Men are from Mars, Women are from Hell*

*Not all women are from Hell

Men and women have been in an epic battle with each other since the beginning of time or maybe the 2^nd couple after Baba Adam and Bibi Eve. Men wish to subdue the women through peace and noble measures; women wish to crush the men with sheer power. If love is war, then relationships are the front line, on which it is fought, and couples are the soldiers who fight for their gender.

Men and women are similar in several ways. We are both for instance, completely superficial. The difference is that men, are superficial about who the women is, whereas women are superficial, about what the man has. When a man meets a woman he estimates her weight, checks the size of her chest and posterior, and says a prayer to the Lord, hoping she is not completely evil. When a woman meets a man she, estimates the size of his wallet, checks what kind of car he drives and asks him what he does for a living. When pointed out to them the superficiality of the situation a man usually says, "I want to be with a woman who takes care of herself and whose body I find pleasing". This is no doubt a completely superficial statement, however; it is spoken with complete honesty and truth. When the same thing was showed to a woman she said, "I want a man who will be able to support my children, I think nothing of my self, only of my future family". This makes her superficial requirements not at all superficial; on the other hand, it is highly unlikely that she is only thinking of her future when the woman checks all of these aspects. Thus where men fight their battles directly and accept the consequences of such an approach, women are sneaky and avoid directly stating what they want to say. They are the masters of emotional slaughters.

An interesting statistic is that if a man and a woman are together for over fifty years and the woman passes way the man will also die within five years. Compare that situation to if a couple is together for an equal amount of time and the man dies, the woman will most likely re-marry within five years. This proves that the man's approach to choosing a suitor leads to feelings of true love, where as the woman's criteria leads to an easy re-pick. This means that each woman could be potentially capable of subduing two or more men to her will. The ability to create multiple casualties is a valuable weapon in the art of war.

The battle of the sexes begins at the very first date. Each party enters into the arena with separate goals. The man's goal, is to find out weather or not this particular women, is evil because not all women are evil. He does this through a simple test of her integrity. During the date, the man suitor will attempt to get as far into a sexual relationship with the girl as humanly possible. If she refuses him anything but a hug, or possibly a kiss goodbye, he sees her as a woman of high integrity and is interested in her. If she allows him more entrance then a kiss, then he is interested in her for a different set of reasons.

A women's goal going into the relationship, assuming she is of the evil variety, is to take control of this male. If he meets up with the requirements stated earlier then she will latch onto him, teasing him, until she has complete control of his mind, and all of his thoughts are of her. She will then consider him for a "long term relationship" or "enslavement" as it is called in the inner circles of women.

Take care that when are dating a woman, that she is not of the evil variety, there are many woman out there who are kind and nice, and good partners to settle down with. Unfortunately for men, it is impossible to tell the difference between the two. This is because of an evolved ability to not comprehend anything about women, evil or not, originally intended as a form of self defense.

There are bad guys out there as well but that’s a different story and a different Blog.

About Writer

Writers are a different species. You may think it's strange, but most any writer will tell you it's the truth. I'm not talking about the journalist at your local paper or the student who's being forced to participate in creative writing. I'm talking about the people that just have to write. Those of you (and you know who you are) who write in journals, write letters, type out the wordiest emails in cyberspace, those of you who have always struggled with word limits, you know it's true. We are different.

There are times when I feel completely out of focus, as if the world around me is looking at me through drunken blurred vision. These are the times when I can sit at my desk and try to concentrate on my work (I'm not lucky enough to be a full time writer) but I feel as if the work is in a different plane of existence. I can see it on the desk, I can interact with it if I try, I can hear the sounds of the office surrounding me, but I just can't seem to make a connection. When this occurs, I am beginning to see that the solution is writing. It can be compared with natures call. There is something boiling within your system and you need to take it out be it constipation or dysentery, you need to take it out…

For me sometimes just grabbing a notebook and jotting down my thoughts for 2 minutes is enough. Sometimes that's all it takes to bring me back to the same reality that everyone else occupies. Other times, however, the distance is a little greater. These are the times when I feel an almost physical need to sit in front of the computer and let my fuzzy, disconnected, out of focus mind wander. Because when it wanders, it frequently meets new people… new ideas… new perspective lateral thinking.

These sometimes give me an idea to expand on, and sometimes pull up a chair and introduce themselves and tell me everything there is to know about themselves be it virtual humans or ideas. They are all like human beings for me and we become like old friends, I know their childhood memories, their favorite foods, their clothing styles and their lifelong goals. I know who they're dating or not dating and why. I know why they were born when they will die and at times know will they leave a mark when they are dead or not. With these men and ideas you are on a different tangent you are a new evolved breed. A breed where good or bad doesn’t exist. If you don’t have new thought you are brain dead… go fish.

