We are learning about 'DRUG ABUSE' in school as a part of biology. we were asked to make a small pamphlet on drug abuse. here's the zany ad i wrote. i also stuck a picture of a beam balance saying 'LIFE OR DRUGS- YOU CHOOSE' with 'life' on one balance and 'drugs' on the other. i also included a quote by Charles Munger from 'Poor Charlies Almanac', one of the richest men in the world.
P.S- the final result was a lot more colourful!
Flash backs , Crashes of anxiety , fatigue, depression, aroused sexual activity leading to the risk of Aids and Hepatitis, bad, mood and performance , marital problems, disruption, crimes, violence , threats, debts to cover up illegal acts, loss of control, highway deaths, suicides……………………………………………...
Are entertaining when seen in K serials!
But these same scenes can ruin your life… for if you become a juvenile offender in drug abuse…there’ll be no one to cry at your fate except yourself…
So don’t use your hands to take in drugs…use them to write ‘drug abuse awareness’ pamphlets and discourage other teens to from using drugs instead.
“While susceptibility varies, addiction can happen to any of us through a subtle process where the bonds of degradation are too light to be felt until they are too strong to be broken. And I have yet to meet anyone in over six decades of life, whose life was worsened by fear and avoidance of such a deceptive pathway to destruction.”
- Charles T. Munger
(One of the richest men in the world)
Life without drugs will give you a new ‘high’
28 Jan 2007
Flash Fiction- THE MESSAGE
Flash Fiction (also called micro-fiction or short-shorts) presents a simple challenge: tell a story with all the classical elements: a beginning, middle and end, a conflict and resolution, a credible protagonist.. but do so in a very limited number of words. the theme is message and i'm sending it to the Kala Ghoda festival. this is the first time i'm experimenting with flash fiction. the story is ambiguous and strange [ its meant to be]. enjoy!
His floppy ears cocked at the sight of the venomous monster. It made raucous ‘clink!’ noises and flashed its sharp, distorted teeth as it rode past him. A young lad with scruffy hair and dark, flaky skin rode it, with a large bundle flung across his shoulders.
Hari gave the monster a cursory glance and shrunk into his master’s shadow. They were coming for him… the same monster, shadowy lad, heavy bundle…exactly like the ones in lizard-lore…. Another death…. today would be his last night…
A sausagey figure with what looked like cigarette stubs for legs darted towards him. “It’s them!” Hari whimpered. “Run, Tango! They’ve come to get me…or you!”
“Ah!” snorted Tango, with a wild, playful look in his eyes. “I’ve lived two years of my life like a king. I need some challenges. I want to be a human next birth.” he added with a wag, “If you’re troubled, contact the B.O.N.E. for protection!”
“Yeah!,” said Hari, still looking a little troubled. Tango didn’t believe in lizard-lore, so he took the whole situation lightly. And there was Mumbai, brimming with them, those ‘Mauthwallas’! To people it simply looked like a laundry boy on his cycle. But they were monsters. They brought bundles of clothes starched with death and pain. They rang an odd bell on the porch of their next prey….
His master was hapless too. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from these ‘Mauthwallas’. Hari struggled to communicate this message, but all he could do was cock his ears, twist his tongue and dart home, dragging his master behind him.
“We must try to avoid those cycles, or this dog will never walk properly.” His mistress mumbled.
Hari blinked at his owners and gave them a satisfied sigh. He had managed to convey his message!
His floppy ears cocked at the sight of the venomous monster. It made raucous ‘clink!’ noises and flashed its sharp, distorted teeth as it rode past him. A young lad with scruffy hair and dark, flaky skin rode it, with a large bundle flung across his shoulders.
Hari gave the monster a cursory glance and shrunk into his master’s shadow. They were coming for him… the same monster, shadowy lad, heavy bundle…exactly like the ones in lizard-lore…. Another death…. today would be his last night…
A sausagey figure with what looked like cigarette stubs for legs darted towards him. “It’s them!” Hari whimpered. “Run, Tango! They’ve come to get me…or you!”
“Ah!” snorted Tango, with a wild, playful look in his eyes. “I’ve lived two years of my life like a king. I need some challenges. I want to be a human next birth.” he added with a wag, “If you’re troubled, contact the B.O.N.E. for protection!”
“Yeah!,” said Hari, still looking a little troubled. Tango didn’t believe in lizard-lore, so he took the whole situation lightly. And there was Mumbai, brimming with them, those ‘Mauthwallas’! To people it simply looked like a laundry boy on his cycle. But they were monsters. They brought bundles of clothes starched with death and pain. They rang an odd bell on the porch of their next prey….
His master was hapless too. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from these ‘Mauthwallas’. Hari struggled to communicate this message, but all he could do was cock his ears, twist his tongue and dart home, dragging his master behind him.
