Now, before you bang your head on the wall and say “Not another excruciatingly long blogpost full of pointless gibberish put into extremely long sentences with many GRE-esque words with astutely subtle references to the global economy and current affairs in order to create a false sense of erudition by an unbelievably good looking, smart and modest IITian who takes extra caution not to mention the fact that he is India’s reigning AOE champ, unless otherwise asked.”, let me clarify- it isn’t.
Instead, this post is a celebration of life in all its pristine glory and an introspective journey to self-discovery in order to overcome an solipsistically driven existential crisis, co-founded on an epistemological understanding of nihilism, and swim freely in the cosmic void. Also, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious honorificabilitudinitatibus antidisestablishmentarianism.
Okay, now that I’ve used verbal douchebaggery to cunningly drive away all the blogomania voters who will rush back to brush up their GRE/ CAT preparation after voting for me, let me get back to what I do best – spewing forth verbal diarrhea.
There comes a time in everyone’s life when one gets a phone call from a random number, is then accused of being a kidnapper and goes on to become a legend of sorts in the kidnapping circles. Such a time came in my life a couple of weeks back.
It was a somnolent Saturday afternoon and I was in bed, exhausted after a long and tiresome night. As everyone who has ever resided in an all male hostel with a bunch of horny teenagers with doubtful sexual preference knows, Friday night is the night for some WILD, VIOLENT, RELENTLESS, DEVIANT ludo. And I was sleeping smugly, basking in the glory of having brought everyone down to their knees, my skilful hands getting the better of their wagging tongues when suddenly, like a death knell, my cell phone rang.
Mr.X: Tell me your name and your address, quick.
Me: The fuck? Who’re you?
Mr.X: You tell me first.
Me: The fuck I will!
Mr.X: Tell!
Me: No.
Mr.X: TELL!
Me: Booya!
Mr.X: Okay. I’m blah blah from blah blah blah. Now, tell me who you are.
Me: The name’s Varun.
Mr.X: Not the world famous AOE player who plays by the name of $ickMyDuck and regularly trounces expert players online?!
Me: The very same.
Mr.X: ZOMG, it’s an honour to speak to you. Now give me back my son Vijay.
Me: Huh?
Mr.X: My Vijay whose voice still echoes in the deepest crevices of my heart.
Me: What the ?
I was beginning to realize that it was one of my stupid friends upto their lame ass pranks.
Mr.X: My son Vijay whom you kidnapped five months ago and who made a call to me yesterday from your phone.
By now, I was certain that it was indeed a prank. Probably, one of the losers from last night was still pissed with me.
Me: Oh that Vijay! Sorry, I accidentally sold him off to a slave trade racket in Addis Ababa where they make you eat food out of human baby skulls and drink iguana blood daily and work for 17 hours a day during weekends and national holidays and 21 hours a day during weekdays when it is forty five degrees in the shade before you ultimately die, not from the abject humiliation that you are forced to endure everyday but from the daily iron tire beatings, and then all your organs are shipped to different parts of the world. Oops. My bad, I guess.
Mr.X: NOOOO…… I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR YOUR SINS AND REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE BORN EVEN IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO. Btw, I’m your biggest fan.
I was halfway out of my bed to search for the foolish bastard who was responsible for this inane, childish prank when I realized it wasn’t worth the effort. Soon, lady slumber got the better of my choler and I went back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later I got another call.
“Varun?”
“Yeah”
“ This is supergenius lady inspector Sherlock Poirot Nancy Drew of the International High IQ Police force, and I’ve called to tell you that I am going to make you SUFFER. I’LL MAKE SURE YOU GET CAPITAL PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY. YES, THAT’S RIGHT. CAPITAL, GETIT? WANT ME TO SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU? K-A-P-E-E-T-A-L .”
“ Ermmm…. You know, the thing is…..”
“ OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT THE THING IS. THE THING IS THAT WHICH DECIDES IF ONE IS A BOY OR A GIRL. DUH.”
“ Haha, Of course. Well, you see…..”
“ YES, I SEE. IN FACT, I’LL SEE YOU AT THE POLICE STATION FIRST THING IN THE MORNING.”
And she hung up. I was amazed at the extent to which some people would go to make a prank successful. But I decided not to lose sleep over it.
The third phone call came the next day at the ungodly hour of 12 P.M when I was of course, sleeping.
“YOU EVIL DEGERATE ROTTEN PIG. HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY MY ORDERS AND NOT COME TO THE POLICE STATION. NOW, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU DIE, AND WILL THEN RESURRECT YOU AND GET YOU HANGED AGAIN.”
I was quick to see through the whole thing and finally understood it for what it really was. Clearly, it was a high level international anti-zionist Jihadi conspiracy with deep Masonic, Illuminati and Shiv Sena ties to overthrow the existing national governments and create a new dystopic Marathi world order. And I was the only one who could stop them. And I would. After I was done sleeping. And I told supergenius cop lady to come pick me up at my hostel in fifteen minutes.
True to her word, supergenius lady cop arrived at my hostel in fifteen minutes armed with a minigun, hand grenades and accompanied by a set of five fully grown, police trained, ferocious, sniffer Chihuahuas. Her expression seemed to imply that she was perpetually pissed. Or badly constipated. Or both. I was confused, I couldn’t really tell. Upon seeing me, she immediately called up higher authorities who in turn informed the INTERPOL who in turn informed the CIA who in turn immediately shut down all incoming air traffic and placed the White House on high alert.
