What You Wear Can Make You Feel Less Fat

Okay, before I forget I’ve had an idea. Instead of Smell cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you I’ve to write a song with the same tune and rhythm for belly fat! It’s been a two years since I stopped playing college basketball. I recently came back from my Nani’s (maternal grandmother) place. In India, it’s […]

I Didn’t Use To Wear Underwears Until 6th Grade, Here’s Why

  1. I was so proud of the fact that I didn’t have to take the help of the other hand, to keep it out of the underwear during the duration of peeing.
  2. And this was relatively unhealthy habit until I was advised against it but, I used to not use my hands at all. I’d just unzip, and let my penis hang out, and off I’d pee. The unhealthy habit was that I didn’t use to lift my foreskin up before peeing. Which resulted in a thick fire hose shot rather than straight, to the directed point.

Gross details? Well :D. Ammm… but I simply can’t understand one thing. Whenever I’d go peeing in the public toilets, there would always be men having one arm resting against the shoulder height demarcation wall and the other arm resting on the front wall, relieving themselves like they were having as much pleasure as of having sex or something. Not that I peek, but I’m astounded by the fact that they manage to keep their foreskin back without constantly using a hand to keep it up! I mean, this seems physically impossible, since foreskin tends to loosen up and cover the tip of the penis like it was an elastic band meant to come back to its mean state.

I mean HOW!


Medium.com is Home For Now

I’d started writing on this blog to engage with the WordPress community. 27% of the seeable (searchable) web is powered by WordPress. There are so many of us! But I haven’t been able to make conversations. Not even a single comment came through. I don’t know if it is the things that I write about are unrelatable to people, or what.

For now, I’ve started writing on Medium.com more. I’m also writing to properly send pieces to literary mags.

Here are some of the pieces that I recently wrote on medium

  1. Things I Wouldn’t Say Otherwise: This was the first slam poem that I formed at a local open mic. I wrote this the night before the open mic. For the lack of any better content, I thought to myself
    What could be a better subject matter than to think about what things I could tell a bevy of trustworthy strangers. Hence I wrote this poem. All the events in the poem are real. 
    The poem is currently a draft, Medium let’s one share one’s unpublished work as well, just that people won’t be able to comment on it or recommend it
  2. Paper 3 Newspaper Clippings: This is a slam poem/free verse about a bias I was a victim of. Since I was in first grade, fashion and film industry in my country and all around the world played with my mind. Most Indian families do not talk freely about many subject matters. Most of the parents think that studies are the go all be all goal of their children that they should achieve. Most of the times, they do not literally talk about anything else. I haven’t talked to anything with my father for years other than his asking me if I need more money, and my asking him if he’s okay. It’s very obvious to say after this information that I didn’t talk about girls or sex or how is it like to be in the real world, and what are their problems and so so many other things.Due to this bias, slowly and steadily my neurons started getting hardwired. I could only find skinny models, busty breasted models attractive, I’d drool over them, masturbate on “Hardcore Porn“, until two things happened
    1. I couldn’t get an erection with any girl I’d be with
    2. I realized myself out of this fact, spent nights (literally) thinking about it. About why didn’t I get attracted towards other girls. The longer I kept thinking about it, the faster I kept getting out of this fucking bias.
  3. Lost in Words: Why Listicles and Catchy Headings are Ruining Reading Habits: Self-explanatory, I guess.
  4. Once, I: After a poem by the same name, which was featured in Poetry Magazine in 2013.

Also, I curate a weekly literary/arty newsletter. I call it LOL (List of Lit). You can read more about it here. Please Please see the previous issues to known what it is all about. If it’s for you please subscribe?

Until next time WordPress, adios!

White Underwears Aren’t So Difficult

I had never had white underwears before. I was considerate and cautious after what had happened to all the white things that I ever owned, white shoes, white formal shirts, white G Shock watch (which I still wear after regular Colin scrubs). Since then, I’ve only purchased dark colored ankle shoes, and have stayed fairly away from the white shirts. Until, I purchased a pack of underwears from westside. I was in hurry, I had to go home and cook and sleep because I had to go to office early the next day. I picked up a pack of 3, in which I saw a dark blue and a black colored underwears. What I didn’t see was the white one, cooped up in the middle, invisble to a rushing naked eye.

