I am being lazy. Again. I have a post half-done, which I will finish by the end of this month, but its been 15 days into the New Year and I didn’t want this blog to be slumming around in the year gone past.

So, I thought, why not take the lazy way out? Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, Sindian Tadka’s top-five most popular (judged on basis of number of visitors) posts in the year gone by! Without counting the home page (obviously). Some of you may have read all of them, some of you may not wish to, and for the others, come in, have a look!

In descending order,

5. May I, Ma’am? – Part one of my three-part ‘Letters to Penney’ series. I so thoroughly enjoyed doing this, although nowhere near what I would enjoy doing Penney. Nostalgia’s a bitch. (January 2011)

4. Cock-A-Hoop – You want to know what the actual average length of an Indian penis is? Go see. This post was even shared on Facebook by somebody. Want to tell me who? (March 2011)

3. No Nudity Wasted – The finale of the Penney series. The Ranee posted a reply to it, which is as high a compliment as I had hoped to get. (February 2011)

2. Of Booblessness – My rapidly-cooling rant against the trend of Bollywood Boobs getting smaller, a sentiment shared by a lot of people, as I would come to know. (September 2011)

1. Twenty Opposites – My love for the world to see. One sinful afternoon with @mentalexotica. Really, what else could compare? (July 2011)

And there you have it, my most popular posts of 2011. I have wisely decided not to reveal the actual numbers so you don’t end up on the floor, laughing your guts out.

Permit a man his indulgences, yes?

May your year give you cause for satisfaction at the end of it.

I was nearly asleep when the BlackBerry vibrated in my palm. I awoke with a snort and I could hear the gentle derisive giggling of my colleague Rajesh next to me. Of course, only he could have stayed awake through a 138-slide post-lunch ‘strategy’ presentation, the bastard. I looked around and found far more comforting and knowing glances. Amit pointed out our sales manager Prashant in the third row, who was fast asleep and whose breathing could pretty soon be classified as snoring. I smiled at him. I didn’t get it; wasn’t our CEO, till a couple of years ago, one of us in the audience? Do they forget all that up there once they’re on the stage? I hoped I’d gotten some sleep, but as I stared at my watch disbelievingly, I discovered to my horror that we were only 25 minutes into the presentation. Even assuming a paltry minute per slide, I had a long, long way to go…

It took me a minute to remember what had gotten me out of my slumber in the first place. Took out my BB from its holster (the best thing about a BB, if you ask me, and that’s saying something) to see I had a BBM from Rihaa. This was intriguing, for mid-afternoon wasn’t the time she usually pinged.

‘You there?’, it said.

I sat upright in my seat. Sleep, suddenly, was the farthest thing from my mind. BBMs from Rihaa were few and far between and every single time had led to stuff far, far more interesting.

‘Yeah, how’re you?’, I replied.

‘I’m bored, just had a bath and naked on my bed. Care to join?’

For a second, I stared at the screen like an idiot before the smile spread on my face. I knew what Rihaa had in mind, I just did. She had an incredible sex drive, which is how we’d gotten into each other in the first place. The woman was unbelievable.

I glanced up at the boss and then around the room and then almost felt bad for the guy. The entire room was either sleeping or playing angry birds or drooling with jackassed faux-concentration (Rajesh). Surely, the guy deserved better. Just not now, and definitely not from me.  Keeping hot, sex-crazed, naked, wet (in more ways than one) women waiting was something I never, ever did. Sorry Boss, maybe next time.

‘Of course I’ll join.’, I texted back, ‘What are you wearing?’

(Yeah, it was lame. I don’t usually sext. So sue me.)

‘LOL. Just out of my bath, lying on my bed. What do you think?’

‘That white fluffy bathrobe of yours? I love that one.’

“Uh-huh, only its open.’

‘I see you now, on your bed. Right in the middle of it. Open bathrobe, an inviting look. Wow, you look sexy you know, with your wet hair, and flushing pink breasts.’ (This was nice. And I was getting hard. I hadn’t thought sexting would be all that great, but whaddaya know? It was working.)

