Introducing DHURANDHAR

Lately I’ve started work on a supernatural/occult comic book set in India called DHURANDHAR.

When I initially envisioned the project, I wanted it to have a very typical Indian look and I looked at several artists who were interested in collaborating. I finally decided to pick Siddharth Panwar, a young artist from India who has done some prior work for Raj Comics, who was recommended highly by artist Abhishek Malsuni. Siddharth “got” the character and the setting from the get go and his explorations captured what I wanted to do with this project. I, for one, am really looking forward to seeing how Siddharth shapes the visual aspects of DHURANDHAR further.

As per the story itself, I can’t give away too much of it here (it’s after all at heart a horror story). What I *can* share is that:

  • It takes place in present day India in the “Real world”. Obviously, it’s as close to the real world as possible, given the subject matter
  • Trains play a significant part in it
  • It may or may not have a SMOKE MONSTER 😉

You can find out more about the project and see some concept art/teasers at

DHURANDHAR is a supernatural/occult comic book series (set in present day India) created by Saurav Mohapatra and Siddharth Panwar. Currently work on the first installment “THE MAN WHO RIDES TRAINS”, a 84 page black and white original graphic novel, is underway. [read more… ]

[CRAFT] 22 Pages of Doom – on pacing a comic book issue (a NINE PANEL GRID column)

22 Pages, mark this number down my friend, the bane of every writer who has a monthly gig – the industry standard story page count of a monthly issue of a comic book.

Filling up the said 22 pages is the subject of much head scratching, heartache and frustration – especially when the mind goes blank and the deadline comes a-knocking at the writer’s door.

My first gig was writing a series of one-shots for Virgin Comics called INDIA AUTHENTIC. IA told the myths and legends of the Indian pantheon and since there was no continuity from one story to the next, it was not the hardest thing in the world to write. Sure, given the number of versions of each myth and the fact that I wanted the stories to be a bit more than dry biographies, I put in a significant amount of work into treating the stories as sort of a secret origins kinda gig – every story tried to capture the theme that defines the dramatis personae for the world at large. So once I locked down the story, I’d just sit down and hammer out 22 pages.

Now the very next gig I got was an ongoing monthly – DEVI. Herein, o reader, my troubles began. A monthly comic book title (especially an ongoing one) is like a TV series. Each issue has to be reasonably enjoyable on a stand alone basis (at least that’s how my editor Ron Marz, quite astutely, wished it to be) and also forward the greater arc narrative. We also decided off the bat that we should not be too steeped in continuity to ward off new readers irrespective of the index of the issue they picked up as their first.

Oy Vey! It was very exhausting, but I like to think we (Ron and I) did manage to pull that off in the run we had on DEVI. Right off the bat we were so far behind deadlines (due to factors out of our control – I was moving back stateside after a year long sabbatical in India, Ron was taking over as Editor from Mackenzie Cadenhead etc. etc.). We had a couple of weeks to go from story to pencils and we didn’t have the plot. So during brainstorming session at Ron’s house, I floated the idea of starting off with a collection of three short stories about the main characters in the series – sort of explain their motivations and background. Ron, who taught me a lot during my run on DEVI and SADHU, instantly caught on to the idea and also suggested that we use framing pages at the beginning and end of the issue and in between the stories to sort of provide a narrative. Being a veteran of comic books, he understood the 22 page structure and how to navigate through them. So 3 stories, six pages each and 4 framing splash images. We had our 22 pages. We did some back and forth on the plot of the short stories and needless to say made our deadline.

Later as I started writing full 22 page stories, I had issues (pun not intended) with how much can fit into that. Again here Ron’s experience saved me from a lot of blunders. My first treatment for DEVI #12 had seven scene changes, so on an average every third page the narrative would shift to a different scene. I knew the story I wanted to tell from #12-#15 and was setting up a lot of the stuff here. But going over Ron’s redline I realized that, when read as a standalone issue, it was pretty confusing. So we talked and later came up with sort of a format for telling a 22 page story.

But before I get to that, I must touch upon another mistake most first timers are likely to make. When I submitted the second draft of the treatment, it was too decompressed. Ron’s note said something to the effect – “Now it’s dragging, every single item is getting a visual. The pacing was too much like Manga.” So as in everything else in life, the answer is in the Golden Mean.

So coming back to the format – a safe format for the 22 pages (Your mileage may vary, but this worked for me).

