Can’t help, but Love!

Cant help it,
not my fault,
mere mortal me,
you incarnation of,
Athena and Aphrodite!

Like the box of Pandora,
will rise many complexities,
from whatever we will have,
pain, sadness, jealousy and what not.
But my heart knows, that its worth a shot.

Love & hate are old sisters, & I want us to parent them!

Inspiration: Random Thoughts


‘Love all you can!’
I mumble up this quote quite a lot, and before this day believed that I have the strength to do so. Like any human, in fact like any other living being I crave for love. What differentiates me is the never-give-up attitude mixed with Carpe Diem viewpoint. Which many times, together have proven as a self-annihilation formula for me in the past. Once the cork of love-for-someone gets popped, my passion, love, longings and craving for ‘her’ come rushing out like champagne.Even though,
I know..
its trouble,
its fire,
its painful…
I can’t help but jump!

Sometimes I hate Gods, old and the new, for creating me the way I’m and making me stand at such forks of life and at the same time feel lucky for being able to have that pinch of love, which I had once, by which I was intoxicated and high!

I know you are my next big mistake, but some mistakes are worth doing!

Though the probability of us being happy and satisfied with each other is mere a spec, I still some how believe that everything will work out well.

I am hopelessly in love with the concept of ‘being in love’ and hope is the drug that keeps me going!


Gentlemen! It was privilege having your company!

Probably the only regret I have for not doing well in that prove-yourself-again interview is that I won’t be able to enjoy the company of you two fools. Our friendship, though still in its infancy, taught me a great deal about passion, tolerance and living-in-the-moment.

They say its a part of life,

People come and People go….

Not that I don’t agree with this, I completely do! But how do I stop myself going weak, thinking about the good times we might have spent making golden memories for life. How do I convince myself that I will again be dropped in the company of such people as you!

But as an unknown poet suggests:-

हसरतें यूँ न पाल कर रखिये।
जो मिला है, संभालकर रखिये।

I can’t count the number of times the two of you helped and tutored me while coding/playing pool/TT and patiently answered my stupid doubts.
I can’t count the number of times we joked about something (including myself) and felt lighten up the whole day.
I can’t count the number of times we did foolish stuffs like dancing infinite-step-behind in Vikrams’ class like clowns.
I can’t count the number of times I have felt nostalgic about that awesome Jibhi trip.

IMG_5328Probably I won’t be able to count the number of times I will miss you guys in future.

I found good friends in you two..
I hope to find them in future too…

Good Luck Gentlemen!

In case you are wondering Anurag! The Dog is you😛 )

And remember..

कुछ चीजों को ज्यादा देर ‘स्टेंड बाई’ मोड पर छोड देने से वो खुद ही ‘ऑफ’ हो जाती हैं।
‘रिश्ते’ भी उन्ही में से एक होते हैं…

My First Love Story!

I first read the following short story by O. Henry about 15 years ago and probably it was the first Love story I read. I still remember..  it been read in the English Period of the  5th std and I liked it so much that I read it almost every week for many months.
And I now realize that it changed me bit by bit and made me what I’m today!
It was through this story I was able to realize the dimension of love in aspects of my life and fall for the most beautiful girl on the planet. I go nostalgic while strolling around the memory lanes with her!

She was magic!
She was an art!
Her aroma still lingers around in my brain and If I stumble upon it, my whole day lightens up. I still treasure the sweet-sour-bitter moments of my first relationship and probably every romantic soul in the world does.

Each one of us are mad in our teenage years, I and her were mad for each other❤

Let Love Prevail!

Do enjoy the Story!


 A Retrieved Reformation
O Henry

A guard came to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine was assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, which had been signed that morning by the governor. Jimmy took it in a tired kind of way. He had served nearly ten months of a four year sentence. He had expected to stay only about three months, at the longest. When a man with as many friends on the outside as Jimmy Valentine had is received in the “stir” it is hardly worth while to cut his hair.

“Now, Valentine,” said the warden, “you’ll go out in the morning. Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You’re not a bad fellow at heart. Stop cracking safes, and live straight.”

“Me?” said Jimmy, in surprise. “Why, I never cracked a safe in my life.”

