I haven't moved here. But it may be better to.

So if you are ok with gore.Please check.

http://little-tales-of-gore.blogspot.com/

:)

The Pied piper of Hamelin

And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered;
And the muttering grew to a grumbling;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
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There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling;
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.


- The Pied piper of Hamelin,Robert Browning.

So,we lost the football match and the team which defeated us went on much ahead to win the trophy.Should have won,should have won,is what I kept telling myself. But its surprising,how often I keep telling that to myself,nowadays. Of course,I never win. Add the bad luck to it.And I end up not winning quite miserably. Anyways,so the game was quite a sensation back in the good. old jolly days,dominating picnic or late evening family talks.Its strange how quickly we lose kick of things as we suddenly grow old. We were promised a thousand thrills,remember? And we lost it all,just like that.
Years back,M had once told me how confident it felt to take on the world.Stand in front of it and charge.What he didn't tell me was that you always need a backup plan.Plan B.Or maybe a C. Most switch over to plan B and get away with it. With me,its too darn late for a second plan.

There I was like a glass of watermelon juice,standing.Staring.No,orange juice I am.'cuz I've always tried being sarcastic.
This is not a cheerful post.Please ignore.

This time.This time,Ill be making an honest effort to change my blog,write a bit more and bring up more cartoons.Hopefully this blog should move in sometime.Or it might just stay and gather dust,before I clean it up all again.

Vacuum cleaned,yet again.

Yes,so I did something for the people today and donated that red liquid of mine.
It wasnt really the give-me-blood-and-ill-give-you-freedom propaganda though.They never give you the freedom.They just take the blood and sell it off.Neverever the freedom.Bloody consumerism,to be precise,I think.
But I went for the free food and my friend went to know what his blood group was.We were both dissapointed.
Phew,after all that mental snubbing I do to people,a little good deed like this,doesn't really feel too bad.

I have been taking in a lot of writing assignments and despite the fact that I absolutely detest the SB comic,I pride on the fact that its back with me once again.The reason? It is my first kinda attempt at anything to do with comics on print.And its everything,but fun, creative, gory, sexual, dark,adult. Just perfect,for someone to whom those words mean nothing.Which incidentally reminds me of those millions,no...billions of those Viagra spam mails.And cigarettes.Addictive,but only for kids.
Its often struck me how such comics actually relate to those kids,who appear to be disconnected from the entire concept of childhood.A little bit of what I was.The alone stuttering younger sibling,who quietly played with his gi-joes and chalk,had friends in school,but still preferred to be alone.He reads this shit I churn out and thinks like the way I did about the Ramayan serial,where the guy who acted God Ram became famous as the guy-who-acted-God-Ram.Anyway,so he thinks,two boys and their friends (mostly masculine) running around here and there.g-ay!

Finally when all the dust has been cleared again (umpteenth time) and vacuum cleaned,I need a new look for this blog.

Chhuti.

So I am finally getting a long vacation.

No,not Ladakh or the Andamans or Paris or Caribbeans.Nothing fancy.
I mean,my long vacations are rather boring.
Its mainly like hop on a flight.Go to the city.Smile at parents.Be a burden for a few days.Take the first flight on a Monday.And come back to work.

The city??
Calcutta,where else.

A friend made a logo for my imaginary fast food joint,Dino Ding-a-Ling.
It looks quite cool.

What is the height of being well known?
A hijre in a local train recognizes me and S and almost ran towards us.
The last time he/she commented on how a great jodi we were and also complained about the tee shirt I was wearing.I gave him/her some money then.
This time,even though he/she shook hands with me,he/she wasnt so lucky.

I like Poker.I like 29 way way better.But I like poker too.I mean,it teaches you a lot about people and what they are.Like someone who doesnt bet with a loose hand,is probably a pussy.And the opposite,a dickhead.If that dickhead wins,he's called a winner.Like,of course,the millions of successful people.The non-winning dickheads land up in the streets and they die,like a little blip.Blips,by the way,are those who we are indifferent to.Together,these blips can create a sound but we quell them back to being little blips.Its a funny circle concept.Like the food chain and karma.
So I went to this engagement to Bangalore,last weekend.A close friend was getting married to a nice guy from Bombay,both mallus.Out of a two hundred,I was the only one travelling long distance.Its strange how strangers meet and congregate for a purpose totally random.
And yes,the train journey.I like trains.Not because I can actually look out of the window and see things that are not fluffy and blue and white.The hustle bustle in the station,drinking cha and talking to old men.
So,I played this weird card game with three old men on the train.The game was simple.Like solitaire,except that you have four people playing it.So while playing,this particular old man tells me this story about how his friend was shot down by the Chinese army when they were playing bridge and how he escaped after killing one of the chinaman.It was a nice story,even though I had my doubts about it.This is the kind of story you would likely cook up when you are stoned.But he was vegetarian and old.These three old men were all dressed in white dhotis ,with white hair and white moustaches.One had one of those old black glasses.Stuck up in the timeframe of the 30's.Never changing.Ever white.They were travellers rounding up the country,they said.I doubted that too.Fuckin old frail men faking up fake stories.When we neared the station,as they were packing their little less luggages,they jokingly asked me if I mistrusted everyone.Though I gave them a sleepy laugh,it was quite creepy.They were travelling to Pune and offered me a lift.But I passed.

