And Thus It Begins.


All for the love of Biriyani.


Disclaimer- This is a work of fiction (science fiction) and no characters resemble living or ruling persons. That said, it’s the unpleasant task of a writer to highlight things before it happens, as it happens and after it happens. Before it happens- as a warning. As it happens- as a chronicle. After it happens- as a memory. Some of the best writers perished in the fascist concentration camps and the communist gulags, because they did not write before it happened or even as it happened- all around them, to others and themselves. A few survivors wrote after the events- by then it was too late to save the millions who perished because of the pusillanimity of the intellectuals who should have been at the forefront of the resistance. Or that’s what history teaches us as it judges events (and persons) dispassionately.

That morning he woke up at his usual early morning hour without the assistance of the electro-assist alarm thus saving a few volts of electricity and more importantly avoiding the painful early morning electric shock which usually woke him up daily. Once up, he wasted no time in heading to the bathroom to have the regulated two minute shower and then dressed quickly in a white dhoti and long sleeved white shirt, his usual office attire, before heading to the insta-coffee maker to grab his early morning cuppa of fresh chicory brew, his only breakfast on working mornings. As he gulped down the hot and bitter brew he waxed nostalgic on the genuine coffee, from fresh roasted beans, he had enjoyed in his younger days. But those days of luxurious life on earth were long past, the unsustainable population explosion had put paid to luxuries like coffee long ago and only the uber rich were thought to be able to sample such genuine luxuries nowadays. He sighed and put down the mud pot in the recycler and picking up his jute bag, plastics having been banned ages ago, he went off to the station to catch his pod to work.

From his suburban house in the foothills off the chamundi hills to the pod station at Mysore central was a 20 minute commute by uber and a vehicle was automatically re-routed to pick him up by the action of locking his door electronically using his Aadhar key-card. As he hung the card back on his neck using the lanyard he reflected how his apartment was all safe now from unauthorized access as the only two who could open the door without that key were him and the government both with access to his fingerprints and iris prints. In locking his door behind securely he was often considered an anachronism and was made much fun of in the beginning but old habits die hard and despite the government propaganda labelling those who locked their doors as anti-national and paper money hoarders and colleagues questioning his patriotism as “if you have nothing to hide in there then why do you lock the door when you leave the house?” he still preferred to lock the doors in his absence.

This was due to, thought he wouldn’t admit it, a fear that his ex-wife would move back into the empty house in his absence if he left it unlocked. If she, god forbid did that, he would have no recourse legally except to share the apartment again with that treacherous woman who had made him the laughing stock of the Hyderabad office by co-habiting with her supervisor openly and who he could not divorce like in the old/bad times because according to the new constitution, circa 2019, a man and his wife were supposed to stay married for seven lifetimes with no option of divorce even after death and anyone who complained his wife was cheating on him was labelled an anti-national and told to follow the example of the soldiers on the border who lived a life of celibacy. That was the prime reason he had shifted work to Chennai even though he hated to visit the new Chennai, what was left over of the city post the 2020 mega-tsunami.

When he finally reached the pod station at Mysore junction, he was lucky to find a pod just ready to leave for Chennai and so he crawled into it and strapped himself in tightly for the twenty minute commute to Chennai sriperumbudur hyper loop station. The pod whizzed away on its breakneck speed and he felt a slight tinge of nostalgia for all the sights he was missing outside the vacuum tube on which the hyper loop train ran. But then again he remembered that it was all mostly an ugly industrial sprawl – a continuous slum, right from Bangalore to Chennai and that’s why he had moved to live near the chamundi hills rather than stay in some urban coop inside Bangalore city. The extra twenty minutes of commute was worth it in his view. After he got out of his pod at Chennai sriperumbudar station, he hopped into the company van which was waiting to transport a few others like him who commuted daily form Bangalore and soon he was working at his desk in his office.

