Ever seen how territorial these street dogs are? They are very territorial. Trust me on that. They keep guard on all the people that come and go and bark at any stranger that comes to your street, great reverence is reserved for the garbage man. Any way the greatest synergy between all the street dogs is seen when a strange and apparently bad looking diseased dog enters the street – they start barking without control. It is not only the street dogs but even the pet dogs get in a synergic barking session. Not only the street dogs but even other dogs from the neighbouring streets join in chasing the strange, ugly dog away. It is my conclusion that the dogs have a secret pact amongst themselves. Its called NATO – Nayees Against Trespassers Organisation.

Why do Indian dogs hate the garbage man especially in Bangalore. If the US has the mailman to be barked at and chased at, India has its garbage men. I know they stink but then why the animosity?

When I see a German Shepard all I can think about are the German Gestapoes and their boots. There is some kind of German efficiency in these dogs even though they have been localised.

Why do German Shepard dogs respond to English names? They are always Tommy, Jimmy or some thing like that, don’t u know they don’t like those English names. They hate England for crying out loud. They should be named Wolfishtine.

Dogs should be named Khute and bitch for the bitch.

Why don’t we drink dog’s milk? I mean just look at the number of bitches on the road that are laying puppies all the time. Is it because they eat different food? Hey don’t they eat human food, but the cows eat grass and other things on the dirty ground.

Why do we have foreign breeds as our pets? What happens to the Indian breeds? They all become street dogs? It reminds me of that miss India nafisa Joseph who says she wants all the street dogs and herself has all foreign breeds.

Ever wondered why all the street dogs in Bangalore are predominantly brown in colour. What is the breed that in so indigenous to our country? What do we call them "Brown coat Kantrinayee"? We should have some cool name like the Australian Dingo. People say that it is called mongrel a breed of two or more dogs. My question is which were the original breed of dogs? I truly believe that the brown coats as I would like to call them are the true Indian breeds – seen them in the paintings.

Somebody once told me while mating the bitch always selects the ugliest of the dogs too mate and produce offspring. My saying is this phenomenon is not restricted to the dogs, even in humans sexy looking girls are always seen with ugly looking guys. Some girls say its all about money, attitude and not in that order. Any way another reason may be that the beauty of a girl gets accentuated next to an ugly person?

Dogs have some thing common with us males of the humanoid kind. The dog uses its hind leg to scratch its face or any other part of the body while we guys use our hands. Another point of similarity between a dog and a guy is – both use the same hands and hind legs to pee.

What caught my eye in Singapore was that not one car had bird droppings on it.

From a land where we have to look out every time we step out and have protection form dive bombing birds and having to live with Murphy’s law that every time you get your car washed a bird finds a clean potty… Singapore psyched me.

Well… it made me wonder where all the birds where?

The answer… there are no birds in Singapore except in Jurang Bird Park.

The reason?

Singapore experience a plague or some such disease which the population had contracted from birds (bird flu maybe)… so the birds where banned. Wonder where RSPCA was then?

Anyway I have come to the grand conclusion that I love the filth of Mother India. Love the smell of Koovam (NO I HATE THAT)

But I sure love the freedom India gives.

I don’t have to court a fine every time I chew gum. there is no big brother breathing down my neck. Sure as hell I am not faced with a death penalty for smoking pot.

Me:                      Sorry, maccha it was a mistake.

Friend & Philosopher:    Don’t worry maccha, we're all in this world because of mistakes.

How can parents of ugly babies think they are the most beautiful in the world????

Much worse, when they ask you what you think of their babies.

That is one tight corner I have often weaseled my way out saying "How cute…"

The worst thing is, reality never hits these parents.

Until of course they go out searching for grooms later in their daughter’s life.

Found these worms crawling in my mango. Ruined the entire day.

Hell every grain of my fried rice is looking like live worms crawling over each other.

Should stop smoking pot.

Man how pathetic and predictable can life get.

Called the food hotline and even before I can tell my phone number, they completed the number, my name, my address and my dish.

I become a well trained dog and guy of habits.

Scary.

I lay almost naked on my bed next to the window.

I had opened the window to see the beautiful thunder storm raging outside.

A Fine spray of rain was showering my body. Lightning was illuminating the dark powerless night sky, blinding my eyes. While thunder was waking people from their slumber and deafening my ears. The smell of rain on dry earth was filling my nicotine heavy lungs and the hair on my chest was gently swaying to the gale force winds outside.

I was happy… really happy.

Happiness no AC can buy.

It reminded me of one night I was returning with my dad from Bangalore. The normally 6 hour bus ride took 10 hours and was one of my best.