I came home and I opened the pack asap (because all my other underwears were for washing), and I went whaaaaaaat! I thought of exchanging the pack with another for a split second, but because I’m a super lazy person, even when I had a bike and the westside showroom was like 1 minute bike ride away, I ate and slept.

It’s been two months and the white underwear has been performing super well, given I’ve public hair and there are unemployed days now that I don’t bathe for days at stretch in. I don’t know if it’s the cotton in it or what (I’m a terrible shopper), it gets clean so fast!

From now on white in underwears is A-Okay!

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I Ran After 1.5 Years And…

I was exhausted!

I played basketball for my college team. It’s not even a few miles close to what college basketball is in the US, but we had our passion for it. We had no coach, we didn’t have proper equipment from the college, but we had some stunning senior players on the team who kept the reign tight, made us run crazy. Our stamina could kill.

Flashback: My first basketball game, IIT Delhi, 5 years back,  first half nearing the end, I get my jersey stuck in the boundary fence wire and I swing like a 150-degree fulcrum while getting the ball back from the outside in a fit of energy. Needless to say everybody, including myself, had a hearty laugh.

I ran after 1.5 years today, like properly. Almost 6 km. And my lower back was gone, not out of pain. My lower back felt like a sponge that couldn’t be rigid and strong. No, it felt more like a flailing piece of slime jelly going blah blue bdu… (read flubber sounds)

There was a time when my little brother couldn’t outrun me because of his bronchitis breathing problem. Today I felt old! He just kept running in the morning lake wind. I had to stop at least 10 times to catch my breath, my lower back and my ankles. I felt parts of the body that I never knew existed. Here’s a general tip to myself or to you, at any point in time:

If you want to keep feeling healthy all the time, and not feel strange new body parts after years, run, and no need saying, progressively (ahhhhh! cramps).

Also Read: Dimples of Venus and Falling Parrot Colored Leaves

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A First Time High Man’s Journey To Sleep


I’m a sober man. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke anything. But this one time, when I had left my first job and my office batch pals (the ones who joined the office on the same date and were trained together for a while), put together a sort of unspoken farewell (God I hope it was, wasn’t it?), I did. I did drink, I smoked unknown stuff, took ignorantly long puffs off an arrangement people fancily call gravity. And I thought I was fine all along. Was I?

This was a Monday, in ages. I’d resigned on 10th January, and my flight back home 2500 km away, was on 20th. I slept between 6 – 8 am on those days and kept nights awake. I had not seen sunlight in over a week. I was seeing porn and movies back to back. I had low self-confidence, and I was, in retrospect, afraid, of the time to come. How family and relatives, would ask 100s of questions about leaving the job and the always pertinent “What Next?”, which I don’t have explicit answers to. 

I still don’t know why I eventually indulged in something I hold my opinion preposterous about. Perhaps it was these lovely bunch of friends, who had made the stay at Arbaskas, fun and worthy. I think I did it for them. But I don’t really know them. Nobody talked about me the day after, about how crazy I got. Perhaps I wasn’t funny at all. Perhaps I was scary to see when I was laughing under the gravity smoke’s control. I would never know.

Or perhaps, in the background like linux daemons, it was the cry out to do something to take my mind off my parents’ recent separation. It was not mutual, that made it difficult. I’m trying to write something about what happened, perhaps I’ll share it away for free! Or I’ll just put efforts to get it published and request you to buy it. But that’s another story, let’s get back to the one I went high (read low) in.