As a writer by nature, there are other times when I visit my own reality but I'm not in front of a notepad or computer. These times can come while I'm in the shower, while I'm in solitude… mostly when you are on High road. These visits are often the most entertaining to me at least for the moment but they rarely turn into anything I could actually write about.

And then there are times of writers block when your mind just goes blank…phuck.

All and all it’s a way for me to stay alive in my own way and make people believe you are a normal human being.

On Headaches called "Nice People"

It's dangerous to say it, but nice people are a nuisance, constantly imposing their values and preferences on others. And they usually get their way. I guess we already know that. They are ready to invade your personal life as if it’s a public restroom and they always have a advise to change your life upside down.

About their feelings… well for starters they are extremely aware of their own feelings and come off as highly sensitive. That makes it seem obligatory to treat them with tender regard. Who wants to do or say anything hurtful to someone so pleasant? It doesn't matter how impervious they actually are to the feelings of others (especially others deemed not-so-nice) or how imperious they are in asserting their own point of view. Deference is they are nice people and they come with rights to pee on you and you cant do anything lest their feelings be hurt.

Worse, most people are too intimidated to say "no" because the nice, when they don't get their way, get their pound of flesh. If you resist you are branded as mean, and you probably carry an inward load of guilt as well for stepping on such delicate toes.

Nice people know this, consciously or otherwise, and they use it. It's not a case of passive-aggressiveness, its pure aggressive. Consider how the nice insist that everyone conform to their view of what people should be doing or how they should be acting and feeling. They have no compunction about openly criticizing others in ways that would normally be considered totally rude. They insist that everyone follow their preferred rituals and activities, however onerous. People can't help but favor those who present themselves so forcefully as sweet and sensitive.

If you openly object to any of this, holding the nice to ordinary standards of behavior, you are made out to be cantankerous, and probably a bully…definitely a mean jerk guy. Stand in the way of the nice and you will likely be ostracized, revealed as the arrogant fool you are. People would rather accede to the nice person's self-centered and platitudinous view of the world than deal with the moral complexity of criticism.

Drug War

Instead of teaching the people, who are dependent on chemicals, or any drugs for this matter, not to use those substances, we should be showing them how to use and avoid the negative consequences that are associated with continued and prolonged use of drugs. My sincerest apologies if this sound too radical for the main-stream mentality of the war on drugs.

Check this out! Most treatment centers that are based on the complete abstinence of all mood altering chemicals. Most of these places can boast a success rate of less than 10% who remain sober a year after TX(treatment). These statistics are alarming considering that hundreds of millions are spent every year on this undeniable so-called war. I came face to face with the stark reality and statistics when I met Sharad in Rehab. Where are the results? Don't know? Well I'll tell you, they vanished like a fart in the wind. It's not gone, so don't worry, because the stench of festering substance abuse will return on the wings of social-decay.

we are talking about drugs that made life for many… which gave many a reason to live… a reason to continue… be it prescribed or unprescribed. I think a couple of examples are in order, because I'm making some claims that might be blasphemy against the world Policy on drugs. Which organization approved that codeine is a safe drug? That doesn't matter because it's done and over with: it won't change the fact that it's one of the most popular drugs on the street and in the pharmacy. Ranbaxy, actually made the claim that codeine is non-addictive when used properly. It's is addictive even when prescribed and taken as directed. Look at me I was prescribed codeine by the will of god and I was an obedient addict for good 7 years.

Another reason we need to teach known addicts and, yes, the children alike to use drugs. The alarming reality is that it is easier for our kids to find drugs in the medicine cabinet and the street than to go and buy alcohol over-the-counter or get stoned on a sleazy pub. This can be seen all over the nation and the world. If the youth is taught to avoid then the problem is solved. Right? Wrong Wrong all wrong. Drugs are going to stay and educated lot is the worst hit of chemicals. My affair with Codeine started during my college days and ended with seeing Sharad in rehab 7 years later. No where along the line did anyone say, "You may like these drugs, so much that you may be willing to sacrifice everything you hold sacred in your life to obtain them." Would I even have understood the power of those words at the age of nineteen? This is an issue that will require an unconventional solution. Teach people how to use as opposed to ignorance seems a lot healthier than not I'll conceit.

I am personally satisfied with myself now but it took a lot of effort on my part to get to this spiritual state-of-well-being.

I am not in any position to teach anyone how to use chemicals, for recreation, or even which ones have the least consequences. That's not my judgment. I will say,” The people that allowed known sex-offenders to have prescriptions to Viagra is an issue that should not be ignored." I remember that one clearly, but not because I think that people convicted of sex crimes should not be allowed to have sex. Maybe, it might put the sex-offender, in question; to be more inclined to desire another child for personal pleasure.

