Guy finds girlfriend’s Backpage post

Rested my laptop, walked out of Starbucks on the corner of Fifth Ave & 49th Street and to my shock/surprise, in the middle of the chaos that is Manhattan -at 6pm- a hot girl (possible part-time model) jumps out of an Uber cab and bolts for the next one.

Seconds later, as the camera pans back to the street, out comes a brownish guy, from the same vehicle. He’s chasing that girl. From the looks of it, his body language tied to a foul mouth, you’d assume they’re fighting over his tiny penis.

Don’t ask me how the tiny penis got into all this. Stay with me, it gets better. I’m back onto my iPhone 5s (Gold) and searching for the closest Fedex Office, as I need to send a pair of shoes to a close friend back home.

Alright, I don’t know how but somehow the generic street noise numbs and I begin to hear the couple yelling foul and, my curious bitch instincts act up, strategically placing me yards away from the aforesaid relationship debacle.

I’m enjoying the yelling and public scene. It’s net neutrality free drama. Here’s where the conversation takes a whole new dimension.

The guy yells out, “I know about your back page listing BITCH!!!”.

*Gulp. A shiver runs down my rectum.

For those who’re naive and innocent unless proven in court, Backpage is where men go to find whores. Most of these girls are foreigners trying to make it into NYC by soliciting their genitals for rent money. Or in other words, these are your conventional strippers/prostitutes gone tech savvy. They are currently developing an app for the Apple watch- abled to send vibrations directly to your cock (fuck the cute hearts).

I can only imagine. Wait. Actually. I can’t imagine what’s going on in this guy’s head on finding the love of his life (who probably slept with him once- minus the head or anal) is fucking Manhattan for cash.

*Here’s a billion dollar idea. Feel free to develop it and send me equity. Paypal/Uber for whores. Fuck you if it exists.

Here’s the thing. NYC is a bit crazy like that. Men and women are casually dating 3-4 people at a time. Imagine the STDs going around. Phew! Phew!

I’m not taking sides here but that dude got fucked over. The moral of the story. If you think you’re getting serious over a chick, search for the brunette with a dimple on her lower abdomen on Backpage.

By the way, shipping a pair of shoes through Fedex is three times the cost of the merchandise. Fuck, right?

How I was caught shoplifting

With nothing on the cards for a sunny Sunday afternoon, my mother announced a trip to the local mall. I was in the 3rd grade that year. A few Nintendo games aside, a toboggan [a long, light, narrow vehicle, typically on runners, used for sliding downhill over snow or ice] sitting beneath boxes of unused stuff in the attic, there wasn’t much I had on my to-do list.

*At the time, internet was in it’s nascent stages. Selfie, Facebook, Twitter and the term “social-media” didn’t exist. Neither did girls-gone-wild.

Within minutes, my mom had my sister and me in the backseat. Window-shopping, eating a Double Big Mac at McDonald’s or the skin-covered chicken at Swiss Chalet and loitering around between toy and sports aisles made for an adventurous evening with my sister and mother.

Post Sears, Wal-Mart and Loblaws, we’d head to Toy’r’us on pleading and begging [which my mom would try and avoid knowing I’d create a scene and embarrass her for not letting me have either Batman figurines or Nintendo games].

For your information, I had, in class one stolen my classmate’s pencil and on my mother’s knowledge of such behaviour received a massive thrashing. Earlier that evening, on interrogation, I had turned blue and come short of an alibi.

*Quick tip if you’re going to attempt and lie through your teeth- mother’s parental instincts can look into the depths of your soul. Tread carefully if you may.

I felt guilty and ashamed that night as if it was the end of me. The next day, I returned the stolen pencil, promising myself to never ever steal or lie again.

But today [the 5th grade], a few years later from the rare-pencil incident, I was at the mall, forgotten of any such behaviour, standing eye-to-eye with a pack of baseball cards. I wanted them so badly [in my defence, all the kids at school were showing off their collection and I badly needed to feel “in” or cool or accepted, I guess].

I had wiped the slate clean only to have it re-written this day. I inched closer towards the rack, eliminating any distance between my chest and the set of cards. I pulled a few packs down in each hand and made a b-line for the bathroom. Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through as I wasn’t a thief or a shoplifter by profession.

I closed the bathroom booth door behind me. As I sat there, with my pants down, staring back at the pack of cards, a trickle of sweat ran down my back.

This was it. The moment of truth. I was going to shoplift these packs of cards. My brain began to work in overdrive, shelling thoughts of getting caught or walking away from the whole episode scot free.

I made up my mind. On quickly unwrapping all the packs, I disposed of the covers in the bin and shoved a fist-full of cards down my underwear. On pulling my pants back on, I could feel the stiff cards poking up against my crotch.

No pain no gain, right.

With all the courage left in me, I walked out of the booth and then the bathroom. I could feel the sweat on my palms as well as an accelerated heart-beat between my chest.

By now, some sweat off my crotch had rubbed up against the cards making them soggy. I suppose a few cards were going to be sacrificed in the process but I didn’t let that worry me then.

On strolling around for a bit, I fixed my stride and found my mother between an aisle for cushion covers and sheers. I made my move and began to walk over towards her, thinking I had successfully gotten away with shoplifting baseball cards. Only a few strides later, two elderly men, in their mid-thirties, cut me off by the perfume section.

I looked up in utter dismay and shock. Fuck. I was caught. Now what? They told me they had been watching me from CCTV cameras. They requested for my parents, and upon seeing unidentified men crossing paths between her son, my mother walked over and listened to the entire episode patiently.

Disappointed by her son’s stupidity, my mom began to apologise and begged the undercover mall security personal to forgive me. She reiterated this was my first time.

*We all know how true that was.

As I watched the sequence of events unfold in dismay, I slowly pulled out the baseball cards from my underwear and handed them over to one of the men without ever raising my head once.

One of the men, closer towards me, got down on a knee, while the other continued to talk to my mom, and with one hand around my elbow told me of the consequences and the fact that I was in so-much trouble. But he was going to let me off this once because he could see that I had been humiliated and shattered forever.

Once the men were gone, my mom looked at me in a way I had never experienced before. It’s a look that I will never forget. It was of momentary-lost-faith and forgiveness and paternal-instincts factor [unable to describe exact emotions].

That evening, we had McDonald’s for dinner and the incident has never been brought up in the last 25 years.

Why smokers have great ideas

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First thing first. Yes, I’ve smoked cigarettes. Benson Lights. India Kings. Classic Milds. Gudang Garam. Marlboro Lights. I wasn’t exactly loyal to any one brand or the taste [as compulsive and habitual smokers would have amateurs believe].

Labelled -to my convenience- a social smoker, I would light one after having a couple of drinks (at a party) or at work during “creative brainstorming” sessions, held between floor 16 and 17 -out on the stairs- at the agency.

This, ability to smoke at will, gave me the reassuring feeling of being in control of my sick habit, leaving little room for feelings of addiction creeping up my throat.

It’s safe to assume that almost anyone in advertising, smokes. A sweeping generalised statement would have been “everyone in advertising smokes” but that’s clearly not the case.

Don’t believe me? Go watch an episode of Mad Men. Captured between dialogues is the foreplay of cigarettes. A smoking protagonist is so much better in dialogue delivery than a non-smoker. I bet the director agrees with my angle on the matter.

Look, all I’m saying is that people smoke. You can like it or hate it but it’s happening right now, as we speak- someone out there, working in the creative department of an advertising agency- put a lighter to a cigarette and inhaled every bit of the cancer-inducing smoke.

That said, I’ve come clean now. *Takes a deep breadth. That habit is well behind me, like bell-bottoms or a head full of hair. I’ve been shaving my head for a decade now. You do the maths. It’s my way of combing with stress [pun intended]. *Exhales.

Curious to understand how ideas and smoking work together, I chartered upon a search for answers. That said, non-smokers are also idea-capable people. Sure, they get ideas [which are not as good as the ideas people have who smoke or drink] but, hey, where credit is due, we must oblige.

Hell, I believe geniuses of tremendous creative potential such as Edisson, Picasso, Bethoven, Einstein, Jobs, Ogilvy, Landor & Morisson were all possible smokers and drinkers. They’ve ruled and led the world over decades with world-changing-ideas.

Now, let’s examine this closely. The length and breadth of a cigarette is armoured with the single most powerful concept- a bridge between your inner and outer conscious.

Hear me out. On examining creative folk closely I stumbled upon this powerful idea. During the process of discovery [the constant failures/trials before the eureka] frustration levels climb on failing [before succeeding and changing the world] and can prove difficult leading to stress.

It is during these difficult times great minds would take a timeout by either smoking a cigarette or nursing a glass of hooch. During solitude, they’re not focused on the problem but shutting off. This bridging of their subconscious and conscious mind, unleashes the most powerful answers to problems that have riddled their minds forever.

Eckhart Tole suggests a similar concept. To be enlightened, one must switch off. To shut the process of thinking entirely. To harness the power of the mind. Smoking and drinking did just that for all the great thinkers of the world. It opened the doorway of possibilities and great potential.

For a moment, let’s set aside the common variables- lung cancer, heart problems, bad breadth and the “till-death-do-us-apart” brandished on every box. Draw a comparative of these with the remarkable gifts left behind because of them aiding great men and women.

By that token, I’m not championing ideas being born from smoking or drinking are better. Their noteworthy contribution is in no way palpable to the amount of damage they may have caused over the years. But at the same time, we cannot but ignore the fact that smoking or drinking have contributed, in some ironic way, to the betterment of this world.

The Potty Fountain

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Besides death, hunger, poverty, depression, work-related-stress, marriage, monthly instalments and other harsh realities [add any type of ill-activity here] of being alive, everyone must go poop.

What goes in must come out someday, somehow. That said, the form, shape, size, odour and content of poop are subject to the sole proprietor’s gastronomic indulgence.

Brad Pitt poops. Nargis Fakhri poops. Obama poops. Sonam Kapoor poops. She farts too. We all poop. We all fart or have farted once [suggesting you stopped farting and pooping due to your death in which case you’re a ghost reading my blog].

Holy shit balls Batman!

If taken in great stride, pooping can easily dethrone the most pleasurable experience including acts of sex, masturbation and other possible acts of joy [add such acts of “joy” here] on any mantle.

Don’t believe me? Try and recollect memories of rushing back home after a longish journey to shoot a monster load [this means girls too]. Without flinching, it beats the high induced from any substance known to mankind. As per the doctor, nerve endings -in millions- lead to sensation of calm and relief post stages of extreme stress and pressure.

I’m sure you’re nodding, as well as making a mental note, but wondering as to where am I going with all this. Agreeing and accepting to the most natural processes of the human body openly takes guts.

Congratulations. You have aplenty, of gas.

Although, I have you thinking about poop and it’s various faucets, I wish to draw your attention towards one tiny instrument, neglected over the years, hidden beneath the seat.

The water jet

The little water-hose has been washing shit-stained assholes around the globe for over decades. As per experts and findings of various studies conducted around the world, water jets are the “hygienic” alternative to your regular tear and swipe toilet-paper model or the odd bottle and finger. I probably made up the experts and studies bit.

And nobody wants to talk about the water jet. No one. Anyone drawing out plans for a toilet pay all the attention to the seat, it’s size, shape, colour, brand and comfort but the water jet is unable to earn the badge of a supporting actor/actress.

Considering the shape, technically speaking, water jets are actors. Period.

In remote parts of India, even today, pooping means crouching on two [usually out in the open or on a desi-Indian-seat also known as “tatt-ee-yaan” or “leh-tturr-eene” ] and cleaning up involves a single hand stretched behind your back, acting as a lever, pouring water from a bottle or [smaller vessel capable of holding a litre of water] over the butt crack and swiping clean with the fingers of the other hand.

