#mhan

Let me share a story with you all. A private one. I hope it may not inspire you to get Kolaveri and ransack my imaginary uncle’s clinic. Rather learn a lesson or two on how to tie your goat and watch him poop in peace. For cute and sexy nincompoops, enjoy my story and in the end if you form an opinion about me, judge me or stereotype me, I swear I shall maintain my peace and tranquility today but tomorrow I shall smudge momo chutney over your precious family *jewels*. (even replace your Pepsodent or Dabur lal dant manjan with it.)

So here it goes. On a fairly pleasant morning on the 28th of September I celebrated my 26th birthday at the lavish and sprawling gardens of the Taj. Haha. Kidding. It was, as I clearly remember Four Seasons in Mumbai… Damn you Vir Sanghvi and rude food. Let’s Anna Hazare (simplify) the factual elements of my big day celebration. I couldn’t go to Mumbai since the impending catastrophe of a demagogue’s demise, a chameleon like figure so complicated, divisive, violent, peculiar who ruled over Mumbai like an absolute monarch… Oops! Last time Arnab Goswami grilled or rather dazzled him in his boomeranging buffoonery “now Mr Thackeray why so parochial about immigrants?, Mr Thackeray why the flip-flop over your views on Muslims? Mr Thackeray I am Arnab the grilling Goswami. But you started as a cartoonist now why ending up as a caricature? ... Thamba! Thamba! Apologies. Mr Thackeray. You’re my childhood hero. I love you. Mr Thackeray for Prime Minister.” (Kindly tell your Shiv Sainiks to get away from Times Now office premises.)

Sometimes my penchant for media overwhelms me the way Emraan Hashmi overwhelms producers who peddles him as cheap and affordable Shah rukh khan-for-slums while Tushar Kapoor comes free with every Johnson baby massage oil purchase. Coming back to my story… Oh! I just remembered that it was the very confines of my apartment that I celebrated my birthday. The guest-list was elaborate and top-of-the-line but Ponty Chadha let me down. Considering last year’s list which consisted of Dhupias, Leones, Pandeys and Ranauts (don’t they remind you of Gujju delicacies?) this year I flipped the coin over Katrina or Anushka but sadly Shah rukh rubbed me in a wrong way and took the two ladies in his some “Jab tak hai kaan waan something”. I was left alone. But I had my pizza delivered by a belly dancer and Boy, she was exotic but her asking price reminded me the preciousness of my kidneys. After she left, grudgingly ofcourse, I had the best moment of my life since I shared a drink with Osama in one of his exquisite caves (I tend to wonder if ‘The Dark Knight rises’ got inspired by those Kandahar caves.) where the world’s most wanted man paraded his wives and David Hasselhoff’s privately clicked photographs.

Pizza, Coke and I. Who would have thought Rihanna’s superhit single “We found our love in a hopeless place” was written for us. I nibbled every soft arc of the pizza, suckled the cheese fillings, chewed every bite until swallowed but coke was strangely dangerous that night. I am yet to talk to the shop-keeper who sold me that peculiarly tasting coke. After we shamelessly tangoed that night, I woke up next morning to find my precious, second only to my special Shlooong (Russell Peters’ coinedword) Blackberry stolen. 26/09/2012. Yes my castle was breached. My fine-living compromised. (I had to waste 600 painstaking words to tell you this) I, at that moment was to my room what USA did to Afghanistan in 2001. My demeanor resembled what Zeenat Aman’s was after what Raj Babbar did to her in the movie Insaaf, didn’t get it? Remember one thing which almost daily happens with women in Delhi? Yeah! Now the circle gets square. After some days while cleaning my balcony I discovered what turned out to be the old sim and I believe the kind and intelligent thief placed it strategically for the owner to notice. Bless the soul of this SOB. May he suffer all life with a constipated look on his face and diarrhea wrecking his marriage life. But we should believe in forgiveness. Revenge is bad. As Descartes says “uski maa behen ek kar do”

Today, I am left bereft of my beloved Blackberry and have to make-do with this Samsung. It’s no Android and it’s for humans they say but I think I am smarter for any smart phone. Let me bid goodbye for now with some pointers which I believe can work as precautionary measure for anyone who sleeps like a log and cares no shit:

Never sleep with your door open. In my case even the curtain was open. Cardinal sin.

Drink Coke the way it is. Beverage. Don’t experiment some Jack Daniel or Signature in it. Old Monk though is exception.

Be aware of your neighbors and any new chick making her presence felt in your vicinity. On that fateful night my neighbor hosted some behenjis and bhaiyas. (ACP Pradhyuman insists that we arrest them.)

It’s basically habits. Don’t sleep like a log but a dog.

Follow religiously these points and maybe your Smartphone or android will never be stolen. But behave properly like a responsible and educated citizen of India else China, Pakistan or even Myanmar has got their eyes on you.