लालाजी

एक थे प्यारे लालाजी
पहनते थे वह पजामा जी
शान से निकलते
पैदल गाड़ी पे सवार होके
नयनों पे चश्मा
कुर्ता कभी नहीं अपना
तोंद का व्यास
था पचपन के पास
उनकी मूँछ
लगती गाय की पूंछ
सर पे चांद यूं चमकायें
करवा चौथ का व्रत पूरा हो जाए
ज्यों ही सड़क पे कदम रखते
पतली गली के कुत्ते पकड़ लेते
केले के छिलकों पे गिरते-फिसलते
बचते बचाते दुकान पहुँचते
लाला की दुकान
नीची दुकान फीके पकवान
आटे-दाल का भाव
भगा देता था उल्टे पांव...

Can't remember the rest of the lines.
One of my first poems, written in class 8th.

DhaiAakharPremKa 120 (with revision of important concepts taught earlier)

Thank you, Mario! But our princess is in another castle!

There you go. Either the croc-demon has planted seven clones of the princess to keep you busy while he is having all the dance-drama-party with the real princess or he is the psycho next door who collects princesses and locks them up inside white-stoned fire-under-bridge type castles guarded by his crooked croc-bros. In all humility, the question is why is Mario doing all this? Is he a Goku or a Bruce Lee who fights because he has nothing else to do? Or is he a happy-go-lucky it's-all- about-money-honey Uncle Scrooge who is just going on and on in his expeditions collecting golden dollars by smashing his head into bricks while saying hello to all those deadly horrendous ducks and squash-my-dumb-head villains? The point is, one can't rule out a hidden part of the story which could be – Mario loves the princess.

As shocking as it might seem to be, a rational analysis would help in coming to the above conclusion. What are the odds of Mario surviving all the eight stages without jumping into those ditches separated by strips as thin as Bhaand's hairline? And if by his mother's blessings, he manages to cross them, facing those monkeys who have stolen Mowgli's boomerangs is riskier than investing with Layman Bros. With his life at stake, the only reason to drive Mario into the behind of the devil can be nothing but true love. And it is true love which forms the basis of the marketing strategy of Mario Bros. A quick question would be what is true love? Has anyone seen it? Yes, there is motherly love, fatherly love, brotherly, sisterly, friendly, just-friends-ly, chuddy-buddy-ly and the other kind of love which is beyond the scope of engineers and is better left for biologists to research upon. But if a Mario stages so much fight for such loves, would he still remain the cool dude that he is? Let's not kid ourselves. Even a Balayya or a Mithun would jump off a ten-storeyed building for such loves. But only Mario reserves his knighthood and fighting prowess solely for his love-life.

The crux of the matter is - what matters in a boy's life, ultimately, is what girls want. Doesn't every girl dream of a knight riding a white horse with a torn Zorro/Baazigar-type mask on his face coming at 90 km/hr but caught in a slow motion of 20 km/hr (or is it the other way?) to rescue her from the castle of a Mogambo? It is just to fulfill this dream that some of our epics were written and so were the rest of the rescue-the-girl stories. What does all this have to do with an average IITian? Let's analyze the problem in detail. The only love our man gets is from mom which is quite evident from the tears which trickle down his cheek every time he listens to the Maa song of Taare Zameen Par or every time he puts that piece of chapati of CR M1 into his mouth.

All of a sudden, somebody up there gets kinder and then arrive (MA) girls in the campus. Our man, who has always been attending classes just to ensure that he surpasses that 74.9% attendance mark through cooperation and team-work, gets interested in not just attending classes but occupying certain meticulously selected seats half an hour before the HS class begins. Suddenly, he starts demanding for more pocket money and his parents can not be happier for he has been wearing those two sets of Shaastra T-shirts and jeans for the last three years. Every day a small cup of coffee to get the license to stay and hours of lovely exchange of emotions in CCD become a daily norm. Love's in the air. But is it true love? Is there a test for true love? Going back to the basics, she wants to be rescued from a Mogambo's castle by a Zorro/Baazigar riding a white horse like the Highwayman, remember? Now, unless and until that happens, sorry, but it ain't possible to have true love. So, all the love-birds chirping in the jungle can either accept the temporary nature of their love or the brave ones can start looking for a Mogambo who can abduct their beloved in a castle which is not too tough to break into. May the force be with you!

