Quips & Freudian slips

What would a gathering of great minds, scholars and professionals alike, be without random one-liners? To protect the innocent, and the guilty, names have been omitted.
There should be one of those Parental warnings on this; so parents, be warned.


Before we leave, I’m going to find the computer analyst’s desk [at the hotel] and shit on it.

The whole way back you kept telling me, ‘I think I’m going to shit my pants’.

There’s enough room up your anus for a hamster to move around.

You could never fit a guinea pig in your anus.
- Would you need a funnel?

It’s like Benazir Bhutto and me on the back of a camel.

When you talk like that, it vibrates.

Oh, you’re so masturbating on my hair. Oh yeh.

It’s like Punnu… more like Pu-yeh.

You shouldn’t masturbate in people’s hair. It’s generally not good for them.

How does that [the ATM] work, you put your card in and take money out?

You have a beautiful heart… and a huge penis.

This fly’s not afraid of humans; it’s a mujaheddin fly.

I’m going to take my clothes off [the chair]… hold on, so you can sit down.

You’re a badass warrior.

Puppies, puppies, puppies

Do it tomorrow when I can fuckin’ comb my hair and shit.

If I’m awake, otherwise, nah, fuck it

I don’t have to spend any money on alcohol. Your eyes make me drunk.

She had a rolling pin hanging out and she was like bopping it around.

You like it, don’t you?

He’s cute.
- He’s married.

“Good afternoon y’all”

We got velociraptors attacking people.

Who farted? I smell it in the corner. It’s you! It smells like worse than crap. My face was like right in front of your crack.

You fart and the whole world turns upside down.

That was almost in my mouth; I so tasted it.

It’s fucking open you nob.

I’m taking pictures of myself right now. I look weird; get used to it.

You see how tight I am.

I have bad balance when I’m going down.

A massage can be very salubrious.

Are you hungry?
- I’m hungry for love.

God she was ugly. It’s like some of these girls…god dammit.

California people are generally more attractive.

You know when chimpanzees are young and you can train them, and then their hormones kick in and they get all crazy.

You’re the designated walker. How many fingers?

You’re saying contradictory needs to what we want.

You speak Herbic.

Tomorrow’s commando day

We all need Simran; I mean in the metaphorical sense.

You want to see a cool goat picture?
- A magic goat in a tree.

You’re like hoarding pan for the winter like a chipmunk.
- Stop pan-dering me.

How’s it like on your crotch? How do you have pan-spit on your crotch?

Watch out for those Brahmin priests. You bend over and they’re all over you like white on rice.

I like Limca so much; I could have it as a soup.

It could be dastardly horrible.

It’s more of a sucking thing than a chewing thing.

She sets her alarm for 5am and them hits the Snooze until 7:30.

Smell it bitch, smell it kuti.

This monkey had the biggest balls I’ve ever seen.

The State Department will so be itching for your ass.

He’s an old swinger.

You’ll have to slip into one of mine.

Don’t touch that!

I won the sexy legs contest. Don’t put that in your quotes!

I hate being a girl.
- Bummer, ‘cause you make a great one.

Is this < - - - - > boob-ified enough?

I want to shoot myself in the face; my head hurts.
- Ok, Mr. Happy

I tried to germinate last night.

Did you wake up like that?
- I woke up like a lot of things.

I’m all about which way they’re hanging, are they big, are they small.

Did you say cock?

They were lovely; they were big, and soft and juicy.

I think I might have diarrhea tomorrow morning, because it’s convenient.

If you can’t get it in the snatch, you must detach.

All I heard was ‘legs spread’ and then my name.

How would you like to sing so we can record?
- Out loud?

He head butted me!
- I bleeded.

Do you want a sandwich?
- You, me, and who else?

When I saw it, I did a little prayer. God, please forgive them.

You need to learn how to do it with the doorknob.

Surjit Patar, 29 July

Surjit Patar, infamous Punjabi poet and singer, visited us.

In addition to reciting some of his beautiful and powerful poetry, he told the following story.

A farmer had two sons. The first son chose to become a farmer while the second chose to become as ascetic and went to the forest. Having returned to his father after 14 years, the son was asked, “What have you learned?”
“I have learned many austerities and performed miracles”, the son replied. “I can bring that bucket here, that stick, without moving.”
The father replied, “I too can do these things”.
The son implored his father to bring the stick without moving.
The father called for his other son and the stick was brought.