“Oh, no,” laughed the warden. “Of course not. Let’s see, now. How was it you happened to get sent up on that Springfield job? Was it because you wouldn’t prove an alibi for fear of compromising somebody in extremely high-toned society? Or was it simply a case of a mean old jury that had it in for you? It’s always one or the other with you innocent victims.”

“Me?” said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. “Why, warden, I never was in Springfield in my life!”

“Take him back, Cronin!” said the warden, “and fix him up with outgoing clothes. Unlock him at seven in the morning, and let him come to the bull-pen. Better think over my advice, Valentine.”

At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood in the warden’s outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously fitting, ready-made clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky shoes that the state furnishes to its discharged compulsory guests.

The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill with which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into good citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him a cigar, and shook hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books, “Pardoned by Governor,” and Mr. James Valentine walked out into the sunshine.

Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and the smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a restaurant. There he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in the shape of a broiled chicken and a bottle of white wine–followed by a cigar a grade better than the one the warden had given him. From there he proceeded leisurely to the depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind man sitting by the door, and boarded his train. Three hours set him down in a little town near the state line. He went to the cafe of one Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who was alone behind the bar.

“Sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy,” said Mike. “But we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and the governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?”

“Fine,” said Jimmy. “Got my key?”

He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor was still Ben Price’s collar-button that had been torn from that eminent detective’s shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.

Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at —-, a place where they make such things for the profession.

In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the cafe. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand.

“Got anything on?” asked Mike Dolan, genially.

“Me?” said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. “I don’t understand. I’m representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company.”

This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched “hard” drinks.

A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a neat job of safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with no clue to the author. A scant eight hundred dollars was all that was secured. Two weeks after that a patented, improved, burglar-proof safe in Logansport was opened like a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; securities and silver untouched. That began to interest the rogue- catchers. Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson City became active and threw out of its crater an eruption of bank-notes amounting to five thousand dollars. The losses were now high enough to bring the matter up into Ben Price’s class of work. By comparing notes, a remarkable similarity in the methods of the burglaries was noticed. Ben Price investigated the scenes of the robberies, and was heard to remark:

“That’s Dandy Jim Valentine’s autograph. He’s resumed business. Look at that combination knob–jerked out as easy as pulling up a radish in wet weather. He’s got the only clamps that can do it. And look how clean those tumblers were punched out! Jimmy never has to drill but one hole. Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine. He’ll do his bit next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness.”

Ben Price knew Jimmy’s habits. He had learned them while working on the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, and a taste for good society–these ways had helped Mr. Valentine to become noted as a successful dodger of retribution. It was given out that Ben Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.

One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed out of the mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down in the black-jack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, went down the board side-walk toward the hotel.

A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and entered a door over which was the sign, “The Elmore Bank.” Jimmy Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became another man. She lowered her eyes and coloured slightly. Young men of Jimmy’s style and looks were scarce in Elmore.

Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as if he were one of the stockholders, and began to ask him questions about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. By and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the suit- case, and went her way.

“Isn’ that young lady Polly Simpson?” asked Jimmy, with specious guile.

“Naw,” said the boy. “She’s Annabel Adams. Her pa owns this bank. Why’d you come to Elmore for? Is that a gold watch-chain? I’m going to get a bulldog. Got any more dimes?”

Jimmy went to the Planters’ Hotel, registered as Ralph D. Spencer, and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and declared his platform to the clerk. He said he had come to Elmore to look for a location to go into business. How was the shoe business, now, in the town? He had thought of the shoe business. Was there an opening?

The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy. He, himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. While trying to figure out Jimmy’s manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially gave information.

Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. There wasn’t an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods and general stores handled them. Business in all lines was fairly good. Hoped Mr. Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore. He would find it a pleasant town to live in, and the people very sociable.

Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days and look over the situation. No, the clerk needn’t call the boy. He would carry up his suit-case, himself; it was rather heavy.

Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phoenix that arose from Jimmy Valentine’s ashes –ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of love– remained in Elmore, and prospered. He opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade.

Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. And he accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss Annabel Adams, and became more and more captivated by her charms.

At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was this: he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store was flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married in two weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, approved of Spencer. Annabel’s pride in him almost equalled her affection. He was as much at home in the family of Mr. Adams and that of Annabel’s married sister as if he were already a member.