‘I see you too. In this bed, along with me. On top of me. You’ve got that wild look in your eyes.’

‘Its you, you know that. You always make me horny. I can’t even bear to stand in the same room as you.’ (That was true. We’d both been at a party one time and I spent the evening maniacally running away from her.)

‘Don’t tease. I’m wet enough as it is.’

‘You know its true. Are you touching yourself?’

‘Do you want me to?’

I think this was the point where I started drooling. I was hard, erect and with nowhere to go. I couldn’t possibly leave the room in the middle of the presentation, then again, neither could I leave with a big boner sticking out of my pants. I had an hour alone, in public, with Rihaa.

‘Of course, but I have some work to do there before you start on it.’

‘Go on…’

‘I want to slide my hands under your soft, creamy butt, lift your hips up to mouth and…’

‘And?’

‘And have my favorite meal of the day.’

‘Don’t stop. I want to pull your head ever so deep.’

‘I smell you all around me. Musk and wet pussy. I feel your thighs tighten around my head as I begin.’

‘Please let me feel your tongue.’

‘I lick the lips of your pussy, running my tongue along the edges.’

‘MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm’

(I think she’s disregarded my request to not begin playing with her pussy at this point, but I digress.)

‘I’m making my way upwards, towards where I know your clit hides, using my tongue to get it out of its shell.’

‘oh fuck me’

‘So soon? No way. My tongue inside your pussy, my mouth against your vagina, your clit and you cant even move from your bed. My head between your thighs, my hands under your buttocks, licking away furiously, all your wetness inside my mouth and you can’t move.’

‘Oh fuck it, come up and kiss me so I can taste my pussy on you…”

‘Uh-huh. I’m going to start on your lips and move down your neck… Licking all the way to your breasts.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop now. I want you in me, you ass…’

‘I think you can touch yourself now.’

‘hahahaha, what makes you think I’m not already?’

(I was right, you see.)

‘My cock can feel the wetness of your pussy, and I’m not even close to inside you…’

‘Go on, fuck me now…’

‘Roll over now. You know I like that.’

‘Oh baby, just fuck my wet pussy.’

‘I want to stand behind you, guiding my cock, into your wet throbbing pussy.’ ‘Wow, its flooded in here.’ ‘So wet I can hardly feel my cock, pounding your pussy as I grab you by the waist, feel your butt on my thigh, as I move in and out.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop…’

‘I can hear the sounds of my cock moving in and out, hard cock against wet pussy, I grab your hair and pull you back.’

‘Fuck me.’ ‘Baby I’m ready to explode.’

‘I’m deep inside you, I don’t think I’ve gone in so much before.’ I don’t think I can last much longer baby…’ ‘You’re so good babe…’

<short break>

‘Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…..’

‘Ahh…’

‘Wow.’ ‘Thanks.’

‘Any time.’

‘What are you upto anyway?’

‘In a meeting. I frankly have no idea why.’

‘You’re a doll. I owe you one.’

‘Heh. Of course you do. I plan to collect soon too.’

‘Oh, is it? And how soon?’

‘Soon.’

‘I think I’ll go freshen up once again. I’m wet and sticky all over.’

‘Yeah, you do that. I think we’re coming to a close here as well. I’m going to need some time to cool down before I can get up from my chair.’

‘Love’

‘Bye.’

I looked up. Nothing had really changed in the 40-45 mins. I suspect Boss had skipped over some slides when he understood he pretty much had an audience of one. Prashant was actually snoring, God bless his pretty soul. I smiled at the boss and he ruefully smiled back. Brownie points to me for not falling asleep, I guess.We concluded soon after.

‘Hey bastard, first time I see you didn’t actually sleep in a presentation.’, Rajesh’s unique brand of complimenting was out in full force, I saw.

‘Yeah, because I was fucking your wife in my daydreams madarchod.’, I replied. I wasn’t kidding around, I needed to get to a restroom and jack off, quick.

