Creme De La Chutney

10 Times You Needed a Captain Gif But Didn’t Know Where To Go

Yes I’m still on the Gif trip. Also noticed that Gifs get way more attention than painstakingly thought of & crafted blog posts, so what’s a girl to do? Here are ten times when your life needed a Captain reaction and you didn’t even know it.

1. When You Upset Your Friend’s Dogs (By Just Being Yourself) 

2. Pay Day

OH YEAH

 3. When Your Friend’s All “Sorry Man, But I Don’t Have Any Alcohol In My Fridge”


4. Watching Your Favourite Character on Game Of Thrones Die

5. When The New (Cute) Girl Smiles At You

6. When You Just Want To Be Left Alone

GO AWAY MAN

 7. When You’re Having Some Particularly Dirty Thoughts At Work


8. When You’re 3 Drinks Down & Want To Do Shots And Suddenly Your Friend’s All, Dude, I Think You’ve Had Enough (Bonus: Lip Reading!)


9. Your I’m-Seriously-Working Face When You’re Actually Watching A Movie (On Media Player) 

10. When You Don’t Get What The Joke Is About [Thanks @Dagalti!]

10 TR Gifs that the internet needs but doesn’t deserve

Here’s the result of all the hard work that went into watching about 30 youtube videos & 6 TR movies – I have culled the most magnificent TR moments that you never knew your life needed until now –

1. When you come out of the theatre after spending Rs.800 to watch Anjaan on the first day

2. When you see your sibling taking your stuff without telling you

3. When your friends tell you “Don’t turn now, but there’s a pretty girl right behind you”

Alternatively: When your mother tells you that the wedding you bunked had Pattappa Saapad
4. When you’re out clubbing but don’t know how to dance


5. When you’re out clubbing, don’t know how to dance and you’re a few drinks down
My PT master taught me this step

6. When you’re stalking your ex on facebook and realize s/he’s become infinitely hotter


7. When the colleague you don’t like tells your boss that you’re the perfect candidate for the project that’s in the middle of nowhere land. 

8. Showing off your newest crush’s facebook photos to your friend
9. When you’re having a tough time in the toilet
10. When you have a sick new ride and you’re driving it down the road like the coolest dude ever

GOATMOBILE BITCHEZZ



Band Baaja Bridezilla

[Originally written for & Published in Outlook India (Web). The theme is a little recurring, but what to do etc]


I got engaged to be married last November. The engagement was a rather unique event, since it happened without the boy actually being present. This was because of multiple reasons, including the fact that my fiancé was in New York at that time and my parents, understandably, wanted to close the deal before he understood what exactly he was marrying into.

Anyway, once he came back, our parents hosted a party for friends and family to introduce us as a couple. On the day of the party, because of a gaffe on the part of the salon where I got my hair done, my fabulous blow dry looked fabulous for exactly 10 minutes before I ended up looking like Cousin It from the Addams Family. I wasn’t happy, but after the first 10 minutes, I didn’t let it bother me. This evening wasn’t about me, or the fact that I resembled a sari-clad scarecrow. It was about the fact that people wanted to celebrate two individuals who had just decided to spend their lives together! Right?

Wrong.

Throughout the evening and for quite a few weeks after, I got a lot of people coming up to me to laud me on my not breaking down (“I don’t know how you did it!”), to the point where you’d think I’d just single-handedly saved a village from a Tsunami while discovering the cure for cancer and breaking Michael Phelps’ freestyle record simultaneously, as opposed to have just had a bad hair day. Some more optimistic people, in their bid to cheer me up told me, “At least it wasn’t the wedding!”, because God forbid there’s a slip in the way I looked on that day, then you know, my whole life is likely to be in tatters.

A wedding today, has evolved, no, mutated from being a celebration of family and commitment to this major party where the focus is only on one person— the bride. In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t any wedding magazines around— only bridal, with maybe half a page (if they’re feeling generous) dedicated to the other sundry details, such as the concept of marriage, or the groom. Every single one of those bridal magazines insist that you can never be good enough for ‘your big day’, never mind that your partner liked you the way you had been all this time. You might be skinny, they say, but are you a toned skinny? Your skin might be clear, but is it glowing, sun-kissed and radiant? Your outfit might be pretty, but is it Designer (and roughly the cost of an island in the Maldives)?

No?

