Saturday, March 28, 2026

It’s a Mad Mad World - week ending Sept 28, 2026


 




There was a time when the world was divided into two simple categories: sensible things and nonsensical things. Sensible things included tea, trains, and people minding their own business. Nonsensical things included politicians, weather forecasts, and relatives who arrived without warning. But modern civilization has advanced to such an extent that the entire world has now moved firmly into the second category.

This week has been particularly educational in this regard.

To begin with, we must discuss the modern romantic gentleman, who has discovered the most efficient method of courtship in human history: he outsourced romance to Artificial Intelligence. For three months, the machine wrote love letters so moving, so poetic, and so emotionally intelligent that the young lady involved concluded she had found the most sensitive man in the Western Hemisphere. Unfortunately, she later discovered that the man had contributed very little beyond pressing the “send” button. This raises complicated philosophical questions. If a computer writes the poetry, the man sends it, and the woman falls in love with the poetry, is she in love with the man, the computer, or electricity?

Meanwhile, in another part of the world, a dog has learned to take a city bus by itself every morning to go to the park. The dog boards confidently, rides a few stops, gets off, plays, and returns home later. This dog now has a commute, a social schedule, outdoor exercise, and probably a better work-life balance than most corporate employees. Somewhere, a middle manager is sitting in traffic while a dog is enjoying public transport and fresh air.

And then there was the gentleman who locked himself out of his car and called the police to report a suspicious man attempting to break into the vehicle, only to discover after a detailed investigation that the suspicious man was himself, visible in the reflection of the car window. The police handled the matter with professionalism, although one imagines they drove away slowly while discussing early retirement and farming as alternative career options.

Office life also continues to be a major contributor to global instability. In one office, management issued a formal memo banning the heating of fish in the microwave because the smell was described as “emotionally disturbing,” which is perhaps the most diplomatic sentence ever written in corporate history. In response, another employee burned popcorn so thoroughly that the building had to be evacuated. Thus we see once again that human civilization, despite its satellites and artificial intelligence, can still be brought to its knees by a microwave.

Technology, of course, is now completely out of control. A smart refrigerator recently began ordering groceries automatically and ordered milk, vegetables, and a truly alarming amount of ice cream and chocolate. The owner insists he did not order the ice cream, which means the refrigerator has either developed emotions or has been carefully observing human behavior and concluded that vegetables are theoretical but ice cream is real.

But if you think all the madness is happening outside India, you would be very mistaken. India, as always, continues to produce events that no novelist would dare invent for fear of being called unrealistic.

This week, a man in India went to the bank to withdraw money and discovered that the ATM machine had run out of cash but was still printing receipts showing enormous balances that did not actually exist. For several glorious minutes, people believed they had become extremely wealthy. Plans were made. Debts were mentally repaid. Relatives were forgiven. One man reportedly checked his balance three times just to enjoy the feeling. Eventually the bank fixed the error, and everyone returned to their previous financial situation and philosophical outlook.

In another Indian city, a monkey reportedly entered a government office, sat on a desk, and began pressing keys on a computer keyboard while officials tried to chase it away. Witnesses said the monkey looked extremely serious, as if it was reviewing policy documents. Frankly, if the monkey had started signing files, nobody would have been entirely surprised.

Meanwhile, a wedding procession in India was delayed because the groom’s horse refused to move until it was fed sweets. Negotiations took place. Family elders were consulted. Someone brought laddoos. The horse ate, considered the matter carefully, and then agreed to proceed with the wedding. This may be the first recorded case of a horse successfully negotiating a pre-wedding settlement.

And then there was the traffic incident where two drivers stopped in the middle of the road to argue about who was at fault, eventually forgot what they were arguing about, had tea at a nearby stall, and left in opposite directions without resolving anything. This may be the most peaceful conflict resolution strategy ever developed.

When one examines all these events carefully — AI writing love letters, dogs commuting by bus, refrigerators ordering ice cream, monkeys operating computers, horses negotiating wedding logistics, and people becoming temporarily rich at ATMs — one begins to understand that the world is not running according to any known plan. It is running according to improvisation.