Hunched over his computer console he checked again the work which had accumulated in his absence- but thankfully it had been a quiet night and the overnight alerts were few. Not many people had made fun of or criticized the government last night so he didn’t need to alert the special riot squad of the cbi to raid their homes and taser them with a 1000 volts charge – to fry their brains and memories- before transporting such anti-national culprits to the Andaman jail for life. He felt dirty doing such work and remembered a time long back when he had done work as a cyber-security consultant who hunted people for releasing torrents of new film releases. But that was before the new constitution which made watching unsanctioned films a crime worthy of being sent to jail for ten years without bail. As most films, make that 90% of the films, didn’t get censor sanction for one reason or the other and no one in their right mind wanted to risk watching a film, any film and then go to jail for ten years the once thriving film industry had gradually died down and been replaced by documentaries on nature which easily passed the censors. Now all cyber security experts worked on government contracts trying to trace anti-nationals who criticized the legitimate government and the supreme leader.

As he was sitting there mulling over the changes in society over the past decade, his co-worker from the next terminal leant over and  said “happy birthday sirji, just now saw the alert for your birthday on social media platforms, how come you kept it so quiet?”. He smiled outwards at that greeting but inwardly cringing he said “aww, shucks, we are not kids are we? to be celebrating birthdays?”. His colleague was persistent if anything and said “but sirji you can’t escape so easily, you have to give us all a party next pay day” before turning back to his terminal to continue working. He was suddenly captivated by the word party and started reminiscing on past birthdays, how they had been filled with friends, booze and biryani. Ever since the supreme leader and the party of the pure had come to power he had forgotten the pleasures of both, like all the rest of the citizens and had turned into model subjects- vegetarian and teetotalers.

But the reminder of biryani suddenly triggered long dormant memories and cravings inside him. He thought over his life in those days and compared it with now- a meaningless, routine existence where the government ruled over everything you did, including what you ate and suddenly felt within himself a small spark of defiance. It had been ages since he had eaten biryani, so why not try today? His work as a cyber-security consultant had its advantages, occasionally he came across online posts on contraband availability. He had recently seen one such post on biryani being available at a nearby city called Ambur, clandestinely. The thought of tasting biryani after ten years made him light headed reckless and strangely rebellious. He decided to head out to Ambur in his lunch break and see if it was authentic biriyani made of non-vegetarian mutton.

Once he had made up his mind, he surreptitiously opened up the old post he had flagged with the number of the biryani shop and noting it down walked down to the rest room and made the call. A voice on the other end gave him his instructions to take a cab and be in ambur central by 30 mins. So he went back to his cubicle to wind down his work and filled out the form for his lunch break and forwarded it to his superior who Okayed it and allowed him to go out and eat. Once outside his workplace he flagged down a cab for the ten minute ride to ambur. Once there he stood looking around for five minutes till a shady looking character sidled up to him and said “are you the one who called for the biryani?” when he affirmed that it was indeed him, the shady guy asked “do you have any identification to show you are not from the anti-non veg squad ”? when he had shown the man his aadhar card and had assured him that he was indeed a legitimate customer if a bit kinky who just craved meat suddenly, the tout invited him into a vehicle and said “we will go in this vehicle to the actual place, it’s just a few minutes away in vaniyambadi nearby, we don’t advertise the actual locations for obvious reasons”. Fine, he said and went along with him till they reached what looked like a prosperous little eatery advertising “pure-veg food prepared exclusively by Brahmin hands” as he hesitated on the steps, his contact smiled and said “don’t worry saar, we have a special section upstairs” and hustled him into the eatery and up a small flight of stairs to a dingy little hall upstairs where a small group of people were looking around furtively as they ate the banned biriyani.

As the smell of well-made ambur mutton biryani wafted through his nostrils he leant back his head and sniffed it to his heart’s content. And then a plate of it was placed before him and he rolled up a morsel and popped it into his mouth. It was just the right taste, hot, spicy and a little bit tangy as a proper biryani should be. The accompanying side dish- again a banned item- chicken 65 – was crispy and fresh and he took the time to savour a piece chewing it softly. It was while he was in the midst of satisfying his long suppressed desires and on the way to achieving food-nirvana that the police raided the small hotel and burst into the hitherto secret room upstairs serving non veg food. A few patrons tried to escape but they found that an entire platoon from the anti-non veg squad had surrounded the place with orders to shoot on sight those trying to escape after committing this heinous crime of eating non-vegetarian food in swaach bharat country. The next day all those arrested for the crime of eating meat, a hundred or so daily, were produced before a fast track court especially set up to deal with such capital crimes and were summarily sentenced to death.