Brought to you by www.GyaanBaatoRe.com

जाने भी दो यारों, मगर कैसे?

वो subtitles की editing
वो घटिया विडियो quality
वो बीस अदाकारों की फिक्सिंग
वो डिमेलो की ऑडिशन
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो आईटम का मौक कैट
वो लाइटर के पिद्दी जोक
वो सादे पन्ने छापता फोटो स्टैट
वो स्क्रिप्ट की मिस्सिंग लाइन्स
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो वर्क डन की मेमोरी
वो जुगा की peeing practice
वो शॉर्ट फ़िल्म की स्टोरी
वो १० जीबी की मानसा
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो नम्पू की म्यूजिक
वो साइड प्रो की प्रोडक्शन
वो आयूष की बॉम्बे ट्रिप
वो माँ का busy फ़ोन
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो कॉमन रूम का फूटर मैच
वो रौनक के चलने का स्टाइल
वो ऑलरेडी बुक्ड एम ए बैच
वो कॉन्डम की औरकुट डेटिंग
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो १९८० के हिन्दी पी जे
वो मैक्स पी की एक्टिंग
वो हम होंगे कामयाब ड़ी जे
वो नौडी की स्वीट वॉयस
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो रसीले की एन्थु ट्रेनिंग
वो जुगे की ब्लैंक ऍक्स्प्रॅशन
वो सरिया की न्यूज़ रीडिंग
वो अधूरे कास्ट की प्रैक्टिस
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

वो मेरी फालतू एडेप्टेशन-डायरेक्शन
वो लक्ष्मीबाई के चांटे चांटे चांटे
वो पांचों अँगुलियों की प्रोजेक्शन
वो दिन में दिखते तारे
कहते हैं सब, जाने भी दो
मगर कैसे?

All those who have been a part of this real life drama will always remain an integral part of my life. All those moments of laughter, confidence, humiliation, dreams, naps, slaps - I shall cherish forever. Thanks for making my IIT life so memorable, so emotional, so fun-filled and so spirited.
Victory and defeat keep coming turn by turn. But the moments we lived together are here to stay in my heart. Love for the hostel, love for friends, love for team-mates, love for a sincere effort, love for a dream, love for trying out something new and unexplored, love for the cats, love for MA jokes - all in a play's work. Is it true love? Surely, you're joking Mother Teresa!

DhaiAakharPremKa 110

Against: True Love is a Farce

To have common standards, I consider the wikipedia definition of love i.e. emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection.

Now, my assumption about true love is as follows: true love is love that exists till at least as long as the people involved live.It doesn't need to be a two-way traffic. True love can exist only in one heart without the object of love reciprocating it. I don't consider love of an object or a goal to be true love because as soon as one achieves the desired object or goal, there is a discontinuity in love.

Now let's not look at stories of Jehangir-NoorJahan or Romeo-Juliet or Ducky-Size for true love. They are far too melodramatic, exaggerated and blown out of proportion, besides I don't have the statistics about how often or to what dimensions they are blown. But the evidence I have is none other but your mother. No matter how dastardly and bastardly mistakes you commit in your life, you are still loved by your mother till life permits. Let me submit to the house that true love not just exists but empowers those who experience it. How many of you have seen Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham? If Hrithik Roshan can hit a six by remembering Abhishek Bachchan's parents, imagine what all you can do by remembering your own parents? CAT aspirants, are you listening?

