Sunday, June 28, 2009

Dhruv's Laws of Fartology [Also called as Fartodynamics].

<< Girls fart more than guys!












WARNING: Reader’s discretion advised.

Note : The following matter belongs to Dhruv Deshpande and he alone has rights to use it anywhere he wants. Grant of permission may be given by him alone, to publish the matter in Physics or Biology text books.

INTRODUCTION of the topic.

This is no harlequinade, and if you have a smile on your face on reading the title, please wipe it off. Thank you.
Firstly, farting or flatulence is the expulsion through the rectum of a mixture of gases that are byproducts of the digestion process of mammals and other animals.

“Disgusting”, “manner less”, indecorous” are some of the few adjectives used to describe people who fart. Excuse me, ‘people who fart?’ You fart, I fart, everyone farts. Yet we are embarrassed to speak about it. Look at you, reader, going red around the ears. However old or matured you are, you surely have had your moments when the only thing you desire is for the public to have no ears and noses, so you can fart to your heart’s content.
I have two facts for you, which have never failed to leave me flummoxed, but have to be accepted as reality.

1] Every single person farts. [ And every committed person too! Ok, lame joke. ]

2] Farting is said to be disgusting, and we must not let people know that we fart.

Surprising, isn’t it? Farting is not civil. It is wrong. You may talk about what you do with your partner in the late hours, but talking about farting is, according to people, disgusting.
A clichéd expression, “Disgusting people fart.” DD disagrees.

ABOUT THE EXPERT.
I, Dhruv Deshpande, am [probably] the first person to go deep into such a topic. I have, and I will continue to study this topic in detail. Who knows, you are possibly reading an article of a person who later may be referred to as “Dhruv Deshpande, Professor of Fartodynamics.
You may think, looking at my young age, that I will not be able to enlighten you matured folks about farts. Wrong. I am 90% sure that I have carried out each and every experiment (on a personal level) that can be carried out with farts. In my fifteen years as a human, I’ve tried things very few can even dream of. I have farted in public. I have farted in my classroom and ejaculated an “It was me!” I have farted in front of my family which led to being scolded as if I had committed a heinous crime. After controlling farts in malls, movie theatres, football fields, swimming pools, PUBLIC restrooms, restaurants and in my own house, Dhruv Deshpande stands up and says it’s enough. (You can remove the swimming pool part from the previous sentence.) I strongly believe that I am not alone who suffers from this weird biological process that everyone refuses to talk about. My friends, my family, my extended family, my maid, my dog and many others know that I have been very open about excreting, farting etc. It is this openness that has helped me unlock almost all the mysteries of Fartodynamics. I have to give credit to my experience, experiments and finally my grey mater. The quest for learning EVERYTHING about fartology is not a destination, but a journey, and I will narrate to you all that I have learnt on the way. Anomalies in my study will be corrected as soon as they are detected. I believed that there was a need for a deeper study of farts and I have come out with astounding results. I hope, my friends, that my Laws Of Fartology, will help you preclude the pandemonium that follows farting. The following, are the results of my intense study.

DHRUV’S LAWS OF FARTOLOGY:


Note: I will not give you information which you can find in books or on the internet. There are always two sides to a coin, the books will show you the safer side which stays away from facts so as not to cause any damage to the mind of the reader. I may not mention the exact gases being released, but I will give you information which is actually important, unlike the text books. I am being brutally honest with my laws, so I feel it is my responsibility to mention that this is not for the faint hearted.

1] Farting is a biological process, with bits of chemistry and physics involved.

2] Noise is inversely proportional to smell: More the noise of a fart, less is the smell released. The noiseless farts, which I refer to as the silent killers, release the most disgusting smell. [Exceptions mentioned in 10 e.]

3] The gas released during a fart comes through one and only one point inside your butt: This one took a particularly disgusting experiment, I must say!

4] The above law also proves my theory, which was my first fartology theory; you CANNOT fart on a flat chair unless you tilt your backside to an angle of 45 degrees or more to the plane of the surface of the chair.

5] Shitting is indemnified by farting if and only if you try to shit to hard, without having a strong urge or necessity to shit. The fart released is not a silent killer, but one with a loud noise.