Me neither, which apparently makes me a poor naive country boor hick-bumpkin, because clearly I wasn’t aware of the fact that I have only one day to be happy, or that there are going to be photographs (PHOTOGRAPHS!) or that my wedding album is the only legacy I can leave for the next seven generations that are poised to spring out from my uterus and that unless I want to be referred to as “Double Chin Kollu Paati” by my great grandchildren, it becomes my foremost responsibility to do everything I can to resemble Indian Sari Princess Barbie.

Comrades, I confess. I’ve been dreaming about my wedding even before I was engaged, okay, even before I was even legal. Yes, I wanted the pretty clothes, I wanted the big party, but most of all, I wanted to be happy. Today I’m on the other side— I’ve seen enough sarees to go colour blind, looked at enough decor themes to make me wonder if I’m organizing a wedding or a full scale Disneyland musical, listened to enough wedding “advice” to compile an 8 book series and it all makes me want to burst multiple blood vessels, when the truth is that I am over the moon about getting married. You see, Bridezillas aren’t born. They are made.

It’s only when you take a step back do you realize that it’s just one day. One day. All that really matters is what is going to happen in the days, years and months that follow and not whether your earrings are colour coordinated with the stage arrangements. I really don’t want to go into my wedding like I’ve been preparing for some covert siege attack (or a reality television show) where failure will result in dire consequences. I don’t want to remember my wedding as a day where I lost whatever little left of my hair worrying about arm fat or the caterer, but as a day where I had fun, and I was happy. If that means not having my Disneyland perfect wedding, then so be it. I’d rather have a Disneyland perfect marriage.

Oh, Those Jerks They Call Heroes

[Originally Written For Talk Magazine, Bangalore]



Love has always been one of Tamil cinema’s favourite narratives, somewhere between Corrupt Politicians and Evil Maternal Uncles. But lately, Tamil Cinema’s interpretation of love the past decade – that is, post 2000 (bet you thought 1990, ha!), I have issues with.
The post 2000 decade saw a lot of evolution and shifts – in ideas, thought processes, values, technicalities and more importantly, in stories, the kind of humour people enjoyed, the kind of cast the audience wanted to see on screen, the parts of North India from where heroines were sourced (and consequently cast as the “simple local girl” of some village in interior Tamil Nadu, because let’s face it, if the audience can buy  a plot where a guy can become a millionaire overnight by singing in front of a black background, Chandigarh and Theni are practically neighbouring cities), the works.  Unfortunately, where the element of romance in Tamil movies was concerned, it was less evolution and more Frankenstein experiment gone wrong.  

Modern romance and love in Tamil cinema has taken the two steps forward and ten steps back route – basically an urban, real, raw story with a 1980s Naatamai ending.  Now the urban, real, raw hero’s idea of an urban, real, raw romance is basically harassment, and that he gets his way at the end of it, is really disconcerting, because if you peel the sticker of “hero” away, all you get is your everyday stalker who hangs around in your bus stop. Whenever I see these kinds of movies, as a girl, I feel seriously offended. It’s not even just about the harassment, but that the hero-stalker believes that he’s been victimized because the girl “rejected” him – it’s, for the lack of a better word, bogus. What’s even more bogus is that after the relentless pursuit, harassment and invasion of personal space, the heroine realizes that he’s the absolute one for her and that he is actually a really lovable guy in his own urban, real, raw way. 

It’s important to note that Tamil Cinema is an education by itself for most people, which is why “mass” heroes always have a title song about important values like doing good, praising the lord, living in villages, charging correct autofares, the lot. So when movies that glorify harassment and teasing and “correcting” the deviant ways of women (which includes wearing jeans) it is not just validation, but encouragement for that kind of behaviour to thrive. Every time I see the upper middle class to rich, educated, heroine falling for the “diamond-in-the-rough” Prince Charming psychopath who had to call her crude names to win her heart, I can’t help but wonder if the Directors would be okay with their sisters doing the same, their daughters doing the same. Ah, but it’s only a movie! 