It’s the equivalent of fingering your butt-hole while pouring water over it. Probably best suited to Mexican porn flicks. Remember two girls and a cup?

Eek! Yup, THAT.

Which brings us back to the innumerable advantages of using the water-jet. Hands-fucking-free. For the sake of argument, I’ve divided water-jets in a few broad categories- using functionality, type and after-feeling as my illustrative prerogative.

The prick

On a recent trip to Delhi, I happened to sleep over at a friend’s house [considering hotels are clearly out of the budget for a penny-less blogger like myself], which is where I discovered the prick-like water jet. As I sat there, shooting-the-shit, reading tweets of my iPad [well beyond emptying my load], I realised it was time to swipe the slate clean. With one hand, I carefully placed the iPad on the bathroom sink, balancing the device between a group of toothbrushes and a soap dispenser. With the other hand, I reached for the tap [tucked away towards the back of the seat, in a cubby hole, causing me to shift my balance on one cheek]. To my shock, on loosening the tap, all hell broke lose, as piercing sharp water shot directly at my asshole. For a second, I felt as if I had punctured my asshole beyond repair. In shock and with loss of balance, I panicked and sunk half way into the pot and toppled my iPad, in hope of balancing myself. Luckily, the leather case sustained the iPad’s crash landing on the bathroom floor. By now, water had deflected off my lower back and shot up to the back of my bald head. Luckily, no causalities. Clouded by thoughts of wide-spread embarrassment, I decided to act upon my not-so-routine-pooping incident and pledged to inform my readers.

The balls washer

Commonly found hanging for life in public bathrooms. This water jet has been at the receiving end of various dumb-fucking-asses or it’s a fitting mismatch of water-jet and seat- a lot like marriage. Badly bruised and bent out of shape, and whatever has been left of the poor actor, it sprays 2 inches below your asshole. At this precise angle, only your balls get a washing causing them to shrivel up and you to sink -that wee bit further- into the seat [in hopes to align such water and shit-stained-butt-hole]. This may cause you to get stuck and humiliate yourself as office building security staff pull your ass out as others watch over from behind them with their camera phones. Selfie, anyone?

The cannon

The exact opposite of the prick. The cannon is probably anyone’s worst nightmare. You loosen the tap and there is only one adjustment- super fucking full blast. Water [approximately 6 inches thick] unleashes it’s wrath and obliterates anything in it’s track, including your asshole- eroding any uneven spots [leaving you with a Ken-Barbie-doll butt, no asshole]. Most incidents go unreported due to the sheer embarrassment any individual would be subjected to for losing one’s asshole. The cannon is best equipped to handle a violent riot across the Middle East, possible Godzilla attack or an alien outbreak.

The trickle

As the name suggests, the trickle is typically your perfectly sound water-jet gone dry. What you’re left with is traces of water invisible to the naked eye. You probably forgot to switch on the booster pump [as your parents had instructed you to while they were away on holidays to the Bahamas and didn’t take you along because you failed your board exams] leaving your overhead tank dry and lo behold shit stained asshole. Your only hope for redemption is either having someone from the outside [with the help of Twitter or Facebook or WhatsApp] come to your rescue or gathering the balls to penguin out of the toilet with your pants hanging between your ankles and grab a bottle of water or toilet paper roll. Use your imagination. Amen.

The demon

It’s your average water-jet gone demonic bat-shit crazy. You’re chilling at home with the air-condition set to full blast and a load comes knocking at your rear door. You head to your throne to answer the call of nature and right after letting the tap loose, a gash of boiling water burns your asshole. Bruised, burnt and scarred for life, you are left to live the remainder of your living adult life having to apply ointments up the pooper shoot. Herpes. Fissures. FOREVER. The demon is born by connecting one end of the over-head water tank with the water supply of the jet. During Indian summers, overhead tanks, usually painted black, end up crossing boiling temperature turning God-fearing -Catholic- water jets into the devil’s dick.

The next time you’re in a toilet, lift the seat and pay respect to the water-jet because you never know what evils await your asshole. And if you’ve discovered any unique type of water-jet not mentioned above, please do share it with me and the rest of us glued to our phones while women flash us.

Merry pooping.

Driving without pants

With an arm stretched over and around her head, I was steering my car safely between a lot of parked cars. You can’t help but blame narrow suburban neighbourhood lanes when the other hand has a girl’s ponytail tightly fisted- assisting her stroke your tool like a bionic arm.

*Only hours before, I had picked her up from the hotel, not knowing where the night would lead that evening. Dinner was sharing a bottle of wine and Italian hand made pasta. Three glasses down and I was begging her to let me cup her round butt to which she only blushed and squirmed.

You’re a tool, I told myself. But, it was her idea to taste me even when I had politely refused on her initial request [but at the same time hoped she’d insist and I’d give in looking all cocky]. Something about having a super horny girl give you the I-will-rape-your-dick look that makes your boner go into IRONMAN mode.

It worked. She insisted and, without flinching and while behind the wheel, I was helping her unzip my pants. The feeling of cold leather below my butt only made it harder to focus on the road. I had read and heard stories, but boy does the real thing make everything else seem pedestrian.

Each stroke was of an experienced woman. No teeth. Well, except when she would gently bite the tip. As she sucked, kissed and deep throated my shaft, I couldn’t help but ponder- would she, could she swallow?

I figured since this was my lucky day, why not push my luck? I used the horny-sweet-nothing-sexy-whispering-in-her-ear technique and she only moaned in submission.

Upon reaching a junction near her hotel, I announced my arrival with which she championed my load without leaving a single drop on my pants or her chin. I pulled over, zipped up and dropped her to the hotel. I drove off -elated- in disbelief.

Recalling that night

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There I was, nursing a glass of hooch. The batch of cougars by the bar were eyeing my squats-induced-butt. I would, however, partly blame their horny consumption on snooty liquor being had bottomless. I concluded my butt was to women what boobs are to men.

That evening saw sexual innuendos disguised as informal greetings.  Alcohol-excused foreplay become the norm to everyone’s tickle. In other words, boobs and butts were pressed, groped, squished, squashed, pinched and pulled to the fancy of chance. Deprived mates squandered over shorter and younger skirts. In this riot, moral policing meant slipping condoms into the jackets of unidentified folks.

I was busy eyeing this yuppie juggling between cougars and the younger pool- minus the hunter, real lions and a cage. I was craving for his attention all evening. How do I get noticed? Perhaps I could offer him a drink? Nah! Too lame. Armed with the old point-my-butt in direct view I pivoted and reached for the smudge on my shoe.

Harmless flirting ensued as my butt had rescued me from any awkward social banter or having to make the first move and being labelled a slut. We danced, flirted and kissed. We had flown past first-base with remote intentions of slowing down. And before you know it we were back at the hotel, naked under the sheets, finger-feather-fucking, breathing alcohol on each other.

He was able concatenate my fruition using only sexy-soft-nothing-whispers and his index finger. Only if I could have returned the favour that night. Wherever you are, and if you’re reading this, a wet one awaits.

-Anonymous woman.

Dear Reliance Mobile

hello mr. customer care executive.

i’m sure you’re sitting in your happy place, behind a desk, at one of your company’s south end office- possibly lower parel, mumbai -sipping on pedestrian tea made in the pantry on a machine that’s not been cleaned from the time your office was inaugurated.

anyhow.

i wish to thank you and your superb support staff (who you’re working alongside, possibly even poking elbows with one of them right now, unless you’re a senior person throned with a shoe box cubicle. it’s mumbai, even cabins are not the way they used to be) who’ve offered me a trip to your town- mumbai. or atleast a chance to travel to the home circle (mumbai) from where i issued a sim.

let me tell you how i won this amazing opportunity in detail.

so it all began when i was scheduled to travel abroad (dubai) for work and requested your team to activate international roaming.

in the time taken to boil water for a cup of cutting chai your team came back with “there are possible issues with your sim card therefore it will not work in dubai” to which i had little choice and time in reacting sitting at the airport lounge.

on i went to dubai hoping for a resolution on my return.

i’m back in town and take the opportunity to make a b-line for the reliance web world store.

i request your courteous staff for a sim replacement citing obvious issues with it’s connectivity and international disabilities. your man pops the sim, staples it to the sim replacement form and thereby ends the life of that poor old sim.

now, mr. customer care executive, we are in a situation most commonly known as holy-smoking-stink-balls.

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i have no sim which means no longer am i the social princess and all chances of connecting with the world are over. had this been 1936 or possibly had i been the resident of a remote town in himachal pradesh, this wouldn’t have the least bit bothered my health. (reliance nor any other operator apart from bsnl have presence there).

there i was standing at your reliance web world in chandigarh- amputated from my corporate and social commitments. it was sad, really sad. a shooting star might have died. i could smell the stink in the air or it could have been your outlet which hadn’t been invaded by a broom for eons.

however, that’s none of my darn business of what you do with your branded environment. *loud claps to your brand manager.

the solution offered/handed over to me: sir, please fly to mumbai from chandigarh for a sim replacement and that is by the stretch of luck your only solution.

it’s take it or leave it. fly to mumbai or leave reliance services all together.

☛can i pay for you to courier a sim to my home? my billing address is listed under chandigarh? nope. we can’t do that.

☛can i have a friend pickup my sim in mumbai? nope. no no no. you have to go to mumbai and only in person be eligible for a sim replacement.

hmmm….

that sure is an intelligent way of shoveling down my throat a trip to mumbai. now that is my only solution, would you be kind enough to solicit an airline which holds stakes in your company?

kindly also recommend options for sight-seeing and a perhaps we can set a time to meet in person. i’m sure we’ll have a great laugh about all this.

some of us find humour in the pain of others. but maybe i’m over ambitious.

☛let’s do a quick translation:

a) sim replacement should cost in chandigarh: inr.20/-

b) with my situation: cost of tickets to and back from mumbai from chandigarh, local travel, lunch, possible stay if i can’t make it back the same day, a hotel and dinner. (estimated inr.50,000/-)

i wish to thank you once again for taking the time from your excruciatingly busy schedule to enjoy the pain of your loyal customer.

this episode raises a very simple argument:- what is roaming then? how does it benefit a customer if all Reliance Mobile outlets work in isolation within their respective state circles. had the brand manager designed an integrated model this situation would have never arisen.

as a customer travelling to a different state, reliance should be able to offer me a sim card and if they are out of stock, be responsible for arranging one. and the sheer lack of taking responsibility to help a loyal customer is quite a disappointment.

this sim fail also points to how on a larger macro level companies are not at all focused on after-sales and customer retention programs. a brand’s customer experience journey has been left to a bunch of nincompoops as the key focus is, for now and till the time change happens, to sell and only sell.

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signing off 9321000044

Dear Indian Women

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I wish to congratulate you from the bottom of my heart for your new found self-image. The new Indian woman is liberated, powerful, ballsy, daring, commanding, in-charge, leader of the wolf-pack and most importantly driven by this inner radiance of rebel (so so sexy).

The submarine of sexual revolution under the sea of society has it’s snout peaking out for a glimpse of the sun from deep below. It’s empowering, goose-bump-inducing and down-right the moment we’ve all been waiting for.

Let’s spit into the palm of our hands and shake on it. Gross? How about we squeeze in a tiny hug (a pat on the back, if you may) or a peck on the cheek?

Gross. Weird. No-fucking-way. No strangers please! Indian men are fucking horny perverts. All they can think of is a “chance” [ludicrous assumptions, right fellas?]. I don’t blame your narrow ways ladies. We’ve earned ourselves a notorious reputation of horny apes with dicks for brains.

Hey hey hey. The generalization bandwagon is over here by the flags of male chauvinism. Guys, fellow brothers, come on. We haven’t – exactly – built bridges or even shown remote signs of growing up.

Our past record -together- reflects only super shiny shit stains.

