Friday, 5 September 2014


Robin Arora saw Karan Bhagal coming out from the elevator. It was three years since both of them had seen each other. They had last met each other at Crappy’s reunion.  Karan hadn’t changed- he was still cursed with a height of 5 feet 4 inches, a custard full of pot belly and looked horny as always.

Robin ducked behind the edition of the Metrosexual men magazine that he had been reading. There had been an interesting article for men that talked about how one could manicure his nails so that no one would come to know that they had actually been manicured.  Robin tried to hide behind the magazine cover but had no luck.

As usual, Karan was as subtle as a donkey’s fart.

“Oh……Burrraaahhhh….Dude…..Yeah….Robin…Huhaaaaaa….Ohaaaaaaa!” Karan yelled embracing Robin close to his chest until Robin felt suffocated from the foul smell of garlic on his breath. 

Robin was touched by the sentimental greeting, until he felt Karan’s hands caress his butt.

“Ohaaa…..Hublaa….Oh…Oh!”  Karan yelled not letting go of Robin. Robin pushed him with some difficulty and said, “Karan, dude! How are you?”

“You know,” Karan yelled, “I am a typically stereotypical Punjabi kuda. Chak De Fatte!”

Robin shushed him. “Karan control your emotions. Don’t let them turn into loose motions.”

Seeing Karan after three years was so mind-blowing crazy for Robin! But Robin was mindful of where they were and said, “Shush Karan. Do not forget we are here to see a psychiatrist.”

Karan became serious for a moment, “Yes. I forgot we were at the psychiatrist!”
Robin asked in a surprised tone, “Fancy seeing you at a psychiatrist? You are always so exufossil!”

“You mean exuberant Robin!”

“Yes. Same thing,” said Robin, genuinely concerned at his friend’s state of mind.  Karan saw tears in his friend’s eyes and his heart started pumping blood more vigorously in sympathy.

“Robin! Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it Karan. The stench from your garlic is very strong.”

“Oh! Haha, tell me Robin dude, what are you doing at the psychiatrist?”

Robin sighed, growing misty in his eyes, “I lost in love. Then I wondered if I could love again. Then love happened twice. Then I lost again.”

“Oh! Tragic!”

“What brought you here Karan?” asked Robin.

“I married the girl I loved who was from a different state. Then I lost it.”


For the next nine and a half minutes, Robin and Karan spoke, giggled and made fun each of each other, poking at each other’s midriff.

Then Robin asked, “What are you doing Karan?”

“I am gently prodding your midriff and cracking jokes. High five!”

“No,” said Robin shaking his head, “I meant what are you doing professionally?”

“Well I pursued my lifestyle dream of completing engineering, then I did my MBA and then like I always wanted to be, I became a writer.

“No Shit,” said Robin, appalled at this turn of events. Robin himself had always been the more creative of the two.

“I am world famous in India dude! Don’t tell me you haven’t read my books,” asked Karan in disbelief.

“No no,” said Robin not wanting to hurt his friend’s fragile inflated ego. “What do you write about?”, Robin asked, feeling as curious as the cat who got killed.

“Well general stuff….my college life….girlfriend boyfriend….courtship with would be wife..wife’s parents. ..wife’s parent’s college life…..”

“Oh,” said Robin disappointed. There was no tragic love story here. Romance was more his cup of green tea. Ever since he had read Eric Segal’s Love Story he had been wanting to write a tragic love story.

Karan said excitedly, “Let’s go and drink beer and have tandoori chicken.”

“But…,” said Robin glancing at his watch. “It is ten in the morning.”

“So what?  Let’s go. I was anyways going to pay the psychiatrist to talk. Let me talk to you instead as my therapy.”

"No shit,” said Robin, feeling a tremor go through his body. Oh the putrescence of it! Beer and Tandoori Chicken in the morning. And he had said no shit twice.


Karan Bhagal walked across his bedroom, topless, wearing only his leopard spotted shorts and got into the bed. His wife Deborita, was already in the bed reading a book. Karan and Deborita had been married for five years now. They had been classmates during their MBA and after a courtship of three years had got married. 

“I think my sessions with the psychiatrist are working,” he told Deborita.”My writer’s block is evaporating.”

“Uh-huh, great.” said Deborita, engrossed in her book. Karan sensed his wife’s taciturnity and decided to write. 

Karan lay in bed, staring at his IPAD, waiting for inspiration to strike him. His wife lay next to him, focusing on the book. Karan stretched his neck and saw the title of the book she was reading- ‘The catcher in the rye.’

Karan scratched his balls and pouted. He always resented when his wife read these English authors.

“What are you reading Darling?” he asked his wife.

She tilted the book cover towards him without replying and resumed her reading.

“The Catcher in the Rye. What’s it about?” Karan persisted.

He hated being ignored by his wife. He was the country’s most read author and his wife was not impressed by this accomplishment of his. In fact, she had vowed that she would personally castrate him, if he ever tried to make their kids read his books

“It’s about misunderstood adolescence,” replied his wife without taking her eyes of the book.

“Misunderstood adolescence…hmm…why would you want to read about that subject baby?”