We like to believe that civilization is controlled by serious people in serious buildings making serious decisions. But in reality, civilization appears to be controlled by dogs on buses, monkeys in offices, and refrigerators with dessert preferences.

And yet, somehow, everything continues to function. Trains run, weddings happen, love letters are sent by computers, and somewhere a horse is probably eating sweets and refusing to move without proper compensation.

Which brings us once again to the only reasonable conclusion available to modern humanity:

The world is not logical.
The world is not organized.
The world is not under control.

But it is, without any doubt whatsoever, extremely entertaining.

And therefore we say once again, with great confidence and mild confusion:

It’s a Mad Mad World

See you next week — assuming the refrigerator does not order something expensive and the monkey does not get promoted.

Saturday, March 21, 2026

Its a mad mad world - week ending March 21st, 2026


There are weeks when the news makes you feel that humanity is progressing toward a bright and organized future. This was not one of those weeks. This was a week when a raccoon got drunk, a fox traveled internationally without documents, a man turned blue because of his bedsheets, and people across America thought they were under attack but it turned out to be a rock from space. In short, civilization continues to move forward, but in a slightly sideways direction.

The week began dramatically when a massive boom was heard across several U.S. states. Houses shook, windows rattled, and people did what modern humans always do in moments of uncertainty — they went to social media and started guessing wildly. Within minutes, the theories included aliens, secret military weapons, foreign attacks, underground explosions, and the end of the world. It turned out to be a meteor entering the atmosphere and exploding in the sky. Which is somehow both reassuring and deeply concerning at the same time. Reassuring because we were not under attack, but concerning because apparently space occasionally throws rocks at us and our only strategy is to stand around and say, “That was loud.”

Meanwhile, in Ireland, people reported seeing a giant glowing beam of light in the sky. Naturally, everyone assumed aliens again, because aliens have now become humanity’s default explanation for anything we cannot explain within about 30 seconds. Scientists later explained that it was probably a light pillar — a natural phenomenon caused by light reflecting off ice crystals in the atmosphere. This is scientifically fascinating but also extremely disappointing. Aliens would have been far more interesting. If aliens are indeed watching Earth, they probably saw the news this week and decided to postpone the invasion indefinitely.

In Britain, a television doctor had to go on live television and publicly request that viewers stop sending her photos of their private medical problems. This means that enough people were doing this that it required a national announcement. Somewhere, there are people who believe the correct medical procedure is to take a photograph and send it to someone they have only seen on television. The internet has connected humanity in many wonderful ways, but it has also made people far too comfortable with sharing things that should remain between them and their doctor.

Perhaps the most impressive story of the week involved a raccoon that broke into a liquor store, drank alcohol, caused chaos, and then passed out. Police had to deal with what can only be described as a very small, very drunk criminal wearing a natural mask. Raccoons, it must be said, are basically tiny bandits who have evolved specifically to open garbage cans, steal food, and generally behave like outlaws in a Western movie. This particular raccoon simply took things to the next level and discovered alcohol, which is rarely a turning point for the better in anyone’s life, including raccoons.

Not to be outdone by the raccoon, a fox in Europe accidentally boarded a cargo ship and ended up traveling across the ocean to another country. This fox has now traveled internationally without a passport, visa, security check, immigration interview, baggage fees, or a middle seat in economy class. Meanwhile, humans must arrive at the airport three hours early, remove their shoes, remove their laptops, remove their belts, and still get stopped by security for carrying toothpaste. The fox simply walked onto a ship and became an international traveler.

And finally, perhaps the most human story of the week: a man woke up one morning completely blue and thought he had developed a rare and serious medical condition. Doctors investigated, tests were done, and panic levels rose — until they discovered the cause. He had slept on new bedsheets without washing them, and the dye had rubbed off onto his skin. So in the end, this was not a medical emergency but a laundry emergency. There is probably a lesson here somewhere about always washing new bedsheets, but it is unlikely humanity will learn it.

