Monday, April 11, 2011

Reminiscence - by Kenya Starflight

I have always been an absolute Calvin & Hobbes fan....i think Bill Watterson is a genius, nothing less.  This is a lovely piece which i'm sure every C&H fan will like...



by *kenyastarflight

When you’re six years old, you think childhood goes on forever. There are no days, weeks, or months to keep track of, no weekly paychecks or monthly bills or yearly tax statements to mark the passage of time as in the adult world. Sure, there’s the quarterly report card – but that’s mostly for the parents anyway. In the young mind, time marches by in a continuing spiral of weekend cartoons, insufferable school days, nightly battles to avoid baths and bedtimes. The only indicators of elapsing years are the school clothes that you outgrow the month they’re purchased and the switching of teachers as you ascend up the grade ladder. Otherwise, you don’t label the years by number. You only know a great stretch of blankness to be filled with activity and memories.

Time is not the only thing elastic about childhood. Adults believe – to their disadvantage – that the mind matures as you get older, that reality is a concrete matter and that once you learn that, you’re ready for the “real” world. That’s not true. Reality is as malleable as a ball of Silly Putty, and children possess an innate knowledge of how to manipulate it.

Ask a child to travel to Mars with a Radio Flyer wagon and a briefcase full of candy bars and tuna fish, and he’ll be camped out on a scarlet landscape laughing at the adults’ cumbersome Mars Rover within the hour. Give a child a stuffed animal, and not only will it become his best friend, but he’ll bicker, play, conspire, and even come to blows with it as if it were a schoolmate. To a child, a cardboard box is an infinite array of inventions and shifting from human form to T-rex, whale, superhero, insect, or even light-particle form is as effortless as changing a shirt.

It’s the adults – not out of jealousy or malice, but sad ignorance – who eventually strip the young ones of this remarkable ability to mold their world. They are sadly unaware of the power at a child’s fingertips and deny that it exists. Instead of rightfully fearing the dinosaur that has suddenly entered the living room, they order him to “stop that clomping around!” Rather than give a recently returned time-traveler the attention he deserves, they blow off his quest as a mere flight of fancy. A stuffed animal can only sit there and stare unblinkingly – how could it have raided the fridge or attacked you on your way to the door? The universe is governed by strict, unyielding rules, and woe betide anyone who suggests these rules can be bent in the slightest.

Like all children, I learned of my parents’ and teachers’ inability to comprehend this power. Like all children, I fought their Neanderthalic ignorance of it. Unlike many of my own classmates, I clung stubbornly to this power and denied that it was my “overactive imagination.”

But eventually, I lost the power – not out of adult interference, but out of my own neglect.


As I said before, children are masters of altering reality, and I twisted and folded my own reality to such a degree that I was hardly aware of my parent’s version of it. My world was a collage of prehistoric landscapes, interplanetary vistas, woodland escapades, and shape-shifting that would have impressed a Star Trek changeling. I duplicated, transmogrified, and time-traveled to my heart’s content – and my best friend, a long-suffering, smart-mouthed tiger named Hobbes, accompanied me every step of the way.

But as a consequence of spending so much time shaping and reshaping my private world, I alienated myself from the worlds of others for a long time. I don’t think I had a friend aside from Hobbes until fourth grade. Not that I cared, but for years my parents were worried that I must have some sort of psychological problem that made me relate to my tiger friend better than to “real” people. Not the case – I was simply content with Hobbes and preferred his company to that of most humans.

It was in fourth grade that I finally befriended a group of boys my age. They got together every Thursday afternoon to play Pokemon, and my mom suggested I join them. I was reluctant at first, and Hobbes detested the game, but I finally went. And to my surprise, I enjoyed myself to such an extent that I went back next week. And the next.

“The guys,” as I called them, didn’t seem too keen on Hobbes’ company, and he slept through the games anyhow, so I took to leaving him home every Thursday. It didn’t take too long before I started going to sleepovers and parties with my new friends – leaving Hobbes behind, of course. It really hurt his feelings every time he got left out of something I did, but he took it in stride. After all, we still had a few afternoons together every week to dig for fossils, explore the woods, and hold G.R.O.S.S. meetings.