As he was strapped to the latest model koodankulam mark-4 type electric chair and the electrodes placed on his chest to transmit the 10, 000 plus volts needed to fry his heart to death instantaneously , he looked up and out at the cameras live telecasting his death to the cowed millions watching the daily death show of anti-nationals who defy the dictates of the supreme leader (and his storm troopers) and smilingly said “tyranny comes in many forms and it’s not easy to recognize it in its initial avatar. I should have protested when they banned rupee notes, I should have protested when they made identity card carrying compulsory, I should have protested when they banned my local language, I should have protested when they made me, an individual, responsible for everything the government should do. But I didn’t, not even when they told me what to do, what to speak, how to live and even what to think. Well, it ends today, one way or the other for me. For, it’s a far far better place I go to, a place where no one will dictate what we should eat and as I go there with the still lingering taste of biryani in my memory, i think my death is worth it” as the lever was pulled and he was fried to death for desiring a biryani.

P.S. if you think this is a bit far-fetched, wait till the election results of the 2019 general elections. A fair warning to all of you- please voluntarily convert yourselves to pure vegetarians by then.

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The Idiots Guide To Yoga Class – How I Joined Up And Ran Away From One


The Idiots Guide To Yoga Class – How I Joined Up And Ran Away From One

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So there I was with a few day of leave right bang on the hottest days of the year and nothing else to do and nowhere to go to and so what do I do? I sign up for the toughest of all fitness programs available today- yoga class. Now before you start correcting me that yoga is not all that hot a fitness trend let me state that I have been officially informed by the government of india that yoga is great for fitness and for losing weight and for general health and all that we worry about as the inches and the kilos creep up our frames. Maybe that itself should have warned me- when the government starts supporting something so enthusiastically it inevitably ends up being a scam. But then again every minute a sucker is born and you live and learn by your own mistakes, right?.

My mistake in this case was believing in all the yoga hype and going and joining a yoga class in my near neighbourhood. I even stopped going for my walks for a couple of days to prepare myself mentally for the coming change in my fitness levels courtesy yoga- for i am a great believer in getting rest whenever you can and however much you can, in anticipation of being worked off your ass later. So fully rested and fully prepped up both physically and mentally i went to my very first yoga class wearing loose dresses as prescribed and anticipating being wrung out dry by all those asanas i would soon be doing.

The new age yoga guru- i wont use the exact word i have in mind for him as this blog contains the occasional family readers- who had charged me extra for a one on one class to better handle my fitness concerns and to give me proper solo attention as he explained when he asked for an eye popping amount as that month’s fees, started off the class by handing me a bright pink yoga mat and asking me to plonk my generous sized butt on to it.

“ Observe me closely, we will start off by practicing proper breathing techniques. Till now you have been breathing improperly but now i will show you how to breath” intoned my yoga teacher leaving me flummoxed. Call me a cynic but the very first thing we do as soon as we exit the fluid filled mothers womb we call birth,  is to start breathing on our own, a reflex which evolution developed over billions of years as we crawled out of the primordial ooze to become land based animals. And here was someone telling me that for all those billions of years we have been doing it wrong.

“Open mind, open mind, be open minded believe your guru and his words”  i chided myself, don’t be so cynical and common sense based I told myself for even the prime minister has said yoga is good so there must be something good in it, so lets wait and watch i counselled myself and turned back with full reverence to my yoga guru who told me to breathe in through one nose and breathe out through the other. “And then…?” i asked eagerly? “Repeat this till i tell you to stop” intoned my wise yoga master. So feeling slightly foolish but willing to experience new things i continued to breathe in and breathe out through alternate nostrils while the yoga guru sat on his mat checking his mobile phone, watsapping someone, checking out you-tube videos and generally looking bored.

At the end of thirty minutes which was the halfway mark of my allotted one hour of yoga class he asked me “Now how do you feel? Do you feel tired?” Strangely i didn’t feel tired at all. “Bored” should have been my candid reply but having recently decided to be always polite and also as my ass had gone to sleep following an unaccustomed sitting on the floor, i replied “yes”, and hoped we would move on to all those asanas shown on tv by sexy women doing yoga.

The yoga teacher smiled knowingly at me and said good “You have done pranayama correctly and that’s why you are so tired. Now i will show you a new asana- its called savasana- you need to lie down and stretch your arms and legs. Now close your eyes and follow my instructions carefully. Feel yourself. Do you feel your feet relaxing? Do you feel you arms relaxing ? Do you feel your eyes relaxing? Relax completely” And i followed his intonations and and was lying there relaxing completely until how long i didn’t know when he suddenly said “Now you can get up. Thank you for coming to yoga class and see you next class”.

