Archive for the Punsicouldgetkilledfor Category


Posted in Photos, Punsicouldgetkilledfor on August 6, 2012 by Rohit


Fateh Ali Can’t

Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags , on May 3, 2010 by Rohit

Much to the dismay of the crowd, but quite presumably, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s philosophical zombie refused to sing any qualia.


Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags on March 21, 2010 by Rohit

The ruler of Dubai is rumoured to have haughtily chickened out of all suggestions to attack Yemen while looking at the Indian Ocean disparagingly and exclaiming, “This is what separates Yemen from Dubai’s.”


Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags on February 19, 2010 by Rohit

Linus Torvalds saved this from a pack of biscuits I gave him. He said he was sentimental about it because it was a Finnish guy’s last Nice.


(Image by FatBoyTin)


Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags , on February 14, 2010 by Rohit

Ram Singh was ecstatic the day he scratched a card at the washing machine dealership and won a calf. He was expecting a toaster. Surprised with the surprise gift, he named it Vismay. Nobody in Bilaspur, though, saw the humour in that. Vismay did calf things for a few years and progressed to cow things then on. She hung around with other cows, appeared thoughtful and never showed off while ruminating. She was a normal and mature cow in all respects and Ram Singh was pleased with the prospects.

Secretly though, Vismay was a very ambitious and well read cow. Whether the former was a result of the latter, or the other way around, one can only speculate. But en route her daily forage through the city she had found a used bookstore. There was a rather pious young fellow behind the counter there who would pick one book in very bad condition and throw it towards Vismay. He believed it brought him good Karma. On the first day Vismay gobbled up a 1986 Sports Illustrated with hardly a second glance. But eventually she made it a point to read what was thrown her way first and chew on it later. She sometimes grew impatient with Russian novels and ate it midway. Brothers Karamazov, for instance. But most books, she read till the end even if it bored her.

What interested her most was economics. She finished a hardbound version of The Wealth of Nations with lots of highlighting, in one sitting. It was an old copy that left an aftertaste, but she now realized the truth about supply, demand, money and middlemen. Keynes and Marx later, she formed some strong opinions and a hearty desire to make it on her own. She too wanted riches and a good life.

But you know how it is with cows and our society. There was nobody ready to take an entrepreneurial cow seriously. She would get shooed away from permit offices, auctions and academic circles. She would get honked at, jeered at, marked with vermillion, pushed, coerced, beaten and prayed to but not given a break. Nobody even understood her radical views in moo on the niches that could be exploited in Bilaspur’s supply chains. With dampened enthusiasm she resigned on her cause, went back to right outside Ram Singh’s home and set up a stall, for the sort of thing she was expected to do. Ambition quashed, and with a looming sense of loss, her stall proclaimed “Doodh Vismay Ka

(A tribute to amit123. If I knew enough Hindi to figure out gender, I would have written the whole thing in Hindi; and also passed seventh grade in one go.)

Pawar struggle

Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags on February 9, 2010 by Rohit

Sharad Pawar had important people to please today. He was scheduled to meet the delegation of American investors in a private setting. He was no fool. He knew very well that a man in a suit with somebody’s money is just a more dapper version of the bureaucratic babu. His greed can be a very powerful ally for making things happen. But fulfilling greed is a difficult proposition. An easier alternative is building obligation. And there is no better way to build obligation than to indulge a respectable man in little taboos that the powerful have easy access to; little pleasures he will readily indulge in, behind closed doors. Because with secrets comes implied trust. With trust comes camaraderie. The money of course, will soon follow.

That is why he arranged for the topless dancers.

Her name was Sunaina. She could bend herself around a pole till she broke the hearts of intoxicated old men who had nothing to go home to and dirty foreigners with secret fetishes for chocolate skin. She was twenty two, gyrated to raunchy music with passion and shed her clothes in a smoke filled room with small people and big pockets. She put her heart to it like an artist and smiled when the spotlight shone. She put her legs around strangers who put money around her waist and picked up tiny pieces of fabric she’d put back on in a dark room when the song was done. But while she walked back from the stage, where the lights were dim and attentions astray, there was a distance in her eyes which was the only truth in the whole act. Sharad Pawar saw this and it made him strangely pensive. When his eyes met Sunaina’s he was suddenly overcome with an immense grief. There was something very sad about a woman who has to put a price on her dignity. He started weeping. He just couldn’t stop. The tears rolled down his cheeks and he had to excuse himself. He left the room in a hurry, trying hard to compose himself.

Amidst blaring music and disco lights, the visitors, though enthralled by his hospitality, could now see that it was true, a titty day woed Pawar.

(With style cues from krishashok)

Black and Voight

Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags on February 9, 2010 by Rohit

John Voight was a haughty old man. Nestled in the isolation of the rolling hills of Dehradun, he spent his days betting on inter-school bicycle races. Races, that were soaked as much in youthful exuberance as textbook Marxist class struggle. It brought him spare change and abandon. He could use it, helpless that he was against long inevitable lapses into misery that the stoic hatred his daughter buried in her sullen eyes brought about. Although she never said it, Jo knew that his infidelity had cost her her mother. He was repentant. But she would not forgive him. She owed that much to her mother.
Aamir, this year’s winner, knew this. He was drawn recklessly to the old man’s money and the fair maiden’s woe. Tired and bloody from a hard fought battle, he had earned the one glimpse he wanted of beautiful Angelina. So, as he collected his winnings from Voight and walked away, he strained hard towards the western end of the mansion. There she was! He could forget the exhaustion, his brother’s injuries, blistered knees, the winnings, the glory and sweat for this one moment. Angelina Jolie looked so serene against the blood crimson sun that it was hard to imagine that Jo ‘Cheater’ Voight sickened her.

(In honour of grand master Shenoy)

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