Not that there were many of those afternoons left.

Once I hit junior high, the adult version of reality took over. Between classloads of homework, activities with my friends, and my newfound interest in the school’s science and newspaper clubs, opportunities to spend time with Hobbes were as few and far between as national holidays.

Until one day in eighth grade when I entered my room, bursting with the news that I was now newspaper editor, and found a threadbare stuffed tiger in place of my oldest friend.


I used to give my dad a hard time about someday looking back and wondering where all the time had gone. Little did I realize that someday I, too, would find myself staring back into the expanse of years gone by, look at myself now, and wonder what the heck happened to me and the world around me.

Losing Hobbes was a shock, but I soon became swept up in high school and mostly forgot about the ratty stuffed tiger that now got kicked around my room or gathered dust bunnies under my bed. I was too focused on starting my high school’s first Paleontology Club, researching stories for the school newspaper, and struggling to impress the girls – no mean feat for a boy who never much liked athletics and would rather spend the day memorizing the species of the Late Cretaceous than hanging out at the mall.

It was a shock to every adult in my life – not to mention me – when I graduated with high honors from high school (Susie Derkins would end up being valedictorian, of course). From there it was college and a degree in – what else? – Paleontology. I spent several years as an assistant (fancy title for grunt) on digs in Utah, Canada, and Australia. I never did have a “Calvinosaur” named after me, though a Velociraptor skeleton on display in the museum in my hometown bears the affectionate nickname “Calvin.”

I came back from the Australia dig just in time to attend Miss Wormwood’s ninetieth birthday party. Miraculously surviving being my teacher/slave driver, she had retired five years later and spent her golden years at home with her sister. I will never forget her laughter as I introduced myself to her as “Stupendous Man” and KA-PWINGed myself across the room to fetch her a slice of cake. She died three months later.

Rosalyn, who I engaged in open warfare with for three years of babysitting, earned a college degree in elementary teaching and, inexplicably, became a grade-school teacher. At her wedding to her longtime beau Charlie, she confessed to me that I had been a cherub compared to the little monsters she now had to browbeat into shutting up and getting an education.

My parents found the house strangely quiet and empty after I went to college – not having dinosaurs, tigers, or teenagers in the house after eighteen years would make any place seem unbearably serene. They ended up selling the place and moving to a condo in Louisiana, closer to my dad’s brother Max. It’s become a tradition for all of us – parents, Max, and me – to get together every year for the local Mardi Gras parade.

Perhaps the most drastic change in my life was my relationship with Susie Dirkens. Once the bane of my young life, I realized upon hitting high school that girls weren’t slime or insects as I’d previously thought. And Susie must have finally seen me for the ball of animal charisma and charm I truly was. In the spring of our senior year in high school, a pizza was delivered to the Derkin’s household with “Susie + Calvin Prom” written in sausage bits, and to my surprise she accepted the invitation. And several years later, when another pizza reached her house with the sausage-written request of “Susie + Calvin Marry?” upon it, she laughed and sent back a cake with a big “YES!” written in frosting flowerettes.

We had a happy eighteen months together, culminating in the exciting news that we would be the proud parents of a baby girl. Then I got the collect call from my mom while I was on a dig in Mongolia. Susie’s mom had taken her baby shopping… and on the way home a drunk driver had passed a semi-trailer and veered right into their lane.

If only I’d stayed home… but would it have made much difference? They say hindsight is 20/20.

It was my dad who met me at the airport and dried my tears, and my mom who drove me to the hospital. I ate, slept, and anguished by Susie’s bedside all through the ordeal as doctors fought to save her and our daughter, praying for the two women I loved. I wept with relief when they took our daughter a month early and informed me that, by some miracle, she was unscathed by both her prematurity and the accident. And I held my wife’s hand one last time as the doctors disconnected the life support.

At Susie’s funeral, I stood by the coffin and reflected on our school days together. I remembered my many attempts to make her life miserable and my fantasies of her gruesome fate as dinosaur dinner or nuclear-strike target. How could I have ever hated her?