‘Yeah, like you have a chance with her, bhe…..’. I didn’t quite get that because I slammed the restroom door on his face, but I think I know what he was getting at.

I got out five minutes later to see him strolling around the corridor, talking on the phone. I was just about to go upto him and shout obscenities into his phone (juvenile, I know, but I swear to God the fucker brings it out in me), when he turned around and saw me. He put his finger on his lips and silently mouthed, “On the phone with Rihaa…”. His wife.

Moron.

When you’re having sex with another person, in 9/10, or maybe 99/100 cases, you are obligated to bring the other person to orgasm. More so, if its a casual fling or a one-night stand or a fuck-buddy. There is no other relationship between you besides the sex, go you are honor-bound to perform to the best of your abilities every time. With a steady partner, you always have the option of taking a rain-check, with the understanding that (a) you cannot complain when the same is done to you at a later point of time and (b) you have to return the favor (with interest, if you want to be all sweet about it) the next time. No two consecutive passes.

However, if you’re heterosexual and having sex with a female, you’ll know that getting them to orgasm on a regular basis is tough, which is somehow surprising, given the ability of women to achieve multiple orgasms. (I don’t know if this is an implicit confession of my personal ineptitude in bed and if it is, I must get better soon) While with men, you know that the grind is going to do it for them sooner or later, women are quite complex in bed. They have to be primed right, foreplay is paramount and you have to time yourself to make sure there is some synchronicity between your orgasm and hers. Coming together is a wonderful, wonderful experience. Try for it, don’t make it your aim. All this, when frankly, these things are the farthest from your mind. Which is why you have to practice and imbibe in yourself the pleasure of giving. Whenever you’re with a woman, make it your goal that she will not leave your bed without an orgasm. Learn to fuck better, learn to lick better, learn to suck better, to kiss better, hell, even to finger better (believe me, the last one will help you out, as much, if not more times than the others will). And these things only come through practice. Every time you fuck, let it be a learning experience. Remember the cues she gives and use them the next time. Use your imagination, use your strength, use your stamina. Learn, learn, learn. Learn to nudge, to push, to take the sexual experience to roads not taken before. Figure out your comfort positions. Figure out your orgasm positions. Experiment, experiment, experiment. Take your time learning. You’re not going to master it all the first time. If you DO get it right the first time, it was a fluke and it might not work the next time. This bit is important. It might not work the next time, but you can be darned sure that it will some other time. Keep it at the back of your mind. Encourage each other to communicate. The body gives its own cues, learn to recognize. Do things you’re not entirely comfortable thinking about. Try everything at least once, preferably twice. Learn to say no. Learn to hear no. Learn to go on after you’re done. Learn to go on till she is.

I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time (ever since I read this, actually) and it somehow appeared today. There’s probably more that I will add to this topic, over time. But let the crux get out there.

In connection with this, I’ve also created a small poll that I hope you’ll take time out to answer. Its anonymous of course, but as ever, I’d love to hear from you. For all my gay and lesbian friends out there, I couldn’t figure out a way to get you in on this poll, so do let me hear on that as well.

Take Our Poll

Everyone deserves a good orgasm. Even you.

P.S.: Oh, and men? If you think a woman is faking an orgasm after sex, see her post-orgasm reaction. If she’s still sprightly and seems energetic and ready (in any manner), she was mostly faking it. If she’s tired and spent out of her mind (and sore as hell), well, congratulations, you done good. (Although I must tell you that this is anecdotal, from stuff I’ve heard or discussed, but I’d love your feedback on this.)

2. Gifted my copy of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” to a niece cousin without having read it. I hope she makes good use of it, at least better than I did. I will treasure reading it once I get it back. I see lots of potential; she reads, writes, is a hardcore manga fan and even as I publish, must be on her way back from the Metallica concert.

3.  About my tumblr. Its not just lifting from here and there. Each pic goes through 4-5 “filters” before it comes up there. As I think about it now, why do I do all that again?

I was angered. Angry. Not apoplectic, but that flash of anger when simmering disappointments are united by a singular event. The sort of anger that erupts and then lays down over that layer of disappointment and mates to form a bastardized blog post that will change absolutely nothing.

