Things That Bang

Weird story but the hindi is so damn funny

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 01:38 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments () | TrackBacks (0)

The rosy cheeked cherub grinned at her. She stared back at him. No owl hooted, no wind woo wooed against her window pane and no full moon stared down at earth demanding the presence of a werewolf. Yet there was a creature straight out of world made of mythologies buzzing way with wings at the foot of her bed.

The cherub seemed no more than three years old. His nether parts were barely covered by a coarse cotton cloth held together by a yellow diaper safety pin. His hair was the color of spun gold and in his hands he held a bow, a heart shaped arrow and a quiver on his back.

Tacky she thought and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Her fingers tightened over the rough leather collar of her dog - Banjo the Rottweiler. She could feel the tremble of the dog's low growl caused by the intruder's presence.

The thin bedsheet that covered her naked breasts slipped and pooled around her waist. Like gentle hillocks the breasts rose from her emaciated rib cage and the narrow brown nipples capped the slumbering volcanoes.

The cherub's smile widened and he pointed the tip of the torrid heart on her breasts. She lightened her clasp over Banjo who was mesmerised by the tiny dangling pink toes of the child stranger and the low growling increased a notch. Even the dog knew that the intruder before them was not human.

She cleared her throat and asked "Lets get one thing out of the way first. I am not dreaming, right?"

Cupid raised an eyebrow and raised his arrow to her head.

She nodded and spoke as if she was making an everyday observation "There is a little greek god in my bedroom and he has a weapon in his hands. Tell me why I shouldn't let my dog have his way with you? That is if you are real and I haven't lost my mind."

Cupid shrugged and she watched his pudgy arms stretch into action. The bow's string became tight and the arrow was aimed at her head.

"Bummer!" she muttered as the twang sang loudly in her room and the arrow sliced through the air to swarm her mind with hearty heart love.

Cupid sucked in a breath. It was his turn to feel the sharp echoes of surprise resound in his mind. Couldn't be, he thought.

The arrow had stopped just inches before her forehead and was clasped between her joint palms. She threw the arrow away and glared at him.

"You are a Ninja Assasin! They are extinct." His words of protest made her smirk.

She pulled back Banjo who had risen to his haunches in attack mode and replied "No. I abhor violence. This is the result of yogic meditation. I recently mastered the art of time suspension in the local YMCA evening classes."

"YMCA?! Is that some sort of a warrior community?" he let his bow fall to his side and spoke again. His words reminded her of smooth Maple syrup over hot pancakes, of musky heat between sheets.

She let out of a husky laugh and ignored the desire that curled between her legs. "Sort of" she replied and asked "Now do you mind telling me what are you doing here before I ask my dog to fetch me your wings?"

Cupid perched himself on her bedpost and his visibile weenie disconcerted her and reminded the dog of sausages his mistress shared with him without fail for breakfast.

"Why my wings when you can have me?" he asked mischievously.

"I'm not into cherubs. Thank you very much" she replied and crossed her arms over her breasts causing the nipples to get squashed. The dog put his head down next to his mistress's covered thighs and fell asleep. There was no threat apparently and he had sleep to make up.

Cupid relaxed and laid the bow over his pudgy little knees and replied "Well, tonight I have to be in this form. That was one of the conditions I had to agree to."

Her lips tightened and she asked "Conditions? What are you talking about?"

He shrugged and looked through the French windows at the moon that silently guarded the sleeping world "I was called in to carry out a hit on you. A favor for someone in high places."

"High places?! you are not making any sense. I don't know any god, demi-god or ..or-"

"Or anyone who worships us? We haven't been worshipped for a very long human time. You want to know who made me come here to make you fall in love?"

"Of course I want to you to tell me who conjured you up so you could..." she raised her hands in wide circular motions and then pointed at his bow.

"Make you fall in love." he completed her sentence. He watched her with the eyes of a hawk watching an innocent field mouse "It was Karan."

"Karan?! That techie who sits in the next cubicle at my office? That fellow barely talks to me!" she threw off her sheet with vicious kicks and the dog raised his head at the sudden movement and gave her languid look of protest.

"You humans make things more complicated than they need be." Cupid shrugged. "All he needed to do was tell you how he felt but I see now why he couldn't."

"What do you mean?" she thundered and looked around for her robe. Cupid's eyes followed her slim form, the play of her buttock muscles and her elbows that jutted out like dry knobby branches.

She yanked open her chest of drawers and pulled on a large t-shirt instead. Cupid looked at the dog and rolled his eyes in disappointment. Humans and their defense mechanisms always began with ensuring their bodies were armoured with clothes.

"Okay!" she walked over to the little perched god and asked " How did he get you to come over?"

"My mother runs what you people call a flower shop just round the corner."

"Your mother?" her mouth fell open

"She gets tired once in a while and likes to play - agony mother to humans."

She corrected him "Agony aunt."

He nodded and eyed the shirt that read - no fucking me if you won't kiss da frog

"Why do you want people to kiss frogs?" he asked

"What?" she glared at him and shook her head "Oh! its just a stupid t-shirt. Doesn't mean anything. So Karan put a hit on me?"

Cupid left the bedpost and his dimunitive form stood on the bed quite close to the Banjo who opened one eye, looked at the little child he could easily maul and went back to dreaming of pork sausages.

"No, my mother put a hit on you. I came here as a favor to my mother. If it was Karan I would have come as me."

"As you? what do you mean?" She put her hands on her waist and demanded

The cherub gave a feral smile that drowned her vagina with heavy passion. She took a deep pranayam breath in all the way to the pit of her belly and exhaled.