ACT I (Pages 1-4)
First 4 pages are ACT I. I usually either began with a splash or had 2-3 as a two page spread. This was setup. It was something I came back to later in the issue. For an arc beginning, I would use this page for a sequence that would serve as a springboard for the entire plot. For middle issues, this was where the dramatic kaboom sequence would go in to start things off with a bang.

ACT II (Pages 5-16)
ACT II was the next dozen or so pages or so (up to page 16-17). Page 5 cut from the opening action to the thick of the story and for 3-4 pages we set up the first obstacle of the story. So most probably on page 9 or 10 we’ll get the first glimpse of what really will our protagonist(s) be up against (we might’ve hinted at this in ACT I). Then on Page 9/10, I used to cut to something that was a continuation of the opening pages and for the next three pages use that to move the story forward. That takes us to Page #14. Page 15,16,17 then serve as the setup pages which bring the thread started in act I and the sequence that introduced ACT II together and positions everyone and everything for the finale / ACT III. If I planned on ending with a big fight scene, it usually would’ve started by page 15, so that the 16-17 double spread would be used up to show a great widescreen shot.

ACT III (Pages 17-22)
For ACT III, Page 18 and 19 usually were used to show the protagonist bouncing back and kicking some righteous ass. For more story driven issues 20 and 21 introduced / foreshadowed the next issues story and 22 splash was used as a cliffhanger.

It’s a simple structure, but I felt comfortable working with it. It meant I didn’t have to worry about pacing so much, since I knew where my act braks and plot points would be. Of course it is not a rigid formula nor is it a paint by numbers kind of thing. I used this as a rough guide and hope something like this helps you write a better 22 page story.

Till next time.



This is a repost from my “Nine Panel Grid” column at Comics Waiting Room. You can find other Nine Panel Grid columns here

[CRAFT] Get the hell out of the way (a NINE PANEL GRID column)

My first comic book story (one I got paid for) was published sometime around this time of the year in 2006. So that makes it 4 years (yeah, I’m a math whiz 😛 ) “in the biz” for me. It’s been a great ride. Balancing a dayjob (and later parenthood) with writing has been challenging, but very rewarding. I’ve had the good fortune of working with some great people and have come to know (or even make friends with) some creators who were till even a couple of years back hallowed names in the credits pages of books I adore. Yeah, it’s been a good ride.

So today, as I nurse a busted ankle, I felt like writing a blog post about one of the primary lessons I learned through my 4 years of working in comics. Much as a writer’s ego wouldn’t let him/her admit it, Comics are primarily a visual medium. A writer seeds the vision, but the artist executes it. The art is what one sees first and thus great art is a must-have hook for a reader to pick up an “unfamiliar/unknown” comic book in the first place. So the first part of the writer’s contribution – the script, is sort of “invisible”.

The script and the initial panel breakdowns decide the pace of the comic book and set a box around the artist’s execution space. For example, as a novice I had this habit of putting every single visual and transition I could think of on the page. The result was a very panel heavy page that didn’t account for the fact that someone had to draw it (and someone else had to letter it too). Condensed information of this nature is visually off-putting as well as confusing. Visual stimulus is one of the most direct methods of perception in Cognitive Theory followed closely by Sound and Smell. So overloading the visuals, results in a confusing disjoint experience that turns off the reader and sometimes assaults their senses too.

So the key to visual storytelling, in my humble opinion, is simplicity. The one lesson you learn as a writer of comic books is to “Keep It Simple, Stupid” (KISS). A writer must learn intuitively the art of picking “frozen moments in time” from the entire timeline of the unfolding action and give the art some “breathing space”. Trust your artistic collaborator to execute the sequence you’ve chosen and (as the title of the post says) “Get the hell out of the artist’s way”

Once the art is done, the writer’s pawprints show up again in a comic book via the captions and speech balloons. Lettering is often compared to other “invisible arts” like the background score of movies. When done right it enhances the experience, without intruding on to the foreground of perception. Conversely, when screwed up it completely ruins the experience. As a writer, I’ve come to learn the hard way to let the art “speak” rather than go around ham-handedly inserting text to repeat what is already explained in the art. Comics are unique in the fact that all of the different dimensions of storytelling (art, speech, sound effects) occupy the same 2D visual plane and panel real estate is a zero-sum resource. More you use for Captions / Bubbles / SFX, the less you have for art. So sometimes it’s again just better to let the art “breathe” and “get the hell out of the way”.