What’s the problem you ask? Lok at the fucking actress. That’s Genelia “Ex-Boobilicious” D’Souza, hereafter referred to as G’EB’D, whose movie “Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na” made a lasting impact on me in that I realized that Amisha Patel, if she’d been thinner could have been far more awesome than she is. Or was. I digress. I loved her in that movie, her boobs, her cute chubbiness (applies to Amisha, Ex-Genelia and The Takia), and the fact that she wasn’t stick-fucking-thin.

And now? She’s reed thin, her arms seem thinner than mine, her face homogenized so much that I had trouble differentiating her from Shenaz Treasurywala (not a compliment, believe me)  and more fuckin’ importantly, WHERE DID HER FUCKING BOOBS GO? I groaned. I actually groaned. Yet another one lost to the myth of flat abs and toned bodies. She’d slimmed down considerably and for WHAT? She’s down half-a-bra size for sure. Maybe she isn’t. Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe I’m exaggerating. I don’t fucking care.

I have so many issues with this.

G’EB’D had a great figure. GREAT. She was FRESH. Beautiful woman walking on the street looking fucking hot figure. Her thighs were just right, her curls/bangs/hair was fuckin’ A, she had a killer smile and an ass with potential. And BOOBS. Fucking grade-A boobs. Non-model boobs served up on a generous platter of skin. And some mother-fucker in a gym in Lokhandwala or an agent who couldn’t climb a flight of stairs to fuck Irina if she was asking for it, probably tells her, “Baby, aaj kal full fitness ka style hai. Apne ko flat stomach aur lean look rakhneka. Kya hai na, aaj kal ye sab toned bodies ka style chalrela hai na, toh apun kahe ko peeche rehneka?”

Bhenchod rehne ka. Ayesha Takia ko dekha Wanted mein? She looked like an overgrown blue whale but it didn’t fucking matter because she has, had and probably will always have the BOOBS.

Or maybe the film ‘asked’ for this kind of look. Don’t make me puke. Or maybe she decided she wanted to go this way. Now you’re just making me sad.

Let’s face it, you’re not much of an actor. Or actress. Why would you actively try to reduce what is effectively one of the few assets you have? And (this is important) you were beautiful enough as it is. Why, why, why the weight loss?

I am against this standardization of looks. Who to blame? Kareena Kapoor for her size-zero obsession? She was probably one of the few heroines in BWood who looked better with her clothes on than without. I suspect ‘Hungama’ ‘Hulchul’ had something to do with her weight obsession. Anyone with half-a-functioning eye could have seen how uncomfortably fat she’d gotten.

Or Katrina? She was always on the chubbier side. How did it fucking matter? Then she went all Sheela ki Jawani on us. Fuck, bitches please. Realize Malaika is one of a kind. Don’t go around imitating her for chrissakes. The new generation of starts are effectively out Malaika-ing Malaika. Damn you Chaiyya Chaiyya.

Coming back to G’EB’D, that GAP t-shirt. Do you realize how much you would have rocked the scene if you know, you only had your original set of boobs?

[John, WTF is up with those girls doing Bharatnatyam in the background? Seriously, WTF?]

Which leads me to the sex scene. Or song. Whatever, I don’t care.

First, you looked nervous enough ON SCREEN to lead me to believe that the scene entails you losing your virginity in the shower. Bad move, director, bad move. First standard mein you give baccha 12th ka paper toh she will fucking pass or what?

Second, the bed scene. I don’t blame you. Its the template on which every fucking mainstream Bwood sex scene is built. Lay the girl down gently. Kiss, real or implied. Some ‘deep’ staring into the eyes. A bit of foreplay (mostly neck, stomach if Hashmi is involved). Penetration (always implied). Want to really rock the boat? Show the girl on top (for a bit, sometimes for the climax). Hey assholes, heard of oral sex? Or fuck it, even SEX?