“Honey, it gives me an insight on how to deal with you.”

Karan cleared his throat and said, “Baby I need to talk.”

    “Oh?” said Deborita raising her eyebrow, finally putting the book down and looking at him attentively.

“As you know, I have been suffering from a writer’s block for some time now. My inspiration is depleted. My fans are eagerly waiting for my next book and my publisher is behind my ass to come up with another book. But baby, believe it or not, the great Karan Bhagal has lost his inspiration.”

He paused and stared vacantly at the roof. He continued, “I know that I have a duty towards millions of my fans. I need to write about life. But the fact is that…I don’t know what to write about now. I considered enrolling in a college again; maybe do a double MBA or a legal course to get some content for my new book. But you were right. At thirty-five, I am too old to join a college. But,” he said pausing dramatically, “I think I have finally got inspiration to write on a new topic.”

“What is it darling?” asked Deborita.

Karan looked at his wife and said in naughty whisper, “Sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to write a sexy, erotic novel. I want to create a revolution by writing the most explicit novel about teenage sex. I want to call it Revolution 69.”

Deborita erupted in a fit of coughing. Karan scowled and gazed at her intently, trying to make out whether she was coughing or trying to disguise her laugh as a cough.

“Honey,” said Deborita, her eyes watery now with the effort required to control her laughter, “Are you sure that you can write about sex convincingly?”

“Huh? What sort of question is that? Of course I can. I have 5 years of experience with you. And I am a Punjabi. Sex is in my blood.”

“Okay sure.  Why don’t you recite a line for me.? Let’s see how good your imagination is.”

“Okay. Here’s the plot. A young man and woman meet in IIT. Man is kind of shy and demure. Woman is kind of naughty and slutty.  Man is ordinary looking but more intelligent than the woman. This will appeal to my male fans.  Woman is extremely beautiful but stifled with societal norms, and finds a welcome change in this average looking man who is sweet and charming. This will appeal to my female fans.  I will throw in some ragging scenes to bring humour. This will appeal to both gender fans.  One night, the boy will take the girl out to a dhabha for tandoori chicken and beer. The ..”

“Honey,” Said Deborita stifling a yawn. “Sorry to burst your bubble of imagination but there is nothing new in this the plot. Where’s the sex?”

 “Patience my rosgulla. You are always so impatient.  I should call you missy miss premature ejaculator. Haha.”

The rosgulla looked like it was going to punch him in the face. Karan  wondered why did his wife not find his jokes funny when the rest of the country was going gaga over them.

“Anyways,” said Karan resuming the story. “While returning, there is a thunder storm and they have to check in a motel. Now, the boy is a gentleman and sleeps on the floor while the girl sleeps on the bed. A spider wriggles on the boy’s feet and he screams and comes on the bed. The girl seduces the boy. Listen to the sex part now, and give me your feedback.” He paused and said dramatically, “Be gentle honey, remember this is my first time.”

Deborita rolled her eyes and Karan continued, “He reached for her breasts. They were firm like watermelons. He wondered whether they would taste like the actual fruit and would as nutritious too. The girl reached out to his pants and patted his carrot. The carrot extended a few inches. The boy groaned, amazed at this thing called lust. The fruit chaat was too much for him to take. He looked at the fair skin and..”

 “Stop,” said Deborita, “Please stop.”

Karan was so engrossed in the scene that his own carrot had grown a few nano inches. He felt truly inspired.

“What do you think?” he asked Deborita.

    “I hate it. It is preposterous, revolting and puerile writing.”

Karan listened to the feedback and smiled. Deborita smiled back.
   Karan blew her an air-kiss and said, “If you hate it, that means my fans will love it. Just like with all the other books.  I am going to write another bestseller.”

 “Yes,” Debota smiled,”I hate it, so like the previous times, your fans will love it. We are going to get rich again. Now that you can have finally found a topic to write on, I hope you will stop seeing the psychiatrist. My mother is extremely worried. She always told me you were Looney tunes. I would hate to prove her right.”

“Yes baby, now that I am inspired, I will resume my writing. I do not need to see the psychiatrist any longer. I will go and clear the bills tomorrow and terminate the treatment.”



I am the great Indian righter and I am pleased to inform you that I am another entrant contributing to the plethora of useful and profound fiction that is being churned by so many talented Indian writers who have taken the bowels out of the vowels and are interested in expressing themselves by any means possible.

Now that everyone seems to have pandered to this molestation of the language, I take delight in telling you that my book based on my true life incident titled, "I TOO HAD MANY LOVE STORIES. NOW I AM DECLARED MENTAL IN 2 STATES" is already a self-proclaimed internationally national best seller.

With every Tom’s Dick Hurriedly writing a book, I too was seized with inspiration to share the story of my life. Thank you from the bottom of my hurt for reading intense story written using all queen’s language stored in my cerebrum rectum.


The Great Indian Righter

P.S Also accepting frandship requests from pretty girls. To limit craze and avoid crashing of site, english speaking girls can send full girlfrand request; non-english speaking girls can only send half girlfrand request.