You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs!

egg murder

Detective Dumpty crinkled his nose at the smell of scrambled yolk that was emanating from the sidewalk. Another day another rotten egg cracked open on the pavement. He had reached the crime scene where his deputies were still drawing the outline of the dead body in chalk and others were holding back an eager crowd. Dumpty could make out the egg white and the yolk of the dead egg that were already beginning to cook in the heat of the sun. He could see a young newspaper egg carrying the morning edition, “Extra Extra, Jack the Cracker strikes again! Another rotten egg cracked open! Prime Minister to declare resignation today! Extra Extra.”

Dumpty glared at the newspaper egg and then noticed Benedict Singleyolk, the reporter for ‘The Transparent Shell’ the liberal propaganda mouthpiece that had squeezed this whole case for all that it was worth and more. Dumpty had always hated Singleyolk and his crazed conspiracy theories. His minute coverage of this case was churning Dumptie’s yolk inside his shell. He secretly hoped that Jack the cracker, as the serial killer had been dubbed, opened Singleyolk’s shell next. Read more

A Mid-Winter Day's Nightmare

love-triangle

Swati sighed as she ran her hand down Varun’s muscular chest, “You have no idea how long I have waited for this!” “Not nearly as long as I have been waiting…”Varun whispered in her ear. He looked deep into her eyes, “Are you sure Ritesh is out of town…” Swati ribbed him for reminding her about her husband, “Yes, I am sure, he has a business meeting in Delhi, he will be back only on Monday morning! What about Ramya? Are you sure she will not disturb us?” Swati winced asking about her best friend and Varun’s wife. “She is on a spiritual retreat at some ashram outside the city…she can’t even be reached on her phone.”Varun smiled at her, “ So that means we have the whole weekend to ourselves…” Swati smiled back at him, “And I have a detailed itinerary of how we can spend it.” She leaned in and kissed him. Read more

Oh My Gods!

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I recently went on a temple trip with my parents. The right word for the trip would be a pilgrimage, but that makes me sound like a pagan from prehistoric times so I am not going to use it.So, we started the trip by getting on a bus. Why a bus you ask, why not the more comfortable option of a train or flight journey? Because we were going to a state in India that is still stuck in a time loop in the nineteenth century.

Now, I don’t want you to assume that buses in all of India are horrible, far from it. In several regions you can get buses that boast services on par with a middle eastern airline. But not in this state, here the buses are still designed to imitate medieval torture chambers. But that is assuming that they are designed at all, there is an all real possibility that they are actually remains of some ancient civilization that are being put into use by the state government. Read more

Romantic or retard

Sadhu

You are heartbroken. Again! Like seriously? Again? How can one person get his heart broken so many times? How is that even statistically possible? And yet here we are! You convinced yourself it was different this time. You were sure you had found your soulmate. You were going to make it work this time, you were sure of it! It just felt perfect, different, like it was meant to be. And you ran with it. Of course you did. Like  you have a hundred times before. And it was glorious. It was beautiful. It was passionate, all-consuming. It hurt, but it hurt so good. It had to be true, because it can hurt so much only when it is true, right ? right! Read more

Imran and his internet friends

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Imran ordered his coffee. He watched as the barista topped it with hazelnut crème and Irish liquer and chocolate chips and cookie crumbs and whole oreo biscuits, until it was no longer a coffee but a dessert. He sighed and wondered since when coffee had become a part of a seven course meal. “Would you like some marshmallows with that?” the barista asked him with fake enthusiasm. Imran politely declined, paid for it and sat down at his favorite table facing the door of the overpriced café.

Imran opened his laptop and pretended to be working on his term paper. But he knew that was not why he was really here. He kept glancing up at the clock once in a while. At exactly the right time, like clockwork she entered the café. Imran’s heart began to race. She ordered her usual hot coffee with mint liquer and chocolate sauce. Its unique aroma wafted through the café and Imran heard violins playing in the air. She took her coffee and sat at a table that afforded Imran a clear view of her sunlit face.  If this were a fairytale she would be his princess. And he had spent a lot of time gathering intel on the operation. Now it was time to act.

I am going to talk to her today! Imran thought to himself, I just need some courage. And so Imran turned to his internet friends. He first spoke to the book of a thousand faces. He asked the book if it knew anything about her. Read more

Happy Birthday Old Chum

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Henry is rudely awakened from a wonderful dream. He was just about to score with the hot new web page designer, in the boss’s office too, when his mobile phone rang unceremoniously. He can tell by the ring tone, the theme song of Darth Vader from Star wars, that it is his father calling him. He cracks open a bleary eye and stares at his phone, it is 5 am in the morning, and his father is calling him from the next room. Henry cuts the call and rolls over in his blanket. This he thinks is exactly why I hate the holidays. Read more

Because We Ban

ban the ban

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Mahavir suppressed a yawn as he hurried towards the minister’s office. Being called in this early in the morning was never a good sign.It could mean only one of two things, either the minister had said something incredibly stupid at some public conference. Like last time he had said having too many windmills was not a good idea as it would slow down the wind. The media had gone berserk about it like an infant having its first case of protracted diarrhea and mahavir had been left to deal with the mess. Read more

Of Condoms and Conformity

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“Aaaaaaaaa….ayoo…Shiva,Shiva!” a loud scream echoed from the bathroom. Srinivas was there in a second, worried that his mother had slipped and hurt herself. But she looked fine, she was standing there, grimacing in  disgust and pointing at the toilet bowl. Srinivas was confused,”are you alright, amma?” She just shook her head and pointed at the toilet bowl again and then Srinivas saw it and froze in fear. There, wildly bobbing in the flushed water, like a dead body crashing among the waves, was a used condom! Read more