One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which he mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in St. Louis:

Dear Old Pal:

I want you to be at Sullivan’s place, in Little Rock, next
Wednesday night, at nine o’clock. I want you to wind up some
little matters for me. And, also, I want to make you a present of
my kit of tools. I know you’ll be glad to get them–you couldn’t
duplicate the lot for a thousand dollars. Say, Billy, I’ve quit
the old business–a year ago. I’ve got a nice store. I’m making an
honest living, and I’m going to marry the finest girl on earth two
weeks from now. It’s the only life, Billy–the straight one. I
wouldn’t touch a dollar of another man’s money now for a million.
After I get married I’m going to sell out and go West, where there
won’t be so much danger of having old scores brought up against
me. I tell you, Billy, she’s an angel. She believes in me; and I
wouldn’t do another crooked thing for the whole world. Be sure to be
at Sully’s, for I must see you. I’ll bring along the tools with me.

Your old friend,


On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben Price jogged unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. He lounged about town in his quiet way until he found out what he wanted to know. From the drug-store across the street from Spencer’s shoe-store he got a good look at Ralph D. Spencer.

“Going to marry the banker’s daughter are you, Jimmy?” said Ben to himself, softly. “Well, I don’t know!”

The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. He was going to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy something nice for Annabel. That would be the first time he had left town since he came to Elmore. It had been more than a year now since those last professional “jobs,” and he thought he could safely venture out.

After breakfast quite a family party went downtown together–Mr. Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel’s married sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. They came by the hotel where Jimmy still boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his suit- case. Then they went on to the bank. There stood Jimmy’s horse and buggy and Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad station.

All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the banking-room– Jimmy included, for Mr. Adams’s future son-in-law was welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by the good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry Miss Annabel. Jimmy set his suit-case down. Annabel, whose heart was bubbling with happiness and lively youth, put on Jimmy’s hat, and picked up the suit-case. “Wouldn’t I make a nice drummer?” said Annabel. “My! Ralph, how heavy it is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks.”

“Lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there,” said Jimmy, coolly, “that I’m going to return. Thought I’d save express charges by taking them up. I’m getting awfully economical.”

The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. Mr. Adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. Mr. Adams beamingly explained its workings to Mr. Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The two children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shining metal and funny clock and knobs.

While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He told the teller that he didn’t want anything; he was just waiting for a man he knew.

Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination as she had seen Mr. Adams do.

The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment. “The door can’t be opened,” he groaned. “The clock hasn’t been wound nor the combination set.”

Agatha’s mother screamed again, hysterically.

“Hush!” said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. “All be quite for a moment. Agatha!” he called as loudly as he could. “Listen to me.” During the following silence they could just hear the faint sound of the child wildly shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of terror.

“My precious darling!” wailed the mother. “She will die of fright! Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can’t you men do something?”

“There isn’t a man nearer than Little Rock who can open that door,” said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. “My God! Spencer, what shall we do? That child–she can’t stand it long in there. There isn’t enough air, and, besides, she’ll go into convulsions from fright.”

Agatha’s mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with her hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel turned to Jimmy, her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet despairing. To a woman nothing seems quite impossible to the powers of the man she worships.

“Can’t you do something, Ralph–/try/, won’t you?”

He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in his keen eyes.

“Annabel,” he said, “give me that rose you are wearing, will you?”

Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the bud from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. Jimmy stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and pulled up his shirt- sleeves. With that act Ralph D. Spencer passed away and Jimmy Valentine took his place.

“Get away from the door, all of you,” he commanded, shortly.

He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. From that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of any one else. He laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and orderly, whistling softly to himself as he always did when at work. In a deep silence and immovable, the others watched him as if under a spell.

In a minute Jimmy’s pet drill was biting smoothly into the steel door. In ten minutes–breaking his own burglarious record–he threw back the bolts and opened the door.

Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her mother’s arms.

Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the railings towards the front door. As he went he thought he heard a far-away voice that he once knew call “Ralph!” But he never hesitated.

At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way.

“Hello, Ben!” said Jimmy, still with his strange smile. “Got around at last, have you? Well, let’s go. I don’t know that it makes much difference, now.”

