Saturday, 25 May 2013


                                                     BACK PUNCH
Back Punch is excited to let you know that we have moved from to our very own domain which is Although not much design has been incorporated, everything is in the pipeline, right from little design tweaks as well as the introduction of a logo.

All the posts and comments have been successfully transferred to the new domain. The new domain is hosted by and their support staff have been of great help.

I, personally would like to thank the major contributor, AVB for her ideas and constructive criticism and also Ajith Aravind, Ameya Dusane, Komal Kokare and Sreerag Nair for the posts where their names have been mentioned as courtesy. Let the contributions keep coming in

We would also like to thank our imaginative friends, Tantra, Tuffy Singh, Nihar, Sasha, Roy, Mukthar and many more to come in the upcoming posts. Let's hope they keep doing good things and promote positivity.

And above all thanks to Arundhati Roy for the constant inspiration and our motherland, India for giving us stories of courage, determination and passion that each day our belief in our country just increases.

Thanks for the feedback. Let the feedback flow in.

Happy Reading.

Long Live India.

Thursday, 23 May 2013

The Stained Sari

It was her parent’s death anniversary. She woke up at around 4 am, made a cup of coffee and walked into her balcony. She felt the fresh breeze and the steam coming out of the piping hot coffee.

She wasn't crying. It’d been four years since their demise. She had cried enough. She kept doing a good deed on their death anniversary. She always got the opportunity to do one. Instead of waiting for one, Tantra thought about going to the nearby orphanage and spend some time with the kids.  She wore the Kerala Set-Sari and set off to the orphanage.

Tantra went off on her scooterette. She expected to have a fun-filled day with the kids. She was one amongst them. Her bright white sari made an impression in the bright sun. She crossed the signal and was about a couple of kilometers away from the orphanage when a man riding on a bike spat.

The wind pushed the spit onto Tantra’s sari and dark red stains covered a good portion of the sari. She yelled. The man looked into the mirror blew a kiss and sped. She followed him. She saw a signal. The biker stopped. He had possibly forgotten about her. He failed to look back.


Tantra rammed her scooterette into the rear of the bike. He fell down, swearing. She parked her vehicle and pulled out the keys from the bike. The man stood up in shock with a rather evident question mark on his face. Tantra quickly pulled out her cell phone and called up Roy.

Tantra yelled, “Kya hai yeh!” (What is this?)
The remainder of the conversation happened in Hindi.

The man apologized after having a brief look at Tantra’s stained sari. He asked for the keys.
Roy reached the spot in his car. She pushed the man into the car and Roy drove them to an oncologist.
Tantra had found her opportunity to do a good deed for this day. Rather the opportunity came knocking on her door. The oncologist, Dr. Mukthar, was their mutual friend. She explained in detail to the man the consequences of chewing paan masala and tobacco.

“Tu to ek din mere pe khoon thookega,” (There’ll come a day when you will spit blood on me) Tantra told him. Her eyes were red with anger and frustration realizing that he was the only earning member for a family of 5.

The man had nothing to say. He was a stranger. He might probably think about this and forget.
She expected the man to forget. She had one good explanation. She had been insisting her good friend Tuffy Singh to quit smoking since a couple of years. It kept falling onto deaf ears.

She felt she failed as a friend.

She clearly told Tuffy that she wants friends for a lifetime and not someone who will die in a couple of decades due to lifestyle issues. For Tuffy, nicotine was more valuable than a friend. He chose the road to death.

Life is about enjoying. Life is about enjoying in a healthy fashion. Proclaiming that the enjoyment of life comes from doing drugs is probably the most redundant explanation. You’ll probably get a million ways to enjoy life but if you choose a way which compromises your life, it’s your call.

After all, it’s your life.

Make it or Break it.

Monday, 20 May 2013

The Smoked-Up Writer

The spirits inside his brain started to erupt. He didn’t know what he was doing. He ripped off his shirt and started behaving like a maverick. He started coughing and the traces of spit coming out of his mouth were red in colour. It was blood. He rolled up another round of weed and started puffing.

Tuffy had no idea what he was doing. Earlier he said weed reduced the anger within him. Then weed just became a reason for him to infuriate. He became angry over trivial issues and used to run away during office hours to roll up and smoke.

He was thrown away from his job because of the infinite number of breaks he used to take and for influencing others to take up weed.

Tuffy loved writing.

Writing was an in-born talent he possessed. He wildly proclaims that he wrote 4 books under the influence of weed, published them and made profits. Tuffy used to smoke up an entire stick rolled up with weed, pull out a note-book and pen and stroll down the roads looking for stories. He made sure that psychedelic tracks were playing in his ears continuously. He used to feel sky high. He read people on such walks. He sat on the footpaths and wrote about them. Sometimes just looking up into the sky and reading the faces formed by the clouds and drawing characters from them.

Tuffy found joy in taking a stroll when the sun was right above his head. He used to find such a place where the sun pierced its heat onto him.

Tuffy was weird in many ways. He lectured how cigarette smoking was bad for health and how alcohol consumption can ruin one’s liver but he practiced weed smoking. Although he never preached about it. Earlier when he used to work, he smoked up in front of his colleagues but never offered them a puff. He was spoilt in a way but never tried spoiling anyone else. He was particularly agitated when the manager pointed out that one of the reasons for his expulsion from the company was because he influenced others to take up weed smoking.

The manager then went onto become a prominent villain in one of his books. Many of his close friends forced him to give up the weed but to no avail.

One of his books got critically acclaimed.

He got a call from one of his favourite authors. Tuffy was called over to the 98 year old author’s place. He met the great author and both spoke in depth about their common passion. Writing.

Tuffy realized that if he kept smoking like this, he would die before he is half the age of that great author. He had a conviction. He quit smoking in a week’s time.