There is no equality or balance in the equation anymore. The girl isn’t an object of affection, but prey, like some exotic deer rabbit that our hero has to hunt down to prove his ability as an expert marksman. And the girl has no say in this, because if she’s not interested, she’s simply heartless. Or doesn’t have morals. Or both. Because you know, this is how urban, real, raw love stories are! Here’s an idea for a realistic movie – boy sees girl, boy follows girl, girl says no, boy still keeps following, girl says no, boy doesn’t listen, boy keeps following, girl asks him to stop, boy gets angry, says she doesn’t deserve any better, tells her that the only good decision she can take right now is to reciprocate his truelove, girl tells the police, they put him in jail, the end!
This rant comes from a place that is sick of watching extreme creepiness being peddled as “romance.”  7G Rainbow Colony, for instance, was a huge exercise in frustration. Oru Kal Oru Kannadi gave me blood pressure. Avan Ivan made me want to punch a wall or two. 

At this point I’d like to reaffirm my love for Tamil Cinema. I love the experience, to just sit in the theatre and watch an ordinary man becoming something larger than life in a span of three hours is an experience that is unparalleled. But when things start hitting you closer to home, it becomes uncomfortable and consequently unbearable. Recently, when I talked about this with a friend, he pointed out to the classic (and probably the greatest) Romantic Comedy of our generation, Singaravelan. 

I love that movie to the point where I can quote entire scenes off it. But when I think about it now, something doesn’t feel right. Underneath the hilarity, there are a lot of questions – why did Sumathi have to change her wardrobe to only Sarees after she decided she was in love with Velan? Velan had made a family promise to marry Sumathi, yes, but does that justify the endless pursuing? I think the reason Singaravelan stands out and makes you want to forgive it’s subtle moral lessons/misgivings is because it gave us a chase, not a hunt, and it gave us two characters that even the audience wanted to get together, it gave us romance, unlike the movies of today where all you want to do while watching it is get right into the movie screen, grab the “hero” and punch his face.

How I Fractured My Funny Bone

[Originally Published In The Banyan Trees, here
When I was about 6 years old, I remember being the funniest person in all of Standard II. I just was, simply because of the fact that I had no sense of balance. Let’s get real here – when you’re that age, falling on your face is pretty much the funniest thing ever and therefore, having been gifted the ability to fall on your face multiple times like I had instantly made me 6 year old Russell Peters.
 I found my balance that year, but thanks to a severe affliction of foot in the mouth disease, I managed to hold on to my position in the elementary school comic scene (although it is pertinent to note that I did face the occasional threat from II “B” Roshan who couldn’t hold his glasses in place. Amateurs).  A few years later, cruel, cruel puberty happened, which meant that apart from the occasional bad joke, I also cracked mirrors.
 Basically, high school for me was like one of those terrible tragedy-dramas that the audience finds hilarious. When I look back, I am fairly confident that 5 years from now, when people get together for alumni meets, I will be “that person” of all the “you remember when that person did this and that hilarious thing happened?” stories.  Hell, I have a blog dedicated to all those stories (lest they forget) and it even includes some choice experiences which happened during my internship. It’s quite a neat compilation really, from trying to get my first crush to notice me by staring the crap out of him, to valiantly speaking terrible Hindi with a client in Mumbai in the pursuit of learning the language and then having him tell me he was actually Tamil, to getting into trouble with miscellaneous auto drivers, I’ve done it all.
 That’s where life got interesting. People started liking what I was writing, never mind that I was writing the blog as a “Do Not Repeat These Mistakes  Again” kind of journal.  It was great at the start, but then as time progressed, there was pressure. People who had been reading my blog for a while decided that it was about time that I actually grew up, whereas the newer ones wanted more of what I had previously written (“Hahaha, that episode with the Autorickshaw was great! You should try that with a conductor sometime…and blog about it!”).
 What people don’t get is that I belong to the unintentional humour department. I don’t particularly enjoy that my toes have a semi permanent residence in my mouth, yet I do know that other people do, and so I share it.  Apparently, if you have to be funny these days, it’s not as simple as offering your own embarrassment to make other people laugh.
Maybe modern humour is complicated, simply because there are so many kinds; Especially with the internet, everyone is humourous in every manner, which leads to great expectations. Point being, you’re not going to be thought of as anyone remotely funny unless you have achieved that perfect mix of black comedy interlaced with subtle wit, suitably juxtaposed by sarcasm bordering on parody, but not a farce.
 I miss the times when all I had to do to make people laugh was to fall on my face.