And then Ben Price acted rather strangely.

“Guess you’re mistaken, Mr. Spencer,” he said. “Don’t believe I recognize you. Your buggy’s waiting for you, ain’t it?”

And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street.


Is Love worth an Effort?

Is it correct to
Let go relations very easily without bothering them?
Never force or chase anyone to be with me?
Never try hard for any relationships in life?
Am I missing something important for not doing this?
Is this a correct way or do I need to think beyond this?

Some Sometimes questions such as these might crop up in ones brain.

Let us consider the following two extreme scenarios:-

  1. You never put effort for a potential love prospect with someone whom you seem to like or vice versa. You just like to go with the flow of life and consciously or subconsciously believe that God/Fate/Force-of-Nature will eventually land you with the love of your life.
  2. You are curious about the potential love prospects and (given that you are single) you believe in giving each of the prospects a shot and once you  are in the most passionate relationship, you constantly work over it.

All of us lie somewhere in the range of above two extremes and each of our stand in these respect is perfect, given that we have thought well over it in context of the priorities we have set for our lives.

The very feeling of missing something concludes that you haven’t thought about these matters.
I suggest you to give a thought over it!
Ask yourself.
What matter to you?
Love, relationship, friends, career, hobbies, health etc.
Analyze and prioritize each.
Examine your capability to achieve these in life.
Be experimental for a while, for these stuffs are best learnt through experiences.

And once you reach to some rough formula for above keep optimizing it with your personal experiences!

I personally lie closer to the 2nd extreme as I believe fortune favors the brave.

The following Comic-strip by Zenpencils explains my philosophy:-

A man must know his destiny

Lessons from Loneliness !

In my childhood I was an introvert kid…
and therefore for the obvious reasons not at all popular.
I used to be that plain vanilla boy who would sit in the middle benches of his class room..
and would endure the urgency of using washroom hours but couldn’t stand up and seek permission from teacher.

The only time I brokemy silence was when I had any emotional rush..
which was usually when I was hurt over someone’s remark or teasing.

Yes I was like one of those shy classmate of yours.. whom you fail to recognize every time you see your old class photograph.

I continued to be this till I was about 10-11 years old…
My parent used to take me to my grandparents place ( about 700 km far ) every summer. It was the 12th summer of my life when I was at my granny’s village. I went along my father and few of his friends for an evening walk in the farmlands. After walking a few kilometers out of the village, I was exhausted. My father advised me to wait for him under the banyan tree beside the lake, the spot which we crossed few minutes before, as it is safe, till he comes back.

I agreed and headed towards the tree.
Exhausted as hell, I lied on my back and started watching the sky which was changing its colors towards the darker shades of orange and within few minutes the stars came out.

This was the first time in my life I was all alone…
all left to myself….
No human soul around for a atleast a km.
My mind started bouncing over stuff which my looked on, stones, frogs, lake, stars, moon, sky…… and finally landed on myself.

I thought about my incapability of expressing oneself, and through the past experience somehow concluded that it is not good for me and from that day on I decided to express myself freely….

And succeeded in doing so in few years!

Many things (both good and bad) might not have happened had I remained that plain vanilla boy!

Many years from that lone reddish dusk  under the tree, I now again find myself all alone in a luxurious hotel….
And more than the comforts of the hotel, I’m enjoying my loneliness which again had made me realize that I talk too much and therefore should try to speak as little and concise as possible.
A yet another life changing lesson!

I think it is in the loneliness ‘you’ speak to yourself !
And ‘me’ suggested me to be a spectator of life and not a commentator !


16 signs that you are a Bhopali at Heart !

You are probably living a merry life in some awesome corner of the world but you still miss your Bhopali-life! Here are typical 16 things only a Bhopali at heart could understand..
1. Gandhis’ Bitch : Bapu ki Kutia


You dined here infinitely many times with your family.


2. You visited Vishnu / Sagar-Gaire more than you went to your Coaching …..



3. Poha Jalebi the best combo for breakfast…



4. Navratri…Abhivyaki…  &  Awaargi… all mean the same for you..



5. Mp nagar : The Kota of Bhopal!



6. Jyoti Rambha, Lily, Sangeet, Sargham, Rangmahal..


You got it… Right?