I looked at my watch and saw that i had spent the remaining half of my class lying down and relaxing. That’s thirty minutes of sitting and breathing and thirty minutes of lying down and relaxing for a total of one hour of yoga class. Against my better judgement i again went back to the same class twice more hoping that at least this time i would be taught something proper but as the usual routine of breathing and sleeping did not vary, i decided to abandon yoga once and for all and go back to walking in my neighbouring park.

So the lesson i learnt was that yoga is just bullshit masquerading as ancient indian wisdom and most if not all yoga teachers are scamsters and rogues who prey on the too stupid to know better crowd like me who follow fitness trends instead of trusting to gods own two legs given for walking which is the ultimate fitness tool. I advise all my readers to learn from my lesson and dont be like me – run if anyone talks to you about yoga. It sucks, it really truly sucks.

Strictly Tongue In Cheek


Strictly Tongue In Cheek

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Dear so and so, i am writing to you from Australia. I saw your profile on so-and-so matrimony website recently and i think you would fit my family and myself very well. I am currently working as a senior software engineer in a prestigious multinational company and now currently based on-site in Australia where i have applied for permanent residency. As i am very much particular in my career i want someone who will be home loving as a spouse and i think you have the right qualifications for it.  I have asked my parents back in India to get in touch with your parents and take this forward. If everything goes forward satisfactorily  then i will probably see you when i visit India for my annual vacation in December. I will be staying only three weeks in India so if our marriage gets arranged it has to happen within that time. Now if you agree to all my conditions and are ready to shift over to Australia by December  i think we can proceed further with this. Do mail me at the earliest as i have to finalize many things before my trip to India. Please revert at the earliest.

The Return Mail:

Dear so and so, thank you for expressing your interest after seeing my profile in the matrimony website. I am pleased that you would consider me as “fit”  for your family and then you- in that order. You know, even my local tailor who has been with me for a decade  finds it difficult to stitch me clothes with a proper fit- but you, from far away Australia, pronounce me as a perfect fit…if i weren’t rendered speechless right now i would go around screaming i am fit i am fit , i am fit and a girl from Australia has certified me so.  I am also very pleased that you recognize me as home loving and having the right qualifications, whatever they are, which you are looking forward to in a spouse. Seriously i don’t know what they are but i do agree that whatever they might be- i have them, i have them all, don’t i? I mean you wouldn’t be mailing me from Australia if i lacked even one or two of those sterling qualities you are looking forward to in a man, right? Anyway i have absolutely no qualms in quitting my current job immediately and getting ready for our wedding in the remaining few months till December (how will i get my trousseau ready? Will Rohit Bal be available at short notice or should i try Ralph Lauren or Issey Miyake? Should it be a tux or indian ethnic?). And finally about quitting my job and moving with you to Australia as a house husband- well i just go to a job not to be a burden to my parents, so if you are willing to take care of me financially for the rest of my life as you have written in the mail, i would be pleased to quit immediately and join you in Australia where i can take care of the family while you work in that big important job of yours. I am looking forward to meeting you in December and i think three weeks is more than enough to get married if i can only get a visa within that time to travel to Australia . So do look me up when you get to India in December and and we can take care of a few things in person. I am looking forward eagerly to it. Bye.

(Disclaimer- based on a true story but names/sources withheld for privacy reasons)

Lost in Translation


Lost in Translation

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So I continue to be amazed by the responses I get from the bunch of students I am trying (mostly unsuccessfully) as it turns out to teach the basics of surgery. So this happened last week

Student: Sirrrrr (in a loud panic stricken voice)…this patient is bleeding.

Me : hmmmm, ok, when you cut into  human flesh with a sharp pointy thingy, you expect to see a little blood missy, you should only call me when you see no blood coming out when you cut in, then I will come running with a crucifix or stake.

Student : Blank Look

Me…Should can the vampire/zombie references, poor students musta been studying so hard they don’t watch twilight or go Goa gone.

And again this happened this week.

Student : Sir how can I treat this patient, he is already very sick.

