So, one day, while riding a boat over the Ganges, I saw something floating in the river. It was an early morning ride, so finding the anatomy of that particular thing was getting harder for me. Later, I found out that it was a condom! I hope by using the word condom, I am not hurting the sentiments of the fellow Indians or Hindus or Muslims or the Pope or Sakshi Maharaja or the Kashmiri separatists or Mahatma Gandhi or Akbar or Kaamdev or Jesus Christ! Also, if it hurts any one of the readers, you know, you should get your ‘extra’ limb laminated for-ever.
Nevermind, so first thought that came into my mind was, “Who the hell gets sex on the Ganges, man? AND HOW? Or is there any mermaid in the river? But mermaids are restricted to the boob-job and blow-job only (At least Disney portrays the mermaids to have the upper limbs with the ‘why-the-fuck-they-have’ fins)?” Okay, leave that perversion scale of mine but still, the Banarasi within almost took the charge and it screamed “I can tolerate anything, be it the tons of poops being discharged in the Ganges, or the cows dancing in the river or the people washing their armpits in it but being a true Banarasi, I just can’t tolerate it. I JUST CAN’T TOLERATE IT! THIS IS SPARTAAAAA…”
I instantly threw my cigarette butt into the river, asked the boat-guy to take the boat toward that floating condom. Clutched that condom, jumped out of the boat, swam to the banks (Fat guys swim faster, thank you science). And then I was running with that disposed condom in my hand asking every single person, ”Is this yours?” “Have you done this?” I was feeling like Sunil Shetty of the movie ‘Border’ screaming “MAAAA…. SHAKTIII… SHAKTI…. MAAA…”.
Suddenly I got bumped at the group of youths. They saw me with that condom. Apparently, they were like “Ashleelta faila raha hai ye aadmi!” “Beat this guy’s ass up!” “Kill him”. Eventually, they didn’t get to listen to the notion behind the ‘abashed’ act. Blooded, I was walking back, cursing myself and the penis that wore that condom. Few policemen dragged their eyes at me, as if I’m a criminal… Wait.. Am I? Oh shit! In India, the stains of lipstick can get you a divorce and the alimony of 400 Cr only if you have six fingers and eight packs. And then, here I was, with the blood stains on my shirt!
P.S. Writing this stuff while my dad is filing a petition to get me out of the cell and of the property will, and I’m going to swallow that condom down the throat so that I can suffocate and die.