Too many bad things have happened and women have had to resort to the lowest common denominator- a-deep-seated-generalized-view-of-all-men. We’re screwed. Yep. Rock bottom bitches, is where we’re at.

Now what? Ladies, you’ve lost faith. But, as a humble request, don’t lose hope. Hold onto that for the few out here ready to lay down their “Louis Vuitton” shirt on a puddle so you can stride over or take a bullet of calories on the dessert table [whatever rocks your boat].

It’s hot when you play coy.

There. That’s got one eyebrow kissing your forehead and the other locked square with your cheek-bones. For a few, the one’s I’ve congratulated, kissed and hugged, on you go. The rest, sporting crooked facial expressions, stay behind. Have a drink. Relax. You don’t drink? Ok, take a glass of lemonade. There we go. Much better?

Here’s my plea.

If men compliment your eyes, your new shoes, your hair or the fact that you can make us laugh or go weak in the knees or your round-round bum or your athletic body or a beautiful painting you might have made or something you might have written or cooked or built with your very muscular hands and calf-muscles- please don’t take us the wrong way.

We don’t like sandpaper either unless used to smoothen out the rough surfaces. *Genius line. I’m amazing. Alright. Back to the sexist-like rant.

I feel, some of you get way to serious about that stuff in your head. Frankly, we’ve got the attention spans of a kuala bear [or perhaps a bag of Cheetos] and before you calculate the repercussions of our comments, we’re thinking about that slice of pizza on our plate.

Grow up? Why? Do it when you die. Think young.

Consider our cheap, perverse humour spontaneous, in the moment and please [for-God-sake] don’t take it personally. We’re not rapists or certified by the Institute of Molester Fucks. It’s sick. Trust us. We’re disgusted by distasteful acts of persuasion or any forms of illicit humour ourselves.

At the same time, I will say this. Once you ladies get to know us a little bit. The rickshaw of emotions charter directly in sync with the chain and pedals. You begin to get our silly ways, our non-discreet humour, or our love for porn and most of all- the fact that some of us treat you like humans first and women after.

Call it a truce. We’re hear to cheer you up and not get into your pants. Frankly, your pants are way too tight anyways. Peace.

All meaningful relationships begin by letting go

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Drop your stinking preachy socks in the laundry, walk the bitch of society in a park of could-care-less [no leashes, please.], sip on a hot cup of calm-the-fuck-down and drop the burden of the bubble-wrap-world off your shoulders.

In other words, free your mind of any preconceived animations of what “are” and “could” be ten-on-ten relationships. No one is perfect. No relationship is perfect.

“Imperfections are the pieces of art you want hanging on the wall of life.”

[The judgemental ship of anal-retentive diaspora sailed and sunk. Gold fishes. No connection. Focus only on your breathing. Watch out for a possible step in the pavement if walking and reading is your swag.]

Perhaps, deep-down-there, we’re looking for bordering romanticism. A companion for life’s free-fall. Is it because we’re afraid of sagging alone, wrinkled in a bedroom of loneliness?

The counter of “better-options” is a wise-crack huddle. Its the longer one of the two, with people waiting to find the right one and are ignorant of what lies before them.

[Refer to section:- One night stands. Masturbation and possible withdrawal symptoms. Would 25 pet camels, a giraffe, a fleet of Porsches, lifetime access to the Playboy mansion (+viagra) and a private suite on the top of Burj Khalifa help?]

*Possible connections may vary in your contract. Porn-stars are exempted.

Fundamentals of existence. Purpose. To be desired and loved. To not die alone. The burning desire of conquering fizzling into a lamp of let-me-live-happy. Agreed, all random and puzzling thoughts. But I promise the dots connect.

[Hey! Look. A giraffe.]

The obvious truth- life is short. What are you going to do? Spend every minute pondering or living? Dreaming helps. Getting married, kids and the innuendo of THAT marathon. Sigh.

What’s real then? Work is a mere part of who we are. Balancing life between those little moments of joy and utter boredom or sadness. Contemplative exile from this over-tuned-media engine reflects blips of truth.

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While attention spans are… Facebook poke.

We’re looking for someone to share this incredible journey. The ability of that person in letting go, to cultivate, to raise and to not contain a partner’s passion and dreams.

Playing the role of a canon and pivot leading to empowerment. Additionally. An ocean of breathing space would be pushing your luck but perhaps a sea could be the model for a fine tight rope balance.

Letting the other person be. Loving them for who they are. No manipulation. No terms and conditions. No fine print. In case of fire grab the hose below. The bare and raw truth of your naked thoughts maturing like fine wine.

Take a sip.

[This blog’s origin is an evening of dribbling ideas with an old pal, his take on being married and why one should pursue dreams of becoming a porn-star based in SFO.]

What telephones and dating women have in common?

Phone-lady-Retro-Image-Graphics-Fairy1

Not so long ago, one had to book a telephone connection and wait [by the window, biscuit dipped in tea] for months before a lineman appeared for the installation.

On the day, one would organize a party serving only cheap liquor and show-off the magical device. But, no one you knew had a phone so it sat there, waiting to tinkle. Blast to today and the rules have changed.

*Operators are carefully stalking your next move.

“Sir, we were wondering if you’d like a telephone connection?”

Translation:
We’ve gone from supply unable to cope with demand based model to surplus supply annoying the demand in the ass racquet.

“No, for the last time. I can barely keep up with this one lady.”

What does that have to do with dating women?

It’s the same reason why women from a smaller town appear to be far more difficult to score versus a bigger one.

Here’s the catch.
Smaller towns have massive demands but the supply [of cute, pretty and hot girls with a PERSONALITY] is bleak. Considering the male to female ratio in India, you have loads of guys hitting on every kind of girl.

Scavenger approach.
An 8 in the arms of a 5. How the twerk did that happen. Clearly, he’s been rejected by an 8 and in his low moment, was drawn to an easier 5 [thereby jacking the 5 to believe she’s an 8 or 7]. Pity to watch men scramble for an oink.

This is score inflation. A 5 becomes a 7 and a 8 becomes a 10 [or what we have these ladies believe] by virtue of emasculated pride. What you now have is a souped up society full of women who think they are THE kid on the block.

Perspective: Imagine if you got hit on all the time by women. Would you give a flying-fish to every one?

I don’t think so.

Versus.

A larger availability of pretty, cute and intelligent women [with a personality] in bigger towns. All them vying for the alpha male. On a playing field, full of warriors, each one is trying to make her mark.

Let’s take a moment and imagine that.

Translation:
Women are far more receptive, conversation hungry and approachable. Clearly there are more 8, 9 and 10s in any room. Most of them will go the extra mile to get your attention.

Supply is in excess of demand. You can connect with what suits your budget, personality and lifestyle. Like that telephone connection.

Small town girls let their hair down in the big city: This means a small town girl appears to be different in a bigger town- like a dual personality. She no longer has to conform or is under the watchful eye of the ones she fears. The judgmental sort.

Players take the girls home.
However, one cannot expect to score by being a needy and boring little twig.

Book Review: Blink by Malcolm Gladwell

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After reading Blink I began to connect the dots. Ten minutes later I was proud of a giraffe.

[Advertising & Jobs]

I had been sitting at my corner desk, brandished with a self-imposed designation OCD (Oddly Creative Director) on the pin-up board, surfing in a paradoxical wave of ideas.

*Or daydreaming porn in other words. Funny how my boss would call me in on it every-freakin-time.*

As a copywriter, working in advertising, I was given the challenge of coming up with erotic content for a condom brand.

[Yippee! Followed by a victory dance, is what happened in my head earlier during the week, when this assignment was handed over to me.]

The kinky-led-porn-education-lasting-three-whole-days that followed only gave me a handful of jerky conclusions. I realised I hadn’t been inspired, nor had I been transported into an elevated state where the mind can seamlessly forge kick-ass words to form beautiful lines.

With only an hour left to the deadline my boss stepped up to my desk, scanned the lines I had been chasing in hope of brilliance to strike any-moment-now and in the blink of an eye connected line four to nine to three to eleven (scrapping away residue), making one giant mental note as if being spiritually taken.

Three and a half seconds later, he was out smoking in the hallway because he’d put together the most stimulating copy before our eyes like a magician seconds before.

[While others, used to such displays of genius, labelled it experience, I was convinced that my boss was secretly Superman.]

Only after reading Blink many years later did I realise my boss was the perfect example of instinctive thinking. He would, like a snooty designer, decide if something would work or not in seconds of sight.

Even Steve Jobs took snap decisions throughout his career and followed a similar school of thought. From discovering a mouse at XEROX to introducing the iPod, Jobs defied experts and consumer focus groups. He was known to walk into a room and have his team work on something because he knew what experts with tons of data could never imagine.

“Consumers cannot tell you what they need,” – Steve Jobs.

Malcolm has outlined this with a beautiful Pepsi & Coke challenge. Its the perfect example of market research experts funnelling millions of dollars into an orgy of ambiguous pursuits.

A sweeter drink will always pass the taste test and Coke never realised their victory was at the bottom of the can. (Read the book to know more.)

Often graphic designers or advertising-folk fight with clients over ideas because their gardener (apparently better perspective) or two-year-old, suckling on a nipple (sarcasm intended) have better foresight of their business. In other words, if you were to ask an architect to write you a prescription for migraines, you better be prepared to deal with a whole new set of problems.

[Women & Clients]

If you were to ask a girl what kind of a man she’s looking for and then have her meet ten different men, you’d be surprised she’d pick the one far off the list. Hey! There’s research to prove it. Said Malcolm himself.

I personally enjoyed this chapter for the obvious reasons but also because Neil Strauss (The Game) from the pickup-artist world had a similar theory on the subject.

[Book review on The Game also coming soon. BTW. In a matter-of-fact tone.]

How do you impress a hot girl at the bar or a boss in an elevator in less than 30 seconds? By effectively understanding how people thin-slice you can overcome this anxiety of pitch. In both scenarios you’re trying to sell yourself.

And I think Guy Kawasaki had the best solution to the new client/boss problem (not mentioned in the book). If you’re going to pitch to a client with only 30 seconds (assume time taken in elevator to travel from ground floor to the 2nd floor) then you better focus on selling the idea of what it is you do.

[Jobs inspired people in the same time in an elevator.]

Neil Strauss teaches you to frame and prime girls with anecdotes, memorised lines and some practiced bar tricks. In short, 30 seconds and you blow the girls mind. BANG! You’ve scored “A” on first impression as the most interesting man (like, ever).

Simply put, women have no idea what they’re chasing (like consumers who’ve got no clue of what they want). And because we thin-slice (make snap judgements) based on stereotypical prejudices you can be rest-assured this affects us all.

[Conclusion]

Blink is nothing short of genius. The book illustrates with various thought-evoking examples of how instinctive-thinking or snap decisions can do extremely well or go horribly wrong if born from a naive and unexperienced expert.

NYE 2013- The morning thereafter

The heady hours of NYE were spent sorting my room and packing for a trip to Australia. A rendezvous comprising of bikini-nude women, sand, sun and sea was all that I needed to get through the night. I clocked an hour of sleep, had a quick bite and boarded a bus to Delhi.

// The bus departs.

Call it lack of sleep or the morning rush of blood between a sober pendulum set, my gears were switched into a code of fantasy meet erotica. Memories of a hot ex and her best friend cross-wired resulting in an hot boner-inducing pornographic-breathing storyline.

I was no longer sitting next to a snoring man in a bus or at-least my imagination had me thinking otherwise.

This is what I saw or can gather from that morning.

// Two girls. One bus.

The first one is a chiseled face, long black hair, slender body (post years of Olympic training), draws the smile of a slutty goddess and eyes of a virgin angel (which leaves me pondering over the illicit bedroom memoirs of an angel). She opens a boner in your underpants like a water hose waiting to burst at site in flames.