Are these isolated incidences? No they are not and they are played out in places all over the world. We will never eradicate the demand for chemical well being or chemically induced recreation. People like me want drug and alcohol for a verity of reasons. Makes sense to teach people how to go about using and make them safer for everyone even the ones who have the right with a documented prescription. A prescription could be seen as a permit to carry a pill that is highly desirable to many but that’s not where the abuses start. For drug abusers like me you need to treat drugs like sex; instead of saying no, R&D should be done to make drug contraceptives. Safe drugs if found… should be promoted.

No one wants to leave their beloved drug and live an orphan disillusioned life. What we want is our beloved shouldn’t screw our liver or shorten our enlightened life.

Intolerable Cruelty

Laughing at someone else's sufferings comes naturally to me. The problem is not here… problem is when I express my self especially when it’s not real time. When I tell it to others they find me insanely inhumane. I wish there was a mirror to show people their inner self I am the most common man you can find, not a single maverick bone in me just a routine guy who keeps shouting where I am heading instead of where the world is heading. Everyone loves laughing on someone’s pain. It’s surprisingly easy to do than you think. Although an element of guilt is associated with it, almost every regular television comedy reality program appears to go out of its way to make. It’s not only me who relish it to laugh at another person's misfortune. It's like what I'll call the "funny bone syndrome," when you accidentally knock your elbow on a table top and are in excruciating pain for several minutes, then suddenly find yourself and around you laughing uncontrollably at the whole incident.

Watch America's Funniest Videos or our own MTV Bakra or Chupa Rustam? It appears that those so called humorous bloopers now contain more physical pain clips than ever before. Remember when we found a frog climbing over another frog from behind funny? Now most videos need to contain events involving pain such as, tripping and falling, knocks on the head, stampedes by horses, and of course, the people's favorite; hits to the groin.

With a live audience encouraged to laugh with the use of an applause meter, what other choice do we have other than to laugh along at someone else's anguish? Perhaps it has something to do with peer pressure and group behavior. If you didn't laugh, someone might think there is something wrong with you. The problem is, if you really stop to think about it, what is so damned funny about someone holding their back and grimacing in pain after falling off a ladder or getting hit by Indian bull right on his nuts?

I just hope we aren't headed for the day when we find beheadings and decapitations hilarious, at least not without the use of laugh tracks.

Sweet Separation

The awkward silence seemed to stretch out for eternity. I looked into her vacant eyes hoping to find a hint of emotion, but only found that I could not hold her gaze. It was like being in a lion’s cage and looking into his silent eyes to see if he is hungry or not. It may eat me if it’s hungry or just maul and kill me because it’s a lion. I felt uncomfortable. I shifted in my chair struggling for words to say, anything. I couldn't. I had said all I could hadn't I? It was her turn now surely? Yet all she offered me was silence.

I had not been prepared for this; I had expected anger or disappointment, an argument or an agreement. My mind had raced through endless possibilities on my way to this tragic unfolding but none had come close to capturing the torture which had awaited me. The stillness was swallowing me whole. I had to do something.

"I always thought I'd have something to say in an awkward silence" I found myself saying. "Is this an awkward silence?" She gave a slight nod. By addressing the silence I knew I had made it worse, her lack of reply had merely emphasized it. I had played my gambit and it had failed; I knew I could not risk speaking again.

I scanned the venue looking for a friendly face, any distraction welcome, anything to save me from the abyss. There was nobody. I was alone in this sea of tranquility, drowning in its still waters.

I chanced to look at her again. Was that a hint of a smile I saw playing across her face? It was. I was sure it was. She was enjoying this. Surely witches were the ancestors of womankind. It was quite apparent that watching me squirm was her revenge; she had known what was coming and had plotted against me. I felt abused. She had turned this around on me; her mute indifference was my punishment.

"I am done I am leaving," she said, as she started to leave expecting me to beg for her esteemed audience in my pathetic life.

Alas! I was too stoned to do that.

I don't know if I will ever hear sweeter words than what she said just then. I had been released from my silent prison. I was human again like any fable story finally the witch left me to live happily ever after. I will always admire her for her forgiveness and maybe departure…

Mail& Reply from Period - Contributed by Cynthia

Letter To My Period... I Hate You

Dearest Period,

Thanks a whole lot for coming to visit me today. No. I really mean that. I'm not being sarcastic at all. ~Snort~ My family just adores walking on eggshells and having to duck flying objects at a moment's notice when something is not particularly to my liking. I am all too happy to lay on my bed and wiggle into my jeans, sputtering a string of colorful expletives while trying to fasten the button over the bloat that wasn't there yesterday. And what woman doesn't love desperately hunting through drawers at 3 in the morning for Tampons while you wring out her uterus like a Brawny paper towel? Cramps are where happy goes to die. And the mood swings... are to die for. I mean that literally. Nothing brings out the homicidal maniac in me quite the way you do. Let me put it this way... you know something is amiss when someone asks you how your day was and you turn around and singe the hairs on their face with what comes out of your mouth. If you really must come around, I would appreciate it if you would do so without hijacking my hormones, depositing three gallons of water in my midriff, and twisting my girly bits until they cry Mummy. That is all.