Of course, I am by no means an expert on sequential storytelling. These are things and practices that have worked for me and your mileage may vary… a lot.

Until next time,


I used to write a column called “Nine Panel Grid” at Comics Waiting Room about my experiences as a writer and things I learned as I moved through the world of comics. I have decided to continue writing those “columns” here at my blog.

“Oh, my god! You’re punching me” – an adventure in comic book writing in India

This is a repost from my “Nine Panel Grid” column at Comics Waiting Room and was written in 2008. So all temporal references relative to the original date of publication.

I did something yesterday that I thought I’ll never do in my life. I told a publisher to basically (and very politely) “shove it”. Of course I ended the mail wishing them luck with their line (and I really, most sincerely do), but all in all this has been a pretty surreal experience for me.

Towards the end of 2008, I was contacted by the publisher to see if I was interested in doing a full length OGN based on Indian mythology. I was just coming off of India Authentic from Virgin Comics (now reborn as Liquid Comics) and the sudden winding down of their comic book line had left me with a few stories I wanted to do (with all the research done and plots ready) with no one to publish them. I thought this was a golden opportunity to do one of those on a bigger canvas so to speak (India Authentic was 22 page one-shots). We had the honeymoon phase where I explained the way I wished to write the particular story, a tale from Mahabharata about a young warrior who knew nothing but war. The editor-in-chief was enthusiastic about it and once my detailed page by page breakdown was approved, we got down to contractual details. I must say of all the Indian comic book publishers (Virgin excluded) I’ve had dealings with so far, they were the most open and prompt in taking care of the paperwork. Let me give credit where it’s due. The contract was standard boiler-plate “I’m signing my firstborn over to you” work-for-hire one (since the character was public domain and not one I created, I accepted it) and we got it off the plate in quick time. We created a schedule and an editor was assigned. The usual pleasantries were exchanged.

Then the first tragedy struck. I fell down the stairs in my home and ended up spraining my wrist. This put us off the schedule by a couple of weeks for the script. I managed to get the script first draft out to them within the revised deadline and moved on, waiting for the redline to arrive.

That is the funniest part. The redline never came. I got one note from the editor saying she was going through the script and then she sent me a mail saying that I should “rework” the script. As the editors who I have had the good fortune of working with in the past will confirm, I don’t mind reworking and even rewriting entire scripts if the editor gives me specific notes, but here there was a general note asking me to rewrite an entire OGN. To top it all, I was sent a script by another writer, saying use this as a reference. So I went through that script and tried to extrapolate what exactly was expected. I kept on asking for specific notes and a redline meanwhile.

There is a whole list of things I had problems with, but here are the top two.

One of the notes said “There is a lot of philosophy!”.

Of course there is. I like to call myself a non-practicing atheist. I view mythology as a rich source of tales, nothing more and nothing less. Writing mythological stories is my way of answering the questions I posed to my mother (a deeply religious lady) as a child. What was this god thinking when this even occurred? Why didn’t incidental character X did action Y when the logical thing would’ve been to do Z? In India Authentic and in the script I submitted, I tried to tell a story from the protagonists viewpoint, not simply retell a legend. The effort was to provide a narrative based on an inner monologue. I’m afraid I can’t get into specifics to protect the identities of those involved.

Some panels don’t have any captions. We need at least 180 words per page” / “The captions don’t mention what’s shown in the pictures

Wow, me not being verbose? My wife laughed heartily upon hearing that (She is always ribbing me about how I never know when to shut up!). Now a comic book is a marriage of words and art. But the age old adage of “Show, don’t tell” still applies.

Which brings us to the title of this article. To draw an analogy , imagine if I were depicting a fist fight between a normally peaceful hero who’s decided he’s had enough. So my script would have a panel of the guy punching the villain and next one would be the villain crashing into the ground ass first. I’d then have a close-up of the villain looking up at our hero and a reverse angle upshot as the hero glares at him. The last panel would be the villain as he collapses deciding he’s had enough. All these would be silent panels ( Maybe a line or two of the inner monologue of the hero if that). The art tells the story and I don’t need to ham handedly spoonfeed the reader. The prior pages have established the hero’s inner conflict and the dastardly villain’s desperate need for come-uppance.

Now in the absence of specific notes, here’s what I gathered I was being asked to provide for such a sequence to the publisher.