Tailoring broken-English

During my first trip to Punjab in 2004, I found tailor who I have diligently returned to year after year. It’s easy to find a friendly tailor, hard to find a cheap tailor, and harder still to find a reliable tailor. I like my tailor, he’s witty and does great work – even if we have some language issues and he says done by Tuesday but means Saturday night. Hey, it’s India; you get pissed off and they watch you to see what happens.

I know the relationship would be so much better if my linguistic skills were beyond that of a 3-year old. Outside of business transactions, our conversations are slow and mostly consist of comparisons between America and India or India and Pakistan. Speaking in broken English, Punjabi, and Hindi, our conversations are very basic and quite drawn out. Based on talks this summer, I know that he speaks Punjabi with a wide-ranging vocabulary – Hindi and Punjabi/Farsi based, but without the use of tonals. As well, he is pro-Hindu right and believes that the Middle East and Pakistan are full of bad Muslims; Muslims are not to be trusted; Muslim women kill others just like Muslim men. He wasn’t trying to preach to me, he just wanted my opinion and felt free to voice his.

One evening we got onto the subject of presidents and prime ministers. Speaking of Indira Gandhi in the honorific, Shri Mati, my tailor suddenly pointed at me and said, “You shoot her”. It took me a second to realize that he was equating me with the Sikh bodyguards who had shot her. Interesting how a lack of vocabulary can accomplish so much with one gesture.

Morning walks

Every morning I go on a walk, at least I plan the night before to go on a walk. As well, I often recruit others at dinner to go on a morning walk but at 6am, they are nowhere to be found. When the morning comes, it can sometimes be hard to roll out of very comfortable bed. Once outside, however, the humid morning air is quite lovely, the temperature slowly climbing into the mid-80s as the sun soars over the Shivalik Hills.



My trek consists of a short jaunt to the Rose Garden in Sector-17, where I take the perimeter ring and quickly cross the garden, meeting a major road on the other side.

From here, I walk down a tree-lined road past the city’s art museums. The road leads to another park with walking paths under many trees. Compared to the Rose Garden, the air temperature here is much nicer. Despite this relief from the heat, the area has less people walking or sitting. In addition, it’s much quieter being surrounded by a semi-residential area.


My favorite part of walking is glimpsing the wildlife of Chandigarh, the four-legged and winged city-dwellers. In my opinion, the variety is too few but any amount is welcomed. There are familiar animals, chipmunks, pigeons, and a variety of the crow, as well as several types of birds that I don’t know.


The people that I encounter are memorable for their actions. Indian men and women alike walk briskly, do repetitive walking stretches, or gather in same sex groups and perform yoga. Some sit in various poses, others clap.

Travel, 27 July

It was short day of travel today, as we went to only three places of interest. We began with a visit to Sector-1 in Chandigarh. It is here that the state Assembly and High Court buildings are located along with the symbol of Chandigarh, the Hand.


The architects of Chandigarh had planned for the Republic Day parade and other large gatherings to be held in this location. As such, a large paved space exists in front of each building – stretching close to a mile between the Assembly and Court buildings. However, the Chandigarh politicians have chosen not to implement this policy. As a result, apart from an open field popular with youth playing cricket, Sector-1 remains atop a hillock, distanced from the rest of the populace and desolate in appearance.


We next visited Manakpur Sharif, a Sufi shrine dating to the 18th century.

The Sufi saint was of some importance as there is a large gate at the entrance of the compound with many other Muslim graves and mosques surrounding the main tomb.

In addition, there is a large water tank with steps in front of the gate. This tank implies that the shrine was an important place of pilgrimage and celebration, water representing cleanliness and life. Reaching the shrine requires a rough drive over a washed out muddy road and flowing stream. In a sense, this shows how history is hidden in the Punjabi countryside.

I’ve visited this place several times over the years and each time the gate has been gifted with new coats of paints and given more attention to the details of its beautiful architecture. For its age, the gate has been immaculately preserved. Many a Bollywood film and Indian music video have used this place as a backdrop.



Along with a visit to the shrine, we walked around the village of Manakpur – situated in the immediate vicinity. The design of the village is similar to most others in Punjab. The narrow streets are cobbled or dirt, with high compound walls on each side. There is a single main street, representing the outer ring of the village, splitting into narrower alleys to reach other homes. Gates open to reveal courtyards, in which buffaloes are tethered, and cots laid out for sleeping, Living quarters surround the courtyards.