*Sirens goes off. Mmmm… She wears black slacks, a tiny little skirt, covering only the essentials and strides the earth like a princess.

The other one.

She exudes an Arabic princess, does a fondle-me-tickle in the panty (don’t know what that means either). Make a flint of eye contact and you’re in for a pendulum shiver.

With her you need to speak in an intellectual orgy. Pull that off successfully and you’ve got yourself a very intrigued tigress. Rrrr… you’ll want to have her in the stairs from behind (with partial clothing withdrawn). If not, she’ll remain in a state of Catholic-nun.

// The bus reaches midway, halting at a restaurant by the lake. I step off to get some air and focus on the real world. Unable to do so, anticipate the next chapter of this slutty storyline.

*BTW. Slutty storyline clearly defines the true sentiments of this peace. Swallow the criticism, dear reader, if any.

// The bus is back on the road.

I am back in the perverse backwaters of slutty-in-bed-only-otherwise-virgin women. There they are, in a surreal foreign land, roaming about hand in hand, quietly flirting, giggling and spending their day in a state of infatuation.

// Scene.

The two sit across the table (lit by a candle for effect) by the sea, unknowingly fishing in their bowl of soup when one becomes conscious of the other’s indisputable beauty. The friendly glances turn into a sensual gaze lasting many minutes. The soup is cold hovering only deep breathes and greedy flies.

*A reason for them to call for the bill and walk back towards the hotel.

The fire. Kindled. A romantic ballet ensues.

In the next scene, the two are lying side by side on a bed dressed in white linen. The penthouse-like suite opens to the sea through it’s archaic windows and a beautifully grapevine-decorated marbled balcony.

The sound of the sea is followed by a gentle breeze. The sweet tickles are a marriage of strokes on the extremely-short-skirt-exposed legs of these two, now aware of their breathing, ladies.

It reminds me of the scenes from National Geographic when a predator is waiting patiently behind the bushes for the perfect moment, ready to attack it’s prey, catching it off-guard. Or the mood in this room can described as a buffet of muscles contracting and squeezing together in sexual-tension.

Minutes later, the two begin by kissing each other gently, caressing and licking each other like kittens dirty from a pool of milk. Every inch is salivated and restored with the vibrating intensity of a washing machine.

The bare minimum skirts have been pulled upwards, exposing each other. They’re tongue-deep into the moist and warm bodies (holding each other’s head tightly between their thighs, taking control over their maddening desires).

One requests the other to pry her moist finger into the backdoor, only gently at first but with squirms turning to moans, she quickly changes the pace. The sweaty bodies rub and grind for an hour before they both cum to one of the most satisfying conclusions.

The two gorgeous bodies lay nude side by side, pleased with their little discovery…

// The bus reaches the airport. More later. I’ve got a long flight…

Weathermen don’t get laid

Imagine. You’re at a house party, beer in hand, waist deep in the pool which is full of drunk butt-naked drop-dead gorgeous women. Obviously this isn’t your house and you’ve never met these girls before.

How did you get here? Sensible question.

Your friend, the photographer. He’s a chick magnet. This villa, one of the properties he owns in Bora Bora, happens to be the backdrop to one of the hottest calendar shoots every year.

You’re the luckiest bastard alive. Why? There are only two men on this island between 25 women. The rest called it in early. They’re gay. Forget about them.

Stay focused.

You look over one shoulder, and you’re mind makes a quick yet informed calculation. There are enough assets to keep you busy for the next quarter.

Numb and blurred by such thoughts, you sip on your beer and fall into a day dream.

This is when a girl sporting only tattoos leap-frogs over you (and btw. this is the closest you’ve ever come to a female crotch). She’s high on wine and you’re not complaining.

The big splash causes you to get wet. (pun intended)

Nano seconds later, she appear out of the depths of this water body like a mermaid princess. Her body’s glistening under the evening sun. She strokes her hair behind her head and drops you a glance.

You’re making eye contact minutes into the party.

This is the moment you’ve jacked off to before sleeping every night for the past 20 years. And, well, quite frankly, if the tennis elbow doesn’t slow you down, you’re in deep trouble.

Right. Where were we.

You walk-paddle-strut your way over to her with the risk of getting decked in-front of everyone.

It’s the beer.

She looks at you with rape-me-right-here puppy dog eyes and you clench your butt cheeks before squirting out a “the weather on this island is crazy… wasn’t like it last year…”

Alright people, shows over, the cats out of the bag.

If you ever wish or dream of being a player or the guy chicks dig, then never ever talk about the weather. It’s a turn off. A no-action zone. A technique only mastered by the celibacy gods of thunder.

Here’s my angle and cure to the problem.

The next time you’re in conversation with a hot-mamma, your mind will be busy calculating the next thing to say (like those guys behind multiple screens at TV stations seamlessly connecting commercials and serials) for the fear of keeping the conversation exciting.

Be honest with yourself, and it may take some practice, so if the slide prompter ever displays the weather report, kick in the back up plan (put ideas for back-up plan here).

If you were to ask me, I turn the conversation to things like- what are you wearing now, what perfume did you have on or compliment what she wore that day, tell her I have a boner.

Because you know what happens to weathermen? They get kneed in the groin, in a pool, littered with drunk-naked women, never to return ever ever again.

Writer’s block

The memory of writing a blog post with a flint of conviction seems foggy. Timing couldn’t possibly be worse. Blame it on fate or sour creative juice. Either way, no words had been put side by side in fancifulness of an engaging and spirited blog post.

It all began with pseudo work piling up on my desk, under my nose. Intentionally denying myself a breather of verbal air- a blog rant so to speak. This phase was an excuse to stub great ideas, which could, in a perpetually digitized universe, see the light of algorithms or day as you – normal folks armed with Facebook poke – would call it.

This severe problem, like an annoying blister grown organically between the ass cheeks, was never of ideas, which, in a matter of fact way, have always been abundant, and stacked neatly, labeled and shelved in my brain’s optical briefcase, with a sign: break in case of creative block.

At the same time, for a moment it seemed, I had burned myself to the point of extinction. Writing, as a way of life, was over even before taking off. I reeked failure all over. With my face tucked tightly between crossed arms, the voices numbed. There was no one at the wheel. I was lost in a dessert of confusion plagued by frustration.

A low point ensued.

But, where there is a will, there’s a BMW M5 backed into your driveway, awaiting play.

Back? Ah! I was saying: post several futile attempts of calibrating the ideas in my mind with words, the light at the end of the tunnel began to creep its way back in. This was the point of realization- and the much awaited climax in this riddling verbal jaunt. It was a moment full of joy or in my textbook- wank-a-thon-induced-orgasms.

Here’s what I discovered, and this may help you in your moment of weakness- seconds before you give in to a boring career option- (put boring fart-less profession here).

We all, I’m assuming you too, know-

Writing, like any other profession or craft, requires loads of practice, lots more repetition, even more reading or better yet, endless reading and an eye for picking up nuances that may trigger your mind’s shorter leg.

Pun intended.

Turns out, with my colossal work load taking front row seats, I hadn’t read a book, magazine, blog post, newspaper, website copy, terms & conditions on a soap box or even the fine print of anything of anything.

Curiosity levels were as shallow as Kim Kardashian’s personality. For creative beings, this is an equivalent of a prisoner on death row multiplied by steroid-induced hysteria that makes one stab there eye incessantly.

Marlyin Mansion would know.

One fine day, the pieces began to fit the puzzle, while I was in office looking for inspiration, without ever realizing that a short book on time management (gifted by a friend) was quietly moving the floor beneath my feet. The feeling can be best described by downing 30 shots of vodka. Friendly advice: I wouldn’t try that if I were you.

On completing the book, I placed it back on the shelf, sat back in my chair, threw my feet on the table, put my hands behind my head, smiled in satisfaction and came to realize how much I missed reading.

Its close to what a good old mouth hug by the sea feels like. If you need to know what that means, you’re not old enough to be on this blog. Shoo!!

I pounced on everything in sight for the next week, like a starved cave man, who’s discovered the 7 course lunch buffet at The Leela Kempinski. Blogs, magazines (which I verbally raped from cover to cover), and this book that I’m reading now on “probability”, which is responsible for stimulating a legion of out-of-work brain cells.

Soon, it all began to come back, words connected like a relationship high on chemistry minus the boring science bit. I am now, without a doubt, a kid high on crack.

Rainbows and bunnies are back in charge. In short, reading more helps.

Mr. Porter | Online store for men

Mr. Porter. An online store for guys. The site looks classy and visually resembles the pages of a GQ magazine. The collection is extensive and categorized neatly into sections. You’ll not only find your favourite gear but also helpful tips and advice on all sartorial matters. There’s even a “Wardrobe Manager” option. It’s that simple.

Why you need bra & panty in your next marketing strategy


*Before we proceed any further into this article, kindly look into your mind’s eye and honestly tell me you’re thinking about filing your taxes and making an honest living and not those luscious, drool-inducing, balls-tingling tits and ass.

Alright. Here we go.

The two most fascinating words of the male dictionary. Well, in my case, for obvious reasons but also because they’re purely a professional hazzard.

No.

I know what you’re thinking i.e. either this guy is a male stripper who grinds the bars for the rich-but-lonely-wives, or is a professional godzilla slinger aka hairy Mexican pornstar or one of those guys who’s drooling and ogling dirty pictures in the next window while conceptualizing this literary jaunt.

Or my favourite- he’s plain old horny and cheap like every other man except for Bill Clinton.

What? He was framed.

Although, those would appropriately fit my label, there’s more to a bra’s and panty’s obvious functionality.

One.

Today, because of clutter and competition, to engage the customer or as we, in the advertising industry put it, get the target audience enticed and hooked over the brand becomes a challenge.

Hence, you need your communication to be catchy.

*Like those tits you saw the other day, while you sat across the room with your girlfriend at a cafe. You remember she was wearing a white dress, her long brown hair were caught in the wind (even though this was indoors and there was no fan) and the fact that she itched her toe twice, shifted three times and did that thing most girls do- fixed her shirt because she could see the drool on your chin from across the room.

She was like a breath of fresh air. Thats recall.

Is your campaign engaging enough for the audience you have set out to have a conversation with?

Two.

Sampling the product so that a customer can get a flavour i.e. like a test drive or demo.

*You walk into a strip club, get a lap dance and the girl quietly slips a business card in your jacket pocket while you orgy over her assests.

Raise your hand if you agree thats some kick-ass one-on-one selling right there. Can your product demo deliver and capture the imagination of your customer?

Three.

Delivery. You’ve enticed the customer, given a kick-ass demo but when the panties come off, there’s a dirty bush and it smells of alcohol and a baloney sandwich that was on the bottom-most shelf of your friend’s fridge for two whole months.

Failing to deliver to the brand promise will result in losing the customer forever, garnering a bad word of mouth and, the most common of all, an erectile dysfunction- the business going kaput.

I also think a bra is much like the advertising campaign that entices and engages with the client, guest, customer or consumer and the panties become the after sales service.

How well and prepared are you to listen and meet the needs as well as evolve with time to keep things alive and fresh?

For instance, an advertising baba would do a like an under-the-waterfall-in-her-saree-slow-motion-dance for an Indian and a let-me-grab-that-pen-of-the-floor for you in a really tiny skirt for an American.

Disclaimer/Tip: After all, it ain’t rocket science dude, with one hand in his pant and the other on the mouse. Simply spread the index and thumb into a “U”, slide your hand up her shirt from behind, press down firmly on the straps and bring thumb and finger apart.

Voila. I said bra and panty.

Image: ffffound.com

School days in prison


Ever heard people rant about how they loved their school days, and if they’d get a chance to go back in time, they’d do it in a blink of an eye. Well, that is certainly not my case. I dreaded school, the very thought of school, even now, makes my stomach hurl – sickening, really.