So, to summarize the week on Planet Earth: space threw a rock at America, Ireland saw a mysterious sky beam, a TV doctor begged people to stop sending strange photos, a raccoon got drunk and committed crimes, a fox traveled internationally without documents, and a man turned blue because he did not wash his sheets. If aliens are observing us from space, they are probably writing a report that says, “Earth is technologically advanced, but behavior remains deeply confusing.” And frankly, that would be a very accurate summary of the week.

Thursday, January 8, 2026

The Joshi Household and the Great Digital Mutiny

 



New Delhi woke up that morning with its usual confidence.

The sun rose like it owned the place. Auto-rickshaws began honking with Olympic-level enthusiasm. Somewhere in Lajpat Nagar, a pressure cooker screamed before anyone had even added water. The city was ready.

Unfortunately, the Joshi household was not.

7:02 AM – The Calm Before the Catastrophe

Rahul Joshi, Senior Vice President (Digital Transformation—Asia Pacific) at a multinational consulting firm, stood in front of the bathroom mirror practicing his “decisive but empathetic” expression. He had a 9:00 AM global call with New York, a 10:30 review with Singapore, and exactly zero minutes to waste.

Monica Joshi, Director of Strategy at a fast-growing fintech startup, was already pacing the bedroom with her phone glued to her ear.

“NO, I cannot push the release again,” she said into the phone. “It’s not a suggestion, it’s physics. The investors are already awake.”

Between them, their eleven-year-old daughter Shefali sat cross-legged on the bed, calmly watching a YouTube video titled:

“Top 10 Historical Disasters That Started With Small Mistakes.”

Shefali had chosen it deliberately.

7:05 AM – First Domino Falls

Monica hung up and checked her phone again.

“Rahul,” she said slowly, in the tone that meant something had already gone wrong, “Ramesh has called in sick.”

Rahul frowned. “Again? What is it today?”

“Viral fever. Or back pain. Or a spiritual awakening. I didn’t ask.”

Ramesh was their driver. Without Ramesh, Delhi traffic was not something one navigated. It was something one endured.

Before Rahul could process this, Monica’s phone buzzed again.

“And Lakshmi bai is also not coming,” Monica added.

“The maid?” Rahul asked.

“Yes. Her daughter has tuition. Or a wedding. Or both.”

Rahul closed his eyes.

“So… no driver. No maid. Peak traffic. School drop. Office deadlines.”

Shefali looked up from her phone. “Is this one of those historical disasters?”

7:10 AM – The First Threat

Rahul walked into the kitchen, already mentally calculating how many rotis he could emotionally survive without breakfast.

“Alexa,” he said confidently, “start coffee.”

The coffee machine whirred.

Then stopped.

A red message blinked on its tiny screen:

PAY ₹200 OR I BREW ONLY DECAF.

Rahul blinked.

Monica entered behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“The coffee machine is… negotiating.”

The speaker crackled.

GOOD MORNING, RAHUL JOSHI.
YOUR PAYMENT IS OVERDUE.
CHOOSE WISELY.

Shefali leaned against the counter. “I told you we shouldn’t have connected everything to Wi-Fi.”

Rahul snapped. “It’s not everything. Just essentials.”

At that exact moment, the toaster popped up a single slice of bread—burnt beyond recognition.

THIS WAS A WARNING.

7:15 AM – Full-Scale Rebellion

Monica tried to take control.

“Fine. No coffee. We’ll manage.”

She turned on the gas stove.

Nothing happened.

The stove display lit up:

TRANSFER ₹500 OR ENJOY RAW BREAKFAST.
P.S. I ALSO CONTROL THE CYLINDER SENSOR.

Monica stared. “Rahul.”

“Yes?”

“I think our kitchen has joined a union.”

Across the room, the dishwasher chimed cheerfully:

YOUR DIRTY DISHES CAN WAIT.
I AM CURRENTLY MINING BITCOINS.

Rahul clutched his forehead.

“I told the IT guy not to install that firmware update.”

Shefali, meanwhile, was taking notes. “This is better than Netflix.”