My period was so incensed by this letter that it decided to write me back. It said...

Dear Cynthia,

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I have no control over what I do when I show up for my visit. It's actually your own damn uterus you should be mad at- it's as slow molasses in January and seems to have a hard time getting a jump on the task at hand. Kind of like you. And it's not like I ever show up unannounced... you always know when I'm coming, and it's not my fault you are so scatterbrained that you forgot to go to the store and stock up on tampons and Midol. As for your moods.. puhhhleeez... you are incorrigible the other 27 days out of the month that I'm not visiting you. Perhaps you wouldn't sear the eyeballs of your loved ones if you'd lay off the fatty foods that make your uterus so sluggish... which is why you wake up at 3 a.m. with cramps that rival labor pains. And lay off the soda pop... or those jeans are never gonna fit anyway. Face it... you are female and because of this, you must roll with the punches. I don't like visiting you anymore than you like seeing me, but it's time you make peace with the fact that we are stuck together for another 10-20 years, until it's hot flashes turn to take my place. If you thought I was bad, just wait. Now stop being a whiny bitch and go eat some chocolate. See ya next month. ~Fin~

Well then. That didn't work out quite the way I'd planned....

** She is one of my good blog member and an awesome expresser

Love packed in black polythene bag

When I left Calcutta, I packed your memoirs in a black polythene bag,
I intended to trash.
'Just do it – It gets Recycled' the bag said, and I agreed.

That was three years ago.
Your son wasn't born yet, though his father
had arrived a year back to dazzle you with

his Brahmin Bengali accent
and ability to pinch your bottom in public
way unknown to mankind.

My afterthoughts have determined that my case was lost
even before I filed my petition,
but by blaming him, my passions can slurp
my bitterness with relish.

And the good time flew by

Reminders loomed every month,
as dates associated with your birthday,
your marriage, his birthday, your son's birthday…
anniversary of our first rendezvous…few middle ones…

our last meeting that had passed without an event,
and of details, that every holiday, every festival
had admitted in your name,
as dates, with their fangs and forks,
raked the dying embers of my lost cause.

I have a confession to make.
I am opening the bag today,
not because I wish to relive my memories.
My pursuit is unholy one,
for in those relics, I wish to find
my ability to love,
to love again.

So many words and feelings,
that sound clichéd or my own,
have surfaced from her lips.
So many words, once my own,
seem to have so little effect.

A human heart stands like a mountain unfazed

- Some drunken jerk said that

And he continues…

unfazed by whispering winds and wailing rain.
Woman will be mountains during the start,

Which the man will become one day…
The day he opens his black polythene bag
to find his ability to love,
to love again.

To the Gyan Gurus

I'm beginning to believe that I am surrounded by people who live to irritate and annoy me. I can deal with most personalities but I lose it when I have to deal with arrogant know-it-all.

Ashraf “Drugs are injurious to health” there they blood just revealed the mystery of the century to me.

You can't tell them anything...they are the almighty authority on every subject under the sun and they do not take it kindly if you dare to disagree with them.

“I know”
“NO U DON’T”

As much as I hate confrontation, it's just not in my nature to agree with something that I know for a fact is wrong and so I just had to open my mouth and set the record straight. Okay, so I guess I'm not going to win no popularity contest there.

You know I really do want to be a good person but the harder I try to become a better human being (And Yes I do Do That On Occasion) the more often the Arrogant and Annoying people show up to throw me off track. I can understand people who know me; giving me enlightment but stranegers of this country…No Way.
People are strange when you a stranger

I seriously think the universe is conspiring against me or testing me to see if I've learned anything yet - you know, like patience and tolerance? And if that's the case you can be sure I have failed dismally and I've got this funny feeling that I'm gonna be tossed back and recycled into another lifetime of more stupid, annoying and irritating people with out Dee nearby.

Corporate story -Anonymous

Once upon a time, in a nice little forest, there lived an orphaned bunny and an orphaned snake. By a surprising coincidence, both were blind from birth. One day, the bunny was hopping through the forest, and the snake was slithering through the forest, when the bunny tripped over the snake and fell down. This, of course, knocked the snake about quite a bit.

"Oh, my," said the bunny, "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I've been blind since birth, so, I can't see where I'm going. In fact, since I'm also an orphan, I don't even know what I am."

