Recycled Plastic Cups and Why You Shouldn’t Steal Dhoni’s Phone!

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Over the last couple of months I’ve been hooked onto this amazingly talented Indian writer- Kuzhali Manickavel. Seeing her work getting published all over the world, including India, was as liberating for me as a wannabe writer who doesn’t like sticking to any one genre, as was reading Nissim Ezekiel’s Very Indian English Poems. Incidentally, Manickavel is a fan of Ezekiel herself. I must admit that I envy her style of writing and have wondered whether I would ever be able to write with that kind of abandon, without really having to worry whether the reader will be pissed off. I’ve tried out something which is definitely inspired by her style of writing, but also incorporated a lot of my own ideas as I went along.  Of course there’s no comparison at all between my piece and her works, but if you do find this style of writing amusing, definitely check her works out to see how this form handled by a real pro.

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He sat with his butt cheeks plonked on the rickety old chair probably fashioned out of recycled plastic cups, smashing away at the pale keys in front of him in a room poorly lit by the hazy glow of the monitor. He jumped from page to page with careless abandon like Tarzan from the trees, which probably is a fuckall simile but you get the point anyway don’t you? Without a single interesting face on the YahooGmailFacebookMyspaceMSNJabberAOL bastard child messenger he turned to aimlessly surfing the interwebs.

Wikipedia tag was one option, but there’s only so many times you can enjoying drifting from stem-cell research to Undertaker-Hell-in-a-cell match. It really gets old quickly you know. Writing was the other option, but he was too lazy to do that. He was one of those ‘writers’ who believed that he could only ‘write’ when ‘inspiration’ came calling otherwise ‘writing would be forced’ and forced writing is really bad, worse, worst thing like people robbing poor MS Dhoni’s Maxx Mobile phones, four-four times, despite the poor fellow making public demands again and again that the phone was really cheap and awesome and had features like QWERTY key-pad, and polyphonic ringtones such as ‘Woh Lamhe’ and ‘Dhoom Machale Dhoom’, and that since it was made of recycled plastic cups like his old rickety chair, and lead poisoning inducing Chinese toy waste, it was really cheap and also very awesome and so everyone should buy it and not steal his phone, because he was getting sick of buying Maxx Mobile phone again and again and losing two-two numbers each time because it was Dual SIM. Again that might be too long a simile, but do you care anyway at this point? Anyway, determined to hold back his writing until the ‘perfect moment’ arrived like Gandhi believed it was necessary to preserve one’s vital fluids even if totally nangi, like completely without 18 somethings were sleeping next to you also, he decided to see someone else’s blog and complain about how much douchebaggery people write about these days.

“Saala baccha-log have no talent and they praise idiots like Chetan Bhagat as a literary genius”, he thought to himself.

“I could write a better novel than that fellow”, he said overconfidently like Gautam Gambhir after beating Rajasthan Royals in IPL said all proudy – ke what man, these people are totally ordinary. It would probably be something about a Punjabi guy with a typical, matlab completely like how you see on the street with all these guys who wear pink Popeye t-shirts with collar up and metal chains for belts, that much typical you know, type Punjabi boy meeting a south Indian girl, like that Lola Kutty female on TV who says yell for L and yum for M and dances in kanjeevaram sarees and sips on tender coconuts and for some reason pronounces ‘Zh’ as ‘Arrr’ like a pirate would, fall in love.

And then her terribly conservative, aged relatives viz. Ammasaur and Appasaur with their Jurassic Park like views on inter-caste marriage come in the way of their relationship. And then the boy who also goes to best IIT, IIM college builds a bus that runs on recycled plastic cups, rickety chairs and stolen MS Dhoni Maxx Mobile phones and drives down to Cozy-kode which also has that strange ‘arr’ pirate wala sound its name and takes Lola-kutty girl away with him to Punjab-Delhi land.And then his relatives dance and serve butter chicken and naan to everyone in the 45 km radius and they live happily ever after.

He could probably get a five book deal after that and make a movie on his college days where he travelled four-four hours by train, and ate strange dishes like schezwan anda pav. He could throw in a couple of disturbed students who try to slit their wrists with blunt toothbrushes, then get depressed over the fact they can’t slit wrists with blunt toothbrushes, and develop an eating disorder because of which they puke out every schezwan anda pav they eat.

And then how he and his other friend who is like an awesome photo-take-outer but has no camera so he takes snaps of pigeons and sparrows and purple sunsets with his Maxx Mobile phone, coin a three word jingle and take eating disorder guy to a sixth standard science exhibition where they make an inspirational speech about the nature of the universe before the installation depicting the solar system made entirely of string, old shoe boxes and recycled plastic cups made into those useless balls that don’t bounce, swing, or do much else.

And then the friend would be all happy and we’d all bump our chests and say something like ‘Yes, we’re fine’ and the audience will say ‘OMG! That’s totally how I feel right now!’

Then maybe about 5000 kids all over interior Maharashtra would kill themselves trying to overdose on Vicks Action 500, and then he’d have to make a public statement saying how he never really meant that suicide was the easy way out. So, the said novels were never really written and instead he Youtubed a video of a dog catching a doggy treat in super slow motion and laughed his butt off.

One day though, you can expect that novel.

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