The highway was closed and the bus had to take a detour. The storm was rocking the bus as it inched its way across the dirt track, the driver was afraid he would get stuck in a pit of wet mud. The night was dark as this convoy snaked its way through the carcasses of trees littered all over the road. Lighting was striking on either side of the bus and the bus was leaking as the rain god was pounding his toys.

Reached home and spent the rest of the night next to window overlooking wide fields counting lighting strikes. I counted over 350 that night.

Of course the next day I was blind as a bat.

Man do I miss nature and its beauty in godforsaken Chennai.

I long to go to a place where it rains.

Where I can be blinded by lightening, not by the sight of the women here.

Where nature can deafen me, not by the loud Tamilians.

Where the seasons are not hot, hotter and hottest.

Monsoon is a month away. God do I hope the transfer comes by.

I’ve met a lot of people who have plans. People who have deadlines. Amazing people. But its not for me. Plans never worked for me.

Old saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans". So fucking true.

See the thing with plans and sticking to them robs one of the charms of life. The beauty of serendipity. I have seen people too closed to even recognize this. Sometimes I wonder if these people know the meaning of adventure.

Life often serves you with some many twists and turns that you couldn’t even phantom. Agree, more often than not they are ugly turns. But if you’re the kind that can laugh at it and take it in your stride – life is indeed beautiful.

Most people struggle, most people want to think they’re in control. An illusion. But a beautiful one for them. Even though I sometimes envy them, for they have a plan.

Me? Well I have stopped planning. I have no deadlines. I like to think of myself as a sailor totally in the control of the winds and the tide.

In my short life, I have done quite a few things. Made complete U turns and started completely afresh, just for the heck of it. No regrets.

But to be carried away by the winds, you have to make the effort of hoisting your sail. Or else you will be in the middle of a vast and lonely ocean, wondering if life exists at all.

I have over the years made this mistake. I have often forgotten to raise my mast and allow the winds of change to come to me. Laziness I guess.

But anyway, I have decide once again to raise the sail and wait for the winds to blow in. Lets see where it takes me this time around.

Too lazy to dream.

Too lazy to wake up.

Too lazy to have friends.

Too lazy to have enemies.

Too lazy to work.

Too lazy to beg.

Too lazy to read.

Too lazy to write.

Too lazy to cook.

Too lazy to taste.

Too lazy to talk.

Too lazy to listen.

Too lazy to be cruel.

Too lazy to be sweet.

Too lazy to think.

Too lazy to decide.

Too lazy to follow.

Too lazy to grow up.

Too lazy to grow young.

Too lazy to move on.

Too lazy to hang on.

Too lazy to have an opinion.

Too lazy to accept one.

Too lazy to judge.

Too lazy to be judged.

Too lazy to act.

Too lazy to react.

Too lazy to give.

Too lazy to receive.

Too lazy to love.

Too lazy to be loved.

Too lazy to lie.

Too lazy to tell the truth.

Too lazy to be responsible.

Too lazy to be irresponsible.

Too lazy to live.

Too lazy to die.

Want to have some road rage without being in the driver’s seat? Then come to Chennai and try the autos here.

The meter is just a prop. The very concept of a meter is a myth here. Wonder why they have it in the first place?

How much you pay for travelling from A to B is solely dependent on your bargaining skills. And I am no bargainer. Never was. You either pay the demanded price or you move on. But in chennai the sad part is, if you walk (which I love to do) you have the urge to run back to your shower and start all over again. Beats the whole purpose of going from A to B. Its no wonder then that the only places in chennai I know after staying here for 4 years are my room, office and Satyam cinema.

And so… I came to an understanding with the drivers at my stand. I will wear a dunce hat and a board that says ‘sucker’ and pay them the price they demand and they will ferry me everyday without having to haggle about the prices and give me a road rage.

And our pact stipulated that it would be Rs. 40 from A to B and Rs. 40 from B to A upto twelve in midnight (I use the office property to blog, watch tv and listen to music). So there were two auto stands involved. And the union of these two circles was one auto driver who stayed at near my house.

For the last one year, it was an habit to jump into my chauffeur driven auto to go and come from my office. But last night I came home at 11.30 and my chauffeur pocketed a 50 rupee note and didn’t return a tener. We argued, he in tamil (a language I cant speak to save my life) and me in english. And when I left him, I plainly told him I would not get into his auto.

And today morning when I lazily walked to the auto stand at 11.00 (I have flexible working hours) he was there waiting for me. I looked at him, smiled and told him in broken tamil that I am not coming with him.

Walked ahead argued with another driver, and agreed to pay a higher. was fuming all the way to the office and was reacquainted with what road rage felt like.