I was surprised to hear the familiar voice of Moe, the old school bully, call out “Hey Twinkie!”

We spent a few minutes catching up. Turns out he somehow managed to rise above his home life of an alcoholic mom and an estranged dad to graduate from high school and was now a pilot in the Air Force. When he’d heard of the accident, he’d requested leave to attend the funeral. When I had been grade-school bully bait I had never imagined I would someday be crying on Moe’s shoulder – or that he would let me – but our past differences were gone that day, and we’ve maintained correspondence ever since.

The night I took Miriam home from the hospital was the hardest night of my life. It was so hard to fall asleep without Susie’s soft, even breathing beside me. I was staring into the abyss of my future and wondering how I would ever make my way across it without the one I loved.

That was the night I pulled Hobbes out of storage in the garage and spent the longest time just staring at his glassy plastic eyes, longing for him to come back to life. I’d never felt so alone.


I wonder just how my own parents managed to wrestle me into bed night after night. Miriam can be quite a little berserker when she doesn’t want to do something. Thankfully, tonight she’s rather tired and not quite as feisty as usual.

“One more bedtime story?”

“You’ve had three. Now go to sleep.” I kiss her forehead and pull her blankets up to her chin.

It’s been six years since the accident that changed my life. Being a single father has been infinitely more difficult than I could imagine, but it’s been worth every sacrifice. I miss going on fossil digs, but I’m making a healthy living as museum curator and giving occasional lectures to college classes. And even discovering a new dinosaur species in the deserts of Colorado is incomparable to having time at home with Miriam.

“Kiss Oedipus goodnight, Daddy.”

Oedipus? I’m about to ask who Oedipus is when she pulls a stuffed zebra out from under the covers – the zebra her grandma bought her for her birthday last week.

I have a few options, I realize. I can dismiss the matter entirely and turn out the light. I can humor her, kiss the doll, and get it over with. Or I can address Oedipus as a living, breathing being, bid him goodnight, and kiss him as I would my daughter. There’re a few issues at war here, like common sense, my daughter’s pleading eyes, and my own adult pride.

Then I wonder, “What would I have wanted my parents to do?”

Feeling a bit silly, I bend over and give Oedipus a peck on the nose.

“Good night, Oedipus. May your dreams not include lion attacks.”

Miriam giggles.

As I turn out the light, I swear I can hear a tenor voice declare “You’re dad’s pretty sharp. Hard to believe he’s related to your grandfather…”

I sigh as I enter my own bedroom and flick on the light. I have a long night ahead of me – bills to pay, taxes to prepare, and I promised Moe I’d return his phone call sometime tonight…

“Growing up’s the pits, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” I reply. Then I do a double-take. “Hobbes?”

Hobbes is reclining on the bed, leafing through a “National Geographic” and giving me his usual condescending look.


After years of pouncing on me for kicks, Hobbes is remarkably unamused when I return the favor. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, how can I not be excited?

“Where have you been?”

“Right in front of you,” he replies shortly. “You’ve just been too busy to notice.”

I have no idea what’s happened. Maybe I passed some sort of test when I kissed Oedipus goodnight. Maybe I’ve managed to recapture some of that childhood power. To me, it doesn’t matter.

Hobbes is home.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Caruso by Pavarotti

Caruso is known as one of the best songs by Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti.  It is absolutely amazing, my favorite.  Buffer up, play it REALLY loud, close your eyes and flow with it....seriously try it this way.  Pavarotti was a genius.