Me : Ok then we should chase away the sick patients and treat healthy people only. Why don’t you go out into the corridor and drag in one of the patients attenders, they should be healthy enough for you to treat.

Student : Blank Look

Me : Sarcasm is so lost on this modern generation.

End result is I realize that they would rather do anything, cook up any excuse just to get out of seeing a patient that they have have been allotted to treat and would instead prefer treating only those patients they find interesting or easy to manage. But how will they ever learn if they don’t tackle the difficult patients now with us there to guide them and prevent any mishaps? Or maybe I am too severe on them and expect higher standards than they are used to? Beats me.

P.s. Just wondering if its true about what they say- that those who cant do, teach. Maybe I am the opposite type, can do but cant teach?

Déjà- You? Based On A True Story.


Déjà- You?  – Based On A True Story.

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And so this happened a few minutes ago.

Standing alone at one (hidden) corner of a rocking anniversary party of a famous institution, my seventh sense alerts me to someone else standing alone in an opposite corner. The sight of a well endowed backside encased in a tight and short mini skirt drags me over almost involuntarily and so I sidle up there to strike up a conversation. And as she turns over to face me, it’s a déjà vu moment…

Me: Hi, you look familiar. Have I dated you before?

She: Uh, no…I am a famous actress. My name is Ca….

Me: Really? Famous uh? Sorry I don’t remember you …

And I carefully sidle out of there.

P.S. If it looks like an ex, talks like an ex, it probably is an ex and a sign for you to make a fast ex-it….

End of story

Moral of the story:  If you keep dating enough women, you are bound to forget one or two as time passes and start asking them out again. Its just age related senility and loss of memory- no insult meant to the ladies.

An Invitation For A Public Kiss-In


An Invitation For A Public Kiss-In

open mouth

So I got this email today from some guys who label themselves as free thinkers and whoare organizing a- what they call a public kiss-a-thon to show all those old conservative fuddy-duddy rss types that “hell yeah, we CAN” the “Can” in this instance referring to kissing-in-public. On my first read of the mail and even on my second, I was non-plussed. Why, oh why, do they want me to kiss in public? Did any of my ex girlfriends blab about what a great kisser I am? Did they share the technical details of their rapture with total strangers (the above-mentioned free thinkers) who then decided to invite me to headline this, of all events? Ahhh…the price of fame…. Hmm…I can hear you smirking dear reader so let’s pass over my technical skills in the love making department and move on to less personal things.

Now, I am a big votary of kissing- I vote with my lips for kissing and more kissing given every opportunity. But I am certainly not in favor of kissing in public or any other kind of pda shit which makes me go “aww, get a room guys”. For there’s such a thing as exhibitionism and perversion both of which are closely related to each other. If someone feels an over arching urge to kiss someone else (lets skip the specifics on this) it isn’t asking too much to have them hold on to the thought till they get some privacy for themselves where they can do it to their hearts content. And don’t talk to me about the mood and the moment- last I heard -the lips don’t need an erection to kiss. If you are able to hold on to it and don’t piss in public or shit in public or fuck in public you don’t really need to kiss in public- unless you are just doing it to make a point- that the public space is your personal space and regardless of place or time- your personal feelings have no boundaries and you can act as you wish.

In fact, the only one instance i can think of as a mitigating factor for public display of affection is innocent youth. We were all young at one time and I think its quite understandable and excusable (for public kissing) when are young and in your teens and you don’t know when/where/with who you are going to smooch your next kiss from and don’t want to waste the opportunity you get at a weak moment of your partner- in that “making hay while the sun shines/totally spontaneous decision to kiss moment” that I can understand and sympathize with. The root cause for which is the overcrowding populace of our country with very little privacy everywhere- including our homes where even the parents (and annoying siblings) get to drop in every few minutes even into the privacy of our rooms- just to keep tabs on whats going on. But to cold-bloodedly plan to kiss someone in public in front of all the world- it’s either a stunt to prove what a stud you are or simply a kind of perversion where you indulge in exhibitionism in public – neither of which applies to me.