“We must try to avoid those cycles, or this dog will never walk properly.” His mistress mumbled.
Hari blinked at his owners and gave them a satisfied sigh. He had managed to convey his message!
22 Dec 2006
PANCHAM PURIWALLA
My mom and I have this queer collection of newspaper articles- important news, fun tidbits, zany ads, webpages and the best of our collection…reviews by food critics. Not five-star restaurants, but local ones, dabbas, old, quaint ones. We hardly visit five-star restaurants as they’re pricey and the food hardly fills quarter of our stomach [terrible for me because I’m a real glutton]
This review is of an old restaurant, called Pancham Puriwalla. It was a famous stall serving puri-bhaji about a century ago and was made into a proper restaurant much later….
We were hot and sweaty from that tiresome train ride. We were tightly packed like cola-cans in a crate. There was hardly any place to move! There were some old ladies selling their wares who were sitting at the mouth of the entrance. People entering the train kept tripping over them and falling on us.
We got down at V.T [ the last stop] and walked down to Pancham Puriwalla, peering at the dog-eared newspaper article about it for directions. A huge, rusty sign-board at the bend of the road caught our eye. There it was! teeming with men running about with red towels on their shoulders. Oh...You should have seen the place... I immediately rated it zero on ambience. It wasn’t well maintained. Old chairs and tables were strewn around the place. The place was as crowded as the train compartment.
“Errmmm” my mom cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable at the sight. One of the waiters, with a huge belly guided us up to the first floor. “There’s place here.” he explained. The first floor was not bad, [except for some sort of dicey looking, gigantic machine protruding from the wall] so, we took a seat, feeling somewhat relieved.
We were given a choice between three sorts of puris- plain, one filled with potato, another filled with a green vegetable; and three sorts of curries- potato curry with different vegetables to complement it. My mom chose the one with the least fat in it, and I did exactly the opposite. You can afford to go overboard sometimes. I mean, what’s life without food!
Within two minutes, our order arrived along with an additional bowl of two sorts of dal and a bowl of curds [each.] Those kind folks thought we were food critics or journalists [Yes! We do look like those crazy, adventurous sorts.] They even offered us their special pickle- one with whole mirchis [green chillies] with a tikka [spicy] coating over it. Hmmmmm….this was the best and most wholesome meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant. They deserved hundred points for the food and the quick service. The puris were huge, crisp and warm and the curries were the tastiest ever made. There was a perfect blend of spices and the right amount of salt, quite satiating for a glutton. And for dessert…. We had a super huge glass of fresh lassi [butter-milk.]
I was so full by then; I thought I could roll down the steps.And believe it or not, the whole meal for the two of us came within forty bucks! Promising them that I would write a review, I left the place with good memories and a full stomach.
This review is of an old restaurant, called Pancham Puriwalla. It was a famous stall serving puri-bhaji about a century ago and was made into a proper restaurant much later….
We were hot and sweaty from that tiresome train ride. We were tightly packed like cola-cans in a crate. There was hardly any place to move! There were some old ladies selling their wares who were sitting at the mouth of the entrance. People entering the train kept tripping over them and falling on us.
We got down at V.T [ the last stop] and walked down to Pancham Puriwalla, peering at the dog-eared newspaper article about it for directions. A huge, rusty sign-board at the bend of the road caught our eye. There it was! teeming with men running about with red towels on their shoulders. Oh...You should have seen the place... I immediately rated it zero on ambience. It wasn’t well maintained. Old chairs and tables were strewn around the place. The place was as crowded as the train compartment.
“Errmmm” my mom cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable at the sight. One of the waiters, with a huge belly guided us up to the first floor. “There’s place here.” he explained. The first floor was not bad, [except for some sort of dicey looking, gigantic machine protruding from the wall] so, we took a seat, feeling somewhat relieved.
We were given a choice between three sorts of puris- plain, one filled with potato, another filled with a green vegetable; and three sorts of curries- potato curry with different vegetables to complement it. My mom chose the one with the least fat in it, and I did exactly the opposite. You can afford to go overboard sometimes. I mean, what’s life without food!
Within two minutes, our order arrived along with an additional bowl of two sorts of dal and a bowl of curds [each.] Those kind folks thought we were food critics or journalists [Yes! We do look like those crazy, adventurous sorts.] They even offered us their special pickle- one with whole mirchis [green chillies] with a tikka [spicy] coating over it. Hmmmmm….this was the best and most wholesome meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant. They deserved hundred points for the food and the quick service. The puris were huge, crisp and warm and the curries were the tastiest ever made. There was a perfect blend of spices and the right amount of salt, quite satiating for a glutton. And for dessert…. We had a super huge glass of fresh lassi [butter-milk.]