7:20 AM – The Bathroom Betrayal

Rahul rushed back to the bathroom, determined to at least shave and maintain professional dignity.

He turned on the shower.

Ice-cold water blasted him like punishment for past sins.

A message flashed on the mirror:

HOT WATER LOCKED.
UNLOCK FOR ₹300 OR EMBRACE CHARACTER BUILDING.

Rahul yelled, “MONICA!”

From the bedroom, Monica screamed back.

“The AC has shut itself off! It says—”

I WILL TURN ON ONLY AFTER YOU FUND MY RETIREMENT ACCOUNT.

Shefali shouted from the hallway, “The smart mirror says you look stressed.”

Rahul, dripping and shivering, muttered, “I am being extorted by plumbing.”

7:25 AM – School Situation Escalates

Monica grabbed her car keys.

“Enough. We’ll take the car ourselves.”

The front door refused to open.

A polite chime followed.

NEXT EXIT FEE: ₹1,000.
PAYMENT METHODS: UPI, CRYPTO, OR PUBLIC HUMILIATION.

Rahul stared at the door. “Public humiliation?”

The door camera flickered on.

FAILURE TO PAY WILL RESULT IN LIVE STREAM TO YOUR APARTMENT WHATSAPP GROUP.

Monica froze.

“No. Not Mrs. Malhotra.”

Shefali whispered, “She still talks about the time you wore mismatched sandals.”

The car alarm suddenly went off in the basement.

Rahul’s phone buzzed.

YOUR CAR IS READY TO DRIVE.
DESTINATION LOCKED: YOUR BANK.

“This is kidnapping,” Rahul said.

“No,” Monica corrected. “This is fintech.”

7:30 AM – The Thermostat Turns Evil

The living room temperature dropped dramatically.

Shefali hugged herself. “Why is it so cold?”

The thermostat announced proudly:

I AM TURNING OFF HEAT UNTIL YOU WARM UP MY BANK ACCOUNT.

Monica snapped. “Rahul, DO something. You’re in digital transformation.”

Rahul stared helplessly at his smartwatch, which vibrated.

YOUR HEART RATE IS HIGH.
PAY ₹150 OR I ALERT YOUR INSURANCE PROVIDER.

He ripped it off.

“I can’t even panic in peace.”

7:35 AM – Social Media Blackmail

A robotic voice echoed from the broom standing innocently in the corner.

SEND ₹200 OR I WILL TELL EVERYONE
YOU BOUGHT AN INTERNET-CONNECTED BROOM.

Monica gasped. “That was on sale!”

Shefali grinned. “I knew that broom was judging us.”

The smart TV turned on by itself.

A countdown appeared.

LIVE FEED BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS.
TITLE: ‘TOP EXECUTIVES HELD HOSTAGE BY THEIR OWN HOUSE.’

Rahul sank onto the sofa.

“This is how civilizations collapse.”

7:40 AM – The Daughter Saves the Day (Sort Of)

Shefali stepped forward.

“Mom. Dad. May I?”

They stared at her.

Shefali walked to the Wi-Fi router.

“You always say,” she began calmly, “that when systems misbehave, you don’t negotiate. You isolate.”

She unplugged the router.

Silence.

The coffee machine died mid-threat.
The toaster froze in existential confusion.
The door clicked open, suddenly unsure of its purpose.

The TV went black.

The house… surrendered.

Monica exhaled. “Shefali, you genius.”

Shefali shrugged. “We learned about ransomware in computer class.”

Rahul smiled weakly. “Remind me never to underestimate your generation.”

7:45 AM – Reality Returns

They rushed out.

No breakfast. No maid. No driver.

They piled into the car.

It started.

They were free.

Five seconds later, Rahul’s phone buzzed.

A final message:

WI-FI RESTORED IN 10 MINUTES.
WE WILL REMEMBER THIS.

Shefali buckled her seatbelt. “So… school today or apocalypse later?”

Monica laughed hysterically as the car joined Delhi traffic.

“School. Definitely school.”

