DATE A MAN WHO LOVES OLD MONK

Date a man who loves Old Monk. Date a man whose loyalty lies to the elixir that patiently blended itself for 7 years. You will find him quietly sitting by the bar of the pub you ritually visit, enjoying the company of a bottle of Buddha Sadhu, untouched by the madness around.  He is the guy sitting beside you in the flight; trying his best to cover up his discomfort on the lack of Old Monk but the availability of useless Beer and Red Wine on board. Strike a conversation with him and ease his pain. Ask him about his favourite Rum and see the twinkle in his eyes. 

  

Date a man who loves Old Monk because he is dependable. While the women around you fuss about their men and their bad hangovers, you would be the one waking up to a man ready with a cuppa coffee for you. The Old Monk knows that a hangover shouldn’t be an effect of last night’s divine alcoholic escapade.

   

It is amazing to date a man who loves Old Monk. Like his favourite rum he is an experience that you would like to have every chance you get without even a hint of change made to it. He is manly and he attracts recognition and while his comrades go on advertising their worth to gain your attention, he sits back because knows that you will come to him. He is smooth in his approach and he is just like his favourite Old Monk.

It is easy to date a man who loves Old Monk. Buy him an Old Monk XXX Rum for his birthday and hear him pledge his allegiance towards you for life. Get him Old Monk Gold Reserve Rum on Valentine’s Day and watch him kneel down to propose you. 
   

You must date a man who loves Old Monk. He is magnetic just like his preferred rum and no matter which bloke tries to sweep you away from him; you will be stuck to him like glue. He knows you are his to keep. He is the same yet full of surprises and sex with him would be a rush you cannot have enough of. Just like his rum he doesn’t allow you to forget him for his touch lingers upon you and fades into a beautiful memory which cannot be ever erased. 

   

Actually marry the guy who loves Old Monk. He is a people’s guy and doesn’t choose friends after checking their pockets. He is there to console his friend from College who failed in his 5^th attempt at the civil services exams and he is there even to congratulate his affluent colleague on his latest promotion. Just like his beloved rum, he is not judgemental and is a good listener. 

   

Grow old with a guy who loves Old Monk. He will be the same man you fell in love with and time would never change him for the worst. Being similar to his pet rum, he too would never change with time. But do not see this as a negative trait, for you know you love him just the way he is.

   

Date a man who loves Old Monk, because you deserve it. You deserve a man who can give you the fruitiest life imaginable. If you can only give him the monotony of Carlsberg, Red Label or a Signature, then you are better off alone. But if you want a truly memorable life with a man worthy of it all, date a man who loves Old Monk.

 

It’s high time you found a man who loves Old Monk and made him yours, because like they say, a man is what a man drinks. 

Or better yet, date a man who loves Chivas. 

P.S-How are you guys? I just got back after an amazing Europe trip and my spine got its must deserved rest after all the bumpy rides it took on our adventurous Indian roads. I loved everything about Europe, except the whole 'WIPING BUSINESS'. If you know what I mean :P

P.P.S- No, I was not dead! and yes, I missed you all too :D

                                                                                                       

KEEP KAAM WALI BAI

The traditional concept of family needs to be redefined. Earlier to constitute a family all that was generally required was a male, a female and the fruits of their loins. But with the advent of time a new non- blood related member has found her way into this closely bound unit and that is a ‘KAAM WALI BAI’. 

  

Recently I discovered the sine qua non which determines the true maturity of a woman. When your casual talks with your girls shifts from the customary ‘Who is the bitch we all hate?’ to ‘Did your Bai come today?’ it is then that you realize that maturity or reality has finally dawned upon you. This is the age of the Bai, and your domestic life is handicapped without her.

We worship our Bai and we do not ever mess with our Bai. The rules of traditional employment are happily forgotten because her happiness is of our utmost concern. The Golden words ‘Mein Aaa Gayi Didi’ is all it takes to brighten up your day because it is she who keeps the balance of your house and her one uncalled holiday is a gazillion times worse than third degree torture in jail.

We had found Utopia a few months back, having found the perfect maid who was stupid enough to charge less. My ears had their own private tantric orgasm everytime they heard the sound of her footsteps entering our house. It was a beauty how she made sure the broomstick touched every inch of the room and the mop licked the entire house clean. The utensils smelled of Prill and smiled at me with satisfaction. She was the domestic Goddess and I her devotee. But Utopian existence is too good to be true and she left us to return back to her Tamil land. My Switzerland turned into dusty Iraq.

Two days of her absence, and my grandmother was lamenting by being on bed and praying for a miracle. My mother had gone bonkers and was now blaming me for being the useless bone who will be divorced by my future husband for not knowing a thing or two about house cleaning. My father started going to office early to escape the boiling temperature at home and came only late in the evening. My brother shut himself in the room. The loss was unbearable.

I began circling my colony asking every random person I spotted if they knew a good maid whom I could possibly hire. Now Indian families are very possessive about their Bai’s because sharing your Bai results in her being tired and coming to your place late and not cleaning your house well. You cannot even scold her for it lest she deserts you. So even when they had a maid evidently cleaning their front porch, people lied to me about the non availability of a Bai. Traitors and Barbaric brutes!!!

Yesterday the balance was restored, when our neighbours vacated their house and generously offered the services of their maid to us.  It was the best goodbye gift ever!

The smell of Prill has returned and the sound of broom as it sparkles up my house is back to tingle my auditory senses. I have presented the best groomed broomsticks available in the market at her service and the buckets are filled with water beforehand to make it easy for her to mop. So what if she charges a few hundred bucks more and so what if she orders me to make her tea everyday before she leaves. Isn’t it normal? Please tell me it is.

