurrying up, a little scared of being yelled at I swirled the river of gravy around faster and faster. It all seemed normal, the river, the buffalo , the gravy.

Yet my eyes started to water. There was a certain flavor of hot mirchi coming in through the gravy. I hope I haven’t put in too much or Khan saab would get angry, I thought. At first it seemed minuscule enough to be ignored but it soon gained volume and became unbearable. I clenched my throat as the mirchi seemed to have formed a coating inside me, making me vomit and scream unbearably. Horror descended the valley as the peaceful scenery soon turned into one that of pain and suffering.
The buffalo was running around madly while the river had transformed into a huge tide that was sweeping everything in its path. A thick mist of the mirchi was engulfing everything. I staggered on trying to see through the mist but everything started to shake violently. Just when it seemed like I could take no more of it ….I woke up.


The whole village was buzzing with excitement. Noor ji was shaking me and the kids awake. I was confused and sweating profusely. It seemed like I had woken up from the dream to land back into the dream itself. Anarchy reigned. Nobody knew what was happening. The only thing we could feel was the pain, the irritation and the unimaginable discomfort of the mirchi mist, a gas that had spread far and wide…
Begging for the dream to get over, I wept…


26 years later, the dream still refuses to get over.
I try to sleep it off, but it is quite difficult to sleep now. The gas has shriveled my intestines and glued my liver to them. It is very painful to lie down. I sleep sitting up, in an awkward position mostly. Noor ji and Kha Saab perished with the gas. Nooyi after her marriage gave birth to three disfigured premature fetuses, all of them died within a week of their birth. Saleem has ruptured lungs and often coughs up blood.

Anyways,I made some thick kadi gravy and brown rice again today. Here at jantar mantar, new delhi. We have been here for the past two months on the road protesting against the thick mirchi gas that screwed up all life back in our hometown of Bhopal. The government refuses to eat this tender meal with us. But you’re welcome to join..if you wish to....while we dream on ….

An amALGAm Of thEm aLL

my mind wanders off sometimes..
into the clear black starry sky..
and that is when i tend to think..
think, like the topmost layer..
of icy cool water on a teaspoon's brink..

drink with dreams,
wink at illusions,
think up reality,
blink at transition..

the stars,the lovely shimmering white stars..
they blink at me in morse code..
i always wonder what they try to say..
mysteries, fantasies,legends or a simple 'hey'?..

the pipers up there..
whether you like it or not..
sway to his symphonies we do..
whether u realize it or not..

the black blanket of the sky engulfs everything..
i like to watch and then breathe it..
the sleep , the dreams , the illusions , the reality..
and then an amalgam of them all..

IgnOraNce Is BLiss...

The ruby,waxy smoothness of a rose's petals is what u see..
The hazy illusions of shimmering crystals is what u feel..
If the aroma of freshly baked fluffy cup cakes-ur daily meal..
Crusty buttered sunrises..and the mirages of sunsets make u kneel..

When the majestic whines of gurgling purple wine..
Relaxes ur tongue like a snake's hiss..
You know ur in a fuzzy dream..
Where reality is ignorance and ignorance is bliss..


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pAinteR In thE SkieS

...By this time it was 3'o' clock and we went to the Mussorie Rink society , a local skating rink.It seemed like a place that a lot of classic touch to it, complete with all the auburn aura and wooden charms that engulfed it, and would have housed many a great shows in its day but at present , had nothing more to offer other than broken floors , abandoned stages and careless gutka-chewing guards.

We payed 80 bucks each for the skating shoes and out of the seven of us only Dhairya and Aman knew their way around on wheels. The rest of us , well lets just say that our buttocks met the floor more often than our 'skating' feet.
Still it was a lot of fun with everyone running around, scrambling, swooping, scratching and falling down in that ancient abandoned rink.

After coming out of this place though, is when we realized what Mussorie was really all about. In the distance we saw black clouds encircling the hills and felt a cold breeze begin to flow. Slowly, it started drizzling and oh man , were we in store for something amazing...

Skipping potholes, dodging raindrops and inhaling the fresh minty breeze, we advanced through the market to come out into the open. At that moment i realized what God was all about-

It was like coming out of a dark stuffy tunnel on a train to embrace the freshness of the dew-soaken rail track amidst the many trees and the gorgeous sun. Right in front of us, we could see a clear view of the drenched valley and i guess whatever words i may use to describe that majestic scene, would just be a whisper to the epic song that it was -

Surrounded by hills , Dehradun lay quite by itself on the side of a neatly trimmed, terrace farmed hill. Half the sky was covered with mean, gray watery clouds that came pattering down on whatever lay below it, while the other half lay extremely quiet, humble almost as if terrified by the clouds' advent.

