Facts n Fiction

(Alert – this article contains contentious viewpoints with some harsh language; if this does not suit your taste, please refrain from reading further) Recently, I received an email from a friend about some interesting article to read. However, it turned out to be a boring stuff. I hate reading self-help and motivational kind of pieces; everything that preaches – “think positive”, “say I am the best”, “how to vent anger”, “how to achieve your goals”, and so on in an over obsessed manner. I have never been able to understand the need and important of such self-help kind of writings. The first form self-help or motivational writing that I read was “Who moved my cheese”. I read it as a story (like I read Coelho’s Alchemist) and it made no impact on my behaviour or thinking pattern. However, my disgust for writings of this genre began with Shiv Khera’s “You can win” and it continues till today for his “You can sell”. Such books and writings claim to improve confidence, boost moral, ch

I watched “Housefull” movie yesterday, yes, I did gather the guts to do so. I had nothing else to do either. I did not complete it though. It was such a big disappointment, not a surprise, however, what else can you expect from pervert filmmaker (I won’t be surprised if the next movie he makes will be called “Heyy Booby”). The only relief was that there was no Akshay-licking-dirty-diaper stuff and that I did not pay for the movie. The movie hardly made me smile; I was full of “uhhhh”, “errrgghh”, “shucks-yucks” like expressions. They all, Akshay, Ritiesh, Randheer Kapoor, Chunkey Pandey, Boman, and the “oomph-babes”, tried to make me laugh – all of them miserably failed though. Worried, I thought, have I forgotten to laugh and smile? Is the stressful corporate life taking a toll on me? However, there is something or the other since today morning that has constantly kept my funny bones tickling. It all started with the early morning news – India’s cricketing Eves outsmart the men.

Mangta hoon to deti nahi Jawaab meri baat ka Deti hai to khada ho jaata hai Roum roum jazzbaat ka Wo kehti hai dheere daalo Baalon mein phool gulaab ka Daalte hi fisal jaata hai Haathon se phool gulaab ka Abhi to uski khuli na thi Zubaan ikraar ke liye Lo mere khada ho gaya Haath namashkaar ke liye

Almost a fortnight ago when I saw a half page newspaper ad about Mahesh Manjrekar’s new movie, “Laalbaug Parel” . Though I am not a big fan of Manjrekar’s movies (except Vaastav), I am somehow waiting for this movie eagerly, only for the reason that I find myself close to Laalbaug, Parel, and the textile mills kingdom. I spent my early childhood in Parel and my father was employed in a textile mill for over 15 years – thus the enthusiasm. While I was sweetly hallucinating in that zeal, I came across a very good Marathi novel – “Girangaon Naakaa” , based on a similar theme, may be. ‘Girangaon’ seems to be the flavour of creativity these days. I completed reading the novel yesterday. Yes, I do read Marathi, though I take a little longer time to read it. I had been used Marathi books since childhood. However, only to the interest of the famous ‘Diwali Annk’ then, only till the cover page; the lady never let me peep into the inside pages. To my utter surprise, I haven’t been able to fi

Well certainly indeed! This is for Pune IPL team.

I went to a party Mom, I remembered what you said. You told me not to drink, Mom, So I drank soda instead. I really felt proud inside, Mom, The way you said I would. I didn't drink and drive, Mom, Even though the others said I should. I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right. Now the party is finally ending, Mom, As everyone is driving out of sight. As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece. Because of the way you raised me, So responsible and sweet. I started to drive away, Mom, But as I pulled out into the road, The other car didn't see me, Mom, And hit me like a load. As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say, "The other guy is drunk," Mom, And now I'm the one who will pay. I'm lying here dying, Mom.... I wish you'd get here soon. How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon. There is blood all around me, Mom, And most of it is mine

I had never watched the game of cricket so keenly, ever since it became a business more than a game. I don’t watch it as devotedly, today as well. However, there is one man who can change all the rules – of the game, of the fan following, and for me too. I love watching the game only when he is at the crease. Though I show lot of disinterest in his game to tease my sisters and my friend Nikhil when he plays, I have gathered tremendous interest and respect for him – SACHIN TENDULKAR , the only one after Wasim Akram. I never thought I would write on a topic of cricket, however, this legend has compelled me to do so. 20 years of cricket, bags full of runs, every record tagged to his name, limitless prosperity, infinite respect, free from controversies, and rewriting history of surprises – this legend, Tendulkar, yet remains a humble and modest cricketer. I would appear like a dwarf to write about his cricketing genius or his finesse with the willow. What I do know is it is sheer excitem