Why I Don’t Swim Anymore And Other Excuses

If I were to think of the one thing I’ve spent most time and energy on while growing up, it’s definitely on coming up with excuses to avoid taking sports related classes. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching sport. There’s the drama, the sentiment, the thrill and great looking caucasian dudes taking their shirts off. But when it comes to playing, it’s just total trauma because I am an athletic disaster. No really, I’ve been told I have negative hand eye co-ordination, the stamina of a dead squirrel and that I’m generally doomed to be a total failure in sport by like 8 different instructors thus far. So if you think about it, I’m kinda like Abraham Lincoln except for the minor detail about him eventually overcoming his failures and becoming President and me still being a failure.  
My mother thinks I have a talent when it comes to coming up with excuses – but the one thing people don’t usually understand about great excuses is that they aren’t made. They just happen. When I was 5, my father apparently had this vision of me becoming a swimming champion (on an unrelated note, I see where my hyperactive imagination comes from) and just like that, I was enrolled into swimming classes at Savera. Have you guys seen the pool at Savera? In case you haven’t I MUST describe it – IT’S CREEPY AS HELL. You know, in normal-people-land, swimming pools are just like giant tubs with blue tiles, because that’s how they’re meant to be. But no, the pool at Savera has like mosaic sea creatures. They start out as friendly seeming fish in the shallow end, become mosaic mermaids (or whatever) in the 5′ – 7′ level and finally, very evil looking giant fish in 12′ deep, dark end. For a really long time I was convinced that the deep end had these bloodthirsty sharks which ate children. And were invisible. 
As if the invisible shark pool wasn’t intimidating enough, the swimming instructor (Terror Sir) was the stuff nightmares was made of. In our second class, he pulled us out of the nice, safe, shallow end and made us (about 6 of us, mostly 5, 6 year olds) line up near the deep end. And then, he pushed us in. Just like that. When you’re like roughly three feet tall, this is crazy scary – imagine being pushed in to this crazy mosaic fish pool (which probably had invisible sharks) with no warning, no floating aids and NO TRAINING. When I came back home after class that evening (I managed to escape the sharks thanks to my mad grab-the-nearest-adult-in-the-water-and-holler-until-he-helps-you-out-of-the-water skills) I was a mess. I begged, I pleaded, I even did the kicking that I was supposed to have done in the water to get out of swimming classes. My mom was unfazed ofcourse, even with my dramatic re-telling of how I nearly drowned to death. “The next time he makes you jump in, just say ‘Jai Anjaneya!’. Nothing will happen!” 
(In case you are wondering, I actually tried this the next class – Instead of my usual 500 decibel shriek, I went in with a 500 decibel JAI ANJANEYA! war-cry. I got out and didn’t burst into hysterical sobs after I was out of the pool – This was a huge deal, and not surprisingly, it caught on among my peers as well.  Pretty soon there was even like this mini-contest among us with respect to who can say JAI ANJANEYA! the loudest while jumping in. I still sucked at swimming though.)
Basically, my parents just wouldn’t let anything deter them from their ambition to mould me into an Asian Games hopeful, which was really sad because I hated swimming, as much as I hated the times Terror Sir would like dunk my head in the water as punishment whenever I displayed my incapability in the water, which was all the time. I played sick (“Swimming will make you feel better!”), I played scared (“Anjaneya is there no? He’ll take care of you!”) and I even played the bad girl card – I kicked Terror Sir right on the stomach in the pretext of improving my freestyle. This did not go well either, because he went and told my parents that I had the legs of a swimming champion and that I should extend my classes.  
Just when I thought I had run out of excuses, one evening we were let into the kiddy pool for an entire hour because Terror Sir was too busy terrorizing his senior students for some competition the next day. The kiddy pool in Savera is also a piece of work – it’s a small pool made even smaller thanks to a GIANT Shiva-Parvati statue bang in the middle with a chlorine Ganga spouting from Shiva’s head. Some kids took it really seriously and would insist on playing “Temple Temple” during our splashing time and we’d form this line and go around the statue and drink some chlorinated water as our Prasadam. Anyway, so there we were, obediently circling Shiva-Parvati-Chlorine-Ganga when one of the boys (I’m just going to call him Oneboy cause I don’t remember his name) started yelling for his mother. Oneboy’s mom showed up looking all tired and exasperated snapped at him asking what the matter was. Apparently, Oneboy really really really needed to go use the loo on the other side of the pool to susu. 
But Oneboy’s mom just rolled her eyes and was like “Why can’t you just do it there?”  
Oneboy yelled right back at his Mom – “That is only in big pool! I can’t susu on God, okay!” 
My mother who was nearby, overhearing all this, quietly told me to get out of the pool – and just like that I was relieved from swimming classes. Goes to prove that if Lavanya cannot come up with an excuse, the excuse shall come to Lavanya. 