The little cute sun seemed to be buttering the crusty hills with its moist golden rays. Little cars went trudging by grumpily along the winding hilly roads, puffing slowly. And all around , just a little below , a faint layer of mist, fused with the air, covered the whole expanse.

It was an amalgam of ecstasy and peace unlike any we had ever experienced before.
Such experiences make you feel small , yet somehow they don't belittle you , they just make you think...

ThE SeXy itCh

What is the one thing that teenagers , people in their prime and senior citizens all worship alike? No I'm not talking about cricket. Its obviously SEX.wherever you might go, from the densest metropolitan jungles to the remotest ill equipped villages , through the centuries , we have witnessed the growth of a uni-directional obsession with sex.

Be it movies , music , photography , crime , advertising , gossip columns or ancient literature and art, a large percentage of everything seems to be pre-dominated by the raw animalistic practice of intermingling genitalia (perhaps in more sophisticated forms).

Don't you wonder why? Isn't sex just another biological process like respiration or digestion.Then whats all the fuss about?
According to Dr. Michael Roizen , the real sex organ is actually "the insula" a part of the left brain which is responsible for hormonal stimulation due to visual or physical aides which leads to sexual cravings.

However i feel it is simply deprivation at a very advanced level.Imagine you have an irritating itch behind your left ear and all you want to do is to reach for it with your hands and scratch it out of your system. But the only problem is that you cant, as itching is considered to be a taboo in this imaginative society of ours. There are certain places , 'itch-brothels' if you may where your needs of scratching will be satisfied for a fee but it is illegal and immoral to do so. Apart from this there are extracts about itching in books and depictions of people scratching each other crazy in art and literature all around.What's more , if you turn on your charm and start dating someone , then maybe at the end of a charade of dates , you might get lucky and get a temporary riddance of your itch.

Imagine being sentenced to ten years in jail if you are unable to control this craving of yours and scratch your ear behind someone else's without their consent, hence committing an 'itch-rape', if you may.

Wouldn't that cultivate a whole culture of itch-centric societal beings?As absurd as it may sound, It definitely would. many more such societies can be thought of based on thirst , hunger or any other physical deprivation.
coming out of this imaginative society we need to understand that we humans at the core-level basically crave for whatever's unavailable be it sex or scratching. this societal deprivation coupled with the crazy inflow of hormones keeps our minds directed towards sex for most part of the day.
Perhaps the realization that sexual intercourse is just another thing that we do might help us concentrate our forces towards more productive activities....

ThE NighT i FleW

(continued from - the day i flew (see below) )

If the morning flight enthralled me, the night one left me speechless.

It was nothing like the creature that had taken me to Pune, a day before. It seemed more mechanical, more digitalized, more human.

With perfect harmony between itself and the runaway, it slid into motion smoothly, and all of a sudden like a bullet launched itself into the air.

From a Godly height, the night sky makes one realize that we humans are not really as disastrous as we are made out to be. Down below, in perfect symmetry, millions and millions of shiny little pinpricks watched us fly, shimmering in synchronization all the while.

There were clear cut divisions between the vacuum-black and the futuristic light zones, as if an architect had just designed the view for my eyes.

There was no sense of the raw, animalistic feeling attached to the flight which had been so prominent during the day. On the contrary, the night was completely governed by a pride at being human.

The lights of the plane were switched off, as we left the city, making us realize how black, black really could be. Completely plunged into darkness, with only the engine's humming to guide us, I felt numb.

Looking out of the window i saw nothing but a single star, probably guiding us.

Rising a little further up, the sky seemed like a sandwich made of 2 huge slices of the blackest bread. Gobbled up between these slices was a thin layer of faintly visible cheese and salami, in the form of a line of clouds.

A silky voice then rang out from the microphone above my head, announcing the arrival of a tasty array of snacks. The night sky and the plane, all suddenly seemed frivolous and all i could think of was the hot chicken tikkas, the shammi kababs, the aloooo tikiiiiess and the hot coffeeee that i would soon be served....
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Come the fuck on! hurry up!
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Goddamnit, ten minutes have passed and the air hostess is still nowhere near my aisle! I'm gonnaa need some muthrfkin food quick or SOMEBODY'S GONNA GET HURT REAL BAD!

All right fine, that was stolen from Russell Peters, but u cant really expect a hungry and irritated writer to focus on originality!
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AARGHHH! BLASPHEMY!
MURDER!
FRAUD@!

I got stupid cold n dry paneer paranthas and even drier chicken sandwiches for a freaking 300 bucks! Fuck u INdiGo airlines!
what all i couldve had with 300 back on land!

A KFC 12 peice bucket with coke...
or a full days meal at Mc. D's..
or perhaps, a naiice double cheese burst cheese margehrita at dominoes...

I am Fucked up beyond all repair.

Cannot ..
Continue..
writing..

Need ..
to..
regain..
my..
honor..

must..
kill..
someone..