I had been drifting apart from ink pens, they’d suddenly started appearing tough to write with. It might have been the paper, but I wanted to write only on that hand made yellow crinkly and hard feeling paper. So ink pens were out, at least for a while. The day of the high, I started lazily. I woke up, ate, bathed in the evening quickly as I’d promised the friend (who was hosting the night in his apartment), to come early to play basketball. It had been a year and a half since I’d played basketball. I was on my college team. No surprise, I was out of stamina, and I was out of shape so much so that I’d started hiding my tummy when I wore tighter uppers. It was a good game, only very exhausting.

Alcohol was arranged after that, bottles of beer of a brand I don’t remember, scotch, and gravity equipment ingredients. After the beer and two scotches, I was beginning to feel light. But all this while, my conscience was intact. My opinion about drinking or smoking anything being absolutely absurd held up high in my attempts to continuously keep telling myself in the head voice, that I could understand and see (with my eyes one-fourth closed) everything, hear everybody. But at the same time, because of this ego of being able to stand up for what I stood for, even after the intake of substances, I was intentionally trying to keep myself as awake as possible, but unintentionally tried to ignore the intention.

I sang a song with the guitar, which people appreciated. We listened to a couple of friends’ conversations from when they got excessively drunk after binge drinking for the first time and laughed our stomachs out.

At this point-a-time, I’d have forced myself to drop deliberately, but I didn’t. I started inhaling in the first round and then another. It all started being a challenge. For how long could I keep canceling the aftermaths of being high, while still being tipsy topsy-turvy.

Till the final drag, I was alright, and I was smiling for no reason (which is the best reason of all, even when one is sober), I was just listening to people’s chatter in our utterly confused state of minds, which disguised itself as being inhibition free. The last sniff was too much to handle, I ended up coughing for the next 30 seconds. My eyes went completely shut, set ablaze. They would have been red now, I could feel it. Still, at this point, I was completely aware of what was happening. I just wasn’t in my senses, because my senses had betrayed me to go strolling somewhere even they didn’t know.

I had a strong urge to ask everybody if they were aware of what was happening as well. I was exuberated about this realization, I was guilty that I had done this, and I was so curious what was happening to others.  I didn’t ask anybody out of fear that if I opened my mouth and wasn’t able to control what I said (because my senses had gone strolling), it would end up being remembered as an incident which would be kept alive to tease me forever.

Just as I’d decided to suppress this urge, as if backfiring, I found my senses to be gone further away than ever. I started laughing after repeating something someone had just said.

A (Sober):  Hey!  He’s (myself) not able to keep it, watch if he falls!
Me: Just keep an eye on him (super loud laughs) boss, just watch him man, just you watch him, you watch (super load laughs again).

It was funny how it came out. After some time, I was amazed, that I’d constantly known what was happening in my mind, in the room, who was speaking what, for such a long stretch, for I had had a very different impression of being high. Still, I wasn’t able to control my body, it wasn’t a good feeling. I came one step closer to a thought experiment I’d read about somewhere

Imagine, an angry soul without a body.

I was an angry soul without the sense in the body. My mind was mind fucked.

I was also chuckling away about the fact that people get high to get happy. I wasn’t happy, in fact, I couldn’t be happy, not in this state. Soon, I started having burning sensations in my chest, and I started drinking water out of the jug that was in the room. My friends took it as something I was doing involuntarily, so they tried keeping me away, which was funny again. Then the most dreadful thing happened. My body started shaking involuntarily.  I got wary in an instant because I’d seen a friend who had juvenile epilepsy, unable to control her body under seizure. I was so frightened, some of my senses decided to quit fooling around and come back. I was frightened to tell anybody. I ate as much dinner as possible and informed everyone that I was off to sleep.

I tucked myself under the blanket and started observing what was happening to me. I couldn’t sleep just yet. My heart was beating at a phenomenal rate. The bridge of the nose was throbbing like it was going to burst in no time. I was restless, and I kept turning from one side to another. With the throbbing and the beating, I thought I was going to die. I started thinking about all sorts of things that I was about to leave in between, the regrets of the past, people I loved. I kept fidgeting, but kept my focus on my breath, kept taking long and deep ones. At one point in time, I had to personify my hand as another person’s and pat myself slowly on the chest whispering

Everything’s going to be alright, don’t worry. 