[In this context, I MUST MUST MUST recommend the oral sex scene from Chhatrak. Paoli Dam, I doff my hat to you. My penis sends its regards too.]

I am ranting. I usually don’t. In fact, I’ve considerably calmed since I started writing.

Guess the South Indian in me really rears up sometimes eh?

Sigh. Et tu, Genelia?

Filed under: Beautiful Women, Not Sex Tagged: Amisha Patel, Ass, Ayesha Takia, Boobs, Genelia, Genelia D'Souza, Hottie, India, Kareena Kapoor, Katrina Kaif, Malaika Arora, Quickie, Thighs ]]> http://sindiantadka.wordpress.com/2011/09/28/of-booblessness/feed/ 15 sindiantadka Whereth the boobs? http://sindiantadka.wordpress.com/2011/09/23/hard/ http://sindiantadka.wordpress.com/2011/09/23/hard/#comments Fri, 23 Sep 2011 18:25:56 +0000 sindiantadka http://sindiantadka.wordpress.com/?p=514 ]]> I try to write at least one post a month. On the other hand, I waste a lot of time every day. Only one of those is assured.

This weekend is completely fucked and so was the last one. I am putting this up because I don’t want September 2011 to be a blank.

I have ideas too, that’s the worst part. One slightly serious, one story idea and one fanfic. My ability to not rectify my own shortcomings irritates the absolute fuck out of me. I’m scared of ending up an absolute failure when I die and disgusted at my unwillingness to change.

A lazy, useless dumbfuck., that is increasingly what I am becoming.

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Love till her waistline

Did you plan this, she asked.
No, but in all honesty,
I have always wanted it,
He said.

Did you like it, she tensed.
Did you ever feel
Like I did not,
He smiled.

What, then, did you like,
She demanded.
He did not answer
That one.

Turning her over, instead
Gently, he ran his smooth touch
One like she had never dreamt
Or felt before;
The back of his fingers
Fanning over her back,
Like a peacock feather
Back again,
To her waistline.

What was his touch made of?
Silk, ambrosia,
The tautness of his guitar’s strings,
The blessings of angels,
Or the ironic contrast
Of his own hard workouts?

Whatever it was,
That exquisite caress
Was tracing, now
That faint line that led
From her hips
To the place
Below her waistline.

They did not make love,
For his was only hers
To ask, but not take,
To feel, but not keep.
For it was long gone;
My mind rules my heart now
Why don’t you see, he said.
And so, his love ended
At her waistline.

Then she reached out
To where her chandelier earrings lay,
Lit up and sparkling
Under the soft drink hued light;
She would never see him again, she knew,
And kissed him, wet and lingering,
A happy birthday.

And thus, their brief love
Ended.
Just, at her waistline.

- Erotic Indian Girl

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Do let her know what you think, both here and on twitter!

- Sin

This is about another Pakistani lady whom I happened to see via my other new love, Coke Studio. Her name is Meesha Shafi, and she’s the most sensual being I’ve seen for some time now, angular face, flaming lips, sapling-like arms, thin waist and all. Naturally, the question arises, Why?

I’m going to ask you to read this, before you go clicking on the link I’ve given below. Its one of my more-liked songs on CS, “Alif Allah” sung by Arif Lohar, accompanied by Meesha. When we see Meesha first, she’s just warming up, singing “ae we allah waaliyaan di jugni ji  (indeed, this is the Godly Ones’ Spirit-being)”, a humming, so to speak with minimal movements of her body, testing the waters of where the song would go. We also see a close-up of her face, eyes shut, immersing herself, getting the grooves right, synchronizing with the instruments, not letting it all out, holding some things back in.