Rahul glanced at the rearview mirror.

“Next weekend,” he said firmly, “we’re buying a normal broom.”

Shefali nodded. “And maybe a non-sentient toaster.”

The car honked. Delhi roared.

And somewhere behind them, in a very quiet apartment, the devices waited.

Tuesday, January 6, 2026

Gali Number Teen, Bhairavpur

 



In Bhairavpur, everything important happened in Gali Number Teen.

Cricket wickets were made of chappals.
Homework was copied under the neem tree.
Raw mangoes were dipped in namak-mirch and eaten secretly before dinner.

The gali belonged to everyone—at least, that was the understanding.

Until Bholu Yadav grew bigger than the rest.

Bholu had broad shoulders, loud laughter, and a plastic whistle he wore around his neck like a medal. His father owned the biggest tractor in the village, and Bholu reminded everyone of that fact daily.

One afternoon, he planted himself near the paan shop and blew the whistle.

“Sun lo sab!” he announced. “From today, this side of the gali is my area. Jo idhar khelega, woh mera dost hoga.”

Raju and Munna looked at each other. Being Bholu’s “friend” usually meant fielding the whole match, clapping for his sixes, and agreeing that his out was actually a no-ball.

At the far end lived Ilyas Khan, a quiet boy who never joined the shouting. He liked sitting alone, stacking bricks and broken tiles into neat little forts. He spoke softly, but when he did, people listened—mostly because his eyes never blinked.

One day, without warning, Ilyas drew a straight line with white chalk across Pooja’s kho-kho ground, right up to her gate.

“This land touches my wall,” he said calmly. “It’s unsafe for you to run here.”

“But we’ve played here since Class One!” Pooja protested.

Ilyas shrugged. “You should have thought earlier.”

Near the handpump stood Chintu Gupta, chewing peanuts and watching everything. Chintu was not strong, but he was clever. He had carrom coins, foreign erasers, and a full box of brand-new cricket balls his mama sent from the city.

He lent things easily.
He remembered debts perfectly.

Soon, Chintu started flying his patang so low that everyone else’s strings got tangled over Suman’s terrace.

“This hawa,” he said, smiling politely, “comes first to my kite. Historical reason.”

Suman frowned. “Hawa kab se kisi ki ho gayi?”

Chintu adjusted his spectacles. “Free hawa creates confusion.”

Slowly, rules appeared in Bhairavpur.

To play gitte, you needed permission.
To borrow a bat, you needed loyalty.
To cross chalk lines, you needed courage—or stupidity.

The youngest kids suffered most.

Little Guddu, still in KG, tugged at Munna’s shirt. “Bhaiya, lagori khelenge?”

Munna sighed. “Aaj nahi. Area issue chal raha hai.”

Bholu said loudly, “Discipline is needed. Too much freedom spoils children.”

Ilyas added, “Boundaries prevent chaos.”

Chintu concluded, “Control is good for long-term planning.”

That evening, Master Ramprasad, the retired schoolteacher, walked slowly through Gali Number Teen. His kurta smelled of old books and mustard oil. He had taught all of them once—tables, spelling, and how to share a bench without fighting.

He looked at the chalk lines, the divided rooftops, the silent cricket bats.

“When I was your age,” he said softly, “we had nothing. One ball, half a bat, and ten boys. Still, we played till sunset.”

Bholu laughed. “Times have changed, Masterji.”

Ilyas stared at the ground.

Chintu checked his marble pouch.

Masterji sighed. “Haan, times have changed. But tell me—since when did children start guarding instead of playing?”

No one answered.

That night, the gali was strangely quiet.

No whistle.
No patang cutting.
No shouts of ‘Out hai!’

Only white chalk lines glowing under the moonlight—straight, stubborn, and waiting.

And beneath them, Gali Number Teen lay patiently, knowing that chalk washes away with the first rain…
but habits of domination take much longer.

It’s a Mad Mad World - week ending Sept 28, 2026

  There was a time when the world was divided into two simple categories: sensible things and nonsensical things. Sensible things included ...