And, to my plight, there was no escaping going to school, even when I begged, pleaded, whined, made puppy dog faces, cried and hid from my parents under the bed, under the kitchen table, behind the tree in the lawn, in the boot of the car – nothing. I had to be part of a mundane educational system that inspired zero creativity and imagination.

This rudimentary system of education, which made sense in the early half of the 19th century, was made to cater to the industrial revolution. That’s why your mommy and daddy wanted you to be either and engineer or doctor – so you could get a job, and that’s why they frowned upon arts because there was no future there. Or at least that’s what they thought.

The learning environment i.e. hierarchy of curriculum (science at top and arts at bottom) and basic infrastructure never evolved with time, causing a conflict between the educational systems itself and the demands of the professional world – which no longer only consists of engineers and doctors.

Simply put, technologies and opportunities, which were never heard of when we were kids (like Facebook, Google and other creative platforms i.e. mobile, graphic design and advertising) are fields, which have created a surplus demand for individuals which no educational system of today is prepared for.

Let’s closely, for a moment, observe a typical day in school from my eyes. I’ve gotten into the military suit (the god forsaken uniform), strapped on a bag full of books which couldn’t intrigue a flint of curiosity, a lunch box with my favourite – bread jam or Maggie, a thermos filled with ice cold Roohafza (a sweet drink of survival).

There I am, in a class full of kids that are anxious for the teacher to walk in and put tiny stars on their faces – well, they did their homework. Me, on the other hand, loathe the very thought of doing any homework. I guess it’s the “work” in home that disheartened my kid-like spirits.

A daydream used to ensue the moment the teacher opened her mouth. Physically, there was very little I could do about my situation, but mentally no one could control my imaginative and inquisitive nature. I spent all my time observing birds, trees, the endless blue sky (courtesy big windows), the girls from the school next door (I went to an all boys school), the way a teacher carried her/himself, their character, the wood of my table, the smell of the concrete floors, the fan, the smell of chalk, the flee on my table and so on.

Often, I’d sit in class and wonder about the liberating life beyond the walls of my school.

How badly I wanted to escape the prison of pointless garble that came in the form of Maths, Science, History and the likes. I remained stoned-thick in the head. I didn’t want to be educated by a bunch of nincompoops – nothing but rote learning. Teachers would thrash my behind, knuckles and palms (corporal punishment was allowed back then) but their attempts proved futile.

Around exam time, I’d get a double thrashing from home simply because I’d pick up my bicycle and circled around town, again, observing people, things and why they were the way they were. The results of these activities proved quite fatal on my report cards.

If I were to put it in simple words, my report cards were like a visit to the theme park and riding the rollercoaster meant only for kids above 25 years of age. Obviously, my parents used to get nightmares and forego sleep on the days when a parent teacher meeting was called. We’d park far away and leave before anybody could notice. In short, I was the cutest looking embarrassment (oh, come on, I used to have dimples and the whole puppy dog thing going for me).

Anyhow, while other kids showed up on the day of the exam, chirpy and excited – huddled around each other, outscoring each others brain – I’d stand peacefully to a side and think about all the things I was going to do once the exam was over.

And, although, I was never prepared for an exam, my swagger was full of confidence. It used to take me exactly 2 minutes and 35 seconds to finish any exam – after all, how long does it take someone to write their name. On one such occasion, I ended up writing my best friends name. Imagine explaining that in front of my Principal, teacher and parents – this is when my mom gave me an exclusive thrashing of a lifetime.

Sadly for my parents, and to my luck, I was thrown out of a couple of schools. My dad must have had a tough time bringing up a retard like kid. I bet he’d pray to god, had he waited that day at work. In the corporate world, people hop from one company to another for money and “change”, I did it because I failed according to the educational system, but also because I liked the idea of going some place new.

At present, I run an advertising agency that is working closely with a client to setup an International boarding school, which proposes an International curriculum – an irony for the guy who hates the very idea of schools. But after three months of extensive research and learning, I’ve learnt that the education sector is under a massive revolution/overhaul.

According to Sir Ken Robinson, a world leader in the development of innovation, creativity and human resources talks about how education till now has only stressed on the left side of the brain – creating only professors for school and how the current system of education kills creativity. See the video.

All these years, I had this repulsive fungus-like anger hidden in the far corners of my heart, buried deep, deep down, under a tank of revolt. But, to my surprise, my views of schools and the education system have all gone for a toss. I can finally sit back and look at education with a promising smile on my face.

In the future, no longer the sciences and maths will be put on celestial podiums. There will be room made for the arts, not above or below, but as an equal. Right from the school building – the environment in which a child will learn, grow and imagine to liberating a child’s true passion by nurturing his or her’s true talent and creativity – the schools of tomorrow will be something even I’ll want look back upon.

Read this on GQ INDIA.

The Brand

For my beloved and discerning readers. Special thanks to Deeksha who’s done the illustration and concept.

Design by: Deeksha

The Aunty Uncle Hug




A confession. It’s true, I’m a sucker for hugs. Ask my friends, they’ll tell you. Not all of them. But the ones that go red in the face and smile at the very thought of me hugging them. Its true there are a few out there, but that fact of the matter is that they are there. And, to set the record straight, this one is for them.

The inspiration. This year clearly began on Ostrich wings and yet I’m not complaining openly. But, something absurdly eye-opening happened in the beginning of this year. It wasn’t all hunky and dory for everyone but something unique came out of all the slurry-slush mud-wash.

The idea. You’ve heard of the bear hug, butt-hug, friendly hug, group hug, pat on the back, sympathy hug, tree hug, snuggle hug and the list goes on. Now, I introduce to you, my very own “Aunty Uncle Hug” – Yep! Its real and it works. Although, I would test it on a close friend (with prior permission, unlike me) and spread it like a virus.

Technical Specification. The Aunty Uncle Hug is a bear hug in physical form but in meaning it loosely translates into no obligations no strings attached. You can throw one around strangers at clubs (be down a few beers and you’re ready), in the park (if you’re an old fellow), at the stadium (other fans), during weddings and even the workplace (unless you work at the bank).

Statutory Warning. Hell, you could even throw one on a cow off the street (had you any love for animals in the first place). But if I were you I would be careful hugging cows, they get the wrong idea.

Resolutions

What? Not another New Year resolution? You’re feeling sea-sick? You can feel a stomach hurl coming along. While others rant of in oblivion about all the things they’re never going to do, I promise to disclose the anatomy of it all (and, no, this is not a resolution in any form). In other words, the hard and fast of a promise – a resolution – we intend to never keep.

To begin with, lets see why most of us start to panic around this fragile time of the year. It’s peer pressure from your social or work network that triggers a grenade of flustering thoughts. What will I tell Frank and Martha at the gala? Will they think less of me? Will the guy in the cabin next to me at work frown upon my very existence- even though he looks like a walrus?


This is when you begin to fantasize about all the things you’d left uncooked, half-done or put in the far corners of a closet, now full of cobwebs. These could be tiny little nothings i.e. going on a diet, smiling everyday, taking a bath every week, ticking off the imaginary number of women on my to date list, making conversation with complete strangers in alleys – you can add up, right?

And, once these resolutions or for the sake of conversation lets call them “verbal missiles” are in the state of launch sequence, the countdown of sweat trickles down your spine. At this point, it becomes a battle of ego and crushing what others have publicly addressed via blogs or the company newsletter.

How can a junior assistant, to the assistant director, have a better New Year resolution then the boss himself? Its only when this topic comes up in a conversation over dinner, with a client, that the boss halts his schedule, sharpens his pencil and calls in the secretary with a peewee skirt – the kinds that make legs go all the way up.

Focus now. Moments later, a verbal missile would enter the email server trajectory by hitting every employee of the organization. This would be the mother of resolutions, one that clearly defines what every flea must do in order to sustain their position. If this was a “real war”, it would look a lot like Sparta.

Much later, the second week of the first month, the wounded have left (you know, the no-more-twinkies-this-year kind people), and others (the people who you never seem to notice, even when they wear yellow pants) have already forgotten what it was that they publicly promised.

For the rest of us who were in a lazy boy this whole time, with feet up, a glass of Cognac in hand, and enjoying the show, couldn’t help but chuckle over the whole idea.

The iPhone dilemma

Apple fanatics around the world – including me – are in a dilemma. Like many, I’ve been longing to get my hands on the iPhone 4 from the time I saw the videos on Apple.com. But, with the arrival of Android, resistance from competition is hard to ignore.

The first bad boy is the Samsung Galaxy S, a replica of the iPhone 3GS but enabled with Android 2.1 and powered by 1GHz CPU processor. It scores over the iPhone in terms of features and screen size – a whopping 4 inches of Super Amoled HD clarity, multi-tasking, Swype – slide your finger over the letters of a word without lifting it from the screen, Google Maps Navigation – voice enabled directions, 16 GB internal memory with room for expansion, multiple home screens and a 5 mega pixel camera that records videos at 30 fps. If the phone had camera flash and a good speaker, it would be perfect. Visit the website.

The second gadget – the HTC Desire HD – makes James Bond look like a sophomore. Its got a whopping HD enabled 4.3-inch screen, which is powered by Android 2.2 (Froyo) with HTC Sense. Features that’ll make you drool include an 8 megapixel camera with dual LED flash, Facebook and Twitter for HTC Sense, Maps with zero dead spots and the ability to send men on the moon. Alright, I made that last one up. And lastly, my favourite part, the phone can be remotely locked, tracked and wiped by simply logging into HTCSense.com – you no longer have to worry about losing or misplacing the device. Visit the website.

Even though these two cream the iPhone in terms of features, they’re still second best in the eyes of an Apple geek. No wonder Steve Jobs looks unperturbed – cool as cucumber – during keynotes.

On Writing by Stephen King

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I recently – on a flight back to Chandigarh from Mumbai – finished reading Stephen King’s On Writing. It is a memoir of the craft of writing.

Surprisingly, we all know King as the author of contemporary horror, suspense, science fiction and fantasy fiction. Which means, you’d expect something similar.

Honestly, its nothing like any other King book on your shelf. What got me glued was the conversation. It was a one on one. Straight up like a tequila shot.

The book is divided into three sections.

One part is the biography and story of how King became the writer he is now.

The second part talks about the craft of writing in detail with examples and avoiding excessive adverbs.

The third part is again autobiographical where king speaks about the accident where he was struck by a car.

You’ll find King’s must-read booklist at the very end.

Plus, you’ll find the door open and door closed technique insightful while working on your own book – if you were to ever write one.

I say if you are a writer or someone looking to write, this book will keep you gripped till your eyes sore out.

I guess the no-bullshit attitude works with me.

Enjoy the book.

Book: On Writing
Author: Stephen King
Publisher: Pocket Books

Men That Women Should Avoid At All Cost (Volume 1)

A while back, I had prepared a list of females that men should avoid at all costs. This time around, and due to popular demand, I’ve compiled the antidote. The list of men you’ll read about have either been acquaintances or been known in some way or other. The point is that the list matters, and not how I know them.

Although men are, by nature, polygamous and women monogamous, I can still draw a thin line between the different kinds of men and women. And ladies, to be honest, all men stare, all men are cheap (to some extent), and all men are MEN.

There. I feel much better.

There is a little bit of these men in every MAN. So, next time your man does something unorthodox or seemingly sheepish, you’ll be prepared. And, since there are so many different kinds of men out there, I have only selected a handful worthy of discussion. Feel free to request a TYPE in the comments section below.

Buckled up? Here we go ladies.

