[Disclaimer: This post is not about friendship. It’s about friends. All types mentioned in this post are of friends and they are not discriminated on your level of friendship. Rather it is about different kinds of friends that you make in due course of time in your life. If anyone is offended by anything mentioned here then they are requested to mention it as comments. I will remove/edit that section accordingly.]
A friend is defined as “a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.”
This definition is fine but another definition says a friend is “a person who is not hostile.”
It is like saying “I’m in North Pole because I’m not in South Pole.” Almost no one in this world is hostile to me (okey, except for those rickshaw drivers who deliberately try to kiss my car with their metal lips every time they pass by me), but that doesn’t mean that everyone is my friend. And I am pretty sure that our milkman in Calcutta was not hostile to us. He never mixed rat poison or phenyl in the milk, he just mixed water everyday. But that certainly doesn’t make him my friend.
A great philosopher once said “Friends are like bras: close to your heart and always there for support. But if you get the wrong one they will only induce irritation and pain.”
So you have to be careful while choosing your bra friend. Knowing different types of friends that exists will help you decide whom and when to take an acquaintance to the next level of friendship.
1:30 pm. Hot summer mid-day. I am sitting in the waiting room of a private clinic. I don’t have any appointment neither do I need to visit any doctor. I was looking for a cool place to rest and these private clinics are usually a good bet for that. Air-conditioned, comfy seats and the best thing is nobody ever asks you a question. This room is almost empty except an old man, most probably in his 70s, who is sitting in the other corner. My plan is to chill for some more, then pretend like ‘Oh shit! I forgot to lock my car’ and quietly sneak away. I tried this twice before and till date I have hundred percent success rate.
A young girl walked in. White top and skinny blue jeans. If anybody ever makes a list of most clichéd outfit in the world then white shirt and blue jeans will certainly top the list. But the good thing about it is- it never goes out of fashion. Anyway I should not be commenting on fashion, my fashion sense is only as good as Uncle Scrooge (pic) who considers wearing a coat is more fashionable than wearing a pant.
Every year the fourteenth day of February is celebrated as the Valentine’s Day. On this day couples express their love for each other by presenting flowers, greeting cards, chocolates, chloro-mints (gifted to those with bad breaths) etc.
I approached the man behind this auspicious day for lovers, fund-raising day for gift shop owners and agonizing day for the rest.
Saint Valentine was a great martyr who sacrificed his life for uniting young lovers. Though we all know about Valentine’s Day but very few know about St. Valentine. A lot has changed since he died. Let’s try to know how he feels ’bout twenty-first century Valentine’s Day.
Nature has carefully taken care of its needs. In human beings raising a child is one of the most resource consuming jobs without much significant return. It makes no practical sense as why would we opt for such inefficient activity. But for the survival of any species, reproduction is the bottom-line. And God is not a fool. He knows what it takes to make it work. So he made sex. Moreover to make if more fun, He thought “lets take away their judgement ability when it comes to sex”. How else would you explain a species with highest brain is to body mass ratio, who are otherwise able to find the nuclear reaction going on in the Sun to the cause of global economic depression, to cheat on their spouse for few minutes of pleasure?
High school Biology class in progress. Todays topic- Life Process II: Reproduction.
Teacher asks a question to all students- What is sex?
Everybody in the class starts giggling.
Teacher asks again. This time pointing out a boy- You, stand up and tell me, what is sex?
The boy stands up, still trying hard to hold his smile and says- ummm… aaaa… sirrrr…
Teacher gets impatient and shouts- Stop stammering and say it loud. I can’t hear you.
Boy freezes in fear and starts speaking in a robotic monotonous voice- It is the penetration of penis into the vagina.
Pin-drop silence in the class.
Teacher looks away from him and says casually- Sex is the property by which organisms are classified as males and females. Anyway sit down.
The crown of literature is poetry.It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose stop aside when the poet passes.
–William Somerset Maugham
I wrote my first poem when I was in class II. Some over-patriotic-die-hard poem. If I remember correctly its English translations would be something like this: Oh my dear motherland, I want to die for you. I am full of vigor, My blood is fresh and new. I was so mesmerized by my creativity that the next moment I was standing in front of my Dad, holding a torn paper with both hands and giving a shy smile.
Dad was reading newspaper sitting on couch. What is it son? Dad asked.
Poem. I replied in a shy voice with my eyes locked at floor.
Dad took a while to read and then looked at me. Gave a bigger smile and said-
This is the best poetry I have ever read. Very good. Veeery good. But it’s a bit short to be published?
I don’t know what I was thinking back then. I went straight back to my room and actually wrote twelve more lines. It was a masterpiece. At least that’s what I thought. Four sonnets of four lines each. And rhyming last words. Sweet. This time I got aroused by my creative ability. I completely overlooked the loop-hole in this whole excitement. My Dad is a doctor. Anyone he knows closest to print media is our newspaper-boy. Till today it remains a mystery what he meant by ‘to be published’? Continue reading
This machine is loud. Must be a Harley, Panir thought in his half-sleep-half-awake state. He lives in a single room above a restaurant. This type of rooms are cheap. But the bad thing is this room is just beside a busy road.
It’s 7:48 am. Panir lifted his eyelids to see the time. Damn. I can still sleep for 12 more minutes, his thoughts keep running. Panir hates this feeling, when you know you have time to sleep some more and you are awake before time. Nothing happens before time with him. Buses never come before time when he is waiting at bus stop. His class teacher never leaves the class before time. It happens only with his sleep. He always wakes up few minutes before 8 o’clock, his regular wake up time.