Jiggle Wiggle

Can words be funny in the way they sound? What is the language that’ll connect this world? How far is the pandemic’s end? Oh, that was off-topic. Right? No one can tell for sure, and you’re a good human if you considered doubt to be your friend here.

I think they can. Yes. Words can sound funny. Here’s how I believe someone can ruin the humour though:

  • Scalp gulp
  • Red bed
  • Fruit puke
  • Yellow mellow
  • Cool stool
  • Poop scoop
  • Covid, slow it
  • Mower, pull over

Don’t tell me you did. I think I can live now.

Hit me with your terrible ground-breaking ideas.

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The Highway Rendezvous

Me and Abhijeet were on the way to this highway joint to meet another friend from a nearby city. It’s called 7 Beans and this cafe is not that far from anywhere. A twenty kilometre ride on the national-highway (also known as the longest road in India) which falls between Pune and Bengaluru with green fields to give your eyes that regular treat. Now, this being the case of the road’s situation, it amounts to a lot of traffic at intersections which are placed near cities. To shift your routes majorly.

At one such intersection, on taking a left-turn the bike was put to it’s ultimate test for that week. Abbya took a bend unlike the regular one. Because, this time the bike actually touched the road which seizes for the bend to be one and forwards it to an accident. We literally slid from this side of the intersection to the pavement on the other side.

It was in slow-motion that I saw everything happening still sitting in the position we were riding. There’s nothing we could do but sit and watch the scene ourselves.

Now, what I found funny was we were watching the whole accident happening while we were a part of it. A moment of bad luck and another vehicle taking a turn, we would have faced some serious damage like death etc. And the crucial part is we would know before anything happened, but can’t do nothing. We were laughingly having the (luckily) safest accident ever. We slid and slid until the pavement ended the bike’s visible inertia.

That’s when we burst into laughter unlike pussies.


Tempo Mama

Today’s word, be it whatever to the world, is “tempo” as in the school-van in my city Hubballi. This most probably applies to the whole country. I surely wouldn’t want to snore the prestige drums of DPS students. Damn were they so rude when debating, or at least their vocabulary made me feel so. It’s probably the vocabulary. In today’s post, let’s perform the anatomy of “Tempo Mama”. Sorry, not sorry, if I sound experimental.

The PFC, prefrontal cortex, voxels in me right now depict weird signals as my project on fMRI seems to be getting out of hand. Mostly, I have it under control. GitHub plug.

Even the “mostly” comes under my prefrontal cortex. Mostly.

Coming back to the anatomy of our title today. It comes with two words. A two…. you know what? Anatomy is best done using images.

Two words

Mixed language
Their meanings


Of laughter. There’s just no other way jokes work. They don’t function with the intention to make one cry. But, wait. Jokes don’t function either. Oh, what do I say about jokes!

Better is to lie that I won’t say anything. Instead, here’s my list of jokes on Christopher, the black-faced Indian living in Osaka of Japan.


Chris was not on top of her like his name would have suggested. It is not only hard to be that to a woman, but even smooth to do such skilled jobs in Osaka.


Chris hates being called Chris. He also comes from India, but many mistake him for Ethiopia. How could anyone stereotype the black? I wonder and correct myself for it is Japan which takes no seriousness in stereotypes.

But, Chris hates being called Chris.


Christopher taught Japanese to the Americans at Osaka. An old man learned to say “Five more jokes, and we’re done.”


Was it even remotely sad that we missed the number five without knowing?


College was never in the list of choices made by Chris when he moved to Osaka. But, so was not being called Chris.


Osaka is inviting artists from Tokyo to build the culture of western-format in their city. They ended up being the East Virginia.

And, Chris had nothing to do with it. As fate would look at it, he was still not from Ethiopia.


Nobody likes being number one. So, Chris decided to jump from the tallest building in his village and found himself on the roof of it.


He can’t move the mountains.

He still can’t fly with the birds.

He is not Chris.

Chris is a different person. He could do all of that easily even when not called in the way he’d like it.

Love from India