The Possessive Poodle
The reason I have chosen the Possessive Poodle, first, is because they are so damn popular. Look around; if you’re a woman, there are plenty of them, everywhere. The best way to define these gentlemen is their peculiar taste in almost everything garbled on ego. These over passionate, over board with the manner with which they conduct themselves and over (put almost anything you want here) kind of men. Usually, and mostly, women fall into their trap because they are puppy-dog like, harmless, feather like – fascinating, nearly. They will let women do whatever they please (wait, hold your horses) and as soon as the girl commits, you’d see the flipside – the real arse in disguise.
It would be a no this, no that, not now, not here, you’ll do as I say attitude. And, a month into this relationship, the girl becomes the Poodle – an angry bitch that’ll bite. No offense ladies, these men can do that to you.

Cure: Run for your life. Change all your phone numbers 300 times – and once more after that.

The Cheap Creep
Ah, the easiest one to find in a bunch of men. The Cheap Creep is a loner. Sporting a rapist-like smirk, eavesdropping on most conversations, eyeing all the butts and busts of the room – lavishly and openly. He is the I-think-I-am-Brad-Pitt type but actually looks like a shaved donkey. The Cheap Creep is a slimy fellow, usually lecherous by nature, and thinks he’s a player. He’ll approach girls with lines like: “God bless those” (And stare where men shouldn’t), “Let me show you my chest hair” (while slowly unbuttoning the top 2 buttons of his shirt), “You ladies look like you need some action” (and make sexual gestures). These are a few, I’m sure you can add to the list. Even a stripper or a low cost prostitute will not engage with The Cheap Creap.

Cure: Public humiliation: One tight slap.

The Beer Brawler
A perfectly sane looking individual who is known to be a champion. However, when his lips meet beer – the pig takes over. You’d be surprised at what follows next. Mostly found in the bathroom or on John’s new fish tank – throwing up. The Beer Brawler is the I-drink-50-beers-for-breakfast kind but gets drunk on 2 sips of root beer. He’ll try to stimulate ladies by his shallow antics and short-lived memory span. Even a bird with a pea size brain can outwit this bloke. Once the Beer Brawler gets drunk, he’ll enter into self-destruct mode. Usually leading to fights, random quarrels about how his girlfriend finds him immature or why he can’t score a better girl (well, a good one). Usually ladies fall into his trap because they believe a man can quit beer. No, really?

Cure: Fresh lime – lots of it!

The Bitch in Pants
I know what most of the ladies are thinking. Yes, you’re right. This is your favourite kind of man, the most popular in a group of girls. Wait, what? This may sound like a fantasy (to a few inexperienced men) but, the hard truth is, women love gossip. Yes, men gossip too, but this is one odd breed. He’ll know everything about everyone (even a super bitch would feel befuddled with his gossip prowess). He’ll out talk any girl in the room. There is some sort of a hidden channel via which this man receives all his feed. More so, women feel this urge to confide and confess all their secrets in him.

Note: For men, it would be a good idea to have one such friend. He’ll keep you out of trouble and into the right circle (remember he has so many girls around him).

A girl would not know who is the man in the relationship if she ever got with this queen. But, look at the bright side; you’ll have endless gossip. Need I say more?

Cure: Leave the room. Better, put some pants on.

The Cheating Cheetah
The most dreaded of them all. The cheat. The guy every girl wants to kill. Well, almost. Known to hop on and hop off relationships like a schoolgirl with candy. Hmmm… Well, not like a schoolgirl but a baboon on sugar. At first, this man seems perfect, like a saint from the hills. He’ll shower you with love and gifts (in most cases). You’ll be on cloud 9 for this, albeit brief, period. The inner working of this man are similar to a scam artist. Once the bubble pops, you’ll be heartbroken and distressed. Finally, all those warnings your friends gave will make sense.

Cure: Ask him to marry you on the third date and watch him run.

The Stingy Sheik
Contrary to popular belief, the Stingy Sheik is an elaborate spender. He’ll purchase the best of clothes, cars, mobile phones, shoes etc. etc. Here’s the catch: None of it will be for you. The only thing you’ll get is a set of bed sheets from Wal-Mart, at 50% off. He’d occasionally make you ‘ducth’ the bill on the pretext that women are equal. I say BULLSHIT.

Cure: Get your own wallet. Be a woman.

The Brag Basket
This man is full of himself. He’ll brag about everything, literally. An average conversation with this hoodwink will include the stretches of property, cars and women he owns. You’ll be yawning even before his Mercedes takes ignition. Also known to treat other humans like garbage – especially waiters and security guards.

Cure: Ask him about that Ferrari he couldn’t buy.

The Safe Boy
This is one of my favourites. The Safe Boy is your mom or dad disguised in sneakers and ripped jeans. He’ll shy away from any opportunity to take advantage, drink milk at a bar and even go to church in the morning. Will constantly worry about your health and take you on long drives with no intent. Very cute indeed, but wait, didn’t women prefer the bad boy? I’ll get to him very shortly. Usually women use the safe boy as a fallback toy. You would hear women say, “He’s been THERE for me” garbage.

Cure: Get a bad boy.
Speaking of bad boys. I’ve saved the best for last. Here’s the man himself.

The Bad Boy
This is not your average Joe. He’s the blue-eyed boy, the rock star of them all. He can jump in and out of any of the above roles at the drop of a hat. He is moody, choosy and downright egotistical and usually a good-looking stud. There will be commitment issues, relationship issues, and all sorts of issues that even I can’t fathom. Teachers hate him, mothers love him (mostly), and men envy him. He makes girls go weak in the knees, flirts recklessly and takes most of the girls’ home. Most girls can’t resist this dude too long. In fact, friends would wait in line to be with him. That’s crazy but all true. The only way you can go home with this bad boy is if your BOMB-like hot!

Cure: There is no cure. He’s going to be out of this world. Enjoy!

All right ladies, hope you enjoyed this short journey. I’m sure there are 10 more men you can think of that should make this list. Kindly add them below, in the comments section and I will write about them in Volume 2.

Note: Some descriptive bits have been left out to keep this blog PG-13.

Book Review: The Path Redefined

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That morning, staring me in the eye were a herd of freshly baked sugary treats, resting in cardboard boxes on a set of round tables, placed behind the last row of seats, and a room full successful entrepreneurs, leaders and professionals of New York.

I was attending Founders Breakfast at @GrindSpaces (a co-working space). The event entailed a #CuuriousChat with, the NY bred, Lauren Maillian Bias (author of The Path Redefined and a successful serial entrepreneur), curated by connector-ninja-entrepreneur Kelly Hoey (CMO @Cuurio + a Canadian by roots), followed by questions from the audience.

As I stood there by the donut and waffle oasis, juggling a sugary treat and hot coffee, I was welcomed by the charming @TammyTibbetts, Founder/President of @ShesTheFirst who I had met previously at an event organised by the energetic folks @TheDesignGym.

Within minutes, Tammy, through a close friend had me standing face-to-face with Lauren. On introducing myself, I quickly realised I hadn’t come prepared with my elevator pitch. Lauren engaged with me in a genuine way, leaving me with no choice but to purchase a copy of her new book, The Path Redefined.

Thus began the conversational-narrative of between Lauren and me. While everyone’s reading habits may vary, I prefer going cover to cover in a single stretch- squeezing words between the day including subway rides, during laundry, before sleeping, while drinking coffee- you get the drift?

The book begins with a journey into the past of a little girl, eyeing The Big Apple, from behind her corner-street lemonade stand. From there the book illustrates the power of building a serendipitous life by design.

Lauren describes how surrounding yourself with successful people and creating opportunities by being open of your dreams and goals can leap-frog you into powerful positions (but at the same time refraining from trampling anyone by being genuine and ethical in your approach).

Thinking and believing big, becoming an expert and building a diverse network of people so that your next opportunity is only a degree of separation away. While drawing inspiration from real issues faced by budding entrepreneurs to describing in-depth solutions head on, the book, in a beautiful way, takes you through a girl’s journey from stepping away from her initial business for good to raising two kids as a single-mother and powering through tough times with her “game-face” mentality as a successful entrepreneur.

The experience of reading The Path Redefined is equivalent to having one long conversation with the author, over the weekend, at the cottage nestled between the mountains with a stream flowing nearby- a cup of coffee in hand.

As a reader, you will find the bullet-summary sections at the end of each chapter to be a treat. An easy way to remember and register the big picture.

Favourite quotes from the book:

-“Engage in genuine conversations. People are people no matter how accomplished they are.”

-“Every move you make is monitored in some way.”

-“Realise the power of your silence and know when to hold still.”

-“Stay actively involved in all your network and keep all of your connections warm at all times, even as you add new people to your network.”

-“Be more interested than interesting, especially when you’re new to the game.”

-“It’s the person, not the degree or the resume, that gets hired.”

-“Show that you can persevere with grace during difficult situations. Problems are a part of life, and we all encounter them, but how you handle them will be most memorable.”

Keeping in line with the serendipitous teachings of The Path Redefined, I am going to leave my copy on the bookshelf at Birch Coffee because, by the stroke of luck/fate, the story of Lauren may inspire the next Facebook or Google.

Others can find a copy on Amazon.

Retirement

Its been an awfully long hiatus. No blog posts. None. Barely any tweets and some random Facebook updates here and there. That’s about it.

This is primarily because of a self-lacking, narcissist motivation that led me to believe that I was beyond and over blogging. Only for a brief moment though.

Lazy as ever, bored out of my barely legal bald head, and jet-lagged from an overtly schedule of inane rituals, I decided to read the newspaper.

Here’s where it all (my ridiculous journey of pop-tarts and Twinkies) became oblivious.

The headline read as follows:

A 13-Year-Old Takes On Everest, and Sets Off a Debate.

In an another incident I came across this headline:

“16 year old Aussie Schoolgirl Sails Solo Around World.

I would agree that there are plenty more examples of such ridiculously insane conquests made by the age groups falling between 15 to 20 years.

Wtf?

The other day my niece, came back home with her class four results. She’d scored 96% marks.

This was getting crazier by the minute.

Levels of expectations, not to mention the cut-throat competition have produced a different breed of humans. Today’s generation is so fast that most managers sitting in sea-facing cabins are clenching their over-sized egos.

At the speed with which these youngsters are taking on the world, retirement doesn’t look too far ahead.

**Just an inane thought that’s been puzzling my mind over the past week.

Top 10 Things To Say When Airtel Broadband Calls

Are you welcomed by calls from sales-representatives early in the morning, during a client meeting, when you’re out drinking with the boys, while having/making dinner, while negotiating that last bit of fudge on that overtly sundae, doing your homework, filling/evading taxes, baking cookies for your darn kids, strangling your wife (kidding about that last one, even though I’m sure most of you do) from Airtel Broadband?

Boy?! What a nuisance – simply because I already use 2 Airtel Broadband connections. Any how, I’ve devised an almost waggish riposte, yet sensible to your ego, to tackle these incessant calls (keeping it appropriate for all genres).

Here is a list of things to say when the male/female representative says the following:

“Sir, we would like to take 2 minutes of your time to talk about Airtel Broadband.”

**At this point, I can already picture how this conversation is going to go.

-“Yea, sure. Tell me (I have now stepped into the better part of my brian).”

“Do you use broadband on your home pc…?”

Now, here’s your chance to make the best of this conversation, only if your genuinely not interested in Airtel Broadband or you’re a sucker like me with 2 Airtel Broadband connections.

The List

1. Computer? What broadband? I am a farmer. Do you have something for Reena, my buffalo or my tractor? Maybe they can be connected to the internet… (And you can continue to blabber) Reena hasn’t been milking properly, do you have internet that can fix her?

2. Yes, I have a broadband connection. I use it on my Microwave. I like to check my mails while I’m heating left over food. Its connected via a mainframe computer, located at Bedi Grocery Stores… Are you calling from Bedi Stores? Kindly send over some desi ghee (cooking oil).

3. My pet snake has eaten the broadband connection. In fact, I’m speaking from his lard infested stomach. Oh wait! I see the laptop… Hello?