Diamonds might be a girl’s bestfriend, but if you truly love a woman, gift her a good maid. She would reward you generously for that, if you know what I mean!!

P.S- I have the most boring family ever. We visit the same restaurant everytime we feel like dining out and we order the same stupid Butter Chicken, Nan and Veg Jalfrezi every single time. Yesterday I admitted in a raised voice to my father about the spiceless existence we have. This resulted in him rolling up his sleeve and promising me a different restaurant and different meal yesterday night. He took us to Indian Coffee House and we all had Masaladosa. Sigh!!!

Image Courtesy- keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

NEED IS ALL WE DO.....

‘NEED’ , the one word that I have grown to hate vehemently. Believe it or not, this tiny 4 letter word is so deceptive, that unknowingly your entire life runs on the illusory fuel it provides. You run, you get tired and during that run you even forget the purpose behind the rush. You even question yourself if you actually want to run. And then someone somewhere reminds you, that you ‘need’ to run. This is how every goddamn person alive on this godforsaken planet is surviving.

The point is, putting too much sense into everything makes it senseless. From the very inception of my life, I have been unknowingly injected with the concept of ‘NEED’. This is when the people around you trigger you to see life as a platform to attain everything that is needed and most of the time you are coaxed into believing that this is exactly what you want in your life. I need to get a respectable job because I need the appreciation of the society I live in. I need to be rich because I need to attain everything in the market that I don’t even need. I need to marry a checklist because I need the approval of the relatives I don’t even like. I need to put on a mask and crush my dreams because I need the support of my parents. I need my child to never pursue his talents because I need him to be better than the neighbour’s kid Einstein. I need money because I need money. Needing is all I have ever truly known. 

And then one day you realise that this was all just a rat race, a wasted life. By then you are so stuck in your fake little world made up of constant lies and futile needs, that you have no option but to continue your existence hating everything right from your respectable job, your checklist marriage, your child who now hates you, your big house filled up of objects that mean nothing, the money that gives you nightmare and yourself for living such a vain life. But then you learn a little trick. A trick that can be used to console yourself of the tragicomic existence that is you and that trick is ‘Judging’. You somehow get the audacity to actually compare your fruitless money to the genuine happiness of a person who isn’t as rich as you, judging a couple who survived all the lashings of the society just to be together while you are stuck with your checklist. You compare your friend’s kid who is a dreamer and an artist with your vain child who though makes big bucks out of your so called respectable job, hates you for crushing his dreams. You do everything that makes you feel better about your inconsequential life. Now you actually allow yourself to be blinded by ‘ Need’

Then you become the puppet master. You inject your child and then your grandchild with this theory of NEED and promote them to strangle their offsprings with it. Slowly the entire world survives on the NEED to please the people they don’t even care about. A Greek tragedy and a masked existence. 

But dreamers are blessed for they find a way out of this colossal mess. They are the enlightened ones who know the true path to happiness is not the one you took. They are good enough not to remind you of your vain existence while you continue to make their living hell for choosing a path away from your gold plated route of ‘NEED’. 

It is immaterial whether they make it or not for whichever angle you look at it, you would realize that they lived a better life than you ever did. Silent jealousy is all that you have now. 

The greatest evil unknown to man is 'NEED'.

P.S- Dark Post I know. Had to write this off my mind. 

THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY

 I think the Universe is hinting me the reason as to why my life is so screwed up. Since I don’t go with the whole Bad Karma from the previous birth lashing it down on me in this one, there has to be another theory regarding my catastrophic existence. So today I was comfortably placed on the couch and eating pasta out of a bowl artistically placed on my belly while switching channels on the TiVo. HBO, the messenger of God for me now was airing the movie ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy’ and I decided to settle for it. The movie was nearing its end and it appeared to be about two little African kids with protruding tummies wearing ancient thongs. The eyes where fixed on the screen while the mind was suddenly infected by an elusive idea as to why my life is not proceeding as planned. 

My mother was the one who taught me to pray and that too to do it real hard. I was taught this one particular prayer even before the words in that prayer made sense to me. The prayer was directed to a South Indian Hindu God my family piously follows and the subject of the prayer was to show me the right path, to bestow upon the world happiness, peace to prevail among the people around me and also a nightmare free sleep to me. The prayer started and ended with the name of that particular God. Let us for the purpose of this story call the referred God as ‘X’. Now this prayer stuck to me like a dry cough that never goes away. Be it the temple of any of the million Hindu Gods or even the Church, I always repeated the same anti-nightmare prayer directed to God ‘X’ before all of them. This might be the reason why the God’s are so pissed off with me. 

Now consider this, your name is say Obama and you hold the top rank in your country. You receive a mail from a plebeian referring you as Manmohan Singh, who also holds a top mute rank in his country. At the first instance you will forward the mail to Mr Manmohan Singh, ignoring the misjoinder of your name in the mail. But when the mails keep pouring in and all of them are terming you as Mr Manmohan Singh, you feel that it is on purpose and you get really angry. You stop forwarding the mails to Mr M and eventually you block the emailing bimbo. God’s must have ego clashes too!!

Thus, none of my prayers ever reached God X, for the place I live at lacks a temple of that God ‘X’, the South Indian Mallu God. I am the emailing bimbo for the rest of the gazillion Gods. Hence the baseless life, the thoughtless action, the stagnant existence, the spiceless reality and the nightmare ruled sleep.

Don’t call me nuts for when you are stuck on a boat with the sails missing and you can see that it is rapidly moving towards a life threatening waterfall, you too will come up with ideas however absurd as to why are you in that horrendous situation at the first place. I did the same.

P.S- In other news, I am an awesome cook!!Also I am a narcissist.

P.P.S- I hate dentists! Must visit one today. Fuck you cavity!!!