Happiness is deep fried

How often do you have deep friend snacks or food? Most people don’t have it very often. There could be various reasons which mainly come down to either health or expense.

The best way to have deep fried food, is sparingly, and preferably making it at home. Now, if you take shortcuts and have it from outside or have something crappy to satisfy the craving, then although you are done for the short term, you have eaten something that is difficult to handle and breakdown and will most likely give you aches and fat – or both.

Similarly, for happiness to be hand, you need to do certain things. If you cut corners, you maybe fine for now but there’s nothing to be had at the end and a sort of bloated feeling persists all along.

If you are eating right otherwise and indulging every now and then- that is the perfect formula.

If you are working hard most times and taking well-earned measured breaks from it, that’s nice. If , however, you start too late and try to take shortcuts just to fill in for the while, you are as far from happiness as it gets.

The reason I used this analogy is, as tempting as shortcuts are, you are the person who will be most annoyed for taking them, at a later point in your life.

Therefore, whenever you feel like cutting corners, think of a home made golden sizzled pakoda, that does not increase your weight because you had it right!



My creation.

Hey all, instead of sharing my thoughts on this or that, this time, i thought i’d share a poem. This is my best so far, i think. Its untitled. Please tell me what you think of it. 🙂


ne of the greatest mysteries of life,

the mystery of Tomorrow.

A rain, or sunshine,

or a simply starlit night sky it would bring.


Hitherto unknown, to this little fellow,

calls himself man.

Man indeed,

in search of tomorrow

, a tomorrow that never comes.


To be secure, his aim,

to know the future his desire.

time is nothing,

but an illusion.

Illusion , one of the many.


The more you tread into it,

the more you are pulled in.

O little one.

See it from afar,

coz that is life,


The life of today. t

he life is today.

A beautiful twilight,

a splendid transition

.For one bird is dead,

many are awaken.

Crows are cawing,

this very morning,

A night there,

a morning here


Its just a moment

,repeating itself.

Over and over till you lose your self in it..

Let go, let go, O little one,

time is but a burden, time is but a solution.


Man, oh man indeed,

See the truth, t

he light of the day,

Of today,

Of yesterday,

Of tomorrow.



The Gaonwala Gentleman

My first attempt at a short story. Gaonwala is a slang used in Mumbai meaning “villager” and is often used on people who don’t know the courtesy and etiquette of Urban life or simply on those who are considered less ‘intelligent’ (read : street smart)

Raghu got out of the S.T bus at Dadar. The ride from Peepul Gaon, Nashik to Mumbai had been a bumpy one. He had a feeling his rear end was going to be sore all day. Nonetheless he felt very purposeful. He had attained a job within 6 months of his graduation.
Many people had advised him to do his Bachelor of Arts major in History and / or English Literature. But he his pledged his loyalty to Hindi Literature a long time ago. From Harivanshrai Bachchan to PremChand to Amir Khusro, he loved them all, and thought there were no greater writers than them. But that did not mean he thought nothing of English. He knew its importance as a universal language and had taken painstaking efforts to master it before coming to Mumbai.
He had written letters of his creative works to all leading Hindi newspapers and Publishers. Finally he got a positive reply from Dainik Bhaskar, Mumbai, which had its office in Mahim.
He went inside Dadar station and stood in a queue to buy a ticket to Mahim. It was a long queue and coincidentally, also a rush hour time and so people were growing impatient. The man behind him shoved him, in a desperate attempt to make the line move faster. He bumped against the woman in front of him, and immediately mumbled an apology”Sorry, behenji, i didnt mean to,but..” . Even so, the woman looked him up and down and snarled , “Don’t know where these people come from, with no clue how to behave..bloody Gaonwala!!”
Raghu was confused. Yes, he was dressed in a khadi Kurta and Pyjama. So what?
“Mister, do you want your ticket or not??” said the man at the ticket window.

The interview had gone well. Although he didn’t understand what the editor meant by “you are just the kind of person we need for the retention of the Indian spirit section…its about sticking to the roots you know” .
But he was hired and that was enough for now.

December, the 11th, was the day the office had decided to throw a part to celebrate the increased readership. Raghu, now known as Raghav, walked into the office in a suit. He raised a toast to their success. A little while later he made a pass at the buxom new secretary, who looked exceptional with the Red of her sari matching exactly with her Sindoor.

The “Gaonwala” gentleman was lost to make place for the Urbaniiite.