Where the world slows down a little bit, splashes some water on her face, and sneezes

That is what happens when the water goes up the nose.

It is so annoying ya.


However much I like the idea of speed, I do quite love the idea of slowing down. Really slowing down. Because that is when you are made the most aware. That is when it really really starts to feel real. Do you know what I mean? Do you?

I am not so sure.


I think I will call everyone Bubbles from now on. Okay well maybe not everyone. I don’t know if the taxi wallah would appreciate being called Bubbles. Or even my neighbour. No, that woman would definitely not appreciate it. Anyway, she gives me full dirty looks when I put the kachra ka bag outside the door. As I the bag was filled with dead kittens or something.

I think she thinks I am a crack addict with a deep rooted hatred for kittens.

Which is quite unfair.

A lot of things are unfair. Life is unfair. Oh god the number of times I have been told that. Some sort of divine justification for how fucked up things really are. “This is the way it is. And will be” it seems.


Your face only.


I was having a conversation with someone, and, for some reason, the words “I know you. You will take a dump on his desk ” were pronounced in my direction. Which made me wonder.

The desk drawers, although requiring greater accuracy and positioning, would be far more sneakier.

Well worth the effort me thinks.


Clearly, I have very little idea of where this is going. Or where it is supposed to go. Maybe I should stop for a while. Take a deep breath. Splash some water on me face.

Grab hold of that kitten.

So dark Bubbles. So dark.

<Fair & Lovely advert>


Posted in Stop making Sense, Unsure | Leave a comment

Where the words continue to fall, like obese children pushed off the ledge

That is mildly funny. The image of fat kids falling down. Only mildly. It would be fully funny if they were covered in chocolate sauce and had parachutes. So they were not actually falling but gliding down. Chutes open. Dripping with chocolate face. Wondering if they should lick their hands or hold on tight.

Some things are difficult to decide. Especially when you are under pressure.

I wouldn’t want to be forced into a decision but I do think that some times that is the only way it can be done. Through force. Through some form of intimidation, whether from the outside or from within.

Its called pressure you dumbfuck.

Fuk you.


I think shoes should have tiny holes where you can attach flags. So you can have shoes of different nationalities. No actually that does not make more sense. Those holes can be used for so much more.

That’s what she said?

Anybody? Anybody?


I wonder what the ideal ideal length of a nap should be. I mean obviously you don’t want to have dreams because then it becomes sleep. But you also want to forget you are awake and be proper proper asleep as well. Also, when you wake up you should not feel more sleepy but refreshed.

A refreshing nap.

Or a long laze.

Choices choices.


Posted in complete and utter bullshit | Leave a comment

Where the furnishings are left all alone, sitting in a small circle and muttering amongst themselves

Furnishings. Sounds like a verb but is not. Or is it.

Are you done furnishing the house?

Are those your furnishings?

Ooooo, we have a boundary-crosser in our midst.



I wonder if cricket would become more fun if they changes the shape of the bats. Like made the handle broad, and the bottom half thin like the handle. I suppose the blade part would have to be broad enough to make full contact with the ball. But yeah, it would make things a tad more interesting.

I think shapes have some of the greatest inertia in the world. Just refusing to change. Their very definition, their very existence based on these hard, unchanging rules. Length on all four sides is the same. Sum of all the angles is a hundred and eighty degrees. Why man? Why?

But then perhaps that is where the appeal of precision lies. The ability to predict. The ability to foresee. To take a peek into the future without actually moving at all. Yeah, I suppose that is pretty cool. Peeking without moving.

Said the pervert.


I think the biggest problem related with having a bear in your house is the shedding. Can you imagine spending all day just trying to deal with all the fur? Every goddam where. “Listen bhalu, you better stop this fucking shedding thing already. I can taste it in my cereal!”

And Bhalu just giving you that blank stare that things who can kill you by sneezing will give you. You know, “Aye. Shut yaaver mouth. Rascal.” type look. Add a bored yawn or two just to make sure your insignificance is clear to all concerned.

Yeah, I think Bhalu’s would make for some pretty mean school principals. Just sitting there, behind the desk, staring at you. Destroying your confidence with every single breath. Staring out of the window when you begin to beg for forgiveness. Not believing a single thing you are saying.

Mean Bhalu.


I read a short story the other night. After what feels like ages. I like how juvenile it was. How perfectly worded it was so that you had a start, a middle and and end. All beautifully stitched together with little fuss and no drama. It was like sipping warm tea. Not hot, not cold. Just warm.


Posted in Oktatabye, Shut yaaver mouth | Leave a comment

Where the poets fall, all struck by the particularly malicious rhyme virus

The Rhyme Virus.

Symptoms include the inability to find synonyms, an obsession with the word “purple” and a debilitating addiction to haiku.

There I said it. I don’t understand haiku.


Anyway, the rhyme virus is spreading beware.

Don’t try and face it, don’t you dare.

It has made many fall, many jump, and none dance.

Into your flesh, it will cut like a lance.



Some times you make very little sense Kro. And this is not age-dependent sense. I am sure that if you get a sample size of ages 2 through 98, not a single person would be able to make sense of this tatti that you write. Not a single one. Not even that cocaine addled grandma with three nipples.

No, not even her.

Boo whoo.

I think making sense is too overrated man. Why would you want to make sense? And that too all the goddam time? Why? What possible purpose would that serve? Certainly not yours. Making sense would make you predictable, it would make you a conformist. It would make you frightfully easy to snipe as you sat in the coffee shop, sipping on your bulletproof coffee (google that shit please) while sharing your “snap story” (is that a thing?).

Head shot.

