The Insensitive Indian

Yeh kahani hai meri ek bua ki, Jo ki Eeshwar par aseem shraddha rakhti hai, Hafte me chaar din upvaas , do din maun vrat, esi unki bhakti hai. Somwaar se Shanivar, unka apna hi timetable hota hai, Subah 4 baje se uth ke karti puja path, jab sara jag sota hai. 33 crore devi-devtao ke naam jabaan par ratte hain, Hamse to chemistry ke teen formulae bhi nahi pate hain. Desh ke sabhi saadhu santo ki puja yeh karti hain, Keh do in sadhuo ko kuch bhi, to muh se aag ugalti hain. Ek din buaji ek naye baba ki tasveer ghar layi, Boli Sharma ji ke gharwalo ne inse hi krupa payi. Jab bua thi baba ke Pooja mein magan, Hamne Google baba ka aashirvad liya, Aur ghar pe baithe baithe, baba ka kora chittha khulwa diya. Bua ko bulakar bole, dekho yeh inki sachhai hain, Tasveer mein dikh rahi bikini babe nahi inki lugayi hain. Inke bank account mein, tumhari 33 crore devi devtaon se jyada ki sampatti hai, Kaha se aya itna

It was a bright sunny morning, I woke up after a late night chat with my lady love. Suddenly at 11:00 am she called me and said she was going home, she didn’t tell me the reason rather I didn’t let her speak as the news spoilt our date plan. We used to stay in the town of Bhopal, whereas her home was at Indore, which is at a distance of 200 kms from Bhopal. I immediately got up and without doing my chores, I rushed towards the bus stand. There she was, pretty as always, bathed in bright sunlight. Seeing her, I fell in love with her again. At the very moment, I thought of embracing her with all my love for her. With a bit of thought, I decided against as I have to portray my anger. I didn’t speak to her, just stood beside, observing the surroundings, accidently touching her hand every now and then. Hardly a moment has passed, the bus arrived and she left. When I reached home on my bike, I checked my phone, which read 10 missed calls and an SMS. All were  from her. The message read, “M

Why marketers should not fall in love: Why marketers should not fall in love, The reason is not being lousy, not even the time, It has to do with the qualities inherent, the tuning of the chimes. When a marketer looks for  love, He goes for a market research, He thinks about the sample and the respondent, Whether it has to be a college girl or someone from the convent. He draws out an exhaustive questionnaire, Which never is to be filled. Sometimes shopping mysterily, If caught is to be killed. Now comes the analysis part, Which never comes so easy, SPSS or Excel, which software to choose, Lips pink or red, hair tied or loose. Now comes the stage so tricky, The STP can be loose or can be sticky. The segment which he chose, never pay him heed, The targeting seems never succeed. Positioning looks like a game of trial and error, Should he be amicable or try a strategy of terror. Should he try some cheesy lines, Or be a lover

A blind man in the bus stop. That was a sunny day, a Monday morning with sweet zephyr, The bus stop crowded with the white collared people, the color going well with the weather. To the corner of the stall there stood a man with stick in his hand, Eyes blindfolded as if harry potter wielding his magic wand. He waited for a while then tried crossing the road,   Taking one step front and two back as a hopping toad. I looked at him silently, as a passive onlooker, I had to reach my place and play snooker. The blind man called people and pleaded them, Help me cross the road and get over this mayhem. I thought helping him, then decided against, Remembering the morning news that gave me  a bad taste. A blind man snatching a woman's chain made into page six, What to do or not, i was in a fix. Thinking deeply into the matter I got lost, Peasants came and gone ignoring the unfortunate chap, I couldn’t blame others as i too didn’

Jab wo chaar saal ka tha, Usne laddoo churaye. Maana wo ladakpan tha, Fir bhi use maa-baap na samjhaye. Bole wo toh man ka sachha hai, Wo to abhi bachha hai. Aath ki umar mein baap ka batua le uda, Batuye ki rakam se dosto ko film dikhayi Guthke cigarette ke liye, Chori se ki kamayi. Pata chalne par maa-baap bole, badi harkat nhi ki yeh achha hai, Sambhal jaega wo, abhi to wo bachha hai. Chaudah ki umar me, attempt to murder mein jail gya, Uska shikar hua balak, apni ek ankh se gya, Bal sudhar mein kuch waqt bita ghar pe uske kadam pade, Jang jeeti ho jese, ese maa-baap ro pade. Sambhal lo ise jab tak ghada kachha hai, Jawab mila, kya jarurat hai abhi to wo bachha hai. Aaj satrah ki umar me usne ek naari ki aabru h looti, Kaanp jae rooh esi darindagi hai failayi, Haivaniyat ke is kaand pe na baap dapta na maa chillayi, Kaanoon ke hath bandhe hai, kyuki yeh kanoon luchha h, Jo is par bhi kehta hai, use saja nhi ho sakti wo to abhi bachha h.