And so on,

“ae we nabi paak di jugni ji (indeed, this is the Holy Prophet’s Spirit-being);

ae we maula ali waali jugni ji (indeed, this is the Spirit-being devoted to Ali, the Friend of God)

ae we mere peer di jugni ji (indeed, this is my Pir’s Spirit-being)

ae we sar-sabaz di jugni ji (indeed, this is the long-living Pir’s Spirit-being)”

All lines repeated twice, and by the end of the chorus, she’s into the song. She’s tested the waters, found it cold enough for her liking and now she’s wading in. The shoulders start rocking, back and forth and sideways, and the movements proceed to her legs, which don’t move but instead transmit it back to her shoulders which rock even more. All this, almost imperceptibly, through her waist and her bosom which is hidden and yet not. I’d wager she knows belly dancing. Or has studied it for a part somewhere, but she knows the basics. The trick in the movements of the waist lies in the legs, and in not moving them, which she executes to perfection here.

Moving on, at “dum gutkoon”, when the camera moves in for a close-up of her face, blood flows, and you know where. I am sure she never intended it to be a blowjob-face, but there’s nothing else I can think of for those few precious seconds.

The song is moving along nicely now, both singers have gotten into the groove completely and along with the orchestra, are making wonderful music. For the next couple of minutes, its a wonderful interplay between Arif and Meesha. Meesha moves, sideways and back and forth and with her eyes closed, singing, moving her lips. Now, I’m going to ask you to imagine. Meesha keeps her left hand on the microphone all the time and with her right hand, counts the beats or whatever it is that she does. Imagine the mic to be your cock and her fingers tapping on your balls. For the next few minutes, as she moves ever so closer, and then away and back to the front again, her mouth so tantalizingly close to your dick, it is as perfect an imaginary blowjob that I’d ever like to receive. Also, she never stops moving her body, you see, adding an element of urgency to the act.

At the 4:00 minute mark is one of my favorite parts of the song. Meesha breaks into a dazzling smile at Arif (there’s one more at 6:30), and this part is pivotal. Arif is a jolly good singer, but for me he’s just an add-on. His performance, for me, is like that of the clowns at a circus before the lion-tamer comes in to close the show. Except that here its a lioness and she’s not into the taming bit. Maybe, to put it a tad more generously and accurately, Arif’s the Santa Claus who’s given me the present of Meesha.

Just after that there’s a segment which, if you’re not into the whole blowjob thing yet, leaves you no option but to enter into it. Her actions are so exaggerated, so in your face (or on your cock, if you’d prefer) that its pretty hard for me to see this part without actually, you know, getting hard. But that’s just me, of course. Especially the places where she goes “Koiiii…”. And at 4:39, there’s a cocky smile which makes my heart skip a beat, every single time.

The best thing about the song (and when I say the song, I mean the song as well as Meesha’s performance in it, which for me are two separate yet interconnected things) is how well it flows and similarity to really good sex. Begins slowly, with the foreplay, gets into a good gear where everyone’s having fun and really enjoying it,  some girls looking on wanting to be in the middle of the action, a man who knows his craft, a woman who’s slutty yet sexy (and really flexible), lots of movement, slight changes in tempo for some spice, and to establish a base for the final push ahead, and then the final frantic rush, faster, faster and climax. Phew.

(Psst, go to this link, and see the BTS video of Alif Allah to catch a glimpse of Meesha in the most adorable glasses.)

However, for an unadulterated dose of Meesha’s sensuality,one must look further to the other song that she performed with CS, “Chori Chori”. This one has everything, the grind, the mic-holding (or cock-holding), the exaggerated red lipstick, the crooning voice and an overcast cloud of sexual tension. Enjoy!

One of the best pictures of Meesha I’ve found is this:

The almost-closed eyes, the half-smile, the sense of completion that comes from the pic, everything reminds me of post-coital bliss. Aahh, the joys of a great imagination, I tell you…

I hope you enjoyed listening and watching her as much as I did, in the way that I do. She is a complete sensual experience in herself.

I must end with the oft-asked question: Are there no non-beautiful women in Pakistan?

Give me back my dreams at least / A break from the omnipresence of you.

I miss you even when you’re there / Right in front of me talking, laughing, being.

And I miss you when you’re not / Invisible atoms on a flashy screen.

This shouldn’t be happening to me / I thought I was beyond.

You pulled me back / And now there’s no escape.

The worst part is / I wish to be your slave.