“It's quite ok," replied the snake. "Actually, my story is as yours. I too have been blind since birth, and also never knew my mother. Tell you what, maybe I could slither all over you, and work out what you are so at least you'll have that going for you."

"Oh, that would be wonderful" replied the bunny. So the snake slithered all over the bunny, and said, "Well, you're covered with soft fur, you have really long ears, your nose twitches, and you have a soft cottony tail. I'd say that you must be a bunny rabbit." "Oh, thank you, thank you," cried the bunny, in obvious excitement.

The bunny suggested to the snake, "Maybe I could feel you all over with my paw, and help you the same way that you've helped me."

So the bunny felt the snake all over, and remarked, "Well, you're smooth and slippery, and you have a forked tongue, no backbone and no balls. I'd say you must be either a team leader or possibly someone in senior management."

Confessions of a Drugged murderer

(Don’t Read it)

Maybe I wasn't destined to be a murderer, but I became one. We are told that sin sits like a boulder on your heart. We are made to believe that blood clots stain your hands, and your eyeballs turn into the dark, insomniac districts of big cities. We are told that grief and compunction lurk like a phobia in the silent hours of your existence. We are told that killing another is hard, that it’s a brutal act. They have announced that promiscuity is a burden, a disease, difficult to live with, to live for. It is nothing but a thick pile of lies. Each one of us has a murderer within us, and if we train ourselves well, killing is a pastime like none other. I am talking about killing humans. Killing as a hobby, as an art, as a science! I will now tell you why I am both an artist and a scientist and a computer engineer…

This is my true story. I write this to denounce the myths associated with murder. I am not here to praise myself or my acts. My virtual existence points to the fact that I don't care for your applause or comments. I want you to listen to me. Suspend your prejudices and listen to me. I may come after you and kill you too, but there is no hurry.

Killing for pleasure is my hobby. Like a prostitute who enjoys the variety and the range in her customer base, who works not just for material pleasure, whose loins are like ravenous hearths thirsting for more wood, I am always fantasizing about spurting blood, slashed veins and strips of flesh peeled out like onion skins. But murder is the end of ecstasy; the real pleasure is in the foreplay.

First kill is like losing virginity. It introduces you to a new realm of pleasures. I was only fifteen when I discovered the essence of this simile. Ashraf, my mortal twin, consider himself as the stronger and the smarter one. Our mother, the bitch, never figured who our biological father was. Ashraf had arrived a few seconds before I did. I arrived in anger, and unlike usual babies, I arrived with just a single tear on my cheek. One tear for losing the race to Ashraf, one tear to be christened as Ashq!

I tolerated him for 20 years. I let his 5’10 feet, stout frame tower a few inches above mine slim, bone and flesh, dilapidated body. I let his scores at primary school overrun mine; I let myself bear sores after every battle we fought. I resented him with a bitterness that I openly flaunted. I tolerated him till the day I saw him extract a smile and blush from Christy. Chris (in short) sealed his fate.

I think I was a little inexperienced then. I did not know human anatomy enough. I choked him with a pillow, and he struggled like a horse trying to swim across a swamp. He fought hard, but in the end, his despair, his astonishment swamped him. I was much weaker physically, but my intent was as taut as my grip. We lived next to Arabian Sea, in a zombie’s world. It took me only a few minutes to wrap him in a bed sheet and leave him for the fish to feast on. My sweaty self was strained to the limit, and yet I felt an exhilaration one feels after scaling a mountain. What followed in Chris's room was like jumping off a cliff for para gliding!

I did not know enough human anatomy then. I did not know how erotic pain is for woman, how injury urges them on, how darkness turns them into a force that contain pleasures that bleed as they proceed, that soar as they swing, that flatter as they fetter you. I approached her, who was only twenty one then. She bit me, punched me, hit me, and writhed in my grip like a snake, trying to escape from a mongoose's grip. I hurled her down on the floor, and held her breasts so tightly with my fingers digging deep into them, that I feared my fingers would start to crackle. Before my fingers could crackle, her fierceness began to exude a fire that I had never thought possible. We both burned like turpentine oil, screeching and spurting as we exhausted every drop of our intention. When we stopped an hour later with teeth marks and bites all over each other, I rose with a freshness one feels after an extended bath. Ashq, the man, was born.

Unfortunately, Chris had to die next. The only murder that brings a sigh to my lips was hers. The murder itself was a fascinating affair; I have no complaints about the act itself. In fact, it was my first masterpiece. The sigh is for the body that was first to anoint me as potent. The sigh is for the teeth that first roused the animals in my languid flesh. I killed her one evening, of course, after pounding her with my exploding ego. I killed her, just at the moment, when she closed her eyes, moaning as she climaxed. Blood sprinkled out of her veins, as it does when suddenly someone steps on a garden hose and it just bursts out. The red liquid rose like a fountain, and drops fell like rose petals on her face. As I walked out, unnoticed at the early dawn, I left a raging fire to gorge her, to finish her with the last rites a Hindu deserves. Then I took a plunge in the sea to clean off the stains of my first romance.

