Friday, 29 May 2009

It's final, it's Veronica

70 years and a whole lot many comic strips later, the suspense is finally over. Archie has chosen the rich and loaded (in more than one way) Veronica, in favour of the smart and elegant Betty. The move has left a majority of Archie fans shocked. Betty seemed to be the crowd favourite and the popular choice. So I was a bit surprised. But certainly not shocked! I was firmly in Veronica's corner. I have always held that dumb girls are a major turn on. The rich, stunningly good looking, dumb girls, that is. And in choosing Veronica he has just been pragmatic. Besides, Betty will continue playing the part of the perfect friend and so this philanderer can have the best of both worlds.

But what has really surprised me is the unprecedented success that Archie comics has enjoyed. And that is mainly to do with its protagonist, the serial skirt chaser, Archie. The point being that most losers like me identify well with him. Archie is highly average looking, isn't clever nor is he rich and worse still, tries his luck with every other girl. And still the banda has two extremely gorgeous girls at loggerheads with each other, over him. And so people like me think we can do an 'Archie'. It is precisely the reason why so many Archie comic books are gladly lapped up by foolish guys like me. But the sad truth is that Archie, you suck big time and so do I.

Monday, 25 May 2009

The Beast

She stood at the junction, visibly frustrated, waiting for the traffic lights to change colour. She seemed to be in a terrific hurry and kept glancing at her wrist watch. I stood behind her and envied as a bead of perspiration found its way down her cheek. She flicked it off in disgust and started fanning herself melodramatically. The ticker told me that I could admire her for a further 82 seconds. She slid her hand down her back pocket, pulled out her phone and checked for a message, more out of habit than anything. She once again looked angrily at the traffic lights. They were in no mood to appease her. She then started toying around nervously with her finger ring. My heart skipped a beat as she suddenly turned back and looked back at me. I smiled. It went by unreturned.

The lights turned amber and I closed in on her from behind. I greedily took in long, deep breaths. It felt wonderful. Green. She quickly mopped her forehead with her handkerchief and proceeded to wriggle her way through the maze of vehicles. Little knowing that the animal had got her scent. The beast had found his next prey!

Friday, 15 May 2009

Of hope and second chances

"You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo."
- Eminem, Lose yourself

Right from a very young age I had always been taught that life was about taking your chances and making the most of every opportunity that came your way. Life was supposedly cruel and there was no looking back. There were no second chances in life. It was about making hay when the sun shone and the wretched sun shone just once a day. And then I stumbled upon this crazy song by Eminem, which further strengthened my belief.

But as I complete this phase of engineering, the one major lesson that I have learnt is that life isnt really that bad. It does give you a second chance and at times even multiple chances. Whether it is reputations, relationships or revaluation :P life will always offer you that second chance. You can always start all over again with a clean slate. The so called point of no return doesnt really exist, if you are willing enough to turn back. You can go wrong once, but life is all about second chances.

And it is precisely this fact which will keep me going these next few days, these next few months...

Sunday, 10 May 2009


(Wolverine's head, my fingers)

She was the Letician police’s greatest asset. In this small port town in the south of Colombia, the town which is the fiefdom of Jose Rodriguez Gacha, she was the only ray of sunlight in a world clouded by the white powder which is the downfall of our nation.

In a bar on the east side, in this town where cocaine trafficking is at its most fervent, we would meet once a week at seven o’clock sharp and she would disclose to me secrets from El Mexicano’s mouth itself and these reports I would transfer to my commanding officer and thus we had a semblance of control over Gacha’s movements.

I can never forget the first time I saw her. We were conducting a raid on a Letician brothel and in one of the rooms she lay, barely conscious, obviously high on the drug. Later, at the station, we could not fathom what to do with her. She had no name, no address. The one thing she did have though, was beauty, plenty of it and to this day I cannot picture that face without an increase in heartbeat. Such beauty that the very gods must visit her in her dreams to enjoy her company. We were under pressure from the capital regarding Gacha, and in an act of desperation rather than intelligence, we decided that we would send her to Gacha and possibly charm him.

It was not at all difficult to arrange a meeting. Gacha was famous for his womanizing ways and kept a harem at his palatial mansion on the outskirts of Leticia. Soon she began to work her magic on him. What we had conceived as a long shot had actually come off. Gacha found his feet wandering more and more towards her room each night. Soon she was his mistress and was always near him. Slowly, she became privy to the most vital information about his drug operation, and along with her, so did we. Little by little, we began to chip away at Gacha’s empire and had reached a stage where the governor wrote us a letter of commendation for our efforts.

It was seven ‘o clock sharp and there she was at the allotted booth. She wore a blue dress and a pretty pink hat with a flower in it. I was surprised at her posture, but assumed that she must be tired or something. As I went closer and looked into her eyes, I felt a knot in my stomach, for in her eyes I saw death.

The Letician police’s greatest asset, I shall always remember her as ‘mi pajaro cantor pequeno’, my little songbird. She died when someone crushed her throat.