My partner mentioned that even if your mother had some chunnu-munnu instead of you, she would have loved him as much as she loves you. And it just doesn't matter who the mother is or who the son is. Let's analyze the problem in detail. Let's say we have a mother-exchange having n mothers and a daughter exchange having n daughters (I'm a feminist you know) and one daughter maps to one mother and vice-versa. So how many permutations are possible? Factorial n? MA junta, correct me if I'm wrong. So in all those factorial n arrangements, mothers truly love their daughters. So, the point is, this whole fuss about mother exchanges and daughter exchanges is just Maya. Remember all the world's a stage? Somebody up there is playing games with you you know and in all those games you are a subject or object of true love. So we just proved that true love is not a farce, it is a force that exists in all the events which the Holy dice results in.

With the MA program's induction, love's already in the air. The only challenge is can you make that love stand out as true love? May the force be with you.

Conclusion: All my co-speakers who feel that true love is a farce can feel free to dial home and talk to mommy about true love. She will have all the answers to your complaints about her love not being true. And if you are fortunate enough, even your father, brother and sister should be able to pacify you. For those of you who are still whining, there is the Guidance & Counselling Unit of IIT Madras. We can get you some professional help as well.

Brought to you by www.GyaanBaatoRe.com

P.S. Life's all about learning and I've learnt recently that if a joke hurts some just to make others laugh who will anyway laugh on even worse jokes, something's wrong. If anyone is hurt even slightly because of any of the PJs, please let me know. I shall ensure that there are no more pinching jokes not just from me, but from people around me as well. Although I try my best to have healthy humour in whatever rare cases I have a sense of humour.

Holi kab hai, kab hai Holi?

I hate Holi. Seriously. What is Holi? Isn't it a mere reason to lose the monotony of the colour of your skin, the same skin that marks your identity - black, brown, white (in alphabetical order, albeit any palpable bias is not deeply regretted) or anywhere in between. The colour of your skin can make you a teeth-and-eye-guy, a tree-trunk, a tubelight or, in some cases, even a God (ref: Hindu Mythology). May I take this opportunity to submit that it's the same attribute of your personality which has won races around the world known by different names like 'Formula A for Apartheid' , 'Tubelight Burden of Fight Club & Rude yard fame' and 'Gehuan the wheatish complexion - a mystery en route'.

Coming back. Holi. Why Holi? What in the world can be a justification for the humongous amount of dye, paint, grease, mud, cow-dung, other forms of shit, tap-water, tank-water, hand-pump water, well-water, tub-water, bucket-water, rain-water(try spending Holi in Chennai), drain-water, and all other variants of the colourful and the colourless being wasted on a mortal human? Isn't it a mockery of the serious research going on in the Chemistry Labs of IIT Madras (ref:Bhaand) that one-mile-long-molecular-formula-chemicals are being used just for fun? And that too in such huge dosages!

Where Holi? The toughest part of the byzantine problem is that Holi can be played anywhere in the world - air, water, land, outside home, inside home (better talk to your mom before this one), on the street, on the roof-top, on the water tank (ref:Dharmendra and his chakki), forests, grasslands, deserts (if carrying a pot of water for kilometres is not Rocket Science for you), and even in India( ya, sometimes people play it here, although not so enthusiastically in the northern parts of the Asian country. Or is it the other way?). So, with so many choices, this festival confuses your intellect and thus I say, my comrade, that it's better to hate it. Hate it for else you will fall in love with it till death. Hate it for the people hiding during the mad festival will hate you more for tearing their undergarments and throwing them into mud.

Moving on. How Holi? It's one of those cases where hands do a good job and you know that a good handjob is illegitimate in the country. Again, the instruments used in the sling operation resemble banned diagrams of human anatomy and the misuse of contraceptives as balloons has caused a great increase in the percentage error of Say-no-to-AIDS statistics.

Who Holi? Considering the undeniable fact that only fun-loving, enthusiastic, and lively people can play it, Holi fans overlook the question - what will the chickens do meanwhile? Hiding their asses and donkeys in some isolated corners of hostels and a marathon run when caught is all they can do.

'nuf said. I hate Holi. You are free to do the same. Thank you for being on my side.

Issued in public interest: Clean Holi Green Holi!