Today's track---- Old man (NeilYoung,again)

Utter Amul Butter

Utterly butterly delicious.The Amul story.
The Amul ads,to me,are a revolution.Being the largest running ad campaign ever,its a little revolution though.

But the amount of political,social and cultural awareness and impact,this campaign have had is just tremendous.

The prints right there.

As darkness drew in, he put on his jacket .It was windy that night. It has been a lot of running around lately. Panjim,Bombay,Nagpur,Surat,Dilli,Shimla,Lucknow,Guwahati,Siliguri,Calcutta,Puri,Vizag,Madurai.Now Bangalore.He was getting used to this kind of life. Killing people, setting up sticky bombs, leaving behind crying kins and wives, covering his tracks, mingling among the crowd.
For his new job, he had to know Kannada .Learn it. The guest house, he put up in, was nice. It even had a mint on the pillow. The owners seemed to know he was coming. Reservation done. The procedure was simple every time. Two hours after he lodged in, he was supposed to drop in a line to Harry. Harry aka Hardip aka 'The Hard-dick man'. No, he wasn’t Harry's lover, though he sucked up to him quite a bit. Harry was the one who introduced him to the rest. Harry's a nice man, he thought.

So after the phone call to Harry, Harry makes a call to someone. That someone calls up person B. And person B calls him up exactly an hour later. Standard things are asked. Standard procedure, like the cops. How are you doing, you should visit this monument there, How’s the weather there, How’s the hotel room. All so casual. Then person B calls up his boss. The boss who wants the job done. The boss who pays.70 percent for him,20 percent for Harry and 10 for the schmuck in between. After half an hour, person B calls him up again and gives him the details of the job.
This time, it was easy. A rich old man, living alone. Pedophilic tendencies, and involved in some contracting business shit. People, like person B's boss, wants him dead. They make good coffee here, he thought as he walked out of the cafe. It was windy that night. And he put his jacket on. The streetlights dimly lit up the alley. Footsteps behind me, he thought. He turned and found two drunks walking casually. He waited for a second and watched the guys leaving.He walked ahead. The lights became more dim and he dug his hands deep into the jacket pocket. A cat ahead crossed his path.
Bad luck Jo, he thought.

Quick footsteps behind. He turned. He saw a dark figure running towards him. Before he could get to his gun, someone started to strangle him from behind. As he was being gagged, the black figure ran and punched him on his face. He fell. The second guy kicked him in his guts. It pained like a motherfucker. The first guy punched him, again. And again . Four, five, six. He counted. He knew it wasn’t really sweat on his face. Seven, eight, nine. On his face. Fuck fuck, stop stop. Ten, he counted. In the streetlight, he could see an impression of his face on the street, coloured with blood. Exact round eyes decorated with parts of his teeth. He felt the coldness of the steel as one of the guys, touched the gun barrel on his temple. It felt good. The cold feeling.

"This time the job was you, Jo"
He had heard the voice before .Ok, hit me, already.

It turned all deaf when the barrel boomed. More than the pain, the silence was killing him. All he saw when he opened his eyes, were his own blood and two pairs of legs walking away. When the silence lifted, he heard his own panting and the footsteps.

Its said the entire life lasts in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all. It stretches on forever, like an ocean of time.
That is all so fucking crap, he thought.
The streetlights slowly closed down upon him.

Flu by

Ok,so I look like such a psychopath with the mask.
What is this with the swine flu anyway? You got it on the news, on the roadside hoardings,on advertisements,in fuckin humans,in their brain.More than a bloody disease,its turned into a typical dinner conversation.And unfortunately the city I live in had to be....fuckin had to be,the hub of all this flu.The mothership of the virus.Yes,whattay to describe it.Like those aliens,which invade the earth.The mothership waits outside in space and it sends the warriors aliens to invade good ol' earth.Like the viruses.The viruses bloody go on creating havoc,every frikkin time.Bird flu,HIV,swine,mofo,sons of bitches.No wonder,the pigs are taking revenge on humans for abusing them and calling them names.Wonder whats gonna happen when donkeys start flu-ing.Especially,not to forget we call the dirtiest part of our body,the asshole.What happened to peace,anyway.If only humans could also mutate,maybe then we could like adapt and fuck up these tiny little creatures.and maybe show 'em who's the boss.
So,there,anyway.I look like a psychopath with the mask on.

Today's Track : My my,hey hey---- Neil Young