He went onto write 8 books. Sober. All of them were critically acclaimed.

He still goes out and sits in the scorching heat but his thoughts are smoke-free.

At the end of the day it’s just a stick you have lighted up and inhaling its remains. You are reducing the life of the stick, the stick, in turn, is reducing your life.

Nicotine or Weed. Quit Smoking.

Say Hello to Life.

Sunday, 19 May 2013

The Joy of Being a Pessimist

Hardly have we seen life beyond our selfish thoughts. The time we waste in pointing out the negatives in a person is immense. The positives just lay around. Alone. Being a pessimist gives us more joy than being an optimist.
Switching on the television and cruising towards a news channel rarely gives joy to Tuffy Singh. After a rather 14 hours of relentless work at office, he comes home to see a bespectacled anchor raring to go at his invitees. The invitees rarely get a chance to voice their opinions on a show titled ‘The Newshour’ but contain more fights and lesser news. He switches it off. Moving to a CNN IBN or an NDTV 24x7 won’t give him joy either. He wonders what joy these people get in just showcasing the negativities of the day. He rarely sees any form of positive news.

On a day when there is no negative news whatsoever, he doesn’t see the spectacled anchor. It’s 2215 hours, he walks into his balcony and looks up and stares into the sky. The moon is missing. Again a negative day for Indians.

He just feels that it’s an off day for the Moon.

Whenever Tuffy meets a new person he rarely rips into the negatives of the person and starts hating them. Rather he focuses on their positives and starts up a conversation on that. Even when a person cracks a joke, he doesn’t care to think if it’s a good or a bad joke. He just laughs.

The person cracking the joke feels appreciated and Tuffy heals up his heart by laughing out. However bad the person is, he finds out a reason to hang out with them.

Life is not just about spending time with the people giving you peace but also with the ones who don’t know what peace is.  Listening to pravachans and meditating won’t give anyone inner peace if they are pessimists. Be an optimist. Life’s all about being positive and spreading joy. 

Just like the cliché goes, Speak good about people and Good will happen to you.

Friday, 25 January 2013

I Believe

I believe in an India where I can voice my concerns.

I believe in an India where females can walk peacefully whenever and wherever.

I believe I’ll hear officials doing their jobs rightfully and not expecting a pat on their backs after someone dies.

I believe in an India where I can write a book and not get it banned.

I believe in an India where the two main political parties work together and not blame one another.

I believe in an India where the politicians aren’t corrupt.

I believe in an India where politicians use their brains and not call a terrorist as a Sahab.

I believe in an India where a sensible movie makes more money than mindless films.

I believe in an India where every citizen votes and then criticizes the governance.

I believe in an India where the streets aren’t littered and dogs are not run over.

I believe in an India where the Government listens to its citizens when we need a new President.

I believe in an India when parents have a smile as soon as a baby girl is born.

I believe in an India where engineering and medicine aren’t the only two professions.

I believe in an India where eve-teasing and stalking women are passé.

I believe in an India where, when a rape is reported, the police file the case, the human rights activists not rally behind the rapists and the women not lash out at the remaining male community.

I believe in a positive India.

I believe in an India where the caste column disappears from every form.

I believe in an India where a person’s name is much important than his/her surname.

I believe in an India where feeding the poor is more important than gifting the rich.

I believe in an India where Birthdays are celebrated to thank parents and not to intoxicate our friends.

I believe in an India where I live as an Indian and not as a Hindu or a Muslim.

I believe in an India where a religion is no longer a votebank for a particular political party.

I believe I’m a proud Indian.

And will always remain so.

Sunday, 13 January 2013


Finally the nation is awake. All of us have been trashing the government. All of us have been saying that the Congress will not come into power ever again. Six ruthless human beings killed a girl and atlast we are awake.

There is a girl from Suryanelli in Kerala who was raped by 42 men over 40 days when she was 16 years old. The case is finally in the Supreme Court. The girl is a woman now. Ostracized and isolated from society. When her parents go to the market or a religious place to pray for the speedy justice of their daughter, they are often called by passersby as ‘Suryanelli’s parents.’ Severely stigmatized.

That girl is 32. Still waiting for justice. Does it take a protest for the government to open its eyes?

Every time we travel in a train, how many times have we seen a handicapped beggar come over for alms! Probably like a million times. Saumya was travelling in one such train when a beggar tried to rob her after trespassing into a deserted ladies compartment. She resisted. Her head was smashed and thrown out of the running train. He didn’t stop there, he jumped out, brutally raped her whilst she lay in a pool of blood. She didn’t survive. He was awarded capital punishment but lawyers came all the way from Mumbai to represent this criminal. Further investigations revealed that such kind of a racket is operational from Panvel.

Govindachamy, the offender, paid Rs. 20 lakhs to his lawyer.

All that money he collected from begging came to the rescue.

All these girls are bravehearts. They Fought Back.

The other interesting thing we find is and is a rampant style is that of getting a girl drunk.

Take off her senses and then offend. No modest female would ever allow that.

An interesting incident happened down south when the public got hold of a rapist. The mob beat him up and damaged the so-called weapon which gave him the momentary pleasure. Furthermore the medical reports also confirmed that his private part was permanently damaged.

So here we have people who are ready to face the gallows or spend their entire lives languishing behind bars for that momentary pleasure.

And here is a system that absolutely doesn’t care about its women. And then there are people who blame the entire male community for offences like these.

Which males?

When a pimp forces a girl into prostitution to increase her business, no man blames the entire female community so when some ruthless criminals gangrape a girl, it doesn’t mean that the entire male community is at fault.

Both of us need to fight together.

The Indians are finally awake but the people who run this country have again gone back to sleep.

And let’s hope that the idiots do not take the thing out of their pants unnecessarily.