Killer Instinct

All characters depicted in this purely fictional piece of literature are completely imaginary. Any resemblance to any entity living, dead, or anywhere in between is utterly deliberate!

GeeCe¹, 1907 hours. A Mercedes E240 screeches to an abrupt halt. The security guards completing their afti-dharma² gain consciousness at once and adjust their uniforms while running towards the entrance of the Central Library. The students pleading to academic babus for the reconsideration of their rejected application letters for the Cultural Secretary elections stop looking for Rs 50 currency notes in their wallets and turn around to see across the street. The Dean’s black yoRoto³, provided by the Government of India, rings.

Virgineer⁴, the student-spy of the Dean, is drenched in sweat, panting, and extremely impatient as the phone rings for one full minute and his call remains unanswered. He redials on his new Nokia Express Music won in the Head-Banging Contest at the Saarang Rock-Show. To his relief, he is answered this time. The identification code ‘Hail CGPA’ is pronounced at the other end by a familiar voice and Virgineer knows that he is talking to the right person. “Hail CGPA! Sir, there’s a bad news. She is dead.” “What? How? Where?” “A car accident. In front of the library.” “But she… did you take her to the hospital?” “She died on the spot, Sir.” “Who did it?” “The driver ran off.” “Oh! Holy…” “There’s something more to it, sir. The car is a royal blue Mercedes E240. And the number says TN 23E 9964. It’s yours!” “It’s all pre-planned… a conspiracy against me. Update me as soon as you get more information.” “Right, sir. Hail CGPA.” “Ya, ya.” Cut.

The news spreads faster than fire in the forests of IITM. All the editors of The Fourth Estate, the in-house publication, come up for an urgent meet with the other Writeous Penheads⁵ of the campus and prepare pamphlets and posters for a massive student-body protest to be held tomorrow.

With two murders within two days, the Dean has no alternative but to avoid the phone calls from notorious students demanding a mourning holiday. Virgineer had earlier informed him that Idi, a security guard of Sharavati, the girl’s hostel, was missing at the time of the three murders, albeit he had arrived for the evening shift as per the records. The Dean, seeking to tighten his grip over the case, calls the CCW Office and, to his astonishment, is told that Idi is currently on a one week vacation to his village. The Dean realizes that he is drifting towards the losing end.

Meanwhile, Virgineer discovers new evidence. The villagers relent to open-up and report about a monkey, as big as an adult man, attacking black bucks for the last three days. To probe further and forage for more clues, he decides to go for an extensive search in the jungles at night. The night manifests darkness blindingly in the absence of the moon. The trees sway as wind gushes through them beside the crystal clear water of the lake. Long hours of courage in the camouflage finally bear fruit and Virgineer finds an ID card. It reads – V.G. Idichandy, Dean, IIT Madras.

Virgineer is dumbfounded. His indignation surpasses his boiling point. Within an instant, he decides to confront him.

Dean’s Office, 0400 hours. “How did you come, sir? In the same blue Mercedes? Oh, how dumb I am! It’s now all red. Blood red, isn’t it?” “Control yourself, Virgineer. You can’t accuse me.” “Give me one reason why I can’t accuse you. Believe me, I’ve plenty of evidence to prove things, you know.” “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t care for the killed?” “No, right now, I am trying to tell you that you have killed those who you were supposed to care for. The IITM campus that boasts of its prized reserve of black-bucks, has lost three adult ones, one of them being a pregnant female. So that makes you a murderer of four. Quite a performance, sir.” “I don’t need to justify myself in front of you. You are free to think whatever you want. Why should I bother when I’m not guilty?” “May I ask you where you were at 7 pm yesterday, sir?” “7 pm. 7pm? I was…I was…can’t remember. I can’t remember. I was sleeping!” “Enough. I’m going straightaway to the Police. Goodbye. To hell with CGPA!”

