Something terrible happened...

on 26th December 2014, to be precise.  I normally don’t write about personal tragedies here. It doesn’t help anyone to read somebody’s sob story especially a bloke you’ve hardly met or are ever likely to meet. But I’ll make an exception just once because this incident just devastated me physically, mentally and spiritually. I’m a nervous wreck now popping sleeping tablets to get over the insomnia brought on by this horrible incident.

Actually it’s all my fault. First I build up huge expectations for myself. When I wrote The Vagabond situation that was just to kill time and space and provide a platform for the next blog post, which was the 'real' launch. But what the hell! ‘TVS’ picked up 17 comments and was a runway success. So I was positive that my follow up number would take the blogging world by storm.

But the Passer a la casserole, a culinary delight ,my masterpeice which premiered on 26th December failed to register even a single comment. Not one comment. I knew something was very wrong soon after my conversation with M just after the post hit the web. M is the only reader of this blog who is brave enough to call me once in a while...

“Hey how’s it ? Absolutely mind blowing right? Do you think I’ll get a book contract? I reckon its right up there with Marco Vassi’s best”, I was getting more and more excited with every word...

Silence at the other end.
I thought that there might be a bad connection.

“Hullooo… did you hear…”

“I heard you all right”, the clear calm voice that doctors use when they are about to tell you that you have less than 24 hrs to live.

“Are you out of your f***ing mind? Releasing a so called erotica at Christmas time? Have you forgotten that 99 % of your readers are women?  And 90% of them are Indian? Besides I think the story was disrespectful towards us and the plot was terrible"

I feel my hands start to sweat…

“What’s that got to do with anything? You want me to consult an astrologer before I publish a post? But hold on, do you really  think that no one’s going to comment, that no one’s gonna like it?”

“Well I will comment just to save your blushing ass but this is not your forte , Mr. You should just stick to dark humor. And next time try writing this kind of stuff nearer to Feb 14th or thereabouts”

I hated how M  made more sense than me every time we had an argument.

“But M, this is just a teaser. In all these vagabonding years, I have put my filthy imagination to use writing over 100 such short slam bang stories. Has it all been in vain?”

All I heard was sarcastic laughter at the other end.

“Maybe I should have just written a Mills and Boons misadventure…”

“I doubt if you can pull off even that one… just stick to the funny bones dude”

M, a lady I’ve known for close to a decade and half doesn't mince words. What the hell was I going to do with the 100 odd idiotic erotic stories in my ‘hard’ drive?

The worst part was that even M wouldn’t believe that the story was 100 % fiction!

“Listen do you really think that I can bed a French chick? And I’m not a good cook by any stretch of the imagination”

“Listen Mr Playboy! I know what sort of 'adventures' you get up to. I’m sure all your readers think likewise at least regarding the bedding part of the story. You would have lost at least 99.9 % of your female admirers after this fiasco. You’ve come across as a hormone imbalanced humper who likes his paneer butter masala on the side.  Bleeahh! Disgusting !!!!”

I was gently weeping now seeing that I was in throat deep shit. I disconnect and decide to call my agent who also happens to be M.

“Is there no way out of this?”

“What?!! Is it you again? Well, you can delete the post and just pretend the whole thing never happened. Maybe you’ll be forgiven one day”

“But wait I know that people are reading it, it’s just that nobody’s commented on it. Now come to think of it what will people comment anyway eh? “Oh that was a F***ing good read Vagabond, thank you!” Or “Oh that was really a ‘very hard’ story to read” or even “That’s difficult to swallow"

“Well I’ve decided to stick by it, no matter what! I put a lot of effort into it you know, at least a month of writing and editing. Even the title is a French expression which is a pun on”

“Is that so? It sure shows!” sniggered M cutting me off again.

So here I am dear women readers, one heartbroken writer, as Russell Peters would say in his Fake Indian accent “one hundred percent heartbroken”.  So I implore you to comment on the erotica(attempted). This would be a more radical step you can take  than the silly kiss of love campaign. Commenting here is what takes real guts, not cheek pecking in Marine Drive! So go for it gals, fire away.  If sufficient numbers of you give a good thrashing I promise not to publish any more attempted erotica. Any comment is ok as long as it is provocative. I believe M has just set the golden standard with the first comment! 

S & M

This incident happened in my vagabonding days when I was in Auroville staying in a farm. We had to work in the farm for 2 hours every day in exchange of accommodation and breakfast. Sometimes other residents would join us for the mooring work.

During my stay, there were mostly guys on the farm and it was good. We could be ourselves, walk around almost naked in the bare minimum and dispense with politeness. So imagine the chaos when a hot blonde 'un turned up. She always used to wear a long red skirt with purple splotches, tucked high up, when she worked. It looked as if she was wearing a micro mini if anything at all. As far as I know none of the guys was complaining .

God must have spent a disproportionate amount of time on her legs .In case that didn't do the trick, she would often wear a black sleeveless top with a low neck. Ah with colleagues like that you don’t mind working the extra hour! She seemed mildly interested in me for some reason. This was the turning point in our relationship:-

Scene: The banana plantation where some major ‘weeding’ is going on... Blonde and me sitting side by side doing some serious weeding. Imagine the smell of earth, mud on your fingers, and sweat on the body...

Vagabond: "Did you see the play yesterday?"

Hot Blonde: "Naw, I missed it"

"I went with the guys. It was quite good"

She bends over, leans ever so closer, breasts too close and beautiful to miss. white limbs covered in red earth…

"There's a movie day after. If you like..."

I smiled, about to reply,

"awwwwwwooaaaa", She's on her feet screaming like an Amazon warrior

Skirt hikes up further, if that's possible, right hand brandishes a scissors.

"I know these bastards." 

Her left hand plucks something out of the hidden recesses of her right thigh.

"Err,ahem, think they are called ticks"


She looks at the poor little 'fucker', never thought a woman's face could express cruelty so blatantly.
Scissors get to work on the legs of the mite, done with coldness and immense precision. Satiated bliss on face, too real to miss. CHOP ! CHOP! CHOP!.



"About day after tomorrow?"

"Ugh, ive got something coming up, maybe some other time. Excuse me; think I need to go get some fresh air.."

P.S: Friends, I’ve been blogging for more than a decade now and if you think my writing still stinks , check out my older posts and you will be grateful ! But to be fair there are some nice ones and here's one of my favourites. This is based on a real incident in Auroville, December 2009.