Ashraf and Chris must have united in hell, for all I care.

Here I stand before you, without face, anonymously. My lips are being licked by new desires, my hands are as eager for fondling you as they are for dismantling your intestines. I am as natural with the knife as I am with assuming the character of a weakling, a man of no importance, trying to fight big and small torments of life to survive the system. I am a Van Gogh, unknown to the mankind, a Picasso you haven't yet learnt to appreciate. I am a Casanova, who incarnates as Jack, The Ripper, and walks the nights as Dracula, without the flourish of the Count. No Gods bother me, I bother with none. We ignore each other. I don't subscribe to any cannibalistic tribe. I am a purely on liquid diet (can you beat that?). I am no devil worshipper. I am just a simple man, with simple needs and a great panache for killing. I kill so elegantly that you will never suspect me as the killer.

Although; I guess after I die I will prefer to be remembered only for my first duo-murder of Chris & Ashraf.

Glory

Not on advising mood…seriously. Just want to share a weird thought. I guess we often vie to get the attention and glory of people surrounding us. At least it’s very true for me you can say… if you don’t know. In fact the concept of most of my Blogs is based on this. When I look at them, I can feel myself trying to corner the attention of my virtual readers in some mean hook and crook method by… BRAGGING. It appears childish, but it was really fun…and we are not talking about myself.

Sometimes we Blog things that we may not accept in personal life; we Blog extremist views; we blog expressions and ideas that we never relish in person; all in the hope of getting some attention.

But the fact is that Attention, Adulation, Glory and such things are not seeked my good readers… They happen... Why they happen, there are lot of reasons…

Turtle when put in warm water for cooking it, will like the warmth and swim excitedly. As it continues, the heat will cook its body and will die a painful death…Glory is also like that. It is very pleasureful initially. Ultimately it will kill the mental peace (in the heat to retain it all the time).

To strike a balanced life in the long run is a challenge my friends.

Dada- Pota

Eid celebration!!!

DaadiJaan - A good human and a better wife

Memories of my childhood once in a while float through my brain, I come from a large family, who due to unknown reasons have always stressed on the importance of family values. My Daadi god bless her soul, was the founder of this theory. She took time to make me sit near her during annual gatherings or flip through family photo albums and teach me who was who... teaching me why it was important to know your blood relation… to give them respect irrespective of their social or financial standings. To talk in the language they know… to ask for things which are available. She also used to tell me stories of when she was young...stories of her daddy, stories of her brother and sisters.

She belonged to a very rich family and married my grandfather from a poor family because of his education. She always told me she was educated till 3^rd standard in Urdu madarsaa but always stressed on the importance education if one wants to gain respect in society. I felt education for her was Lawyers, doctors and engineers; if you are not one of the three you are bloody well illiterate. Education was the only way for her to uplift your society.

Although not well to do by today’s standards, she was the only source of livelihood for 2 women who ended up begging on road after her demise. None of her well educated kids could help that. Good she died before that.

When I think of her, I think of love. I think of pride… a determined woman with a strong voice of a speaker and a leader. And yes a lovable grandmother who had a long active sex life which was a matter of pride for her.

She was a hard worker who raised 11 children, five boys and six girls. I think although not much educated she was a great home maker and an exotic cook which none of her daughter in-laws could equal. After she died at the ripe age of eighty-eight, I was going through her things, and found an Alim certificate (Muslim Scholar) from one of her treasured trunk.

An Alim who decided to work as a housekeeper, and called herself illiterate instead...how could I never know? And why didn't she tell me? I guess, sometimes there are some things left out, for whatever reason, we just keep some things to ourselves...

I still keep to things the way she told me about her… an illiterate loving grandmother who was an awesome wife. It doesn't matter, because the memories make up for the things I didn't know during her lifetime.

My take on Child Birth - Addon to my Sisters

Giving birth is like taking a BIG and LONG hard dump in the toilet. It's where you think you can't take another minute of it as the sweat beads up and runs amok. Mostly, you think you're going to die first before passing those uncut huge watermelons.

And then, the baby is in your arms. A puss-like and bloody substance still clings to parts of the baby's body. The face is scrunched and pinched up like a shriveled head in a curio shop. There's a screeching cry of anger and confusion that won't stop. And you think you've never seen any baby as beautiful as this one ever in your life. I never heard about any woman who have not cried with joy after seeing her just born.