After I started feeling a little better, I slept. Next day I woke up early and drove myself away. I didn’t even have anything to say to myself anymore, everything was crystal clear, rooted, and sorted. This was not going to happen ever again.

I came back and opened up my computer to Andee McKee’s guitar instrumentals, and I saw the wallpaper of Saray Kay in this beautiful floral, creamy dress. I couldn’t help but forget everything and smile. She’s magical.


Also, while I was trying to sleep again after coming back home, I remembered an article I’d read. It was titled No I Don’t Drink, Yes I Know How To Have Fun by Angela.

All Blog Posts’ P.S: English is my second language, and I do not write well in my first (Hindi). While reading my blogposts, if you find a sentence or paragraph that can be written in a better way, or find any grammatical mistakes, please feel free to suggest them in the comments. I’d really appreciate it. And you are awesome!

Hair Hair Everywhere

I was in 10th grade, when my moustache was the talk of the minute. I was told “Look you’ve got a visible moustache now, sutradhar (narrator)!” (We were rehearsing for a play). The point of the comment, was that I was apt to play the narrator, because I had the most hair on the moustache among all of us.

That same year, during the end of it, I’d be studying in the house of the person, who’d become one of the best friends I’ve ever had, along with two other classmates. My moustache, was picked up as a topic of discussion again, by one of them. I didn’t know why, but I was tempted to tell them them a fact that I had lately loved to strike my fingers though, over and over again. I told them that there was this stripe of hair running from the top of the chest towards the lower abdomen (accompanying my weird excitement with hand gestures, running my hand like a hand model over the middle of my chest). They snickered. The teenage me took that as a pride instead of a hint to act embarrassed.

I’m 22 years old now, I live in a 1 BHK apartment, and there are hair all over the place. My bums have hair, my penis is surrounded by hair, like flower surrounded by endless unscrupulous unsolicited plantations of weed. Not that my penis is being compared to a flower, how could it be. It’s black, it’s small, it tilts left in a boner. No flower could ever have those characteristics (or could it?)

Oh about the hair all around the apartment? I’m in my chaddi (underwear / shorts) most of the time, and my hand keeps going inside it, for no particular reason. If you just had your witty sense of utter abysmal thinking at work, think again! Why would I masturbate in my underwear or shorts when I’ve the apartment to myself? My hand just likes to keep itself busy. I wonder, how would it spend time, if I shaved my pubic hair.

I’m sometimes tempted to, just for the sake of it. But I don’t have much problem you know. It gets itchy sometimes yes, but not that itchy. Just that level of itchy, where my hand gets to go inside and scratch gently to relieve it.

The only problem that I face, is when someone is coming over for a visit. That’s when the exercise begins. And especially if that’s a girl friend. The broom’s bristles are untrustworthy. They’d pick up the hair in one swoosh, and throw them down in the next. And because the (hair) is so small, I wouldn’t know what event happened when! And when I’d have a time limited assurance that they have been swept away, just because the floor looks clean, they’d all get wet, stuck to the floor, all the more, when I’d sweep the floor with disinfectant water. That’s some pain to bear, believe me. In those moments I think of ordering a trimmer online. But then laziness dawns and I greet the person, talk, eat, part them well, and sleep, without every asking them if they saw the hair all over the floor when they sat down on the mattress (I’m a bachelor, I don’t have a bed).

There’s one another small problem with hair in general. It’s just a matter of a couple of minutes between bathing – getting ready, and sitting on the bike. I’ve hair all over the body, including the head. It gets difficult to get the body dry, so quickly as to wear clothes that would not be a little wet for a while (I’ve small hair, I do not use a hair dryer). And then there’s the helmet. I go by a by pass route at the start of my office journey, which connects to the main road after 1 km or so, to avoid a little traffic. So get the liberty to go slow with the helmet hanging onto the arm, so as to dry up the hair as much as possible.

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