I read the english translation of the lyrics; they are beautiful!!  Soulful.  You cant follow them with the song, but read them if you are interested:


Here, where the sea shines and the wind blows
on an old terrace on the Sorrent gulf
a man hugs a girl, after she had cried
then he clears his voice and begins again to sing.
I love you very much
very very much, you know
it's become a chain
that melts the blood inside the veins, you know
He saw the lights in the middle of the sea and thought about the nights there, in America
but they were just the boats (with lights, used to fish during the night) and the white trail of a propeller
He felt pain in the music and got up from the piano
but when he saw the moon coming out from behind a cloud
even death seemed sweet to him
he looked in the eyes of the girl, those eyes green as the sea
then suddenly a tear slipped out and he thought he was going to drown.
I love you very much
very very much, you know
it's become a chain
the melts the blood inside the veins, you know
Power of lyric, where every drama is fake
and with a bit of make-up and mimic you can become another person
but two eyes, so close and so truthful, looking at you
make you forget the words and confuse your thoughts
so everything becomes small, even the nights there, in America
you turn around and you see your life as a propeller's trail
Yeah, it's life that ends, but he didn't think too much about it
on the opposite, he felt (already) happy and began again to sing
I love you very much
very very much, you know
it's become a chain
that melts the blood inside the veins, you know

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Friday, December 10, 2010

head over heels again

I was sitting at my table working on my laptop when i sensed some motion beside me.  My little daughter, who was sleeping on the bed, was stirring.  She lifted her head to try and look at me, but her eyes were blurry with sleep and her head was nodding and swaying in all directions.  Her cheeks were all puffed up, lips pouting, eyebrows arched up, confused and questioning.  She was looking so very cute, so beyond any description cute, that i just had to get up, lie down beside her, kiss her on her head and pray for her wellbeing.

Once again i felt this fierce tug of love for her in my heart.  Its a different kind of love.  It doesn't compete with the love i feel for my wife.  Or my family or friends or anything for that matter.  It is strong and pure and all-encompassing.  It makes me feel so happy to be around.  To experience it.  And i feel grateful to God for letting me have it.  The experience of being a parent has been so beautiful so far...seems like everything else fades away in comparison.  I know there will be ups and downs as she grows up, but thats cool.  I want to be there for her at every step.  And i want to be fitter and live longer because i want to be there for her for as long as possible.

I hope God grants her a long, full life, and if not, i want Him to give her my experience ordinary stuff and beautiful experience school and college and work and music and dance and colours and nature and falling in love and children and hot coffee and alcohol and ice cream and books and rains and food and friendship...

She has fallen asleep again, and i've fallen for her...again.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

The perfect girlfriend

Read another funny article in Times of India: Perfect girlfriend has a big sex drive!

Not very insightful, i thought at first.  Dont we all know that already?  In fact guys are like dogs in that matter.  Women need the right ambiance, mood and reason to have sex.  Men just need a partner, and then they are ready to go.  Anytime.  Any place.

But reading further i was really amused by the kind of things listed by the 3000 bachelors who were polled for the study. There are a lot of interesting contraditions like
- thin, but able to eat a big meal
- career minded, but should want to stay at home and raise kids
etc.  But the funniest thing is this whole study itself is a contradiction to how men are.

Women get really pissed upon reading stuff like this, but they should understand that men just fantasize about this kinda shit.  Usually they are more than willing to settle for anything female that puts out, but doesn't bark, neigh or moo.

(Women are really really choosy about their mates, but many of them often end up with such amazing samples amongst us males, that they end up wishing for something that could bark, neigh or moo.  C'est la vie...)

Coming back to the article, I dont agree with some of the polled results:
- ability to eat a big meal (guys, how does that matter?)
- be ready to go out in ten mins (let her take her time, she's decking up for you, and you get some quality tv time while waiting)
- long hair (have you ever read any story in playboy/penthouse focussing solely on the long hair???)
- pert bottom (shouldn't that be expanded to "well endowed, good figure")

Yeah, there is some good shit there too, but thats all okay for flings.  I usually advise more caution while marrying.  Thats long term committment.  I would look for additional stuff like:
- an awesome inheritance
- 3 slutty sisters (you'd ask why only 3, but i just dont wanna be greedy)
- super deep sleep (she shouldn't wake up even if i was jumping around in bed beside her, with/without someone)
- an absolutely innocent and trusting mind
- speciality in massage therapy
- interest in bedtime experimentation (sometimes even inviting one of the slutty sisters)
- cocktail mixing and chakna making skills

There, you have the recipe for a good, long lasting marriage.