"I would have come as Apollo. This form is made by human perception. You would have liked that?" he asked softly.

The lust on the young face sat strangely and made her feel disoriented but she refused to take her eyes off him.

"Maybe not. Banjo would have killed you in a nano second. Your child form saved you from becoming Greek or Roman chops."

"Fair enough. Now what are we to do? I have a task to carry forward." he asked her softly and let his eyes run over her body.

"Do you always follow what your mama tells you to do?" she whispered back and felt her nipples tweak.

The god in his small form let his bow and quiver full of arrows fall on the bed "No. Not always. But it is a hit and I have to follow through."

She licked her lips and whispered back "I am not stopping you but you must hit me in your true form."

He stood still and replied " If I do that the hit will be mine and not Karan's."

"Fair enough." She answered back and felt her knees tremble with anticipation.

"There won't be any going back. There will be repercussions." he warned her

She shrugged and as she lifted her over sized t-shirt he changed form.

The room brightened for a second. She suspended time, stared at Apollo's muscular divinity and muttered "Oh my!"

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 07:49 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments () | TrackBacks (0)

Yesterday at the grocery store I saw a month old baby sleeping in the crook of his father's neck. The baby looked fragile in his blue jumper and the dad's collar had a wet stain with baby's drool.

The mother was busy looking at Tupperware and my heart melted. The mothering instinct came to the forefront and I remembered the snuggly smell that babies exude, the gooey angelic smiles, the crawling, the first steps - you get the drift.

Then, I remembered sleep deprivation, bouts of colic, the trantrums, the terrible twos, the general increase in noise pollution around the house, the constant questions, sibling fighting and the - 'have another baby' instinct tumbled down to the deepest recess of my heart.

Babies are lovely but I agree whole heartedly with my mother. Having given birth to two beautiful angles the natural way I am of the firm opinon that its easier to give them birth than to bring them up.

Being responsible for those pattering feet is often overshadowed by how we were brought up and on their shoulders we either lay our own baggage or we fuck them up even more by trying not lay our past on them and make even more grievous mistakes.

But my sympathy still lies with the parents since its a big burden to carry. We are responsible for how the child's mind is mouled. Some parents do a fantastic job despite all odds and some raise individuals who are carbon copies of their obnoxious selves and add more reasons to be stressed in the external world.

And I for one know that beyond two I cannot take care of a third. The third would be let loose in the world without much restrain or training - call him/her wild Mugli in toddling diapers.

No amount of hormonal glamour will work on me. For once I have total control over my body.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 01:48 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments () | TrackBacks (0)

He was a gorgeous cat. People used to think he was a little lion living amongst us. He had bit of an attitude probably caused by the abuse he suffered as a kitten but was otherwise an affectionate feline. But one fine day he did what cats tend to do - he squeezed through a window I forgot to close, jumped the garden wall and fell prey to the street dogs late in the night ;

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 11:40 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments () | TrackBacks (0)

Shrabani Basu's book Victoria and Abdul takes us into a world of love, companionship, untamed ambition, colonial grandeur, petty human emotions and fall from grace that leaves a broken heart.

Shrabani weaves the last ten years of Queen Victoria and her relationship with Abdul Karim, her Indian secretary ( also called Munshi) with brisk yet detailed narration. The love the Queen bore for Abdul caused great deal of fur flying not only in her household but also became a cesspit of gossip for the court and a source of irritation for top brass of the British bureaucracy ruling India.

Initially one may get the impression that the opposition Abdul Karim faced from the Queen's household, nobility and even her children was based on racism and social discrimination but Shrabani delved deeper and showed that Abdul's shameless desire to elevate his status and that of his family to the level of royalty was one of the main causes for his unpopularity amongst the Queen's entourage and amongst the Royalty.

Unfortunately as Shrabani points out after Queen Victoria's death most of the letters that were written between Victoria and Abdul Karim were destroyed on King Edward's command such was his shame regarding his mother's relationship with Adbul and his resentment against the Munshi.

To be fair to those who hated the high handed ambitious Mushi the Queen's preferential treatment towards her Scottish gillie John Brown in the near past made them fear that the same routine would be played out with the young Abdul Karim.

To be fair to the Queen as well, her love for Abdul Karim was that of a mother and her childlike dependence on him was probably a sign her advancing age. And despite pressure from the household, her children and despite the hawk eyed surveillance that was done of Karim's movements both within Britain and India he remained in their midst and the Queen's constant companion till the end of her days.

The rise of Abdul Karim from a vernacular clerk at the Agra Jail to being the Queen's urdu tutor and a gentleman who hobnobbed with Kings and Queens made him a darling of the press both within the country and in Europe and inflamed his enemies even further.

The skirmish between the Queen and her household continued for ten years and the go between the Queen and her employees was Dr Reid who obviously suffered the worst casualty in the war of words and veiled threats. His personal diary in fact was filled only with the pall of gloom that lay over the Queen's household over this issue.

Apart from showing the close relationship the Queen had with her Munshi Shrabani also provides detailed insight into the intricate social protocols of the time that existed amongst the highest echelons of the British Empire and how Abdul and even the Queen blundered and broke many of the sacred rules and ruffled the feathers of the lords.

The detailed research that Shrabani Basu did for this book both in Britain and in Agra has also been narrated in a matter of fact yet delightful manner.

The book till the end was intense and hard to put down. Its a must buy even for those who are not interested in history.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 03:24 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments () | TrackBacks (0)