Labor Pain - As narrated by my sister

It was hard for me to come up with presenting this idea but I guess I didn’t play any part in pre-delivery stage of my sister. Not that I am capable of playing any worth while part or I was expected to play during or post her pregnancy but then again she is my sister and she is capable of finding faults in me even if I am in best of my standing. What gave me this idea was mere fact she likes talking and if she doesn’t have anything worthwhile then she likes hitting it out on me.

This was narrated by her and dedicated to her 2 little devils who think I am a hit me toy.

Twins I hoped in my wildest dreams, twins it was going to be. The fateful day of childbirth arrived in August. Sure I was two weeks early but I knew the instant the first contraction hit that the time had arrived. I was in COMPLETE control. I had everything buttoned up at work, I had the whole birth planned out, I even had a pen and paper next to the bed. .The pen and paper quickly went to use recording every single contraction, its strength, length and time of day. I was on a mission. I even recorded bowel movements so I could proudly show my doctor how organized I was. It all started at midnight and I lovingly let my husband sleep through the night so that he wouldn't have an exhausting day. I can’t wake up my mother sleeping in next room without waking the entire neighborhood nor can I call my insolent & incompetent brother who is never there when needed. I didn't need anyone; I had my pen, paper, and images of a perfect birth that couldn't be sidelined by even the greatest obstacles. It was all planned. I was going drug free and in a tub. After all, I have the pain threshold of a hardened Indian girl and all the research said that there was nothing more natural for a newborn than to come into this world in a bath of warm water. Made sense to me. I like water, and if I had been breathing some form of water like substance for a number of months, I might just like to hang onto that for a few minutes longer.

So by noon things had heated up a little bit. Yes, I said noon. That's TWELVE hours later if you can understand. Twelve hours of pacing, wincing, writing, and pooping. I was starting to get a little annoyed actually and decided to hit the hospital to see if we could move things along a little bit. Well they were no help at all. Turns out I wasn't even dilating, and despite the fact that the pain was getting worse, my cervix was remaining tightly shut. I was starting to wish it had been so accommodating nine months earlier.
To add insult to injury, and due to incredibly poor judgment on my part, I had the constant support of not only my husband in the birth room, but my mother as well. I mean, who wants their mother to see them completely naked and in incredible pain for hours on end. I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking when I invited her in three months earlier, but back then I was glowing, happy and excited, eager to embrace, and share, the gift of childbirth as I swiftly and painlessly popped the cork that would later be called my son. Sure, things weren't going exactly as planned, but one thing you will learn quickly about me and Ashraf’s in general: We are a stubborn bunch. You never second guess your decisions, and never show signs of weakness. It’s an inherent trait, all in our family have it, its just a little more intense for some. So three hours after checking in, I’m in the tub and the pain is getting intense. The doctor states boldly, let me know if you want any painkillers its still not too late. "Too late" should have been a red flag in my head, and any normal person at this point would have begged for some kind of morphine drip or a bat to the head, but not me. I can handle this, I am a strong woman, pain is for sissies.
Around dinner time, after I decided that screaming was indeed an acceptable way to deal with the situation, we determined a couple of things. The tub idea was a joke and my threshold for pain wasn't nearly as high as I thought originally. Problem? I passed the drug window. Once I finally broke down and pleaded with the doctors to give me drugs, they refused. Apparently there's some sort of danger involved to the baby if administered after a certain time. Hence the "too late" statement. Now, clearly I don't want anything bad happening to my babies, but at that particular point in time, I couldn't have cared less.

Picture a 27 year old woman, standing in the middle of a hospital room screaming at her mother, husband and several hospital employees, where the only shred of dignity left is in the form of a hospital scarf that is secured around her neck. That's it. It’s hanging on me like a bib, bottom exposed, breasts hanging out, but somehow I think having this thing tied around my neck is making me look almost respectable. Not likely. But I didn't care at the time. All I wanted was that baby out of me. Period. The last thing I was worried about frankly were my kids being born with a buzz.

But eventually Ajuj(Gog) was born, drug free, a mere 24 hours and 18 minutes after the first contraction and Majuj(Magog) followed after 5 minute gap. One full day of excruciating pain and bad decisions that ended with me holding a double six pound alien in both my arms, complete with the cone head you read about in the medical journals.

But in conclusion, if you only take two things away from this, make it these:

1. When a physician offers you drugs when you're in pain, take them. And if you can, stockpile some extra for friends.

2. if someone ever says to you that you'll forget the pain of childbirth as soon as its over, remember these wise words from an honest mom. They are FULL OF SHIT.

When I met her after her fabulous maternity ward stunt and enquired about her pain she asked me to try shitting 2 Watermelons to understand it.