7. IceCream with Friends reminds you of…..

Taap an taoun (Top-n-town)



8. 1250 : Barah Sow Pachas, 10 : Das Number , 11 : Gyarah Number, 12 : Barah Number  aren’t just numbers…



9. Upper lake : Baada Tal..


Probably the only place where u can hangout with your girlfriend, friends and family ! ( I Guess DB Mall is the new such place :p)


10. Old City…


Can buy almost anything, even the latest nuke bomb if your are enthusiastic enough from here.


11. DB Mall..


Hanging all day at DB mall selecting clothes finally purchasing them from NEW market


12 .Van Vihar and Machali ghar…


visited them atleast once in your childhood.


13. Schools:  Almost all of them convent..


“Amma khan yeh keympian(old campaign ) school toh bhopal ka sabsey behtarin school hega ..!!”


14. BHEL Township…


Reminds of childhood rides in Children parak ki Tirain and lots and lots of trees


15. Each colony has atleast one Dhoom Die-hard fan Biker who stunts at Night…



16. Bhat – actually bhat-suar. 


The old fashioned rickshaw making noise like “bhat bhat bhat”. (with 3 tyres, 1 in front and 2 rear, front wheel generates power.)




In good old days Bhopal was famous for four things

1) ‘Parda’ is for symbolizing the old tradition of having Burqa clad women you would have often encountered in the streets of Bhopal.


2) ‘Zarda’ symbolizes yet another tradition of chewing Tobacco with ‘Paan’, which is in vogue till today.


3)  ‘Garda’ is for the dusty roads one came across in the old days of yore.


4) ‘Naamarda‘ refers to the eunuchs reciding in the older areas of the city, specifically Itwaara, Somwara and Mangalwara.





Bhopali Bakar : Most Overheard Phrases 



  • Ustaad rokke challnaa, ek ladies aari hegi! (in minibus/tempo)
  • Bhot lehra riya hega.(for piloting)
  • Miya kallaat ( kal-raat ) se bhot STD ( acidity) ho ri hegi pet mein…
  • Lapak maal hai be ( Girl is so beautiful !)
  • Ko Khan, Kaise?  ( How are you?)
  • Or kha kia ho riya henga ( What r u doing?)
  • Tum to fel giye kha ( Baat se mukar jana.. )
  • Kyo kha bhot din baad (Bade dino ke baad milne par..)
  • Ama aapki gaadi to paidal ho gayi (Engine is seized)
  • Minibus Conductor: Are madam bachon ko godh mein bitha lo ( to make place in mini bus)
  • Aajaao bashten bashten bashten ( Bus stand)
  • Ku Kha Kaa Jaa Ray Ho!! (where are you going?)
  • Haan Khan Pathan Khairiyat!!! (Asking the person if he is alright)
  •  Kalmein kaise beh rahi hai tumhari (a comment on side-locks)
  •  Chachaooooo ekdum bhannaat lag riya hega (compliment for good looks )
  • Aapki gaadi reverse Phaink rahi heigi.
  • Konsa aayle 2t ya lokal ?( which oil 2t or local)
  •  Do lapaad lagaunga rakh ke, sar mein bhannaati aa jaayegi! ( will slap you hard)
  • Indoor Indoor Indoor – (Bus conductor calling out for passengers for Indore)
  • Gadi andar “peet” do – chipka ke lagaoo (at parking)
  • Ek ulte haath ki doonga, muh ghoom jaayega, pata bhi nahin chalega aa riya hai ki jaa riya hai(I will slap u so hard with my left hand, your head will tilt and nobody will be able to tell, if you are coming or going)
  • Lapak lo lapak lo (chai jaldi se utha lo………)
  • Typical Startup politicians ad campaign · Arif Akeel – Standard banner: “Apke apney jujharoo aavam karmath neta manneeyey sri arif akeel urf guttu bhai ko bhaari maton se vijaiyee banayein. Chunaav chinha – Haath ka panja, Veeneet pappu, mohan, aantu, bantu aur hasan bhai”
  •  Arey Khaan Mamoooo ( To call anyone )
  • Arey Khaan Ek maghai banana bina supari – baba 160 maar ke (Pan Order at Banarsi Paan Bhandaar)
  •  Aur khaan Pathaan ( To greet someone)
  • Zero bate sannata chachaooooo ekdum bhannaat lag riya hega (uncle is looking smart)
  • Akhaan sab kismat ki luck hai
  • Iscooter thodi silo (slow) chalana
  • Rawangee daal lo (Lets go)
  • Kyon jhoom riya hega be (where are you roaming around?)
  • Kanney kat gaye ( in reference to kite flying )

 Sar par de riya hega mila mila ke ( Can’t bear him anymore)



Fun Facts!  