6] Farting is indemnified by shitting if and only if you already possess an urge, however strong, to shit, and you exert pressure on your buttocks for a long time, which results in the peristaltic movement to release faeces.

7] If you shit irregularly, you will fart irregularly: The experiment to prove this law was carried out on a personal basis.

8] If you fart a lot continuously, your butt will pain.

9] When you fart, it is not only your point of release of gas that plays a part, but the muscles around your buttocks also contract and expand while farting.

10] YOU CANNOT STOP A FART. Do not be disheartened, my friends, I will get you out of this mess. This is a huge problem regarding farts, but if you’ve farted as many times as I have, you tend to find loopholes in everything, DD is here to help. See, technically, farts are gases released through the rectum. That is the definition and we cannot change it. But yes, we can bend it. Gas is released from the rectum, that doesn’t mean it is released outside your body totally. You will fart, but there will be no smell released, nor will there be any acoustic evidence of the fact. I will first describe my experience with what I call “The Unfart”. The name is given because you do fart, but the effects of farts do not exist. When I try to control my farts in classrooms, etc, I am unable to do so. But if I press my butt in to cover the point of release, and also refuse to tilt 45 degrees, however strong the urge, there will be a slight rumbling near the stomach and also a vibration through around the buttocks. There will be NO noise, but a slight vibration which only you can feel. Remember, you can Unfart ONLY when you have an uncontrollable urge to fart.
How to Unfart:-
a. Press your buttocks inside. [Tightening the thigh muscles helps during the above task.]
b. If sitting, press your buttocks strongly against the surface, ensuring that the point of release is totally covered.
c. If standing, walk slightly bending your back behind such that your butt moves forward, and move your knees to the opposite direction, which ensures that your buttocks will join to cover the point of release.
d. Control the urge, however strong, and do not open the point of release.
e. DO NOT cough or sneeze when you are preparing to Unfart. If you do so, the point of release will jerk open and the fart will be more noisy and even smelly, the only case when Law 2 of fartology will be proved wrong.
f. Stand/sit as still as a statue three seconds before the moment you feel you are about to Unfart. Remember, you cannot control the time when you can Unfart. If you decide “I’ll Unfart now!” then we might possibly have to remove ‘Un’ from the previous word!
g. No Unfart is complete without wiping off all the evidences of a fart. Thus, remember not to have the ‘Fart-look’ or the relieved countenance upon your face. Ensure total innocence. Keep your face absolutely straight. Exerting too much force upon your face may eventuate in uncovering of the point of release of gas. Thus, a straight face is of utmost importance.
If you are unable to Unfart, then the best thing you can do is not act weird, and you might still escape.

These, my dear students, were my Laws of Fartology. I hope that they help you in your life ahead to prevent farts, and to fart well if you cannot Unfart or if you don’t find the need to Unfart. Remember, friends, whatever you do, fart or Unfart, do enjoy it.
This is Dhruv D, Professor of Fartodynamics, signing off… :)
Written by, yours truly, at 3 comments:

Monday, June 15, 2009

Fashion, my chief grievance.

Note: Before you start frowning as your eyeballs move below, do take cognizance of the fact that these are merely my own perceptions. If anyone is offended by anything written below, I’m sorry. I really mean it. [*Tip of the nose enlarges, Pinocchio style*]

I’ve always been baffled by words like ‘fashion’, ‘trends’ etc. I’ve heard hundreds of people talking about how a particular material is the ‘in thing’. What is fashion, anyway? To me it’s pure insecurity. I surely don’t think it’s a “phenomenon that changes with time”. People don’t walk out in public with their atrocious jewellery, shoes, clothes, hairstyles etc merely to ‘show it off’. Fashion, as stated by Paulo Coelho, and I quote, “is merely a way of saying, ‘I belong to your world. I am wearing the same uniforms as your army, so don’t shoot!” Hearing people and especially children of my age cry about wanting new clothes to ‘blend with the latest trend’ has never failed to gain my abhorrence.

