Ramblings of a madman

It was yet another day in the life of Venky. Needless to say that it was also a jobless Sunday. I woke up and as usual did my computer namaskaram and blah blah blah. I ate some heavy Pongal and didn't have anything to do but to play FIFA 09. While i was playing FIFA 09 this happened….   I played with Arsenal and the ball went into the net and then out, rather through it. I was cheated of a goal. Why does this happen to Arsenal always . I didn’t know that this was just the tip of the iceberg. As i was drowning my sorrows drinking Aachi Mor ( Buttermilk),I got a call from my friend “Machi! come to play @ 2pm” I replied in affirmative and didn't move a muscle till it was 2.30   Operation Ven-Key It was 2.30 and i started searching for my Black panther’s key. “Amma! Where is my key” “how would I know? You are the one using it ”. After searching in vain, I went downstairs to see whether i had left the key in my Black Panther itself. Tada! First i couldn’t find the...

    Before you could think anything dirty about ‘removing the pants’, wipe any semblance of it. This has nothing to do with that kind of “removing the pants’.    Travelling by train has always been by favorite way of commuting. But eating from the pantry while travelling, a big no no . Me and my friends were on a trip to Kerala for attending one of my friend’s brother’s wedding. When we left for Kerala we had our dinner in the comfort of our home because it was a 10pm train. Little did we know about ‘The Railway Pantry’ apart from that ‘Anniyan’ Ambi (Aparichit in Hindi) refused to eat because the Rasam was watery, Papad was like kerchief and Sambar was directly disproportional to the amount of rice.    A day in the boat house in Alapuzha, attending the marriage, 3 days of good food and the act of emptying the pockets of our beloved hosts, we had a lot of fun. We had a train to board that evening . Hence we had to have dinner in the train at the m...

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 9 ; the ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . It was the summer holidays. That time of the year when little children waged war with each other, interestingly though, only with bat and ball. “Hey! Nikumb, get the ball” His teammates yelled at him as the ball fell into one of the houses surrounding the ground. Nikumb was distraught as it was yet another match were he didn’t bowl. Moreover, it fell into Radhika Aunty’s house, that is one more reason why he refused to go. They somehow pressured him into to getting the ball. The deal was, by doing so he would get a chance to bowl in the next match. The first impression you make lasts longer than you think. When he was given the ball in his first match he ran in like Akhtar and bowled at the pace of a Venkatesh Prasad's slower one. He batted like Glen McGr...