The Dean leans upon his table with his head bent down. There is a sudden rush of wind across the room and a closet opens. A sealed envelope flies from the Dean’s desk and falls in front of Virgineer. He turns to see where it came from and sees a security guard’s uniform and a monkey costume hanging in the closet. He tears open the envelope to read a Medical Report which says –

Dear Mr. V.G. Idichandy,

The diagnosis report of SCID-D has confirmed the symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder in you. Kindly report to the institute hospital immediately.

Thanks,
Dr Shanti Pavan
Psychiatrist, IIT Madras.

GeeCe¹: Gajendra Circle, the central intelligence unit of Geeklandia, also known as IIT Madras.

Afti-Dharma²: Nap-on-duty in the afternoon.

yoRoto³: Rotary dial telephone.

Virgineer⁴: : A spyware identified by the matrix as the virgin engineer who has not even touched any girl, circuit-board or machine's internals.

Writeous Penheads⁵: Rioters who debate whether to write as a rite is right or wrong.

Coatable Quote

The top honours went to the home team of IIT Madras, which depicted men dancing with one ball each.

- Newsletter Coordinator on Choreo-Nite

Saarang Quite-a-Quote

Should I give MY pen also to the GA people.

‐Participant at Cluedo on being asked to return pens.

A hand and a cock go hand in hand.

- A Jam participant

Had Eiffel Tower been the size of my tower!

- An extempore participant

Perhaps the grass is greener from your side.

- An extempore participant

Even Ducky is better than him.

‐ Audience number on Radio Joker Yo‐yo

A friend in hand is worth two in the bush. My question is, in whose bush?

- PR Core

Blow harder blow harder!! Size does matter!

‐ Vodafone chick during the Balloon Blowing Contest

Nice try for you to comment on global warming. You are the ones heating‐up our campus.

‐Audience number on MCC

Firang Female to a frustrated Spons Coord: Where is the rest room?

Spons Coord (Manages to hear “restroom” as “the Rush”): Go to the Hospi Desk and fill a form. You have to be in teams of ten. If there are more than 15 teams, u can participate only if u get selected in the lucky draw.

Firang Female: Is this how you do it in India?

My mother likes eighteen year-old boys... as daughter-in-law (this is the one that got misquoted all over the papers, He knows what He said!)

- A Jam participant

He also has claimed to have performed with Elton John.

- The girl in the show on the judge

What did I do to deserve this?

- Judge of the cookery contest, after looking at a certain entry she was supposed to taste

When a Photography Coord on a computer was suggested to press “Alt+F4”, she pressed ‘Alt’ and ‘F’ and asked a vol to press ‘4’.

Earlier, the same Coord, while logging into a computer of her Department Computing Facilities, saw some guys trying to peek into her password. She promptly responded by moving the Computer monitor out of their view of sight and then continuing to type her password.

Just lower your expectations and go to Himalayas.

- Sanjeev Kapoor, perfectly unaware of the name of our mess facilities

Too many wives spoil the froth.

- A Jam participant

Oh, by the way, you are from which newspaper?

- Cookery contest judge after enthusiastically rattling off a bevy of details about the event to the newsletter correspondent.

One person each from all the benches which have three people sitting please go and sit on a bench with two people.

- Main Quiz Coord who actually wanted only two people to sit on a bench

What is Lucky Ali's number for Vodafone voting?

- Audience member at OAT

There has to be cummation for summation.

- A participant at Extempore explaining how
coming is important for population growth

Sanjeev Kapoor is lecturing on '30 things to die before you eat'

- Hospi-Desk

Saarang is a rickety bus and we are all holding the parts together.

- Spons Core

We know math is not your strong point.

- Newsletter Coords to The Events core.

I am left partner less da. That guy refused to come with me.

- Tapti freshie on the eve of scrabble finals.

Hold it, guys.

- Instructor at dance workshop

Gimme Tamil and I’ll run Saarang alone.

- Big Brother

Mostly cylindrical.

- India Quiz Coord on being asked what his power was

This raga............is very.........useful...... to be............... yout..h... ful.

- Grand old performer at Classical Nite

The gay people adopted the rainbow colours da. We can’t help it.