I was so full by then; I thought I could roll down the steps.And believe it or not, the whole meal for the two of us came within forty bucks! Promising them that I would write a review, I left the place with good memories and a full stomach.
21 Dec 2006
THE GIBBERING GRANNY
We were learning this 'hinglish' poem called 'A Farewell Party for Miss Puspa T.S.' two years ago, when we are asked to attempt a 'hinglish' poem ourselves. I wrote one about my grandmother [ajji], though she never attempts to speak in english [ her hindi is atrocious enough.] However she does pronounce 'skipping' as 'SPIKKING' and 'coca-cola' 'CHOCOCO LA'
Some instances, like the serious blunders she makes while calling the shopkeeper is translated from her conversations in Hindi. Through most of the poem, I've tried to imagine what blunders she'd make if she attempted to skep, I mean speak, english.
I'm not really proud of the poem. I wrote it two years ago and it seems very childish to me now. Nevertheless, read on....
P.S. I'd like to thank Ajji for taking this in good spirits....
“ONLY SLEEPING AND READING, EATING NOT COOKING,
RHEAA DARLING, WHEN YOU DOING YOUR SPIKKING?”
“READING BOOKS LIKE RAMAYANNA
AND AMAR CHITRA KATHA [ACTS PROUD]
RHEAA WOULD YOU LIKE CHOCOCO LA?”
“COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOUR?
TAKE IT, PLEASE OUT OF THE MICROWAY
THEN WE CAN ALL EAT THE CAGE.
GOOD, NOW KEEP THREE PLATES, TABLE,
DON’T DWEDDLE, BE ESTABLE.”
“BABY, SOME GUESTS ARE COMING, TAP, TAP [ON MY SHOULDER]
CAN YOU ORDER THE KATRI FROM THE SHOP?
OK,OK FINE, FINE , BUSY NO? CALLING MYSELF, NO TENSION,
“ HELLO, YES, I WANT A PACKET OF CHISPS, BEHIND, THREE PACKETS OF BUISUITS, BEHIND, PEDAS, IN PUSPA BHUVAN, 168, COLABA WEST, ROOM NO. TWO, FLOUR? COME UP WITH THE STUFF AND THEN I’LL GIVE FLOUR”
“ RHEAA DARLING, FOOD NOT COME YET,
WILL YOU HELP ME RULE THE LADOOS?”
NAMASTE, MR AND MRS. LOVEORWISHY, LETS SIT IN THE HOLE.
OH YES, FORGOT, THIS IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER,
EATING YOU FINISHED?
YOU KNOW, SHE LIKE ME,
SKEPING VERY GOOD ENGLISH.
Some instances, like the serious blunders she makes while calling the shopkeeper is translated from her conversations in Hindi. Through most of the poem, I've tried to imagine what blunders she'd make if she attempted to skep, I mean speak, english.
I'm not really proud of the poem. I wrote it two years ago and it seems very childish to me now. Nevertheless, read on....
P.S. I'd like to thank Ajji for taking this in good spirits....
“ONLY SLEEPING AND READING, EATING NOT COOKING,
RHEAA DARLING, WHEN YOU DOING YOUR SPIKKING?”
“READING BOOKS LIKE RAMAYANNA
AND AMAR CHITRA KATHA [ACTS PROUD]
RHEAA WOULD YOU LIKE CHOCOCO LA?”
“COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOUR?
TAKE IT, PLEASE OUT OF THE MICROWAY
THEN WE CAN ALL EAT THE CAGE.
GOOD, NOW KEEP THREE PLATES, TABLE,
DON’T DWEDDLE, BE ESTABLE.”
“BABY, SOME GUESTS ARE COMING, TAP, TAP [ON MY SHOULDER]
CAN YOU ORDER THE KATRI FROM THE SHOP?
OK,OK FINE, FINE , BUSY NO? CALLING MYSELF, NO TENSION,
“ HELLO, YES, I WANT A PACKET OF CHISPS, BEHIND, THREE PACKETS OF BUISUITS, BEHIND, PEDAS, IN PUSPA BHUVAN, 168, COLABA WEST, ROOM NO. TWO, FLOUR? COME UP WITH THE STUFF AND THEN I’LL GIVE FLOUR”
“ RHEAA DARLING, FOOD NOT COME YET,
WILL YOU HELP ME RULE THE LADOOS?”
NAMASTE, MR AND MRS. LOVEORWISHY, LETS SIT IN THE HOLE.
OH YES, FORGOT, THIS IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER,
EATING YOU FINISHED?
YOU KNOW, SHE LIKE ME,
SKEPING VERY GOOD ENGLISH.
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