Today a normal household consists of fathers working hard for every rupee only to spend it on their teen children, who are crying about wanting new clothes, not due to necessity, but because their friends have new clothes. The mother competes with her friends till she has a more expensive wardrobe having famous brand names. [I confess with a sad heart, that this particular thing happens to some extent with my mother too, though she denies the FACT.] Older teens and adolescents dream of becoming Paris Hilton and roam about in freakishly bizarre clothes to gain attention. People are willing to get their hands on such stuff, only to throw it away after a few months, when some freak wears some particularly weird thing, and he is referred to as the ‘trendsetter’.
I’ve always smirked at those hypocrites on TV, who insist that their ‘style is being comfortable’. Sheesh, judging by their expressions and looking at what they are sporting, it is crystal clear, I daresay, that they would give anything to strip naked, away from the public eye, and scratch themselves all over!

Fashion always goes above my head.
Take girls for instance. The following phenomenon totally beats me and I’ll never figure it out: Why do girls wear tees with stuff written exactly on the wrong place, if you know what I mean? Ah, I don’t mean one four or five letter word written either, I mean those tees with two or three sentences written in small print. Do girls want people to read that or not? I mean I’d say even if girls write their passwords on that place, I’d say it would be safe at least from males. If any girls who sport such tee shirts are reading this, I will now disclose to you a secret: IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR MALES TO READ WHAT YOU WRITE THERE! I mean, for God’s sake! If we look, that would be indecent!
Another thing is high heels. I’ve seen my own mother walking and although she doesn’t limp and claims she is comfortable, the fact that any woman is uncomfortable wearing heels is for anyone to see judging by the way they walk.
With lads, I’ve noticed this new trend of wearing loose jeans so it slides down and reveals your undies to the observer, and if the observer has woken up on the wrong side of the bed, butt flashes aren’t rare either. If such males are reading this, please, sirs, confine your exposing to your bathroom or your bedroom! How in the world is revealing buttocks in public fashionable?
All the mentioned trends, and many more have never failed to leave me inebriated. I shudder at the thought of how people keep up with such things. Fashion probably tops the imaginary list of “1000 most naïve ways to spend your money”.

I am hence very proud to say that I’ve never been influenced by ‘fashion’. I’ve never asked for new clothes from my parents. Fashion comes and goes, but style is permanent. (*Smiles for the cameras*) I’ve always held the view that fashion is some thing you adopt when you have lost your own identity. As Greek philosopher Plato said, and I quote him roughly, if memory serves me right, “Beauty of style and grace is in simplicity.” How true. I’ve never given a deuce about what I wear as long as it is completely ethical. Just today my mother was crying out about how I wear the same two shirts and the same pair of jeans.
My mother and I have had plenty of arguments about why I should buy new clothes. Believe it or not, my mother forces me to buy new clothes! I completely hate it. She has to drag me to shops to buy new clothes! I’ve never understood mom’s complaints about me wearing the same clothes. What is wrong with that? I mean, they are washed everyday, so it’s quite hygienic!
I’ll never understand why she has to force me to buy new clothes, and come to think of it, she won’t either. See, clothes are like girls. (For all the females with their fists clenched, I don’t mean it in the ‘buying’ sense!) You get introduced to a new shirt, then slowly you become comfortable with it and you build a relationship with it. Suddenly having a mother pop out saying “Dhruv, it’s become old, buy a new one!” is extremely disturbing. And my mum is not someone who will listen to a simple no. She is short and doesn’t look intimidating, but her appearance doesn’t tell you anything about her. I’ve never known her to encounter a raging, mad bull, but should the contingency occur, I bet that the animal, on seeing her, would lie down and start shivering. So, she’s always succeeded in ensuring I don’t bore the onlookers by wearing the same thing, and I assure you that if it hadn’t been for her, I would wear the same thing everyday. Although courtesy mommy dearest, my clothes haven’t been similar, my style of clothing always has, for the past five years. Chequered shirt with a blue denim three-fourth or full pair of jeans. I might as well add that it used to always be three-fourth until the past two years when I substituted it will full pair of jeans. That wasn’t because of insecurity due to hair growing on the legs (I’ve found that silly!) but because of an expanding waistline coupled with the fact the I didn’t get myself to buy another pair somehow.
So that’s my style, and it is going to remain that way. Love it or hate it, you’re always going to watch it. You might wonder why I wrote all this. I had to vomit out my feelings, because yesterday was an exceptionally bad day. Mum dragged me to the shop and brought THREE shirts for me. Whatever happens, I want her to read this: I won’t stop wearing my yellow shirt or even my blue shirt. End of discussion.
Written by, yours truly, at 8 comments:

Friday, June 5, 2009

The Grill. - A tribute.