Birthday Bumps

I turned thirteen not too long ago. Fine, close to 10 years ago. I don’t remember much of how I was at that time, which, knowing me, is probably a good thing, but what I do remember is my thirteenth birthday. 

Very clearly. 
My parents had just arranged for what they called a  “small family get together”, which in our family’s case almost always translates into a mini mob of close to 70 people. So there I was, birthday girl, in my orange shirt and super flare grey jeans (I just confirmed that with the photos) which made me look about 2 feet shorter and wider simultaneously, being all happy and birthday girl like and getting a lot of cash from wallet-happy relatives while waiting for more wallet-happy relatives to assemble so that I could cut my beautiful cake. No seriously, it was beautiful. It was yellow, with white frosting and it had my name on it. I was in love. Let me clarify something here – when I was 13, actually, even 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, I had a love-love relationship with food, which explained my extraordinarily startling resemblance to a sintex tank. Then things changed, but more on that later. 
Fifteen long minutes of staring at the cake later, the crowd had gathered, the candles had been lit, a bunch of 3 year olds next to me had started licking the icing off the sides and my mom handed me the knife. I blew the candles out among the awkward singing, when my 6 year old sister started screaming, and it wasn’t just any kind of screaming, it was the kind of high pitched screaming that should be patented for use by ambulances and firetrucks. The crowd became silent. She didn’t stop screaming. And then there were tears. And screaming. 
My mother was the first to react. “Did you stamp her foot?” she asked me. 
Thanks mom. 
“No!” 
“Then what is the issue?” 
“Ask her!” 
“Kannamma. What’s the issue?” 
Sidenote: Don’t you just hate it when a birthday ruining brat is called cute names? 
“Ammmaaa.” She said in between sobs. “She’s cutting the cake! ” 
“Yes, kuttima. It’s her birthday no?” 
“But I want to cut the cake!”
“Your birthday was in January, remember? You cut a big cake no?” 
“Noooo” she cried and started bawling even louder.  
My mother picked her up and tried to calm her down by calling her some more cute baby names and some enthu relatives even gave her birthday money (when it wasn’t even her birthday!). I tried to quickly cut the cake while she was distracted by the money, but there was no escaping her CIA spy camera eyes because the moment I picked the knife up, she started wailing again. 
My father finally decided to intervene. “You have to do something about her voice! My glasses are about to shatter any second.”
“I’m trying! Kutti, you can also cut the cake ok? Let Akka cut, and then you cut. Ok?” 
More screaming. 
“Enough!” my father proclaimed. I was overjoyed. Finally, the brat could be locked up until my party was over. 
“Lavanyaaaaa, let Vathoo cut the cake no? Look at her, she won’t stop crying. Be mature now. You’re grown up no?” 
“But Appaa..”
“Please? You’re a ChamathuKutti* no?” 
And so, the ChamathuKutti, very very reluctantly handed over the knife to the now beaming, evil, little birthday spoiling monster to cut the cake. Like, between the two of us, I’d have rather been the Cut-The-Cake-Kutti than the ChamathuKutti. 
That was in 2002. Flash forward to this Friday, 6th January 2012, when my sister celebrated her all important 16th Birthday. The cake arrived right on time for the party and this is what it looked like.
Moral of the Story : Karma loves only ChamathuKuttis. 
*Chamathu Kutti – Generally obedient and sweet little kid which I totally am, by the way. 