- Design Core

Show bum or Shoban or whatever.

- Spons Coord to his core.

Events Core: No da. I am not gay. I do notice boobs.
Spons Core: The only boobs you have ever seen are mine.

The Guangdong province in China is one of the second most polluted in the world.

- Audience member at the debate.

One of the debaters swayed during his speech
with such regularity that we actually used him
to keep track of time.

When asked to put forth their closing remarks, the damsels
started flickering like an old tube light, having lost their
composure.

The high point of the debate was a loud recitation of
Tiruvalluvar quotes which rendered the atmosphere vibrant,
although we could comprehend exactly as much as we
could have deciphered a verse in Swahili.

- Newsletter team during India Development Debate

When most elocution lovers would have preferred to wait
outside the auditorium and wait for the event to
finish, the made‐of‐titanium Newsletter
correspondent sat through it.

- Gel

U for UNR

The expression on the two spectators must have made you realize that the ***** going on here is nothing less that the Ram-Bharat milaap scene of Andaz Apna Apna. Whoever said that the duo believes in over dramatization!

Below is an interview of a newsletter coordinator (bossed by PR core) by a visitor of http://blog.saarang.org/2007/11/01/you-3/

“Who are you?”

A question is but a squirt of inquisitiveness or a test of edification which, in the status quo, happens to be an insult of omniscience. The only righteous response to a question is an answer. Our answer is “We are he". The feminist fingers can hereafter rest in peace for this is mere boisterousness of male emancipation in its quest for the Holy Grail.

“Oh, whatever...but what do you do?”

To do or not to do - that, my friend, is not even a question. It's a mere mortal's fight for attaining martyrdom in the battlefield of procrastination. We have been doing that for ages and can continue to do so. But, for the unflinching and undaunted nitwits we are, we set out for inking the unbridled ubiquitous utopia of Saarang by the ukase of Uncle Duck(y). Unction is in the offing for taking umbrage and those unassuaged by the uncanny unctuousness are hereby lent freedom to be unwontedly uncouth. To put it simply, we upbraid and we do that to everyone.

“What the fish is this ‘U’ thing?”

The public usage of the thing mentioned by you in an air being inhaled by any IITian is an act of utmost profanity which may trigger fatal epileptic fits and I urge you to stop doing that right away. We were asked to tell you that this Saarang it's you, or rather the both of you. So we are just doing our duty, you see. Puff! Sigh! Don't you ever mention that thing again!

“Oh, go climb a mountain. I know what you did last winter. Completely failing to connect those S for Saarang words and then failing all over again with N for Newsletter words have driven you bananas. Here you are, making a forced and convoluted attempt with U for u know what.”

Gawd! She’s good!

How Stupid of Me

How stupid of me! Here I am, having a sip of cappuccino and enjoying the light moments, remembering the lightest moments of my life. I think of my tryst with Monaco – munching heavily and trying to feel light. Light it was but lightest – surely not. The next moment I remember that Giga-Newton column of liquid I got rid (pissed, literally) of in the toilet an hour ago and relive the light moments consequent to the holy act. At this instant, I feel like betting my bottom rupee on those being the lightest moments of my life. Soon enough, I start feeling pathetic, small and repentant. How stupid of me for I have not yet considered the Light Music Show @ Saarang. For the ignorant, Saarang LM Night is yet another night in my life, albeit comparable to none other, which makes me say "The juice was worth the squeeze". To be modest, it's just a night of trance, a night of pulsating melody when some Shankar asks his friends Ehsaan & Loy if Dil Chahta Hai and imparts gyaan about life having kabhi khushi kabhi gham. Sometimes the night is marked by another bloke called Sukhwinder Singh, the same great saint who recites Omkara and Kisna . It is the same light night, my comrade, when I got to sway with this girl for the first time – the girl who's sipping at my cappuccino right now and the same girl who's ready to pay for it ;). But looking at it retrospectively, all I can say is "How stupid of me!"

ChicKEN Or Egg?