Panel 1
Hero punches villain
CAP: And then the mighty hero punched the villain
Hero: I’m punching you, you mangy cur!

Panel 2
Villain crashes down on the ground
CAP: The dastardly villain crashed to the ground
Villain: Oh my god! You punched me! I have fallen to the ground.

And so on and so forth. You get the idea!

Oh yeah! Before I forget, there was an explicit request to use “million dollar words”. The note was to the effect “The captions are worded in a very matter-of-fact/simple way. Please use more intellectual words”.

So I did a lot of soul searching. I come from a decade old professional career where I take immense pride in being …umm… professional. I like to think that I inculcate that in my writing gigs too. But I finally decided to mail the publisher and tell them that I can’t write for them. So far there has been no artist allocation for this and printing schedule has not been decided. So I decided to save both of us a lot of aches/pains further down the road and called it quits. I received an email response saying that the reason a redline was not provided was “to carry out a full edit on the script at this stage would be extremely time consuming and, I think, unnecessary.

Anyway, as things stand right now, I’m intent upon for the first time asking to be let go from a writing gig. Hope I didn’t come off as too bitchy in this post.

Until next time, toodles and take care.


A “Redline” is basically a version of the script with the editor’s note inline with the original draft text. Usually it’s a word doc with “Track Changes” enabled. In the merry old days, editors used to mark corrections with a red pencil and that was the origin of the term.

The Capt. America #1 (Marvel Comics) cover image used in this post doesn’t mean any disrespect to the content/writing of the comic book. It was one of the most iconic punch images I could think of from the golden age. 🙂

K.I.S.S. Me, you fool!

My fingers tap on the typewriter keys – a staccato clattering like a spastic with a tommy gun, in perfect cadence with my stuttering thoughts. There it all is – a symphony made out of the slow start building into a crescendo as I feel clarity and then the pregnant pause as my mind lulls.

Blah Blah Blah!

Well, I could’ve just written, “I’m typing as I think.” Somehow couldn’t resist the temptation for “Purple Prose”. When I started writing comic books, my first break was INDIA AUTHENTIC, a retelling of Indian myths and legends preceded by a foreword from Deepak Chopra (yes, THE Deepak Chopra). Given the subject matter and Deepak’s reputation, my first few issues I veered towards high and haughty sounding words and phrases. The pieces were caption heavy and I tried my best to make sure they sounded lofty.

During that time I had the good fortune of working with Ron Marz (GREEN LANTERN, WITCHBLADE, SAMURAI : HEAVEN & EARTH) and as I’ve mentioned before I learned a lot about the craft. Ron is a great believer in K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple, Stupid!). One of my titles that he edited was THE SADHU, about a British soldier in colonial India in the 19th century who has a spiritual awakening and becomes a mystic warrior. My story took James Jensen, the protagonist beyond the realms of the physical on a journey that eventually ended within himself. I used James as the narrator of the series and my first draft carried on the style of my first few INDIA AUTHENTIC books and I thought myself to be the Cat’s Pajamas.

But after a few discussions with Ron on the first draft, I realized that I was actually making a title that was kind of alien to the American reader in the first place, further obtuse by my purple prose. Obscurity is often mistaken as profundity in this world of ours, and frequently dropping words like Karma, Dharma, Cosmic Synergy does not equate a tale well told.

Less is always more. A comic book in particular has the assist of the visual storytelling of the artist, so the writer can counterpoint that by using simpler language that don’t cause the reader pause breaking his suspension of disbelief. Simple doesn’t equate to flat storytelling. Hemingway wrote magnificent works of literature and perhaps the best display of dialogue based narrative. He rarely used the so-called Million Dollar Words. His language was simple, accessible and had a cadence of its own. Elmer Leonard’s novels and the narrative techniques he uses are based on simple building blocks, yet he crafts a masterful body of work from those ingredients.

In comic books, perhaps the best example of simple language creating an unforgettable mental image is the opening of ALL STAR SUPERMAN by Grant Morrison (DC). We’ve been told the origin of Superman so many times in different media, but Morrison is downright majestic in the way he uses four simple phrases to sum up eight plus decades of mythos. (picture below)

“Doomed planet. Desperate Scientists. Last Hope. Kindly Couple.”

Try and beat that!

Till we meet again,



Elmore Leonard’s 10 Rules of Writing – aka Easy on the Adverbs, Exclamation Points and Especially Hooptedoodle

Repost from my previous Nine Panel Grid column at Comics Waiting Room.