Friday, November 12, 2010

9 more signs your partner wants a break up

I came across this article 5 signs your partner wants a break up and thought hey, this list could be endless!  So i sat and came up with these 9 signs for women that their boyfriend wants to breakup.  Please note that i've never had any boyfriends, nor have they ever broken off with me.

So ladies, you might get the hint that your boyfriend wants a break up when:

1. You wear a skimpy sexy outfit for him and he wants to play count the stretch marks

2. He spends an hour in the loo with his laptop and a hand cream, comes out with a satisfied smile on his face, and promptly goes off to sleep

3. He talks in graphic detail about the most satisfactory dump he just the middle of you seducing him

4. He takes you to bangkok for a business trip, plonks you in a hotel, disappears everyday and returns exhausted, smelling of different massage oils and soaps

5. You cuddle up and ask him what future he sees for them, and he immediately launches into a detailed analysis of The Terminator and The Matrix series

6. When you hint that you are ovulating, he promptly rents movies like The Omen, Problem Child, The Bad Seed, Kids, Carrie and The Other

Its definitely over when:

7. While on a vacation, he calls for room service and lovingly pats the male waiters rear while giving him a tip, muttering something like "hmmm...juicy!"

But you know you are in serious trouble when:

8. He tries to convince you into going deep sea diving with him, despite knowing that you cant swim, saying forty feet of water never hurt anyone


9. When he plans an ocean cruise with you and the next day you find a little black doll with your name written on it submerged in a jar of water hidden deep inside his closet

I'm sure you guys can contribute many more!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Shagged by a rare parrot

My friend Ashish sent me this video and i just had to put it up here.  Thanks boozy!

This is a true incident which happened on the BBC Television series "Last Chance to See".  Excerpts from the Wikipedia article on this:


Sirocco is a Kākāpō, a large nocturnal parrot, and one of the few remaining Kākāpō in the world. He achieved individual fame following an incident on the BBC television series Last Chance to See in which he attempted to mate with zoologist Mark Carwardine. Subsequent featuring of the incident on television channels around the world and onYouTube resulted in Sirocco becoming internationally known. 

In 2009, zoologist Mark Carwardine and television presenter Stephen Fry visited Codfish Island as part of a series for theLast Chance to See, focussing on endangered species around the world. While they were filming Sirocco, the bird hopped onto Carwardine's head and attempted to mate with him. The scene itself, and Fry's commentary "This is one of the funniest things I've ever seen. You're being shagged by a rare parrot", proved an instant television hit, being featured on news items around the world.

A video of the incident was uploaded to YouTube, where it received more than 700,000 views in one week. A year on, more than 2 million people had viewed the clip. Sirocco's Facebook page and Twitter account, set up after the screening, instantly attracted thousands of followers.


The video is fantastic, a must see!

The thing that struck me as funniest in the video is the way the parrot was flapping his wings vigorously while doing it, smacking his mate really hard on both sides of the face in rhythm with his other actions.  Probably in the parrot world this might be romantic: yo ma hen *smack* who's your *smack* parrot-daddy now? *smack* c'mon say *smack* ma name *smack* baby say *smack* ma name *smack*!

I wonder how our women would take to this kind of treatment during sex.  They'll probably bobbittify us.

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Hairy Plotter

A few days back i suddenly noticed something strange on my left arm.  One single hair had somehow grown longer than the others and was now approx 4 times the average length of its peer group.  I was instantly mesmerized.  Wow.

I started wondering about what could have made this dude get more nourishment than the other fellas surrounding it.  Was it simply a freak of nature?  Or had it effectively scared the others into passing on stuff?  Like how in prison the non-maggot-infested pieces of meat find their way to the don-in-residence?

It looked beautiful...dark silky smooth and halle berry.  But wait, it stood proudly erect, demanding a more masculine  Anyways, as i caressed him lovingly it struck me that surely there was money in this somewhere!  Wasn't this like a sign from heaven signalling that my hardships had come to an end?  I mean, with the right care, Iqbal (u can see i'm getting really attached here) could just go on growing to humongous proportions.  Surely the media would catch on at some time!  Isn't everything "viral" these days?

