G's Spot

Cinorexia: ('cin-o-reks-ya') A medical condition, whose patients have lost their minds due to the involuntary activation of both optical nerves through loud/ obnoxious/ manipulative propaganda. (such as through a consistent, irrational bombardment via billboards, pop-ups, TV, "newspapers" etc.) Related diseases: Anorexia InToxia Sexia

"Too rupiss saar??" she pleaded. At the red-light. "What for? Why me? In such traffic? How, now? Where's coins?" I fumbled. Being but a beggar myself. "4 baby, saar...!" she pointed, counted. On my behalf, At embryos and then, some older. Barely. Motionless, drugged on boot-polish, perhaps, The baby lies. The toddlers walk. Pouting lips, searching bosoms. I fish out a note. Not disposed to coins. Paper turns to milk, Rice, Green leaves. We smile. Pleaded. Pleased.

"U don't love me!" she said. "You ne'er had. You don't know what "lurve" is, Good thing, at that!" "WTF!?" I muttered, "where the f#*& did this come from? Weren't we just getting naked? To go and to come?" "who d'ya think i am?" she flared. "some kind of slut??" "So, you can reach my navel, From my throat AND my gut? "But, you said you liked it? Or... was that lie? Did you NOT spawn rivers, 'tween your smooth thighs?" "Yeah... ok!", she said. Suitably mello'ed. Remembering the times, when she breathed.. or she blow'd. "Then, what were you saying?", To appease her, i asked. "Do you love me?' she suddenly gasped. (Fade to black) A while later, to just fathom the point. I asked her, if SHE "lurved" me... And we smoked our next joint. ;)

A new disease is in the air. Which is why not too many folks seem blissful these days, and a sense of simmering unrest looms over every conversation like that proverbial dark cloud, albeit without the silver lining. This fatal disease, is characterized by an amplified "Intellectual Defensiveness" system, which compels its victims to make impressive INTELLECTUAL arguments, that serve as DEFENSIVENESS for their INACTION, when it comes to glaring issues around us. This is AIDS of the mind, and perhaps worse than the other one we know so far and here are some of the common complaints I have heard from patients: "The traffic in Mumbai is terrible! You know how badly people drive?" one AIDS victim says, before he hurriedly leaves in his gas guzzler - horn blaring. "We are becoming too capitalistic, and losing our roots!" another patient proclaims, looking at his Tag Heur, to tell the time - in an era when one really does not need a watch, unless one's cellu

Heaven. Sometime yesterday. Indra, the colourful king of all Hindu Gods, looked weary ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indra ). He cast his eyes across the room and saw thousands of Ganesha Idols jostling with each other to get a better place so they could clearly hear what Indra was about to say. With every passing year, each idol was getting increasingly larger and needed more space. (There was already talk of taking down an entire Parel flyover, to ensure that one of the Idols could be even taller in the 002009.) They were all there, everyone of them. The Rajas of Lalbaug, Dagdu Sheth, Kumbhaar Road sat in front row, while the little ones from poor homes were relegated to the far corners, with no darshan to Indra. All knew, that it was an important announcement that Indra was scheduled to make, and had made it a point to attend. For the first time, Indra had relied upon a new computer program call P.A.I.S.A. (Pandal Allocation and Impartiality Simulating Algorithm), to decide which G

Which wall should fall? All?? Or those thrust unto man? On maps of paper, now plastic. With rocks plastered, now sand. By palmistry's swelled hand. So many crumbl'd. By Kookies. Hitler. Berlin'd. Remember? Lehman Lynch'd. Wall Street. Recall? Rome. Ceaser'd. Read? Tienanmen. Squr'd. Saw? Commandments. Moses'd. Confessed? Yet, so many still grow.  Through Babel babble. From Bible.  Palestine. Know? I doubt. Iraq. Care? Unlikely. Religion. Kneel? Enough. Freedom. Want? Unsure. Race. White? Colour'd. Which wall should fall? All? No, they'd crush too many heads,  Paying for just a night's sleep. Of their once ones. Through four closed debts. On post-paid loans.  And the resultant flats?  No better. Once felled into. Than bloody tourists' uploads. Of pixel unfriendly photographs. Clawing from wall-to-wall. Which wall should fall?

Mumbai, September 13, 002026. I hit the pedal of the sleek six wheels that i drove. I had just gotten back from my live performance at the 25th 9/11 anniversary in NYC. The re-stored Twin Tower were a marvel of architecture, economic recovery, patriotic grandeur and unchartered financial risk-taking. The acoustics were phenomenal. Mumbai, was still a far cry, despite its sluggish march towards flyovers and sky-skrapers. But, the roads had improved and my 15 series beamer was now legitimately allowed to drive at the the speeds i was on. I turned up the system. Sounded like "Highway Star", remixed. Not that it mattered, since the gig had been so good. I had done my version of Celine Dion's masterpiece, "My Heart will go on". Rock rendition, needless to add. The babes had gone wild and flashed enough breasts to fill a billion Penthouse center-spreads. My original, "The half blind king", got them in near frenzy. If it had not been for the moral police, it

‘Tween dark skin, lighter house. The reds and the blue. Holy Cross and some crescent star. Sprangled Bannered. ‘Tween a marsupial, pachydermus. Every type of polar “isms". Racism? Bushism? Chasm? Crumbling Banks on walled streets. ‘Tween the web, net, foreclosed home. The dove and the crowe. Green piece or Peace. Kenyan? Canyon? Ah! Moment of Truce, You, trojan horse. It’s That mcCain, un Abled. It's Sorry, a’Palin. Hellen’s still mine.

Pali Hill, Mumbai - November 18, 0002008. Most people who've visited, adore my home. I do too. At over 4,000 sq. ft., on Pali Hill and flanked by "illustrious" neighbours like the Kapoors, Dutts, et al - it is a far cry from the 60 sq. ft. chawl room that i was born and grew up in, barely 10 km from here.. Yet, today, I realized that this opulent neighbourhood is just an outward shield to conceal the omnipotent impotence that has become the hallmark of modern, "progressive" India. Six days ago, a stretch of about 100 meters was dug up right outside my apartment. I grumbled at having to travel an extra two kilometers to work and got on, as is usual custom. (In these days of oil wars, that alone is a crime). Until today, for some strange reason, something sparked off inside. I asked my driver to stop (it was 10 pm, and the workers were still busy digging away) and walked up to one of the vandals. "For what and whom, are you digging up this road?" I casu