Q. "Which came first - the chicken or the egg?" Explain with valid argument. Mathematical explanations are strongly discouraged.

Any lit-enthu guy will jump up and say,"Macha, chicken came first no; c comes before e, remember?" But he is simply overlooking the fact that a chicken can never have the guts to come first. A chicken will always remain a chicken no matter how much you egg it on. On the contrary, an egg has the palpable advantage of being oval and therefore it can roll and roll to attain an unbeatable speed. The egg will beat the chicken any day, any time, any track!

मेरा नंबर कब आयेगा?

अकेला था जीवन में रिलायंस की कसम
लगती थी गुरु की चाय में चीनी कम
मेरी हीरो जेट हो गयी थी खटारा
पैराशूट तेल सर पे लगाता ढेर सारा

पहन के पैरागौन के चप्पल, सारंग की टीशर्ट
रोज़ सुबह रिबौक पहन भागता था सरपट
एक दिन ड्यूरासेल की तरह चलता ही गया
सी.आर.सी. पहुँचने का बनाया रिकार्ड नया

फिर भी पहुँचा एयर-डेक्कन की तरह लेट
प्रौफ की पैंट पे लगा था एशियन पेंट
लिप-गार्ड की मुस्कान के साथ बैठा बेंच पर
बगल में बैठी फेयर ऐन्ड लवली देख घूम गया सर

फ्रांस की सुंदरी के बगल में मिस्टर इंडिया
दोनों की खूबसूरती का राज़ लक्स और क्या
क्या सेट्-मैक्स लग रही थी जो दीवाना बना दे
नज़र न लगे कोई उसे गोदरेज के लौकर में छिपा दे

विक्स की गोली खा मैंने कहा हाय
मेरी लाईफ में तुम रेडियो-मिर्ची की तरह आये
मैं हूँ तेरा सर्फ तू मेरी सुपर निरमा
मैं रिडर्स डाईजेस्ट तू मेरी मनोरमा

हमारा प्यार फेविकौल का जोड़ टूटेगा नहीं
चल डी.एल.एफ. का घर बनाएँ दूर कहीं
सौदा कच्चा नहीं यह है बबूल-बबूल पैसे वसूल
तुम भी कहोगी क्या बात है साड़ी हो तो प्रफुल

सच्चा प्यार है ओंकार रामायण अगरबत्ती
हाजमोला कैन्डी की तरह कुछ खट्टी कुछ मीठी
यह प्रियागोल्ड बिस्किट इसे हक से मांगो
हच के कुत्ते की तरह मैं तेरे पीछे चाहे कहीं तुम भागो

रूखेपन से कहा उसने कहाँ तू बाटा कहाँ मैं टाटा
दिखावे पे न जाओ अपनी अकल लगाओ मैंने डाँटा
बोली तू तो बड़ा टाईन है मेरे अमूल माचो
सोनी एरिक्सन बजा ऋतिक के माफिक नाचो

मंजूर है तेरा प्यार जो स्प्राईट की तरह है क्लियर
तभी कोई चिल्लाया अटेंडेंस है क्लिनिक ऑल क्लियर
गुड नाईट के सपने से जाग और साईन कर
कायमचूर्ण के राक्षस टी.ए. ने कहा हँसकर

सपने हुए चूर जाने मेरा दुख किस झन्डु बाम से जायेगा
पेप्सी पीते हुये यही सोचता हूँ कि मेरा नंबर कब आयेगा

TFE Hindi IP'07

The Panda Funda

A panda walked into a restaurant and ordered a sandwitch and a drink. When he finished, he pulled out a pistol and shot up the place, scaring customers and breaking dishes, glasses and liquor bottles before turning to leave. Shocked, the manager said,"Hey, where are you going?"
The panda glanced back over his shoulder and said," I'm a panda, look it up", before disappearing through the door. The bartender pulled out a dictionary and thumbed through it until he found an entry for panda. The definition read,"A tree dwelling animal of Asian origin characterized by distinct black-and-white markings. Eats, shoots and leaves."

Courtesy - Reader's Digest