Letters I never got around to posting. Part 5.

Dear Dude Who Built The Toilet,

While most people will look at a hundred meter passage to the nearest toilet as an inconvenience, I personally think that I could do with the exercise; it is perfect for those long romantic hundred meter sprints at night, especially when that all-you-can-eat buffet makes its long overdue booty-call.

Son, you’re complaining to the wrong man. I can shit anywhere, anytime. It’s one of my finer qualities. Some might say my finest.

-Shit my Dad says.

What lies at the end of this hundred meter passage though, keeps me up at night. Dad tells me that life is all about tough choices and at the end of this passage is one of the toughest choices any man,  including Dad, especially after a heavy meal at Rajdhani, might ever have to make.

Even once the choice has been made, it makes me wonder as a vegetarian if the grass is  greener, or at least better decomposed on the other side. While it is quite conceivable that this is an attempt to initiate an Indo-European cultural exchange, this is just another case of too many cooks spoiling the bath.

What struck me instantly was the violation of every single principle in Alfred Hitchcock’s famous work on Vaastu Shaastra, North by Northwest and a Fire Place in the Southeast Corner. In an attempt to understand the swirling whirlpool of bad karma emanating  from my bathroom, I decided to get some expert opinion. As there were no Chinese Feng-Shui experts in the vicinity, the man selling illegal Chinese imports down the street would have to do.

So I got my Chinese on, met the man, and after finally convincing him that I did not have a kidney stone, and no, I did not need a laughing Buddha doll to increase my sexual drive, he agreed to look at the above picture and once he did, he concluded that the room’s yin and yang were not in balance, or in his own words, “Yin Yang, Bang Bang”. He added that the only solution was to improve the flow of Chi, which he promised could be done by buying a laughing Buddha doll.

Is all choice necessarily good? Is variety really the spice of life?

Confused, and slightly,
Constipated.

Letters I never got around to posting. Part 4.

Dear Who so ever is responsible for naming movies like Jism and Jashnn,

Goddammit, it wouldn’t kill you to use more vowels.

Thanks,
Somebody whose entire charades strategy for Hindi films revolves around splitting the titles into small, easily digestible English chunks.

Letters I never got around to posting. Part 3.

Dear Apple,

Congrats on releasing your new phone. The retina display is simply phenomenal. 960×640 pixels? Shut Up! People tell me that they can now read their favourite web-comic in certain shades of orange heretofore thought impossible to perceive without chemical assistance. They don’t call it eye-popping without a reason.

The best part for me though, is that the display comes with a screen made of Gorilla glass, which is reportedly thirty times as strong as sapphire crystal. Now, I can rest assured that the screen won’t scratch when I throw my phone at the wall and stomp repeatedly on it in frustration when it drops my calls just because I happen to be holding it wrong.

Sincerely,
iWouldBuyItIfIHadTheMoney.

P.S : If  I went to my doctor complaining of severe pains every time I had to go and his response was that I was holding it wrong, I’d be pretty pissed. Just saying, Apple.

Letters I never got around to posting. Part 2.

Dear Past Me,

In the near future, you will become terribly feverish, grow  delirious, and start to hallucinate. The hallucinations will not live up to your expectations. They will stick a thermometer in your mouth. You will consider smoking the thermometer. Don’t.

Once you recover, you will challenge yourself to a four mile run. I would particularly recommend taking that dump before the run.

Hugs & kisses,
Mercury poisoned and with dirty pants,
Future You.

Letters I never got around to posting. Part 1.

Dear Rajdhani,

Firstly, I must applaud you. You are the only restaurant where I may raise my hand in the air, point it in any general direction, make the universally accepted gesture for groping, and in turn be rewarded with Jalebis. Also,  that yellow, golden green, slightly translucent, caramel like, thick, gooey, and weirdly sweet Dal you repeatedly dolloped onto my plate must go down not only as one of the best lentil based curry’s that I have greedily consumed but also as one that needed the most adjectives to  accurately describe.

Furthermore, as I was ending my meal with a spoonful of curd rice, an unnoticed morsel of the aforementioned Jalebi crept into that spoonful; my entire digestive system wishes to thank you for that delightful surprise. For this, I give you five stars out of five. However, a sixth star is in order, for in your Shrikhand I have finally, finally discovered a fatty, blood vessel rupturing preparation that I don’t quite enjoy.

Slightly Overweight,
The Dude.

P.S : If the guy next to me, who claimed that the cute girl with the bandana was looking at him and not me (in case you were wondering, he was wrong), happened to get diarrhea from consuming too much Halwa, well that’s just karma.