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"The Grill was simply awesome."
"What? The Grill? Sizzlers? Hmm."

The previous extract has been heard for too long now. The former sentence, spoken by myself, accompanied by a glint in the eye, and the latter, spoken by most people accompanied by a sort of "I-don't-care-about-the-grill-" look. It's an insult, in my opinion. The Grill, a restaurant which existed till 2007, if I remember correctly, beside the Malhar Hotel, in Thane. It was a small restaurant, which would give no idea to a normal passer-by that it was home to the most delicious gastronomic extravaganzas that ever existed. This is a tribute to the wonder, The Grill. I remember brushing through random Shakespeare books complilations in the school library. Those small books with around fifty pages which just give you a gist about the story in general, omitting the original dialogues. I distinctly remember as I type this, about the chap Othello, who tells the listener (I'm not sure who) about his adventures with the cannibals. Now, picture this : Othello tells the girl about a particularly nasty meeting with a cannibal and is waiting for the listener to ejaculate an awestruck "Wow! Cool! Really? Woah!", but instead the reply is, "He probably must be a vegetarian, stop exaggerating." Now, imagine how Othello would have felt had the chain of events occurred. Hold that imagination, because that's exactly how I feel, after the bored look that follows the mention of The Grill.
This is the snag of expressing yourself when your musings are mixed with deep emotion. You just go off the rails, and, as in my case, saliva just fills up your mouth and you can think of nothing else. If I fooled about more, without getting straight to the point, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, I will fail to grip and you'd be banging your head on the wall. Thus, I will move straight towards the point where you walk into The Grill. I have visited The Grill on various occasions, with different people, but my personal feelings about the whole thing have always been the same. I will do my best to express them.
There are very few feelings, which make the hair on my neck stand up still as the feeling I have sitting on a chair in The Grill. Wow, I know that I would soon renew my acquaintance with those unbeatable eatables dished up by the God forsaken chefs, who are undoubtedly God's gift to gastric juices. Looking at the menu, in another restaurant, I always regret having a single stomach, and having Dad's eyeballs fixed on my face, on the prowl, ready to raise his eyebrow, to evince his anger and make it more evident courtesy a comment on me gaining weight, if I order, in his opinion, a larger amount of food than needed. Never in The Grill. Not needed. I just glance at the menu as a formality to activate my salivary buds, but what eventuates is always the same.
"One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, please."
Why, you may ask, and people have asked, don't I order anything different. It's simply because it is perfect. I adamantly refuse to believe, that even The Grill could give me more satisfaction with another dish. One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, nothing more and nothing less. Perfect. Perfect for my appetite. Dad's eyes move elsewhere, and his eyebrows do not rise, thus I'm spared of having the feeling that there is soft clay where my spine ought to be, and also of having to cancel out the "extra" food. That done, DD waits in anticipation.

THE WAIT. Oh, it's a long wait. I don't know if there is such an aroma but during 'The Wait', I get this invigorating aroma of something mysterious. The nose, during the wait, is always busy trying to find out what the aroma is.
Then, it seems that the world is conspiring against you, wanting you to just watch on, as everyone including people who have given their orders after you have their meals served before you. DD, as a general rule [or as my personal belief] , is a man of iron, having all his class and etiquettes, but is reduced to wax during 'The Wait'. I shamelessly look at what others have ordered and the salivary glands get activated. That said, I have to mention, when you look at what is served on the table opposite to yours, you regret and feel you should have ordered the same. I do, too. But not in The Grill. I am sure of my order. I wait on, for my Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri. All this torture of waiting is doubled when you see the waiter move towards you, and you prepare to leap, when you observe that he's just given you the pickled cabbage. I have to admit here, though, that the pickled cabbage is amazing too. The orange couloured cabbage which roams about your mouth, and almost gives you a warning, of what your mouth is going to receive. It's as if the cabbage says "Consume me mate, but you will surely get something better, though it is hard to imagine. Sit back, relax and enjoy 'The Wait'.
We're now done with seeing, smelling and now we proceed to hearing. The noises that get out of DD are as follows :-
"Yes mum, I called him and gave him your message. *Grunt* I HAVE cleaned my room, dad! *Growl* Why is the beastly chef taking so much time, man! *Brrr* I'm hungry like hell, someone ask the chef to wake up! *Growl-rumble-grunt-brr* "
The noises enclosed within the "*" are from my stomach, and the others from my wet mouth. You also might have noticed, that I have addressed the people making my sizzler in the singular. I assure you, it hasn't been done inadvertently. I strongly believe that the chef who makes the Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri is an artist, and there cannot be more than one artist that create the exact same work of art, and make it have the same delicious taste every single time. I feel that the chef is a monarch of his profession, unequalled, at taking raw material and stirring and boiling and baking and cooking it into stuff that would melt into the mouth of the ultimate consumer, and leave him speechless. That man had been the magnet, I supposed, that drew me to The Grill.