Comics in real life

Ever since I was a wee one sneaking a torchlight and a comic book under a blanket way past bedtime, I’ve grown use to the rant “Comics are for kids”. When I came over to the USA, I encountered the flip side of the coin – “Comics are an ivory tower meant only to be enjoyed by connoisseurs”. As is wont with me, I think both statements are oversimplifications issued with down right condescending snootiness.

Comics are a way of life, a part of life and they are everywhere. When Google launched its Chrome browser, guess what they did to get the point across – they commissioned the grand young “old man” of comics, Scott McCloud to make a comic book about it. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, a picture with speech balloons is worth a million in my book.

Remember those safety posters in schools? At least for me the most effective were the ones which were drawn like comic books. They spoke to me, made me think twice about stuff which I’d have dismissed as too S-Q-U-A-R-E. Human beings respond best to visual stimuli. A picture in itself, though potent, is just a moment frozen in time. A moving picture is too close an approximation of life and provides too much distraction to our other senses. A moving picture without sound is downright creepy, like a weird French mime. A comic book is the golden mean. Pictures with words, the bowl of porridge that is neither too hot nor too cold, the answer to the age old riddle of how to get the most across while saying/doing the least.

Most of us don’t even realize that we read comics frequently. Everytime you board an airplane and the “hawt” stewardess with ample bosoms in the skimpy skirt refers you to the safety brochure, guess what – you’re reading a comic book, albeit the most drab kind. The safety brochure is written with a specific end in mind, not entertain but to disseminate (ewww, I feel dirty writing that word) information. And it does its job admirably well.

So next time please try not to either sound dismissive or too snooty about comic books. They are a literary form and like any other they have varying degrees of accessibility for different people. Some don’t get it, some do and some spend entire lifetimes wondering if Batman is gay (He isn’t, not that there is anything wrong with it).

On a separate note, I hate mimes. I wish they’d just hold speech/thought balloons and get it over with.

Till next time.



This is a repost from my past column in Nine Panel Grid at Comics Waiting Room.

Motivation :)

My favorite internet troll made another appearance today. The asinine comments are already in the spam/trash box, but suffice it to say they were again riddled with obscenities and geographical irregularities (perhaps stemming from the lack of knowledge of Indian geography). At times like this it is very important to know where one’s motivation comes from. Mine comes from this

Motivation for writing
[ Image courtsey]

..and of course trolls! 😀

Oh My God I'm So Afraid

[This is a repost from my old sulekha blog. a chance conversation with someone today, reminded me of this]

‘Twas winter and  snow fell from the heavens like only new england snow can fall. I mean three foot snowbanks and it was only  late Novemeber. Axel Rose you sure did not leave in Massachussets. It don’t rain in Novemeber here.. it snows.

I flipped through the channels and found assorted collection of evangelists proclaiming that the day was at hand for the final judgement and it moved me. I thought since the whole of creation is to end soon in trumpets and fanfare, I must do the one thing I have not done yet.  I decided to bite the bullet and dwindle my certainly not sizeable bank balance by plonking down $5.38 plus tax for a pay per view p0rn movie.

I don’t remember the name of the movie, only its subject. It was described on the blurb as “an erotic thriller featuring the quest of an investigative journalist who wades through corrupt cops, vile gangsters and her own sexuality to locate her kidnapped sister“. That perked up my interest and much more. I sure as hell was not going out to shovel the white stuff soon enough after a heavy meal of mac and cheese. So I settled down with my comforter and chin rag after making sure my roomies were fast asleep upstairs.

The movie began with an assorted montage of things to come, the intrepid heroine, the chivalorous hero, the lecherous villain, the sultry vamp and sundry farm animals in various states of sexual congress accompanied by the best elevator muzak that the yamaha synthesizer can offer. After the names of various thespian and technical luminaries involved in this cinematic masterpiece in various capacities and positions (pun not intended) had flashed through the screen (Of the names most of which seemed to have surnames either derived from or directly referencing gential organs and acts of depravity, one name I do remember is “Hung Lo” which I instantly identified as the vile Asian American henchman of the villain of the piece), we cut straight to the obligatory twenty second story segment.