So, I am not going to bore with a lecture on good old Indian values vs. western freedoms and things like that. All I want to say is that personal freedoms and freedom of expression have nothing to do with the fight to kiss in public. The right to speak your mind against the enemies of mankind and against despots who crushed humanity and the human spirit cannot be degraded to the level of being a justification for public displays of affection. Think the pre-French revolution monarchy, think the communist gulags of Russia, think the fascist book burning Nazis, think (closer to home) the jallianwallbagh British empire – those are the kind of fights humanity fought against to demand personal freedoms and freedom of thought, speech and action- not the freedom to kiss in front of a million people. And its idiots like this who first trivialize and subsequently disgrace all those hard fought freedoms for which thousands gave their lives to defend. It’s insulting and degrading to utilize such lofty concepts for such perversions. If you really want to show your kissing skills in public guys, make an mms and watsapp it to the world – just don’t call it “THE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM”. That’s a blatant lie. And its insulting to all the rest of us.

And finally, I am not going to the public kiss-a-thon, even if they offer to provide me with a good looking girl to kiss- its just not in me- no thanks- the decline’s in the mail.

 P.S. by the way, what the —– in-hell does a free thinker mean? Are they insinuating that the rest of us, the world at large, are made of paid thinkers? Isn’t that insulting to all of womankind?

P.P.S. if I said the above with regard to men- mankind-getit- there wouldn’t be much of a reaction, would it? Men tend to shrug and laugh things off…but reference something as an insult to womankind, and you can be sure that the wannabe feminist brigade would wade in to strip the free thinkers off to their bones…two birds in one stone, what say?

The Happy Barter Technique Of A Successful Married Life


The Happy Barter Technique Of A Successful Married Life

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So I often find myself in the incredible position of having the “sex talk” with adults (who should know better) far many more times than I like to. For someone who rarely gets to have sex it’s so hard to understand how I find myself in this position of giving advice on hmmmm…positions and what not. I mean if you ask me flat out what makes me such an expert on sex (other than the fact that I am hung up so large?) I would just have to shake my head and say I don’t know- you just have to ask those poor mutts who keep consulting me for counseling. Anyways to get back to the story at hand – a couple days ago this guy who is a recent acquaintance walks into the room and sinking down comfy on the sofa says he is fed up of his wife and plans to divorce her. When I probed gently as to why he became so fed up of the wifey he confessed that lately everything at home felt strange, foreign and like a mall…I kid you not ladies and gents- he used the term “like a mall”….

Now this could not go unopposed- despite my better sense telling me not to probe further and get told another unwanted sob story I asked him to elaborate the meaning of the mall. He said “you know “the buy me this or buy me that” if you want to have sex tonight thing”. I demurely shook my head and said “I don’t…know I mean, anyway don’t tell me you didn’t buy gifts for her while you were courting, a mobile phone for a kiss, stuff like that which fool men in love do”. He grinned sheepishly and said “yeah, but that was then, this is now. Back then I was a carefree bachelor, now I have to support a family- wife and kids you know, school fees, uniforms, books, tuitions and all that and in addition to all that- paying money for sex every time sticks in my craw, I mean its not cheap- even if its at home”. I nodded wisely- “yes of course it’s not cheap- if you want to do it every night, so why don’t you just stick to salary nights, you know, the way they show in Tamil films- the salary cover, jasmine flower, tirunelvi alwa thingy?”

He looked at me as if I couldn’t grasp his internal anguish at all and said – “but then what’s the point of being married? If you cant have it as often as you want? And have to pay for it every time?” I shook my head sagely and said – “ha, ha that’s where you are wrong- marriage is not a license for just sex- there are a lot more stuff involved. And it’s a fact of life that you – the man has to pay for sex every time- accept it -it will make your life easier in the long run. By the bye an unmarried man can pay for sex with different persons every time- a married man has to by default pay for sex with the same woman every time- that how society has evolved from the apes to humans as a civilization. One way or the other we all have to pay for sex- so stop cribbing about it and go home to your wife. And here – I will forward you this sms I received from an unknown benefactor who promises to give personal loan of 10 lakhs without any collateral. Do talk to them and get the amount- should suffice you for sex with your wife for the next ten years. And after that, who knows? Let’s hope she gives you something free and extra- as customer loyalty bonus. Best of luck dude”. With which I ended the lecture and showed him the way back to the bosom of his….errr…loving family

P.S. if any of you ladies who are reading this get incensed at me for writing this candid expose, please put your hand over your heart and ask yourself if you have ever, never used the “withholding sex technique” to get something else from your hubby dearest? If not- I salute you. If yes- It’s all in the family, right?