The Boredom Of Ravana

This is the first mythology based short story that I am writing. I really hope you like it. 🙂 



One fine day, a really, really, long time ago, the great Demon King Ravana sat upon his throne in his island kingdom of Lanka. His ten hands stroked his ten chins, deep in thought. After he decided that stroking all his chins was not going to provide a solution, he called his minister, the wise rakshasa Saranu.
“Tell me, Saranu” He boomed.
“Yes, Your Greatness”
“Am I not the best king in the three worlds?”
“There is no doubt, My Lord.”
“Have I not conquered everyone who is to be conquered?”
“Every one, Your Greatness”
“Am I not number one?”
“Well ofcourse, Sire. May I ask what seems to be troubling your royal highness?”
Ravana looked around to make sure there was no one else in his court. He sighed a loud sigh and buried all of his faces into all his palms.
“I am bored. BORED! The wine, the women, the revelry, the dancing, even the skies! They’re all boring!”
“Perhaps, you need a vacation, Sire. A change of place.”
“I thought of that. But where? The heavens? That Indra is so annoying, he’ll make even a vacation into a war just so that he can ride that elephant of his. He may not be weary of losing to me, I don’t blame him, after all, what is a greater honour than falling to the most mighty ruler in the cosmos? But there is no fun in torturing the idiot Devas anymore. And the Mortal realms? Bah! Those puny human lands bore me with their puniness. I find doing my morning business more challenging.”
“Maybe you should try, the, um, puny monkey lands.”
“Monkey lands?”
“Yes, your terribleness. It is said that the Monkey Lands of Kishkindha are quite a treat to the eye. And who knows, they might make a good colony. I heard their old king Vaali is back.”
“The old king is back? What happened to the other monkey? What’s his name…some Sageera”
“Sugriva, sire.”
“Yes, that weakling.”
“Vaali took it back from him.” The minister lowered his voice. “Gossip says that it wasn’t just the Kingdom he took from his brother, but his wife too.”
Ravana’s ten heads shook as he giggled. (I know what you’re thinking, but let me tell you that Rakshasas giggle too.)
“This monkey is after my own heart. Imagine his delight when he finds out that I, Ravana, The Great King of Lanka, The Conqueror of the Three Worlds, The Bearer of Shiva’s Sword, The Terrifying Ten Headed …headed..”
“….Terror, My Lord! The Terrifying Ten Headed Terror!”
“Yes! I thought of that. The Terrifying Ten Headed Terror making a visit to Kishkindha! Ravana, The Rakshasa whom the universe comes to worship, visiting! I am sure that he would be weeping tears of joy if he could listen to this.”
“Your modesty has always awed us all, my Lord.”
“Summon the Pushpaka Vimana!”
—————————————————–
The Pushpaka Vimana was one of it’s kind, and Ravana found it fitting that he should seize it from his Half-Brother Kubera, because after all, he was one of a kind too. As the enchanted chariot soared across the skies, the Demon King surveyed the mortal lands below them.
“So plain…so plain. How do people live here?”
“Not everyone has the blessing to be in the beautiful Lanka under your direct rule, Sire”
“I’ll say. I have no idea why my cousins roam around here. But hehe, that Tataka has a wonderful sense of humour, there was this one time…” He stopped abruptly. “What is happening there?”
“It seems like a celebration My Lord. Looks like the Ikshvaku Princes have come of age”
“Heh. Let them celebrate while they still can. They are going to get killed by one of our clan soon, anyway.”
“My Lord, there is this one prince. He goes by the name Rama, is said to be the shade of the rain clouds and is training to be the finest warrior in their race. They have prophesied many great things about him.”
“Stuff and nonsense Saranu! I’d like to see him survive Tatu’s breath in the mornings. These humans, they are wimps. Completely useless. Brahma knows why they were even created. Speaking of, have I told you about the time Brahma granted me the boon of invincibility?”
“Only a few million times, Your Greatness. But it seems like a new story every time you say it.”
“Yes Saranu. There I was, after three thousand years of penance, ready to chop my last head off, when Brahma decided that he couldn’t find a more worthy beneficiary and appeared before me, bowed before me and proclaimed that he was ready to give me whatever I wanted!”
“And what did you ask for, my Lord?”
“Oh you know me, Saranu. I am a simple Rakshasa with simple desires. I asked for invincibility! But you know these Gods. Brahma hung his head in shame when he told me that he couldn’t grant me, the one of the greatest penance, invincibility! What could I do?”
“What DID you do, sire?”