The movie opened like any other self respecting direct to video VHS gem with a scene of our intrepid heroine hard at work at a nameless news paper office typing away furiously on a computer hard at work at what most suspiciously seemed like the BIOS settings screen. She was hindered time and again having to reach around her massive hi tech sillicon enhanced mamrary glands to operate the keyboard. She was dressed tastefully in a tweed short skirt and a tight white office shirt which seemed shrink wrapped onto her. She looks the epitome of the successful news woman of today, radiating an IQ several points above her cup size. (My first guess was around 50, but then I had just watched Forrest Gump the other day so i upgraded the estimate to 60). Her blonde hair (suspiciously looking like a text book case of “Blonde in a Bottle” gone mad) lends her an official air, even in spite of the fact that the discerning viewer could spot more roots in it than the entire season of the television grand event adapted from Alex Hailey’s masterpiece.

Suddenly the elevator music interrupts her thoughts and she picks up a pencil from the desk.She bites into it softly with the subtelty of a teething mink in heat and stares dreamy eyed into the distance. And the screen star wipes and we are obliged with a ten minute segment of her previous escapade with an unnamed (as yet) African American male of generous endowments south of the equator.

I was intrigued. How is the director going to move the plot along when the pair seems so content and satisfied and making small talk about the future.In the meanwhile he gives her a tape asking her to keep it safe and dons his starched police uniform and departs. His final words are “This tape shall put Big Dick away for ten to life.”

Our heroine smiles the wily smile of the seductress who has achieved her goal. She has obtained the story of the century simply by lying on her back.

I could not but shout out “Bravo! What cinematic greatness! What richness of story telling!!!”

As if on cue! The phone rings. Trrrrrrrrrrring Trrrrrrrrrring. Flashback ends and our heroine is pulled back into the real world. I was at the edge of my seat with tension. Who could it be? What awaits our protagonist beyond the wires that lead from this mechnical contraption? How could this lead to further erotic confrontation?

“Hello! Olivia R. Gasm speaking! News Desk, LA Times!”

The voice at the other end was seething with venom! With unbridled furiousness it hissed.

“Drop it lady! If you know what’s good for you, you shall stay away from snoopin’ into Big Dick’s affairs! The Boss don’t like nosy dames pokin’ their powdered noses into his affairs.”

“What! Who is this! How dare you! Tell Big Dick! O.R Gasm is not afraid of his threats!”

“Oh! You should be! If not for your sake then for your sister.”


The pencil falls from her hands…

The tension is writ thickly on her acquiline nose. No doubt the product of expensive plastic surgery by the best the Mayo Clinic in Beverly Hills has to offer. She is afraid. I almost could spot the fear entrenched so deeply i her vacant eyes proclaiming the last shootingbreak and a generous snort of cocaine derivatives.

Enter our hero from stage left. I did not catch his name in the title sequence, but judging from the caucasian features he can not be “Hung Lo” in name but he would most certainly have done justice to the name.

He comes and on cue comforts our heroine. The comforting leads to a sesual shoulder massages and our female protagonist gets the same dreamy eyed look she had fifteen minutes ago.

Then she utters the magic phrase which is the title of this post.

Wiht utmost sincerity of a damsel in distress borrowed from some ancient conanesque epic she blurts out, “Oh My God! I am so afraid!”

I did not catch the subtle maneouvering of the plot or the exact sequence of cinematic twists but withhin five seconds the couple were joined in sexual congress utilizing the space in that cramped office to the maximum to enact at least thirty five of the most difficult positions from the Kama Sutra and beyond. It ended with a grand finale of the oral sort.

The movie switched to a Tarantino mode for ten minutes after that. The action was fast and brutal with scene after scene depicting our heroine finding her sister kidnapped, working the streets (no no, not in that sense,.. like a reporter) in the company of our fearless hero pressing for clues about the whereabouts of her abducted sibling.

We cut in a manner befitting a Truffaurt or a Kurosawa to the villain’s den (to my untrained eye it looked vaguel reminiscent of Ms. Gasm’s office at the LA Times, but the computer was now showing the Windows 95 flying tubes screensaver)

The villain the eponymous Richard “Big Dick” Pornetti issneering at the predicament of Miss Valerie Gasm , younger sibling of our intrepid reporter but no less voluptous even in her state of utter distress. She suffers from the same enormity of the chest, the vacant eyes which must have been passed from mother to daughter as a tradition in the Gasm family….Only telling point was that to bring diveristy and richness of content the script has depicted that the younger Miss Gasm be  brunette.