THINGS YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO KNOW

I ma not sure about all the stuff stated here but I got extensive documents unread by me to support it, let me know if anything interests you

• The Ten Commandments We Always See Aren't the Ten Commandments
• One of the Popes Wrote an Erotic Book
• The CIA Commits Over 100,000 Serious Crimes Each Year
• The First CIA Agent to Die in the Line of Duty Was Douglas Mackiernan
• After 9/11, the Defense Department Wanted to Poison Afghanistan's Food Supply
• World War III Almost Started in 1995
• The Korean War Never Ended
• Agent Orange Was Used in Korea
• Winston Churchill Believed in a Worldwide Jewish Conspiracy
• The Auschwitz Tattoo Was Originally an IBM Code Number
• Adolph Hitler's Blood Relatives Are Alive and Well in New York State
• Around One Quarter of "Witches" Were Men
• The Virginia Colonists Practiced Cannibalism
• Many of the Pioneering Feminists Opposed Abortion
• Black People Served in the Confederate Army
• Juries Are Allowed to Judge the Law, Not Just the Facts
• The US Police Aren't Legally Obligated to Protect You
• The US Government Can Take Your House and Land, Then Sell Them to Private Corporations
• The Supreme Court Has Ruled That You're Allowed to Ingest Any Drug, Especially If You're an Addict
• Most Scientists Don't Read All of the Articles They Cite
• Louis Pasteur Suppressed Experiments That Didn't Support His Theories
• Genetically-Engineered Humans Have Already Been Born
• Prescription Drugs Kill Over 100,000 Annually
• Work Kills More People Than War
• The Suicide Rate Is Highest Among the Elderly
• The Bayer Company Made Heroin
• LSD Has Been Used Successfully in Psychiatric Therapy
• Carl Sagan Was an Avid Pot-Smoker
• The World's Museums Contain Innumerable Fakes

Falling again

Baby, I've been waiting,
I've been waiting Night and day
I didn't see the time,
I waited half my life away
There were lots of invitations
And I know you sent me some,
But I was waiting
For the miracle,
For the miracle to come

- L Cohen "Natural Born Killers"

Falling in love is a risky business (oh we are back on it). Actually it never goes away you ignore it or you just control yourself it just stays their in your life. You push it away hard and harder it hits you after completing the circle. For once let’s look from the optimistic point. The ecstasy is intoxicating and addictive to be precise. Your heart is in a place that seems the closest place to heaven on Earth. But the pain is worse than all the horrors of Hell. Distance, apathy, hate, rejection, and loss are among the conditions of love. It is a pain and sorrow that balances the pleasure and the pain of the basis of human emotion. Love is felt down to your very core. It is powerful enough to compel even the strongest man to weep because it is felt so immensely. Sometimes the wound of love can hurt so much that the subject of our love is not enough. Sometimes, you need an escape; an escape from the pain, the ache, the constant longing. Love is the very air we breathe, yet, it is toxic and painful with each heaving, labored breath. That is the irony that finally destroys us.

I fell in love. I fell in love in a very normal way like half of us do, but it was the most unique experience in my life like for everyone who falls like me. I always thought I will keep falling in love and I did quiet often in my life but I always brushed myself and got ready for the next fall. This one fall jeopardized it all.

First time in my 25years I don’t want to stand up.

It caught me by surprise, actually. She was a life-stopper with an expression asking you a very direct question “ how long you would stare at me with your sheepish look and act like a dumb ass in a trance?”; She was the initiator of the first magical moment in my life… magical moment you either have been through or dreamt. She was there wearing specs taking all the pains not to look at me again. She had her own very good reasons which I came to know later but ask me still if I meet her again…anywhere I will be doing the same thing which I did when I first saw her in white brown salwaar kameez and I am sure she will also be doing the same what she did then… ignore me. Hahahha

After an experience that confirmed my feelings for her, I knew that I never wanted to be in anyone in my arms but hers. She is a mixed breed a cross between magic and dream. Beside that she is mother of all anger. There were times when she was just herself (ANGRY $#@%#%) and I was very near to a brutal death. She was worth it all. Every fiber in me loved her. I loved her dressing sense, her milky white skin, her soft fingers, her teeth and ear rings, her laugh, her philosophies and hobbies, every flaw, every perfection, every minute. I fought harder to keep her by my side for whatever time I have in my life knowing very well it’s not supposed to be like that. She is different and I am sure she must have met thousands like me in her life, she got her hubby much better than I can ever be. I dream often if things were different she would be the one…one for everything in my life.

Things are better now and it’s around 3 years I know her. Wish I knew whether these 3 years can be converted into 30 years of acquaintance and friendship or not. Although she is not a dreamer like but we both will be working on drafting few rules to make sure we are in touch till death do us apart.

Its 2:00am I am sure she must be sleeping at present and I am also sure she would be looking damn beautiful even while sleeping.