“ Full name?”
“ Arasu. Varun Arasu” ala James Bond.
“ Madrasi, eh?”
I immediately caught her by the collar, and delivered two tight slaps.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU STEREOTYPING BITCH! I’M FROM BENGALOORU, ALRIGHT?”
Okay, I’m kidding of course – I said ‘Bangalore’ like any self respecting kaddu would.
Then, like every major head honcho, criminal mastermind, evil kingpin who has ever got caught by the long arm of the law, I was taken to the police station in a cycle rickshaw.
Upon my arrival there, the police began grilling me. Supergenius lady inspector started showing me photos of ppl and asked me to identify them.
“ Do you know random person#1 ?”
“No.”
“ Do you know random person#2 ?”
“No.”
…….
…….
…….
“ Do you know random person#999 ?”
“No.” (cough) Uncle senior IAS officer (cough)
“ Do you know random person#1000 ?”
…….
…….
…….
Eleven hours, thirty two minutes and 3,302 random photos later,
“Do you know random person#3303?”
“Yes, he looks suspiciously like that bihari guy with the incredibly small penis, residing in room no.666 of my hostel.”
“LIAR, SHUT YOUR FACE! THAT IS A PHOTO OF MY UNCLE’S SECOND COUSIN’S NEIGHBOUR’S PET DOG TAKEN AFTER HE WAS THE VICTIM OF A MAJOR FLEA ATTACK ON HIS FACE. I PUT HIS PHOTO THERE JUST TO MISLEAD YOU. MUAHAHAHA!”
“But he looks exactly like…”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
After that, she tried the good cop, bad cop technique. With one modification – she took turns being the bad cop and the good cop.
“Tell us where the kid is or I swear I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life doing hard labor in a rat infested, flea-ridden, cockroach friendly hellhole of a jail.”
“Please tell us where the kid is. Please, please, pleeeeeze. If you tell me, I’ll be your friend for life. Motherpromise.”
“WE’LL SUBJECT YOU TO THIRD DEGREE CHINESE WATER TORTURE, RAT TORTURE, FLAYING, DENAILING, TOOTH EXTRACTION AND WATERBOARDING IF YOU DON’T TELL US.”
“While we’re at it, would you like a foot massage, a back rub or some chamomile tea?”
This was followed by some hindi expletives which when translated to English word to word meant “I will make your mother and sister into one.” I’m not familiar with the details of this proposed unification of mother and sister but I’m sure that supergenius mensa cop lady had it all figured out. Which made me wonder – what if one day somebody else in my family decided to unite too, say my grand uncle and my niece? Or maybe my cousin and his pet dog. What was I supposed to do then? Being a man of science, I was all for cloning and stuff, but I drew the line at this. And I was about to tell supergenius lady cop exactly that when she suddenly stormed out of the room. The questioning room wasn’t as soundproof as I thought it was, and the painful grunts emerging from the toilet cubicle somehow brought back memories of a donkey castration video I had seen a long time back. Well, at least I wasn’t confused about her expression anymore.
She came back after an hour or so “Aha, I’ve finally figured it out. Your family runs a mafia syndicate dealing with slave trade, snuff pornography, human organ black marketeering, gambling and you ppl kidnap little boys for your child prostitution ring.” I was of course deeply offended by this vile accusation. My family had absolutely no interest in gambling whatsoever. And I was about to break her neck with a killer karate chop and it took twenty three of her colleagues to hold me back.
It was then that my nemesis, the root of all problems, Mr.X made an appearance. And he looked nothing like the evil mastermind I had pictured him him to be. Instead he was a wizened old man, well on his way to celebrate his 111th birthday.
Me: Did you get a ransom call from my number 9999999999?
Mr.X: Yes, I got a call from your number 1111111111.
Me: But my number is 9999999999.
Mr.X: That is exactly what I’m saying - 1111111111
Me: 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9
Mr.X: I know. 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1
It took another five minutes to clear things out. As it turned out, it was an honest mistake on the part of the old man, and my name was immediately cleared. Super genius cop lady immediately called up higher authorities who in turn informed INTERPOL who in turn informed the CIA who in turn relaxed security at the White House, and I was let free. I was heading back to my hostel when I got a message from eBay on my cell phone – Kidney sold for 25,000 U.S.D.
I felt evil. (Ominous music playing in the background – $ickMyDuck ko pakadna mushkil hi nahi, naamumkin hain)
P.S: True story. Well, in bits and parts.
P.P.S: Yes, it’s that time of the year again – when Blogomania rears its ugly head again, and every blogger worth his salt gives up blogging in order to create fake email ids and aliases to vote for himself (These are the same bloggers who would sell their mothers for a few votes). I of course, find this to be a lowly act demeaning the sanctity of the blogosphere and sincerely advise my readers against doing so. Instead, what you can do is write a program that keeps logging on to the cognizance site and voting for my blog – cyber booth capturing if you will. You can also start chain mailing all your male friends with emails like ‘Grow your penis 4 inches in 4 days’ which secretly redirects them to my blog link on the voting page. For your female friends use ‘Never seen before proof that girls can’t do math’. If any of you receive such an email and conveniently choose to delete it without opening, let me warn you – it contains an embedded worm which on the deleting the email, sends your recent browsing history to all your female friends and family members on Facebook. Your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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