Category: Humour

Dire Measures.

“But…but sir, what you’re suggesting is…..”


“With all due respect, this is madness! Madness, I tell you!”

“No more questions, Gowda. My decision is final. You will follow orders, and you will do as you’re told. Is that understood?!”

“But the risk is too great, and the reward too paltry! Sir, I urge you to reconsider…surely there are better ways…surely, there must be another solution….”

He put down the handheld device, and thundered.

“GOWDA! Must I remind you of the nobility of our profession? Do you need a lesson in the indispensability of our responsibilities? Do you understand, how imperative, how absolutely crucial it is, to ensure delivery of this package? Can you fathom the enormity, the staggering weight of the trust that has been placed upon this mission? Consider, for a moment, what would entail the failure of this task – unrest, chaos, perhaps the very downfall of what we stand for! To that end I say, no action, nay, not even the potential rip we could cause in the fabric of the space-time continuum, is too minute to ensure that we live up to the mission we have set out to achieve!

We have no time to waste, my good man.

Now hand me the parcel, and prep the machine; I must make the quantum leap.

“…….It has been an honour working with you, sir.”

“And you, soldier.”


He checks measurements, sets coordinates, adjusts for error margins and with a final, proud salute, sets the pod to reset time by 24 hours.


Years pass.

“Appa…who am I named after?”

He wipes a lone tear.

“The most dedicated man I ever knew, son. The one who laughed at the known laws of physics, when it came to his duties. He was…PAKETTS-Nagaraja.”




Smooth operator

My cab guy gets booking after booking.

He picks up the phone and cheerfully goes,
Gaadi puncture aagidhe, cancel maadkolli.

Next booking:
Tumba Traffic jam ithe sir, 30 mins aaguthe. Okay na? O, not ok??! Cancel maadkolli.

Next booking :
Police problem saar. Gaadi move aagalla. Cancel maadkolli.

Next booking :
Dinner time saar. Cancel maadkolli.
So on and so forth, all in 1 minute.

He turns around with a conspiratorial smile at my horrified expression, as the memories of every cab guy who refused my desperate booking flash through my mind.

Quota ho gaya madam.”

#olashare #thosepoorpeople


Co-passenger in cab makes polite small talk.

Picks up phone, unlocks screen.

Hardcore porn begins to play, at full volume.

After ten seconds that feel like an eternity, fellow manages to switch it off.

Very human mistake only, but now I’d rather just listen to my music and stew in uncomfortable silence.

But brave-heart that he is, dudebro initiates small talk. The fact that his cab passenger now knows about what tickles his innermost fancies in five minutes, be damned.

Tries to ask me how to spell my name so he can find me on Facebook.
Tell him I don’t add strangers, sorry.
Asks me for number so we can “hangout in HSR layout”.
Tell him I’m a nomad who doesn’t believe in homes, and instead crash on people’s couches, and today I just happened to be in HSR.

He looks confused, poor guy.


A good friend pings.

“How is…marriage like?”

“Hello to you to too.”

“Hehe. So what changed?”

The work day has ended, I’m waiting for the samosa guy to come. I can do this. I can hash together a summary.

“Settle down kiddo, we have a long day ahead.” *lights a cigar*.


It’s….Effing. Frustrating.

There will be times when you look at the other person and lovingly scream, “IT WAS YOUR TURN TO DO THE DISHES YOU HALF-WITTED OAF!”

But the next moment you’re discussing whether to eat leftover Aloogobi or fuck it, let’s Swiggy and re-run Game of Thrones. There’s no Nextflix and chill anymore, because marriage has no chill.

You know what’s worse? If you’re marrying someone who you’ve known long. No, seriously.

When you’re in an arranged setup, the first few months are all about glorious discovery. “Oooh, he has a funny sneeze.” “Wow, weird toenails.” Small differences are brushed aside, no argument will start with you-were-never-like-this.

When you’ve known each other far too long, there is nothing left to discover but the worst bits – the bits that come with cohabitation. The perfect human being you wanted to sign your life over to, burps too loud. Watches cricket like a brain-dead zombie. Takes one hour to poop. Puts wet towels on the bed. Your mom likes him more.

And then, maybe around the 3rd month, and the 6th edition of “I WILL ANNUL THIS MARRIAGE SO HELP ME GOD”, you sort of ….sink in to routine.
It starts to feels weird to not have them around. And that makes you feel even more weird. You know your favorite shirt – the one you reach for without thinking? You tend to speak less, and start to sync thoughts. Maybe that’s why married couples are perceived as boring. In public, you might not hear them talk a lot – because everything is sort of..understood. Somewhere behind the silent faces of a couple you see at the McD, I now see a whirlwind of shopping lists, laundry lists, you-used-to-kiss-me-everyday-in-college rants, sudden hugs, burnt dishes, silent solidarity at random relative meets, pointless arguments, and late-night chocolate binges.

It’s routine.

I was talking to two happily single friends yesterday who summed up that Marriage is Ugh, like buying a coffee machine and grinding beans every day instead of walking down to a CCD. I couldn’t agree more, truth be told. Anyone who tells you they don’t miss their khulla saand-ness, is a big fat liar.

But sometimes, sometimes it’s relaxing to know that coffee, just the way I like it, is RIGHT there when I want it.

And all I need to do, is lean over.

We will look for you, we will find you, and we will *cue shehnai music*

Attention, young persons of Yindia!

Yes, you right there, with the repository of Whatsapp forwards consisting mostly of heart-kiss-puppy permutations.

And you, in the corner, texting “muaaaaahs” so fast you just caused a cyclone in Jakarta.

And YOU, dejected young man, with fantasies involving a getaway car, a registrar office and a bank loan.

Are you in love?

Would your parents suffer an aneurysm if they found out?

Clearly, you kooky kids are intercaste! Or interreligion. Or interregional. Or inter-societalstatus. Or inter-our-ancestors-preferred-different-pajama-naada-sizes.

Or maybe you’re one of those silly New-Gen ninnies who feel horrified at the idea that one wedding costs more money than three trips to Starbucks.

But fear not, my brave young dunderheads. Fear not!

This Valentine’s day, skip the flowers and the Dairy milks. Skip the theater back seats and the overpriced popcorn. Skip the awkwardness and her military dad’s hunting rifle. Grab your significant smushface and walk confidently up to the nearest Hindu Mahasabha representative, and watch as they effortlessly accomplish what you’ve been struggling to gather up the canards to do.

That’s right. They will MARRY. You. Two. The. Eff. Off.

This V-day, come and have justice served to you on a silver thaali! Your friendly neighborhood Mahasabha Man will frequent coffee shops and movie halls, and comes pre-armed with sindoor and mangalsutra combo packs. Just walk right up to him, (easily identifiable by the horns) or let his team find you, using cutting-edge technology that tracks disruptions in the parampara-sanskaar continuum.

When you do find one, make it easier for him to identify you by letting him know your intentions. Normally, a casual hug with your ladylove would do. But if you want to be extra cooperative and get this done with ASAP, channel your inner Hashmi, and just go for it my man.

Enjoy your wedded bliss!


  • Currently Mahasabha Man will be offering his marital-maker services only in UP. Based on its success, the program will be extended to more states.
  • Additional honeymoon planner package available at no extra charge! Just bring along photos of your Vaishno Devi trip or know all the steps to ‘Love Charger’.
  • For a paltry sum, you can get a mini team of Mahasabha Men to escort you over to your homes post marriage. Let’s see your parents oppose THAT. #HowYouLikethemAnaars