There was a report from ICMR (Indian Council For Medical Research) thatin a study conducted among Indian men in Mumbai and New Delhi (twomajor Metropolitan cities in West and North India) condoms manufacturedaccording to International standards are too big for these men. JayLeno made fun of this situation and from many Indian men a lot ofprotest came. Many Indian guys hate me for exploiting this situation. Isent the same article that came in Reuters and Associated press to someof my friends telling this “Why North Indian Women Like South IndianMen”. I am from the southern most tip of India where people arepredominantly of Dravidian origin, who don’t have any problem dealingwith condom size of International Standards. But an American guy afterreading the report wrote this “India is not a region which I would sayhas an under-population problem, I suspect their size is fine”. Whichis also true and I agree with David. However I never claimed size isproblem in reproduction. What I said was, size is something NorthIndian women like and as a South Indian man I have first handexperience with North Indian women. Haha.
Now it came to my attention that the South Indian MusicianA.R.Rhman’s three songs are short listed for Oscar Nomination. He isone of my favorite Musicians from India. I will be eagerly watchingthis year’s Oscar Nominations to see if those songs makes it to thefinal five. Good Luck Rahman.
This poem: There are lots of people who asked me why I love cold when Icomplained that there is no snow and ice in this warm December. Thereis something I want to tell but I just don’t have the courage to speakin first person. There are times I open up a bit more when I amspeaking about someone else. That someone else never took a name. Maybe I may try more of these kinda poems. This poem is written from twodifferent experiences from two different eras. There is a fictitiouspart blended into it. Enjoy the poem.
Morning on a December day bloomed,
And mind in a day that gone past lingered,
Memories like the morning dew faded,
And mind back to the warm December day dragged.
This morn lost its meaning in its entirety,
When what he felt around resembled a bad spring morn,
Did life’s negativity nature borrowed?
Or is this part of a curse from his wild youthful days?
Neglected he many man eaters,
Who all beyond color, colorlessness and culture,
Buried morality and conscience for the pleasures of life,
And in the illusions of pride scattered like moths.
Among them came a sanctified soul,
Whom he lost among dirty minds and his own ignorance,
From that day all that he dreamt and wished,
All realized subterranean and burned away,
Deep in the furious fires of mother earth,
Than as beautiful flowers blossom,
In the garden of love in seventh heaven.
Oh’ every pretty face seen,
Every word of care and love heard,
Sprouts at least a dream in his mind,
Then when that dream burn in the fires, unrealized,
He feels the heat all around and deep inside.
Winter cold gives him a bit of comfort,
From all the heat he feels all around,
So for bitter cold every moment he pray,
Even when the unloved heart burns deep inside,
But in this winter even that prayer went unanswered.
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