He gives his most menacing leer and tells her of the dire fate that awaits her if her sister does not cooperate. With this he leaves leaving his vamp to attend to their captive. Valerie bursts into tears and this melts the heart of the raven haired vamp with distinct east asiatic features. Against her will, in a poignant  moment of solidarity of the vivacious feminine, she is drawn to this brunnete in distress and puts hand on her quivering shoulders.

I let go of a couple of sniffles at this display of affection and the change of heart brought about in the most stoic of sidekicks.

It is then that the captive (who has not been able to resist the famed “Stockholm Syndrome”) utters the “Open Sesame” phrase of the movie.

With all earnestness she looks deep into the eyes of her captor and says, “Oh! My God! I am so afraid!”

Aha! We cut to fifteen more minutes of some of the best interracial girl on girl action I have ever seen, in terms of camera angles and  cinematic techniques i mean.

By this time I was so engrossed in the movie that time had become subjective for me. I had not noticed the snowfall stop outside or my roomies waking up upstairs. I kept on watching the masterpiece. I heard character after character be trapped in scenes of seeming no escape only to blurt out “Oh My God! I am so afraid!!!” followed by ten fifteen minutes of scenes of virtouso erotic film making .

The movie ended in a grand finale of a group sex scene with what seemed like half the cast screaming out “Oh My God I am so afraid” to be comforted in the most sensuous of manners by the other half irrespective of gender, race or anatomical proprtions.

I was moved by this cinematic masterpiece. I was weeping tears of joy for having witnessed the best that the LA porn industry could offer.

Suddenly i felt a pain in my chest. Oh! No! was it to be the end! I panicked!

I wanted to be comforted! I wanted to be held close and told that there was no need to be afraid.

I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, “Oh! My God! I am so afraid!” in fact i think for a moment I did and was instantly rewarded by the Gasm sisters smiling their most come hither smiles at me. They moved in closer and I closed my eyes awaiting 15 minutes of heaven. Suddenly they poked me in the chest.. again and again…

“Dude! Dude! Wake up!!!It has stopped snowing!”

I opened my eyes! My world had crashed! The sensuous sisters had morphed intomy gruff roomies!

“We got to shovel the sidewalk before the landlord gets home! c’mon change into something warm!”

I sighed and looked at the television to be greeted by the blackness that greets one after a pay per view show has ended. A formless shapeless darkness that bespoke of my lament. How much of the movie had a I dreamt myself and how much of it was actual!

I did not care! The cinematic masterpiece I had just witnessed stayed with me forever. Whenever I hear someone utter the magic phrase “Oh My God ! I am so afraid!” I look around and await the coming of the lovely Gasm sisters.

I do not regret that I missed the screen appearance of the mighty “Hung Lo” or the bit with the farm animals!!! I do not regret that the tax on the movie turned out to be twice the 5.38 announced on the blurb… Neither do I regret that I can not ever utter the word “Oh My God! I am so afraid!” even in the direst of circumstances without getting majorly aroused..

My only regret in all this! I never bothered to remember the name of the movie !!! 🙁

Otters, Poits and Eaters of Ed

In the Land of Lit, once there was nothingness. Nothingness begat a ton of water and things stayed wet and watery for a while. Quite some time passed before the water gave birth to something called “life” which was this teensy weensy little speck. Life was horny like hell. Soon there were more. They grew bigger and called themselves “pishies”.


After sometime the “pishies” got tired of the water and some of them came out to the land to make out. Some “pishies” liked it so much they never went back to the water and rolled in the mud everyday. They were called “riptyles”. The “riptyles” got bigger and some of them felt cold. They grew “phithers” and huge big freakin’ tits. They were called the “momals” in the great ancient tongue of pishi-riptyles which roughly meant “Nice Hooters”.


The “riptyles” loved the taste of a nice hooter or two and soon they started eating the “momals”. They were just so damn tasty and there were so many of them. Some “momals” apart from the nice rack had better “phithers” and could fly. They were called the “byrds”, some just licked their genitalia day in and day out and were called “kyats”. Yet another group of “momals”, saw the “kyats” licking their balls and thought there must be some significance to it and started licking their own. They were called “dawgs”. Some of them sought refuge in the trees and swung till their scrotums extended and hands became as long as … well became very long. They were called the “primatas”. Some “primatas” (ones with the nicer boobs anyway) came back down on the ground and shed all their “phithers”. They still kept some of the “phithers” on their faces and in their armpits along with several other places, but mostly the lack of “phithers” somehow allowed them to “talk”. They were called the “talkies”, but they preferred the term “oomans” (this term seems to have ambiguous etymology. Experts argue that it could either mean “born of an egg” or “great rack”)