  • An average Bhopali auto driver spells out abuses at the rate of 15-20 per min, each abuse at least 4-5 words long.

  • Board office ka addres??? Go to MP Nagar square Ambedkar statue will tell you.

  • Shawar ali model/actor is blood relative of almost to everyone in Old Bhopal (mere chaca ka ladka hai,   mere mamu hain,   mere mamu ka ladka hai   n many more……..)
  • Where would you find the greastest number of look alikes of Dhonis, Mithuns and Govindas in the world? – Near Bada Talaab in Bhopal
  • To sum it all….



Author : Nimesh Kiran Verma (Fb link).

Credits : The list of dialogues etc was compiled over by bhopalites in the good old days of orkut.
Most of them were obtained from  a mind-blowing community “AMA KHA BHOPALI”.

16 signs about a typical bhopali were researched and created by the Author.
Pics were obtained through Internet.


God is in the Rain!

I know there’s no way I can convince you
this is not one of their tricks,
but I don’t care.
I am me.
My name is Valerie.
I don’t think I’ll live much longer and
I wanted to tell someone about my life.
This is the only autobiography
that I will ever write and,


I don’t remember much of those early years,
but I do remember the rain.
My grandmother owned a farm in Tottle Brook
and she used to tell me that
God was in the rain.



Her name was Sarah.
It was her wrists, they were beautiful.

I thought we would love each other for ever.
I remember our teacher telling us
that it was an adolescent phase
that people outgrew.


I didn’t.
In 2002, I fell in love with a girl named Christina.


I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand.


My mother said nothing.
But I’d only told them the truth.
Was that so selfish?

Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have.
It is the very last inch of us,


…we are free.
I’d always known what I wanted to do with my life,
and in 2015 I starred in my first film,
The Salt Flats.
It was the most important role of my life,
not because of my career,
but because that was how I met Ruth.

The first time we kissed,


  We moved to a small flat in London together.

.. and our place always smelt of roses.
Those were the best years of my life.
But America’s war grew worse and worse,
and eventually came to London.


..not for anyone.
I remember how the meaning of words began to change;
how unfamiliar words like
“collateral” and “rendition” became frightening,
while things like “Norsefire” and
the “Articles of Allegiance” became powerful.
I remember how “different” became dangerous.
I still don’t understand it,
why they hate us so much.
They took Ruth while she was out buying food.



It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place,

I shall die here.
Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch but one.


.. and it is the only thing in the world worth having.
We must never lose it or give it away.
We must never let them take it from us.
I hope that,
whoever you are,
you escape this place.
I hope that the world turns and that things get better.
But what I hope most of all is that
you understand what I mean
when I tell you that even though
I do not know you,
even though
I may never meet you,
laugh with you,
cry with you,
or kiss you,



With all my heart,



Above is a Monologue by the character Valerie, a prisoner of something similar to a holocaust, by a fictional dictatorship in future Britain.
Depicted in the Comics and the movie : V for Vendetta, written by Andy Wachowski & Larry Wachowski, from characters created by Alan Moore & David Lloyd.

I should remind you that above Wachowski siblings are the same guys who scripted, directed and produced the mind boggling MATRIX series (I’m a huge faaaan!)

Alan Moore: Created Watchmen (Comics), Sandman and few important characters of Batman and Superman.

My jaw many a times drops in awe, when I come across such instances of creativity and to-the-skin portrayal of a character and deep & serious ideas  through a non trivial medium of expression : Comics.

Above monologue is simply a jewel of perfection and every time I go through it I feel the real pain of the fictional Valarie and sobbingly learn that