Thought Detonation #10 - The Way She Went

IMPORTANT: The following is a work of art, and by no means a cheap erotic story. If you don’t understand the difference between the two, please feel free to switch to other posts. Though this material is moderate, I still recommend readers below 14 years of age not to go through it. Not to mention, the following is a work of fiction.

I at times feel that the fairer sex get an undue advantage of us males. If a lady is young, beautiful and cute; we males just give in to whatever she says, and why not? A woman has a bonus when compared to men, the only bonus, that she’s a woman. *Smiles*. How they reap the most strangest of benefits from a man; and them being addictive, they can keep doing so. This makes me recollect a little incidence at Lajpat Nagar Central Market. Go ahead read it as I put it down for you all.

Thought Detonation #9 - Ringing laugh

It has been nearly 6 months since I have been editing Rajinikanth Joke Books ; I am remarked for a characteristic subtle humor and my mobile phone is full of joke SMS right now. I read them, assess them whether classic or OK or PJ, and then delete them. I may like them of course, but they never make me laugh. You know life of a teenager trying to make something out of his life, it is kind of stressful, especially when people call you talented and expect a blast every time. Keeping up with expectations all the time squeezes each drop of you and it is then that your smiles don’t last longer than half a second. 

I was just about to leave for a meeting. Dressed all in formals, I sat in my balcony, polishing my leather shoes and making a strategy for the day. I was nearly 9: AM. I was thinking of making a few more reference eBooks for my other website, I had to write a review, call up Anuj in evening, and tell Pulkit of the new hosting that we were going to use. I was trying to fix my schedule. I hate doing it. A guy can plan his life, have a time-table, monitor his progress, have goals, check success rate or just key his bike and go on an early morning ride to somewhere far between the hills and across the rivers. I am naturally of the later type, but I am acting to be former. You know we all need to do it right?

Thought Detonation #8 - A Phone Call

Even our firm belief in someone is shaken by petite things. The strongest of bonds are broken over smallest of issues. When faith becomes too finished, with no rough edges in a relation, like still water, and then; a small scratch is enough to dismiss the whole finished art, a slight ripple is like a tempest.

It’s like a dusty road may lead you to the same destination like a marble road would, thought with lesser comfort. But the dusty road is less prone to damages than the marble road. While on a dusty road, you would never care of a new puddle. A new puddle would never be significant in the journey. You would reach the destination as usual and will not notice new damages. Even if you do, would wouldn’t care about them. On the contrary, if you travel on a marble road, each small puddle will be noticed, each small bump would hurt, this journey would be opposite to earlier ones, you would not get the comfort you were used to and expectations would be hurt.
It’s like you don’t bash a mate for forgetting your birthday but breakup with a fiancée for it!!

This short story of mine tells you how little influence mixed with high expectations, can shatter a flawless relation. The more you expect a thing to be perfect, more imperfect it seems.

Thought Detonation #7 - Fakers in Saffron

Today I was a little worried you know. It was nearly 1 in afternoon and I wasn’t able to find something to write about. I don’t want to break my consistency so soon. One article a day is going so fantastic and people are loving me and sharing my work. So basically I was desperately searching for something to write about since my consciences don’t allow me to just forward second hand content. That very moment, “God” came to rescue me. How? Just find out yourself as I turn my encounter with those ‘two fakers in saffron’ into a short story…

…And the door bell ringed. I lifted my face to see the clock in front and shouted, “Nothing today. You can go”. I started reading again, but suddenly realized that the garbage collector had already come earlier. So actually I had treated some guest with the hospitality of the garbage collector of our locality. I jumped from my chair with an “oops” and ran to the main door. I opened the door and saw two men dressed in dhoti and kurta of saffron color. One of them was tall, dark, dirty, and skinny; and looked like bark of a neem tree. His brown-half-broken-and-other-half-about-to-break teeth gave me an impression that he had been punched hard in face. His eyes were yellow and watery; and his neck dipped down in his shoulders like he had no neck. Overall he looked no sage, he looked more of a beaten up street fool. The other one was short, fair and had a decent mid 30’s physique. He was clean and wore a constant smile, apart from his saffron clothes. Basically I was in front of two rouges who were pretending to be sages. The clean guy was the ‘master-mind’ and the stinky was aide. I had a thought of chasing them away but since there was nobody home, I wanted to take a chance, and have some fun.

Thought Detonation #6 - On Corruption

I frequently wonder why people choose to go corrupt. Practicing corruption is something like compromising with one’s dignity, like begging with hands and legs in place. It is actually the worst kind of begging. Every penny that is dropped as bribe is actually like a sweet poison. With a million curses coated with that meekest of smiles be held by the victim. Only the hands giving the bribe actually know what the heart would be yelling when saying “Sir ye le lijiye kharcha-pani”. Moreover it’s ultimately of no use. The biggest corrupts are the victims of corruption themselves. Corruption actually doesn’t differentiate between the commoner and the babu. Is affects all of them the same way. It all ends up in same place. Exactly like in this short story.

…He was a prematurely retired office clerk, in his early forties, with grey-black hair and a dense moustache; Bent a little forward, and thin. He had bifocal glasses on, with black square frame and thick lenses. His hands were dry and wrinkled, and the nail of right thumb broken. He was dressed in khaki jacket and dhoti and wore torn black shoes. He was a prematurely retired office clerk called Sharmaji waiting outside the city police station. His forehead displayed lines of anxiety and discomfort. He was shaking his left foot in impatience and repeatedly looking at his mobile phone, going through his phonebook and recent calls list in nervousness. He was waiting for the constable to “introduce” him to the Station Inspector.

Suddenly the wooden doors flung open and the short, round and dark constable took a step out. He bent towards the wall corner and spat the beetle he chewed, while signaled to Sharmaji that he could come in. Sharmaji rose from his seat quickly which was instantly grabbed by one of the three other men who were waiting for Sahrmaji to vacate. As they both entered the room, the SI sitting right in front of them smiled to welcome them. He had his legs on a chair beside the one he was sitting on and two buttons of his shirt undone. “Bahaut garmi hai sharmaji yaha pe”, the SI exclaimed. Sharmaji dint reply to him and stood there nervously. There was silence for a few seconds. “Accha haan apka kaam yaad hai mujhe. Maine ladkon se baat kit hai. Apka kam ho jayega”, said the SI in a consoling tone.

Sharmaji had been robbed nearly a month ago. He was carrying his wife’s jewelry in a khaki bag when two men on a bike snatched it away. Sharmaji wanted to sell it off at the local jewelry shop. His son wished to do an MBA and Sharmaji wanted him to do that as well. But since the jewelry was stolen now, the fate of the Sharma family hung loose.