There is an open sewerage system with narrow channels lining the sides of the main street, merging into a large canal that empties into a large tank. The tank is full of duckweed, an aquatic plant known to cleanse and add nutrients to water. The economy of the village revolves around agriculture, with plots lying outside of the village. In addition, persons would be employed outside of the village.

Our last visit of the day was to the Pinjore Gardens. These Mughal gardens were designed in the 17th century during the rule of Aurangzeb. Unlike other Mughal gardens, the seven terraces at Pinjore descend instead of ascend into the distance.

It’s a lovely spot spanning many acres and includes an elaborate system of waterways and fountains, orchards of fruit trees, and other plants common to the Indian subcontinent. In addition, there is a Japanese garden, vulture sanctuary, lawns for picnics, and a variety of birds.





Before returning to the hotel, our drivers dropped us off at the McDonald’s. Though we ended up eating somewhere else, I would like to note an interesting tidbit. McDonald’s in India offers four sizes of drinks and French fries: small, medium, large, and Patiala. Patiala, formerly a princely state, is a city in Punjab. Patiala is known for larger things, huge turbans, billowing pyjamas, and the Punjabi peg. It is for the latter that McDonald’s has created a unique size.

As the story goes, the Indian cricket team was to play the better English team. The night before the match the Indians convinced the English that in Patiala people drank a 6oz peg of whisky versus the normal 2-3oz. The next day the Indians easily beat a sluggish and very hung over English team.

Another night out

25 July

A large number of us went out to a club last night. Dj Sanj was playing and rumors promised that he would play bhangra and other Indian music. We were not let down in this regard, as he played to the desires of the crowd. Much like club going in America and England, we got ready then gathered in a hotel room and preceded to booze it up. As one person put it, it really sucks to stand in line sober. In reality, the heat and humidity here guarantees that whatever alcohol you put in your system is sweated out while you’re standing in line.

I almost didn’t make it inside the club. I had paid my Rs.500 ($11.50) and had my wrist stamped with the word INVINCIBLE when the burly bouncer patting me down felt my kirpan (Sikh religious dagger). At once he denied me entry and rightly so, many confuse the kirpan as a weapon. To come to my defense, it wasn’t as if I was just some white boy wearing a kirpan. I was representing a form of traditional Punjabi-Sikh identity, replete with a neatly tied navy blue turban and a full-length white kurta. I protested my case to the bouncer commenting that a Sikh’s kirpan is not to be removed to fit the desire of others.

I continued, inquiring if amritdharis (Baptized Sikhs forbidden to part with their kirpan) were also banned from entering the club. Still denied entry, I lifted my voice and said that the kirpan, like the turban, is a gift from the Guru. It was here that I saw some sympathy flash in his eyes. An older man with his beard tied and a baseball cap covering a bandana, covering his hair, (i.e. a Sikh) moved next to me and spoke up. He argued for me, stating that I was Khalsa (another term for amritdhari). To be historically correct, Guru Gobind Singh declared that all of his Sikhs were the Khalsa.

The bouncer let me in. Once inside, the older man stopped me and shook my hand, commenting that he was proud I was sporting my Sikh identity and not backing down when questioned. He said that too many youth in Punjab today are not wearing turbans and shave their beards – fashion rather than tradition leading their lives. I really enjoy tying a turban; I take great pride in completing my attire with it. Besides, if women can accessorize with a handbag and heels, why can’t men sport a colorful turban.

We danced up a storm and had plenty of energy after the club had closed; too much in fact. Outside the club, we were told by a police officer, wielding a lathi (wooden club), to stop making so much noise. We had been singing and dancing in a circle, practicing songs we had been learning all week from a traditional singer and dholi (drummer). The young Punjabis around us enjoyed our presentation, too bad Mr. Grumpy Pants in his silly khaki beret didn’t.

Travel, 20 July

It was a long day of travel today. We went to Paonta Sahib, on the West bank of the river Yamuna in the state of Himachal Pradesh.

It was here that the tenth guru, having been forced out of Anandpur by the Mughals, settled for some three years and patronized Sikh art and literature.

On the way back to Chandigarh, the car I was riding in had some excitement as a passing motorist scraped along the right side, tearing off the driver’s mirror and denting in the front panel. Were it not for the quick reaction of our driver, sliding to a stop and turning to the left, the oncoming driver would have clipped the front-right side of our car and either spun us off the road or worse.