“I may have been frustrated, but I was too intelligent to be let down! So I told Brahma – It is fine if you cannot give me invincibility, O Brahma, but grant that I may never be defeated by any God or Demon!”
“Your wisdom and grace are beyond us all, Your Greatness.”
“Yes, I am aware. And that, Saranu,  has made me the most Invincible..”
“Monkey!”
“What?”
“Sire, the Monkey! On the shore, praying! It is Vaali himself.”
“Ah, so we are in Kishkindha! Land Pushpaka!”
——————————————————————————
Pushpaka landed to a silent halt and Ravana descended on to the shore, waiting to be received. Vaali didn’t budge.
Ravana coughed with his one head.
Vaali didn’t budge.
Ravana coughed with all ten of his heads.
Vaali didn’t budge.
“The insolent monkey!” thought Ravana. “Ignoring me, the greatest and most powerful being in all three worlds! He must be humbled.”
The Demon King walked up to the rock where Vaali was praying, grabbed his tail….and got tangled in it.
Before he could understand what was happening, the monkey king flew from the eastern shore, to the western shore to offer more prayers, taking the Lord of Lanka along for the ride.
As Vaali dived into the waters for his holy dip, Ravana was dunked into the waters as well, tail all around him.
“Monkey!” he called out. “You puny little monkey! Take your tail off me!” But Vaali was too engrossed in prayers to notice.
Ravana tugged, Ravana pushed and Ravana pulled, only to find the tail growing longer, and more twisted. As he tried to set himself free, Vaali decided that it was time for him to offer his respects to the Gods from the northern mountains.
Vaali soared across the skies, again, carrying the Demon King, now completely knotted in his tail, along with him.
The more Ravana tried to break free, the more Vaali’s tail coiled.
Up went Vaali, Up went Ravana.
Down went Vaali, Down went Ravana.
Vaali took sharp lefts, Vaali took sharp rights, and with every passing minute, Ravana began to experience a kind of nausea that was as severe as his penance to Brahma. By the time Vaali finished his prayers in the northern mountains and the southern shores, he was completely convoluted, completely stuck and completely exhausted.
As Vaali headed back to Kishkindha, into his royal palace, the very queasy Demon King in his tail realized that the only way to get out, was to get Vaali himself to uncoil him.
“Help!” he called out.
“Hark! Who goes there?”
“I am here!”
Vaali spun around. No one.
“Who dares play tricks on me? Show yourself!”
“I am here! I am here!”
“Where? Where!”
“In your…tail”
Vaali turned his back to find his tail gathered into a rather enormous lump. He slowly uncoiled it to reveal ten very tired (and rather green) heads.
“The Lord of Lanka?”
“Yes! Yes! Set me free! Please!”
Vaali Paused.
“What are you thinking about?! Please set me free!”
“Did the Lord of Lanka just say please?”
“Yes! Please! Let me out!”
Vaali unraveled the rest of his tail to set the Rakshasa free.
Ravana rose to his feet, a little dizzy. “I have done the most severe austerities for the greatest lengths of time. I have conquered the three worlds. I have been blessed by Shiva himself to bear his sword. And yet…and yet..your tail!”
“How did you get in there, sir?”
Ravana opened his mouth to tell him about how he had wanted to take the Monkey King by his tail and throw him into the depths of the cosmos for ignoring him, him who was the conqueror of the three worlds….when he noticed Vaali’s tail twitch in an I-might-just-take-you-for-another-ride kind of way.
“Er…It must have been a cosmic intervention! A divine happening!”
“Indeed! And I am blessed to make your acquaintance. Good sir, I give you my deepest apologies if I had upset you anywhere”
Ravana thought for a minute about the way his stomach churned during his flight, as if Lord Nataraja himself was dancing in it. “Haha! Nonsense! It was like floating in the clouds!”
“I am glad you are not hurt. Would you like something to drink, sir?”
“It is all right, Vaali. Your hospitality pleases me, but I must be off now. I have many important things to do in Lanka, being the conqueror of the three worlds isn’t an easy job you know!”
“I can only imagine sir. You must come again. As long as I am here, Kishkindha will always be a friend of Lanka.”
—————————————————————-
“My Lord!”
“Saranu.”
“Tell me, my Lord, what happened? Were they petrified by your presence? Terrorized by your ten heads? Cowed by the Conqueror of the Three Worlds? Bullied by the…”
“Saranu.”
“Yes, Your Terribleness.”
“Be honest with me. Did you see what happened?”
“Er…Y-Yes, My Lord. But I must say that even in your flight in entwined form, you were like a glorious comet that was soaring..er… in reverse!”
Ravana groaned. “I was humbled by a monkey! A MONKEY! Do you know what this means?”
A very long pause later, Saranu spoke – 