You think there would be a hipster murderer? Like that would be his killing style. Only murders hipsters. I guess that would be a slightly lazy murderer, given how easy it is to find them. Hmmm, well maybe not too lazy. Cause they always roam in numbers. Unless you are talking about the lonely hipsters. Those fuckers are always alone. Even in a group of hipsters, the LH will be sitting at a slight distance. Just a hand’s length away. Clearly not identifying with the spirit animal of the Group. With a beard that is just an inch too long. With wayfarers that are just a tint too light.


It wouldn’t be too difficult to lure them out also. Just put a sign outside a warehouse. “Bullet proof coffee. And free wi-fi”

And watch your victims walk in. One by one.


I think that cocaine addict grandma would totally understand this. I really do.

One line for me, aunty.

One line for me.


Posted in aye poda dai, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Where the flies win, a satisfying victory in the midst of a vicious hate campaign

You think we will start directing our hate to non-human actors soon? I mean there is only so much hate you can have for your fellow beings right? Sooner or later, that is not going to be enough. How far will the hate go? Kill half the world? Kill more than that? Naa I think by that stage, the killing will end simply because it is not worth the effort. And then the hate will have to find something else. Someone else. No, something else.

Which is where the flies come in.

I think it would be amazing to document the inter-species war that takes place every single day. At a microscopic level. No guns and all. But just as vicious. You think the “enemy” would somehow infiltrate us, and create this band of spies who work for a fly overlord. And the infiltrators (those traitors) would slowly change the public conversation. Ever so slowly.

They would work for millions of years (in fly-years). Drop hints here and there. Nothing too conspicuous. Nothing that would get them caught by the Anti Fly Force. Oh no, that would be stupid. Perhaps start promoting flies, start talking about their unseen benefits. “Discovering” how useful they actually are. Nudging the public conversation. Slowly.

It would be hard. But not impossible. And once the human species is primed, the master stroke would involve creating a new “other” to hate. I wonder what the flies would use. Perhaps their natural predators? That would be mighty clever. Cancel one with the other.

“Frogs carry cancer: New study published in reputable-sounding journal”

“Amphibians emit carbon dioxide”

“These kids tried to out-stare a frog. What happened next will make you hate them (the frogs)”

De-humanise frogs. Cultivate their mutants. Devalue their lives.

How hard can it be.

How hard can it be?


Posted in Shut yaaver mouth | Leave a comment

Where the coffee tastes bitter, much like your life when the end nears

I am told that death tastes like lemons.

It would be fucked up if the opposite was true no? Here, have this lemon merengue. No, I don’t want to. Why? It smells like my grandmother.

Oooooo. We starting off on a dark note are we? Yes, dark with hints of strawberry and vinegar.

I think vinegar gets a really bad rap for no fault of its own. Like what the fuck did vinegar do man? It is what it is. Tangy. Meant to preserve. Meant to be made through a stretched out process. That is just the way it is bro.

Well, what you gonna do about it.

There was this movie that I saw which had that song. And it made me song cause I quite like that song. Or rather I like the sadness that is inherent in that song. Its like this beautiful sad.

A lovestruck romeo….


I wonder how much you could exercise your butt muscles. Like what if you worked out every single day, and just for the bum muscles. Like proper fucking muscle development. I wonder what your ass would look like then. And if you sat down, it would feel like your ass was on a stone slab. Would it become super hard or be lean and then you would have to flex it for it to become full tight and all.

What could you use it for? Is there a superhero called Ass Man?

Well, there was that porno.

Grow up dude.


This Chris Rock special has a great line on porn addiction. After sharing his battle with porn addiction, he says something like he was always 15 minutes late everywhere. I thought that was a wonderful way of introducing an addiction. So simple. So relatable. So easily pointing out (one of the) negatives of the addiction.


I think its going to rain tonight. Like proper rain rain. And then the clouds are going to hum and sing, and the wind will carry their songs here and there. I wonder if they have to be told to do the carrying. This quick conversation between a slightly drunk cloud and an energetic wind.

“Aye wind. Come here daa”

“See this song? Take it there and – aye bugger stop jumping here and there. Stay still da. Okay, now see this song na? Take it there and <hic> there.”

“Go daa”

And the wind rushes off.

Carrying the songs of the drunk cloud. A cloud which could be happy or could be angry or could be close to dying. Or sad. And in love.

Whatcha gonna do about it.




Posted in Shut yaaver mouth, Stop making Sense | Leave a comment

Where the lungi is pulled up high, ready for battle and also allowing some cooling of the tenders

I don’t know how many people place much importance to having cool tenders. Especially in a (generally) muggy kind of climate that I find myself in. Which is a pity because there are few things more pleasant than having your tenders cooled by the occasional breeze. Of course, if the breeze gets any stronger, then you are looking at some emergency evacuation measures (usually in the upward direction), and then things can get a little cramped for comfort.

But otherwise.

Come forth kind wind. Blow into the upturned lungi so that all three of us can enjoy your cool blessings.


When people say I need help, they almost always fail to specify just what kind of help I need. Which is most annoying and, I dare say, rather irresponsible of them. If you are going to give advice, the least you can do is ensure that it is implementable. And not some vague shit like “Get help dude”.

That is just wrong. So wrong.


Then then what else.

Superman would make such a great traffic warden. Just fucking standing there in the centre. Directing traffic. No single fucker daring to fuck around with him. Eye-lasering the fuck out of anyone who dares run the red light. Or maybe just slashing their tyres with his eye-beam.

Most peaceful traffic junction. Ever.

Peaceful as fuck.


I am not a big fan of the “ever” word. More so when used in context of experiences. More more so when used by people who have barely lived a dozen years. So fucking annoying. No wait. Most annoying thing EVER!




Posted in Shut yaaver mouth, Tatti Drama | Leave a comment