Chewing on the pickled cabbage, I say “Urgh!!” It was short for “I’ll kill the damned waiter if he doesn’t bring my food now!” After five more despairing minutes, I say the longer version out loud, in doubt as to whether I had made myself clear. My face becomes pale with frustration coupled with hunger and I continue to munch on the cabbage to induce fortitude.
BANG. It happens. The waiter has his eyes fixed on our table holding in his hands, which I realise, is the Grilled chicken Peri-Peri! Bless the soul. I was a drowning man, and he was the rescue boat. I could have kissed him, I could have leapt on the table and started dancing, but I refrained. Ignoring Dad’s stern glance, and the waiter’s “Enjoy your meal, sir” I grabbed my knife and fork and prepared to “dig in”…..Foggy…what happens next is unclear and I cannot describe it in proper sentences….Bliss…Ecstacy..Euphoria. I view what is in front of me. The tender chicken, the steamed rice, the French fries, the boiled veggies, the spinach, complete with the spicy onion rings. Man, I must have done some good deeds in my previous birth! Then no one with me talks, everyone remains silent, as I cut the first piece of chicken and chew it. Ah…for a split part of a second nothing happens. Then, suddenly, fire rages in all parts of the body. The stomach region becomes charged as if with lava. The ears start ringing. A great wind seems to blow through the world and all I am aware of is immense satisfaction. Then, as I go on relishing the sizzler morsel by morsel, the wind becomes calm, the ears cease to ring, pleasant music starts playing and all is well. All you are conscious of is a great peace. I’ve often heard about the ‘chocolates or sex’ question. If you replace the former with my sizzler, I won’t mind being a virgin!
As I munch on, I do not give a rat’s ass about what is going on around me. People often accuse me of having an inscrutable face, without expressions, which is impossible to read. Quite on the contrary, in The Grill, I am a pool of clear water, in which is mirrored in detail, each and every expression. I ignore comments from my mother about me being a ‘greedy pig’. Wow, with each morsel comes the fear that this bliss is but temporary and my meal would soon be over. And soon, very soon the last remains of my sizzler go through the oesophagus and rest in peace. If I was ever given the option of deciding my last moments before my death, I would surely say I should die eating the GCP-P sizzler. The cabbage remains on the hot plate and the waiter takes it away.. I wipe the tears off my eyes [it’s spicy!] and take a deep breath. I’m full but I don’t mind a chocolate mousse. The sweetness settles in my mouth and after gulping it all, I get up and leave the heavenly place. After leaving the restaurant I look back, the signboard, “The Grill” beams at me. With a pleasant smile, DD walks off as the happiest man in the world..

Time goes by, and after some more occasions in The Grill, disaster strikes.
“Mum, let’s go to The Grill this Saturday.”
“Dhruv, it’s shut down!”
BANG. I cannot express what I felt at that moment. The only thing close to being compared to my anguish would be running as fast you can for the final step in the Olympics 100m, having a considerable lead, and suddenly having a lamp post pop out of nowhere and hitting it. I felt that THUD. The Grill, shut down? Not possible! Within one week after the reception of the news of this calamity, while paring a visit to Dad’s office, I made it a point to go past what was The Grill. A blank wooden plank was replacing the glorious signboard “The Grill”. The blank plank, the manifestation of my worst fears. The Grill, the unknown restaurant, which gave the consumers of its delights a satisfaction that people only dream of. The Grill, buried. Buried in a grave without an ounce of honour. No news, no protest. The cursed owner goes one day and shuts down the place, not knowing that he is playing with so many people’s emotions, not knowing how appreciated his restaurant was, not knowing how long the waiting line would be on weekends.
Thus, this was a tribute to The Grill. In whichever corner of the world the owner of the restaurant is, I hope he feels a deep sense of pity at what he’s done. I raised my hand in protest, but now I finally put it down, knowing it is all in vain. The Grill, I bow down to thee…