4. I am interested in getting a broadband connection. Kindly send someone over at 123 Thebigwhiterock Drive, Moon.

5. I’m in jail right now. Can you get me a connection here? The inmates are making me do all the work around here…

6. Are you trying to seduce me? I’m filing a complaint.

7. Will the internet and broadband cure haemorrhoids?

8. Gabbar cut my arms off in Sholay? Do you know how I can itch that far corner on my back?

9. Jao, pehle us aadmi ko dhoond kar layo, jisne mere maathe pe likh diya: Mera Baap Airtel Broadband Ka Bill Nahi Dega!! (First, go find the person who wrote on my forehead: My father will not pay for Airtel Broadband).

10. Woof… Rrrrhhh… Woof.. Woohhoooo…

If you have other ideas, please drop them in the comments below. Lets see what all we can get. As it is Airtel wants people to express themselves!! Cheers 😀

A lesson in sales

This video is simply shit-in-my-pants gripping, in its every second of sales-motivation induced confab. The verbal assault continues throughout the entire sequence- pure brain stimulation.This snippet is part of a movie which was, originally, an adaptation of the 1982 play written by David Mamet. Learn about Glengarry Glen Ross. I’m sure Rocket Singh will be taking down notes somewhere.


Note: If you lack any form of motivation in life, then, I suggest watching this clip every morning for the days that lie ahead.

Clint

No, this is not that word. I know what you’re thinking (giggle giggle, ha ha, ha ha), but it is not. Reassuringly, not!! It is most definitively not. In short, the word doesn’t exist (apart from the Urban Dictionary, which I will be talking about in a few seconds).

Although, originally, it was not meant to do all those things, but, now it is doing much more. And, for those reasons, it is the word which will be part of my spoken vocabulary for the coming months (simply because it circumvolves the listener’s mind the moment it leaves your mouth).

Try it once. Again. Once more. And?

Well, if that didn’t work for you, try these (courtesy Urban Dictionary):

1. A overconfident Sentra driver who gets his mom to buy him clothing still and lives in her basement

“Man that guy is on welfare, he’s such a Clint.”

2. A teenager, who lives in his overly abusive mothers basement, and playes World of Warcraft 24 hours a day…Literally this guy lives for WoW. He thinks he is down with everyone, where the only person he is really down with is his own mothers bridge club and his guild.

“Man o Man, your a dick, fucking clint”

“Your ugly, you must be a clint”

“Oh man, your vagina is leaking, you must have clint syndrome”

3. A sexy, suave, masculine guy who is good at satisfying a woman, especially licking her vagina and clit. Basically someone who is the best and giving a girl head.

Girl: u guna have sex with him tomorrow?
Girl2: yeah, why?

Girl: how u know hes guna be good?
Girl2: his name’s clint, and my clit is my sweet spot, he has to be good.

Girl: damn, i want some of that.

4. A term used to describe someone who’s mentally fucked up.

b) A loser. The epitome of stupidity and leader of stupid people everywhere.
He cannot speak correctly, must be a Clint.

Look at that try hard, he’s such a Clint.

5. Often when using leetspeak, or gamertalk, Cunt is mistaken for the word clint: (|_|/\/ 7 As the two words look identical in leetspeak, people often use the word Clint to describe someone as a cunt.
You are so crap at gears of war, you complete clint.

Note: This post has been published for the sole purpose of enlightenment.

Girls You Wish You Never Met

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Sandy is one the hottest girls in town – her athletic body, long legs and diva-like looks could make any man weak in the knees. At the moment, she’s flaunting her iPhone and Gucci dress that Rahul – the son of the biggest jeweller in town – gifted to her, for being her boyfriend. Can you spot the donkey in this story?

If you think Sandy is with Rahul because he’s a sweet and honest guy, and because he’s sensitive and understanding, and you think true love beats all odds, then, its time I sat you down and put some sense back into your testosterone fueled head. So what is the warning? And what should you know? Well, rest assured I did the leg work and have my research categorized especially for you.

Sugar Baby
Sandy is your typical money monger – she’ll squeeze your bank like a lemon and move on without any hesitation. She is usually a good looking female who carries herself well, is classy and a sucker for things money can buy, namely designer clothes, latest and most expensive cell phones and loves to dine and party at the most expensive restaurants in town. You’ll find girls of this type swarming around boys and men that have rich daddies – the one’s that are suckers for good looks only. Typically the Sugar Babies will do everything for a man – physically and emotionally – and they like to be spoiled more than often – if you are a middle class man, start looking for bus shelters – and once they’re done squeezing, they move to the next boy with a fat cheque book. For these ladies it is about a lifestyle that they must maintain and about showing off such materialistic conquests in front of other girls.

Designer Diva
The DD is the closest in the family to Sugar Babies. These divas are bitches to the core and they use their good looks to lure men. They aren’t looking for any relationship, they just want the dough, whereas, a Sugar Baby can be in a relation as long as the man fuels her materialistic desires. This girl will leave you in the lurch. On a particular day she’ll make you feel like the man and on others she’ll be a self centered bitch. Usually it’s very easy to spot such girls – they’re usually very hot and they don’t take time in letting loose at clubs and parties. Another good example would be: If you were to call this particular type of girl and tell her you just made it out of an accident alive, she’d pass it off and tell you that her broken nail was the most tragic event of the day.

Balaji Broadcast
This is the one girl you should completely steer clear off, unless you love ‘K’ serials and can’t live without melodrama. This girl loves watching all shows made by Balaji Productions – the kinds that are absolutely pointless, full of ridiculous plots and negativity. She’ll cut her wrists at the drop of a hat and have cry marathons that last weeks. The only way to get anything around this girl is using direct dialogues from shows – this means memorizing all shows at the tips of your fingers. A typical BB would blow even the tiniest of situations into mammoth issues. Be prepared to fight everyday, for the rest of your life – cause it will be a serial.

Fevichick
The Fevichick is the emotionally weak and clingy type girl. Usually at first, she’ll be a darling and an awesome person to be around. Only a few days have passed and her ‘cling mode’ is turned on. You’d find yourself replying to messages and calls all day long. For example: 1. Have you eaten? 2. Have you pooped? 3. Where are you? 4. What are you wearing? And if that’s not enough she’ll land up at your office and home – the surprise visits will get worse. Unless you like needy and clingy chicks, I’d suggest Run!

Jeevan Saathi Jhalli
You’d probably come across this girl through an online portal. The JSJ is the kind of girl that’s looking for the perfect husband – the choice of her parents – and her days are spent surfing the likes of Shaadi.com and reading wedding books, and even fantasizing about children and a happily married life. A guy can never match up to the expectations of a JSJ. You’ll soon realize that you’re being controlled and manipulated by the girl into ‘the’ idea of a perfect man. If you like being controlled and told what to do, this is your girl.

DDLJ Kudi
Ever since she saw Dilwale Dulhaniya Leh Jayenge, she’s been in love with ‘Raj’ – the character played by Shahrukh Khan. She is on the constant lookout for the mischievous bad boy character who’ll become the sweet darling once they meet. If you’re ever interrupted on a bus or train humming to ‘tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanam,’ or any of the tracks from the movie, you’ll know its the DDLJ Kudi. Be prepared to fight off her brothers and family members on a railway station amidst Punjabi cotton fields in true Bollywood style. If you think this sounds moronic – you’re a sane man.

Naive Nannu
The NN is the kind of girl that has absolutely no brains. This means that there would only be one working brain in the relationship. A guy may find this cool at first, but only later realize the mess he’s gotten himself into. You’d be better off having a relationship with your shadow or reflection. She’ll have nothing to say during discussions – it’ll be more like you rambling like a mad baboon with little effect. This would be one of the most boring relationships. I’d suggest getting a goldfish or turtle.

Louis Vuitton Loser
Out of all the girls mentioned above, this one is the most popular and my favourite. I find the LV Loser to be thoroughly ‘amusing’ and ‘silly.’ You can call her the ‘Fresh Off The House Boat’ or the ‘Over Achiever.’ You can easily distinguish her in a crowded party – she’ll be overdressed – she and Govinda would share the same designer labels – and trying too hard. At first, this girl may come across, accidently, but momentarily and look good, however, don’t let your anticipation fool you – the moment the LV Loser opens her mouth, you’ll turn around and run in the opposite direction. If you think a yellow shirt and pink hot pants are cool than this would be your soulmate.

Harry’s Ex
Harry treats women like garbage, and unsurprisingly broke it off with Sunita. On the contrary Sunita still loves Harry even though he’s an asshole. Now, no matter how much Raj loves Sunita, he can never convince her into moving on. ‘Harry’s Ex’ is the worst kind of girl to be in a relation with – all your conversations will end up revolving around how Harry can change. Any normal guy will get fed-up with this kind of girl within a month, however, there are a few risk-takers and thrill seekers who’ll stick around a bit longer – because they think their love will outshine competition – only to end up frustrated, depressed and maybe measured.

Bhakt Bharti
If any conversation with a girl starts with a prayer or you humming the national anthem – you know you’re in a relation with BB. Worst, you’ll have to sacrifice on any form of love making or touching in the event of religious, national or periodic occasions. She is the insanely religious devotee that’ll make you want to take the celibacy oath and maybe even turn into a baba. From mornings to late evenings you’ll be attending prayers and practicing the holy doctrine. And if you show any signs of retreat, you’ll be banned from any sexual contact for the rest of your life – that leaves you with only one thing to do: Prayer.

The list of girls mentioned above have been selected on the basis of their silly and niche characteristics. I do not intend to hurt the sentiments of any particular female, rather, I’m just watching out for my brothers who are unable to get it right. There are several girls out there that are simply amazing and to die for – all the best boys.

Also check out the list of men that women should avoid here.

Lion like man

You know that guy who plays golf? Keeps winning all those damn tournaments; is apparently worth this ludicrous $110 million; even battered his Cadillac into a fire hydrant. You know who I’m talking about – the apple of our eye and Jamiee’s eye and Rachel’s eye and many other very good looking females with eyes.

Yes, yes. That’s him. Don’t get me wrong, I love the darn bloke. He’s made golf into a billion dollar industry. But, for the sake of conversation, let’s humor ourselves.

Well, it apparently seems, our half lion has gotten himself into a bit of a squeeze. Not the kinds ladies wish for, rather, this is your deplorable fungal grease – only found in certain pigs and wild mongers – who carry it with pride – around the back alleys of Russia, certain parts of Amsterdam and downtown London. Its nothing you’d never ever desire, even momentarily, in your dreams. That kind of squeeze.

We could blame testosterone, and other male hormones that cause this customarily alacrity behavior. However, this will neither rubbish the problem, nor solve it, nor humor us, nor get you a date with Jamiee or Rachel.

For a moment, lets say, you screwed up. You would simply apologize and take responsibility. And, moments later, everything would be fine. Alright, maybe, it’s not exactly like that. But, you get the point, don’t you? Damn this polygamous and monogamous gibberish. Until now, this man was nothing short of GOD, and quite unbelievable it was.

These, mostly regrettable, unforeseen events have caused seismic activities in large corporate houses. This means that all overtly sponsorships – belonging in the billion dollar club – would take refuge from the sport, only momentarily though.

You can kiss the Bentley, Rolls, Bugatti and the Italian Villa, next to the Playboy Mansion goodbye – this means no more late night parties or skinny dipping with Miss March. Remember how Hef warned you about all this, but you were too busy teeing off with the bunnies.

In conclusion, and as a lesson learnt, be careful where you let your tiger loose.

Make a movie

Yes, you read that right. Make a movie. There. I said it again. Back in the day, the heyday, I had a thing – a tiny bugger of a thought – for becoming a star, a well known public figure, someone who made a difference to this dog gone world. Well, its a reality now. Go ahead, check it out here or below. I’m sure you’ll get the drift. Cheers!!