I could be on talk shows and advertisements!
I could charge to just flick it out (still talking about the hair) for a few seconds to an eager audience!
The Sardar community would felicitate me in a function where Hard Kaur would perform!
I could become the new brand ambassador for Parachute hair oil!
Maybe (hair) follicle would become the new f-word!
If i just let it hang out of my sleeve, it would be an instant chick magnet!

Maybe millions for the rights to a movie starring Hugh Jackman!  Yeah sure, the dimensions of his arm and mine are a little different, but hey, if Sameera Reddy can appear busty on screen....

But then a few worries hit me.  Would storage be a problem?  Would it flow on in a glorious straight line, or would it curl up on itself and resemble one giant pube?  Would it start turning grey like most of the hair on my head?

So i shampoo'd, conditioned, oiled and combed him thrice a day, and started practising my autograph.  But when i woke up today, he was gone.  I haven't even been able to find him anywhere on the bed.  Everything is looking so bleak now.  Its like a huge cavity has suddenly opened up inside me.  I stand in front of the mirror shirtless, looking at my now pathetic arm, wondering how i'll pick up the pieces.  But hey whats this?  Is the areola around my left nipple turning heart shaped???  Yes it is!  Fuckkin A!!!  Hollywood, here i come!

How snoring can be sexy

My brother is visiting for a few days for diwali, and it happens that i have been sleeping in the same room as him for the last couple of nights.  Now when he snores, its like a concrete drill going off beside your head.  I'm not kidding.  In fact all those construction people who find night time too peaceful for sleep after a hard day at the site, would sleep snugly in his embrace.

That by itself would be okay.  I'm sure i would be less affected by a monotonous sound after a while.  But bro's main feature is the sudden explosive snort he lets out every few minutes or so.  Maybe a little bit of air keeps getting trapped in his nostrils during every snore, creating a high pressure zone which then explodes at some tipping point.  I jumped up and wildly looked around the first few times this happened.  There were ripples in the water in my bedside glass, like in jurassic park...

But this is not what this post is all about.  The funny thing is what this did to my mind later in the night.

A large part of the first night i dreamt of being chased all around pune by a drunk rhinocerous.  Seriously.  He kept making this harsh drilling sound with his teeth and snorted hard whenever he almost managed to get me by the pants.  So basically my mind interpreted the surrounding night sounds and recreated the reasonably closest scenario it could remember from nature (or rather from all the hours of watching national geographic).  Now rhinos can be pardoned for making such sounds.  Having to run around pune's narrow lanes with that big ass....and if i had that thing growing on my nose, i'd snort a few times too!

But the next night was completely different.  I dreamt that i bumped into this skanky young woman at a pub, who for some reason wanted me bad.  We had some baked bean tacos and some beer and then headed home.  She opened her purse and showed me this giant naughty battery operated toy she carried around (which featured in that yash chopra flick 'dildo pagal hai') and i immediately understood this was gonna be a super night!

What happened after that is not relevant in this post.

So if i get it right, this time my brain had had time to adapt, pitied me, understood my need for some happy-time, and essentially converted this unfavorable sound stimuli loud vibrator pitching in for a threesome!  Now isn't that just awesome!  Screw dogs, i think the brain is mans best friend!!!

Some of you might think that the explosive snorts were probably explained by the result of all those baked beans....but i would appreciate if you old farts don't point that out to me.

Gotta go now, he is just about to sleep.  I have to be in dreamland by the time the water in my glass starts rippling.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Tamil Thunder

3 favorite tamil songs here. I love the absolutely upbeat music and their dancing is so bloody enthu and fun to watch! Great for dancing in parties when you are a few pegs down. You can basically do anything with your body, and as long as you are moving with the beat, you are probably doing it perfectly right!

I know "aa aante" is a telegu song, but they have a tamil version as well, and I for sure cant make out the difference. And it was easier naming the post 'tamil thunder' rather than think of something to go with 'south indian'... :-)