Written by, yours truly, at 4 comments:

Thursday, June 4, 2009

My greatest passion..

When exactly, this love affair started, I do not know. Vaguely, it was in 2007. The first match I saw was the Olympiakos game, where we made this splendid comeback. This was in 2005. The Liverbird was etched upon my chest around the summer of 2007. Before that, the only games I saw, were the Olympiakos game and the Milan final. I din’t understand a rat’s ass about football in 2005-06, but I saw those two games only because my cousin told me to. If there’s anyone I can say is responsible to paint my heart Red, it is my cousin, Ritvij. I cheered for Liverpool in those two games ONLY because by then, everything your brother in tenth std said was supposed to be cool. I saw the match, and cheered only to please him, but there wasn’t an ounce of passion. End of 2007, I saw some games. Then I started liking the team in Red. It was then that every pass made was a sigh of relief and every goal scored against “us” was accompanied by a grunt of exasperation! I still remember when I first told my cousin about Liverpool F.C and expressed the Red all over my heart, I told him that my second favourite team was Manchester United. Shock, disbelief, anger, frustration and even a sense of pity all at once in his eyes! I thought, “Did I say something wrong?” I asked him whether he liked United too. Bang came the reply, “NO, NEVER..!” The next United game I saw, we lost.Like hell that hurt. I saw those arrogant pricks diving around. I heard the boos in Anfield. Then I realised, we HATE you across the Old Lanc’s Road. And if you are willing to admit your faults, that’s one less fault to admit! It was a fault and I look back at it with great dismay.They say a peacock who sits on his tail is just another turkey. I wasn’t one. I confidently say, without caring if you think I’m blowing my own trumpet, that if I am any more passionate about this club, I will die with heart attack. I don’t claim to be the biggest scouser in terms of knowledge, but really, I don’t see it possible for anyone to be bigger in passion than me. But if there is one thing that pisses me off, it is those wannabe supporters, no matter whichever club they “support”. The thing about these supporters is, they’re like potatoes, their best part is, surely, underground! If there’s one Liverpool fan I really respect, it’s David Hughes, I know him from the LFC Community. He was a fan during the Golden Days of the club, and he saw the club on the decline, still he loves the club like nothing else, and I draw inspiration from him that I’m never going to stop loving this club. Although I love this club, and I’m totally addicted, obsessed, that is not the same with non-LFC football. I admit shamelessly, if there are any matches I see with honest intrest, they are Liverpool matches, and sometimes matches which may influence Liverpool in some way. I usually loathe monotony but I’d rather watch a Liverpool game ten times than other matches. Anyway, I really love this club like nothing else. I don’t know if I’ll ever love my wife or girlfriend as much as this club. I can feel this togetherness with the reds. I can feel Stevie’s heart leaping out of his bosom when mine does, seeing the 4-1 against Manutd. I can feel the urgency in the Red Army when the we aren’t leading. I can feel the nervousness in lads like Lucas when the Kopites are after him during the crucial moments. I can feel the pride in the team’s heart and in Rafa [CONFIAMOS EN RAFA!] when we lifted good old Big Ears . I feel the bitter disappointment in everyone including the warriors watching the match in Anfield when we lose a match. I’m certainly not a lad who cries or weeps at the drop of a hat, but then some crucial games like this season’s Mancity games which we lose due to pure bad luck, I do cry and I feel the Red Army feeling like crying from the heart. Times like these, you feel united with the people at Anfield so far away. I really love this club. My affair with Liverpool Football Club is one that can never end…
Ps- Don't mind the first picture. :P



Written by, yours truly, at 2 comments:
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