“On the bright side, My Lord – at least you are not bored anymore.”

——————————-

5 reasons why it’s probably a good idea to deactivate your facebook account

5. Because everyone else is having a better time than you are
The home feed is a constant source of depression. Everyone else is going to more exotic places than you are, getting haircuts that are better than yours and of course, partying. There are DJs, there are shiny dance floors, multicolored drinks, hazy pictures of too much fun had and of course, that invisible, but strong reminder that the last “party” I went to involved a 6 year old cutting cake and Winnie the Pooh. On the bright side, I did get a picture with Winnie the Pooh.
4. Because Facebook knows all the people you never liked in School and wants you to be friends with them. 
For the last time, I don’t want to add R.Srivatsan who was my bench-partner in V-B for 4 days as a friend. Especially because he changed schools right after stealing my brand new Hero pen. That pretty much sealed the end of our friendship right there. Also.
3. Because Facebook is not a pleasant place when you’re academically incompetent (Like me)
Just when you come on to Facebook to get your mind off your exam results, the first story on your feed is some moron with an AATHA! NA PASS AAYITEN!* status. There is obviously something wrong with the system.
2. Because Facebook loves to remind you that you’re not getting any younger
If your friends aren’t getting married, they’re probably having babies, that kid who used to take “how to play with Barbie” lessons from you is celebrating the 6 month anniversary with her second boyfriend and apparently, 18 ’til I die is just a song.
1. Because Facebook is the new TamilMatrimony
The other day, my mother was on the phone with an aunt, and the subject of discussion was the ongoing “looking” process for a cousin. Apparently the Aunt had mentioned something about how they had got a “good match” but had no clue about how said match looked like, for which my mother immediately remarked – “Pera sollungo! Facebook-la paakalaam!” (Just say the name! We’ll find him on Facebook!).

Deactivate button, anyone?

[Based on conversation with the erstwhile @idlingintopgear]

* – Roughly translates to “MOMMY! I HAVE BECOME PASS!”

Angst

Everyone wants to be everything these days. It is making me very angry. You want to be software engineer means you be software engineer. You want to be writer means you be writer. But what is this I want to be everything nonsense? 
You are software engineer but you open blog. As if that wasn’t enough you write one post, two post, three post about your love failure, your amma appa, 5th standard Lakshmi miss and all. Then you act like you are one Aravind Adiga and put comment on other peoples blogs also saying this this can be better that that that is nice. As if that is not enough you are telling everybody on your Facebook please read my blog please read my blog. We don’t want to read your project report only, what makes you think we want to read your blog? If you want to write means write Sriramajayam 108 times. Atleast some punyam will come for you.  
Then everybody wants to be photo grapher also. Everybody is buying big big camera and saying I am photo grapher I am photo grapher and taking pictures of cow, street lamp, dog and all. If you’re taking photo, at least take photo of nice looking people no? Cow, dog, road, leaf and all nobody wants to see. I don’t think cow only wants to see how it looks like in photo. You give it banana, it will be happy and bless you. Why can’t you be like that? Instead you are running around with camera. 
There is that twitter also. You are having twitter account na you are one Shashi Tharoor a? This much buildup you are giving there? If you have any news means you share. Instead you are tweeting tweeting all day saying aiyo my flush is not working aiyo my bladder is not working. Thoo. These ladies on twitter no? they are worst. I think they are having twitter account to talk to boys only. All the time they are giggling with someone or the other. You don’t even know what he looks like or what kind of family he is from, why do you want to giggle with him? Then talking openly about drinks also. Are you all not from good family? Simply talking with boys and putting scene as though you are one models when you are one attu piece. This is why Jeppiar College have iron bar in bus. They are correct because there is no culture only.  
Pah, and this is only the starting. There are other people who are actually accountant, manager, mechanic but putting music and singing and all. Everybody who has keyboard is AR Rahman a? Voice you have means you will sing a? Even dog has voice. Is it singing? Seriously I am asking. 
People these days are losing too much culture because of westerners. This I can be everything thinking is also western philosophy. They are seeing James Bond movie and thinking oh, I can also be like James Bond and drink drinks and run around with jetty girls. 
Thank God world is ending in 2012. 
Because there is a little tea party in all of us.