Anyhoo, the “riptyles” viewed the infinite variety of the “momals” as an endless buffet line. The “momals” being slightly more intelligent and being more endowed with what they referred to as “cool” (which initially meant “Nice Nice Hooters” but the meaning kinda got lost down the way.), discovered this concept called “God” (which has meant different things through out “momalian” history but mostly variants of “The Great and Almighty Boob that sees everything and jiggles crazily when it does” and “Holy Celestial Cleavage”). They prayed to the “God” thingie to deliver them from the “riptyles” and he sent a biggest darn rock with fire and brimstone to take care of the bigger “riptyles”. (That is the only incident on record in the whole of history, which remotely points to the existence of the “God” thingie).


With the “riptyles” out of the way, the “momals” especially the “oomans” flourished. They made out like crazy and admired each others hooters and finally decided that it was time for something called “cyvalizishon”. Soon as they were “cyvalized”, it was decreed that naked breasts were not cool any more and they started wearing clothes. Some even thought the discovery of the apple had something to do with it. Now some of the overzealous “oomans” who felt left out of the initial bare breasted part of history, decided to create their own fantasy world in which there were boobs galore. They secretly indulged in something they called the “wry-thingie”. By an evolutionary coincidence they were all called “Ed”. They even invented their own “God” like thingie called “Ott”. So other people called them those gosh-darned “Otters”. Now some “Otters” did not like to be associated with others, so they renamed “Ott” to “Poi” and preferred to be called “Poits”. They called their version of the “wry-thingie” as “Poims”. Now do not get this wrong, some “Otters” were “Poits” and some “Poits” were “Otters” too. They had a lot in common. They all did their version of the “wry-thingie” and they were still all called “Ed”. But they preferred their own labels.


There were other people who liked to “read” whatever “wry-thingie” the “Otters” or the “Poits” produced. By this time the hallowed ancient phisie-riptyllian tongue had run out of words and synonyms of “Nice Boob” and its variants (most things had already been named by then). So these people who “read” were called “readers”. Now as the “readers” “read” the “wry-thingie”, they too started enjoying the long gone days of bare breasted glory. The “oomans” who ran things got worried. As people spent their time thinking about boobs, no work ever got done in Lit.


So they created a race of monsters. Now these monsters were big and scary and had horrible teeth. They were asked to defile and devour anyone named “Ed”. They were called the “Ed-eaters”. (See earlier reference as to the ancient tongue running out of words).


For a time, “wry-thingie” suffered a great setback as the “Ed-eaters” frequently ate any one named “Ed” who came in their way. Soon there were not many “Otters” or “Poits” left, so one of the “Otters” a guy named Ed of course, called a council with the “Ed-eaters”.


They talked long and hard for many hours. Finally Ed convinced the “Ed-Eaters” to form a system. “Ed-eaters” would stop their wanton carnage and in return the “Otters” would send them a letter explaining whatever “wry-thingie” they had done. This was called a “query” and the since all Otters were called “Ed” they would send a Self Addressed Stamped Envelope with their full name and address, so that the “Ed-Eaters” would not have any trouble finding them. The “Ed-eaters” would then view the “Wry-thingie” and only come back and eat the Ed who sent the query if it was very very bad.


Later another layer was introduced in this system as there were just too many “Otters” sending “queries” to the “Ed-eaters”. Some “Ed-eaters” could not eat Eds that well. So the others told them to sort of screen prospective “Eds” before one could reach the “Ed-eater”. These guys were called “Agents” (they ran out of words so they made this one up). The “Otters” would first query the “Agents” before they could reach a bonafide “Ed-Eater”. The “agents” got some entrails and other knick knacks when the “Ed-Eater” finally ate an “Ed”.


So till this day in the Land of Lit, the holy system of “Query” Letters and Self Addressed Stamped Envelopes has forever ensured that the halls of “Wry-Thingie” keep on echoing with tales of bare breasts and glorious cleavage while keeping the “Ed-Eaters” not hungry. The system works and everyone is happy. (Well almost every one. The “Poits” still prefer to do things their own way. They do not count as most of them get eaten alive by the “Ed-Eaters” anyways.)