Twadka

The trend on the e-street is now all about Twitter. A website using, almost, a global chatting platform to help people connect to others they would not have known otherwise. Companies market jobs, teens talk about their days, and others, just ramble.

Hypothetically speaking, lets have everyone living in Chandigarh active on some social networking site- In this case, lets focus primarily on the Twitter and Facebook concept. The idea may seem far-fetched in, but it will change the way we go about our daily mundane routines. Allow me to elucidate.

Let’s take the Sabzi-Waala (the guy who brings the groceries), the Dhobi (the guy who irons and washes your clothes), the Dhaba-Waala (occasionally where you head for Aloo-Paranthas), the Raddi-Waala (the person who collects all your old newspapers and bottles), and your Safai-Waali (the men/women who keep your house clean). They all build their Facebook and Twitter pages. Lets call these folks ‘Twelpers,’ and we’ll be Hemant (a single, middle-class man, living with his elderly parents).

Now all you’d have to do is add these Twelpers to your personal accounts and follow them. Here’s how your routine would follow in Chandigarh: When you get up in the morning, you’d see Facebook and Twitter updates from the ‘Twelpers,’ followed by Superpokes from your Dhobi and a Tweet ‘@Hemant Clothes ironed and washed. What time is good for delivery? @Dhobi.’ You could revert to his message from your Twitterberry application ‘@Dhobi Arriving home by 5:30pm @Hemant. Send clothes then.’

If the Safai-Waali(a) can’t make it, she/he would Tweet you ‘@Hemant Will be late today. Daughter unwell @Safai-Waali.’ Only moments later, you’d be Tweeted about the rates of groceries, for that day, by the Sabzi-Waala. He’d even click pictures of fresh fruits – from that morning in the Sector 26 Grain Market – with his iPhone and upload them to his Flickr account – so you could see what looks good for the day. He would also use Google Maps on his iPhone to let you determine his location and route. This way you could be at home when he’s around. A typical tweet from him would look like: @Sabzi-Waala #fresh #tomatoes today. #lowprices on #onions @Twelpers26.

The Raddi-Waalas would be the most active Twitter users. They’d tweet daily rates of ‘Raddi’ (similar to stock updates on the news) such as: ‘Newspaper Rs.5/kg :: Bottles Special Rate today Rs.2/bottle.’ And they’d even give special prices to their followers.

As well as, when you’re done partying at a local disc – during the wee hours – you’d send a Tweet to the Dhaba-Waala: ‘@Dhaba-Waala Arriving with 5 #drunk friends. Prepare 20 #aloo-paranthas immediately. #veryhungry @Hemant.’ The Dhaba-Waala would also send Aloo-Parantha Pokes, Sabzi Pokes during lunch hours to your Facebook accounts.

In fact, there would be a Twelper’s group for every sector on Facebook and Twitter. For example: @Twelpers26 and @Twelpers43. So, if you were to move in from another town, all you’d have to do is add the respective Twelper’s group for that sector. Thus, finding a maid, groceries, a reasonable dhobi and aloo-paranthas would become a cake walk.

There would also be reviews on Facebook on which Safai-Waalies (maids) are bad and which Sabzi-Waala (vegetable seller) has the choicest groceries. All the ladies of the sector could even hold regular Tweet-Ups (Twitter folks get together for coffee, usually once a week). Tweet-Up topics can range from blacklisting to endorsing the right people (and this platform would also act as an additional point of gossip).

And finally, apart from the Twelpers, we can also have: @Pooja-Paath (for all news and updates of temples) and even @Geri-Route (get instant feeds on the happenings of the city). This way you’d ensure that all spoiled brats pray before they head out for a day of eve-teasing.

Check out the complete article in The Tribune – Saturday Extra 28 November 2009.

Mr. Pond 2 – The fall of the Indian driver

Let’s be clear about one thing right away: Indians are bad drivers – well, the larger part are for sure. Now, we can blame the government, the police or even our ignorant behaviour. Any which way, roads are crying out for help, and the best we can do is complain – by the way, that’s all we’re good at – and we’ll play that ridiculous blame game incessantly.

Let’s analyze the bigger picture momentarily.

When a terror attack happens; When someone mentions or refers to Mumbai as Bombay; If someone says ‘cattle class’ to make a point; If someone wears white and even if someone is simply caught kissing – our attitudes are: File a case with the high court, throw tantrums, take out processions, and even file for divorces of ethics.

What about the starving farmers, non-availability of water, shelter and electricity in the larger parts of our country, and even the ‘AAM AADMI’ (common man)?

No one seems to be talking about those issues. The one’s that really matter, and are slowly eating away into our roots. We’re good at throwing tantrums around like spoiled children (like when we were 4 years old and couldn’t get cotton candy) – the majority population is here.

No. Really. WTF?

On one end we crib, criticise, degrade the BABOOS (government & bureaucrats) for not doing their jobs, and wasting time and money – making tall claims of how they need to stop corruption and mend their ways.

And lately, there were even tall claims by most of the influential people – largely through media, blogs and Twitter – about how the people of the country deserve a better system. And these are the same people who encourage the same vicious system.

In addition, our media rampant goons constantly highlight stories that don’t matter or either affects no common man. And, if there is any airtime left, it’s for the dog that fell in the well or the two boys who ran away from home – to get married.

Yes. It’s the bloody truth. Ok, lets go back to the plight of the roads now.

How the majority thinks: The system is a huge mess. (The truth & acknowledging something has to be done).

What they really do about it:
a) Drive like monkeys behind the wheel.

b) Does anyone know the term: Right of Way?

c) Honking is directly connected to our balls (the itch is terrible).

d) If the police catch you for defaulting, you proudly deny or offer corrupt means to settle the matter (And, later tell people the system is corrupt or dysfunctional). A few even call the Home Minister to avoid getting fined Rs.100.

e) When was the last time anyone showed patience on the road? It must be the pressure of a pseudo life that take over once people are behind the wheel – even perfectly genuine people like Mr. Pond give you the finger. (Read Mr. Pond for more).

f) If any two cars collide, kiss (touch momentarily – primarily because of little space on the road), bump or even rough up badly, you’d find the drivers battling it out like 3 year olds in diapers – for their BB guns.

g) When was the last time anybody – even someone like you – followed the rules of the road. I feel that the most organised traffic, in India, is of Mumbai. Delhi and Ludhiana being complete jungles, packed with dimwits. And, Chandigarh joining close behind Delhi and Ludhiana.

h) The biggest pet peeve: People who litter on the road (throw wrappers, bottles and their diapers on the road – out the window). Go throw that shit at home. Seriously. And stop cribbing about pollution.

Yes. These are the problems. Not all of them, however, a basic few. I’m also sure that you could be reading this and point out hundreds more – yet the trouble lies wherein who’s going to start doing something, rather than pointing fingers.

For a start, here are a few things I follow:

1. I collect all my waste in the car and dispose it off once I get home.
2. Refrain from honking at all costs.
3. Try driving in lanes and avoid tailgating.
4. Remain calm on the road. (Daddy doesn’t own it).
5. Travel ahead of schedules and appointments. (Our roads are not meant for those 120km/h or even 80km/h for that matter)
6. And, if you get into an accident – move on with life, cars crash all the time, especially in India.
7. Before hurling abuses from your car – when the windows are rolled up, and only you can hear – and bringing your temperature up, kindly asses why the guy ahead or behind you is changing lanes on a short notice, or why they’re driving slower, or they’re moving out of an parking space, or they are looking for parking – just like you.

For even a better understanding you can also visit:
1. Chandigarh Police.
2. Delhi Police.

Surprised they exist? Its all that ignorance and attitude – we’re a bunch of spoiled boys and girls.

Note: What began this debate in my head was the following set of pictures. Look closely. Go to FLICKR.
The road-dividing sector 34 and 44 (use this as a sapling for the various problems being faced on road) had huge jams.

This was primarily because it had a small circle at its centre and no lights. The commuters would pack, squeeze and shove from all angles – leaving no room for a gulp of air – and hence, traffic would come to a stand still. Remember the term: Right of Way?

Finally, and usually, one smart citizen would step out his car and try put sense in it all – and eventually the flees would disperse, only momentarily, to collect at the next nearest circle or light – the process is once again on repeat.

Now that the authorities took appropriate action on the issue, our very own public has gone out and dug dividers out of the way. It’s a shame and pity for the poor system. First we cry for help, when we do get it – we’re unable to accept it and ultimately break the system apart.

PS: Not referring to all men and women on the road, however, those who need to know, they’ll get the hint. Feel free to slip this article on anybody who you find similar to the profile of Mr. Pond. Let’s make our roads and cities a better place.

Book Review: Why Men Lie and Women Cry

Recently, on my way to Delhi, at the railway station, I picked up a book: Why Men Lie and Women Cry. I figured the journey was going to be a long one, and my buddies were not exactly up in any mood for conversation.

Note: Me and Anish – the guy who thinks he’s intellectually ahead of his time. I hope he wakes up – were waiting for the train, and we spotted a book stall. I admit that this was an impulse buy, albeit worth it.

Back to the book now.

Why Men Lie and Women Cry has been written by a man and his wife: Allan and Barbara. The duo have used wit, clever humour and the right mix of testosterone and estrogen for an unputdownable read.

Since my attention span is less than a dog – without a leash, I found this book to be absorbing for its style of presentation of all topics – short, short paragraphs. Reminded me of all those flings I’ve had in life. Its one of the reasons I read this book from one end to the other in one non stop – inanely lunatic – speed.

The book starts of with: We are born naked, wet, and hungry. Then things get worse. (Chinese Proverb). Once I was done with the introduction, I had my feet cemented into the ideas and scientific research accomplished by Allan and Barbara.

I felt a CONNECTION that was so refreshing, I could relate to almost all the topics – from all those flings I was talking about earlier. Page by page, I was hooked.

Once your out and done with contemplating and judging – a few of you, not all – you’ll arrive at the first chapter: Nagging. It talks about why men feel women nag them to death. Yes. A few men have committed suicides and others have even gotten divorced – the power of nagging holds immense potential, ladies. Ha. So, if you don’t like your man, nag him to your ultimate freedom. Just kidding. Don’t ever do this to my fellow brothers.

The second chapter goes into: Seven Things Men Do That Drive Women Insane. From simple chores men won’t do to why men love gross jokes – this chapter is simply riveting. Women will enjoy this more than a guy – guys will, rather, prefer to just sit back and smirk the whole time (we know we make a mess).

The next chapter: Why Women Cry is a must read for all those boys who’ve just come in contact with women or girls. It talks about how women use their arsenal of tears to bend the rules and get things done in their favour. That means… men aren’t the only lying and deceiving beings. Its just that men suck at lying and get caught far more often. I agree.

Guys, did you know women have a secret scoring system that they use to keep a check on what a man does – it apparently helps them to maintain a balance. The fourth chapter elucidates precisely on this. Apparently, men score on the importance of a task whereas a woman allocate points for an action or gift, irrespective of its size. Go grab a pen and paper and enjoy the results. According to the book: Women keep score and never forget.

For example: A man would consider buying flowers and wine to be equivalent to 10 points whereas a woman would only give you 3 points.

Note for men: Buy one flower. Save money and still get three points.

The next chapter was particularly nostalgic. Its called: Solving the Seven Biggest Mysteries About Men. Topics ranging from: Why do men avoid commitment? Why do men love sports? And, why are men so interested in ‘Boys’ toys?

And, this chapter leads to: The Other Woman – His Mother. Ladies of all ages should learn these last two chapters by heart – it’ll make your relationships with men simpler. I know you’re going to giggle the whole time.

There are also two chapters on sex appeal tests, however, I wasn’t too surprised with my results: A hole.

Remember how women use their ability to shed tears at the drop of a hat to get what they want, well, the chapter on: Women’s Secret Way With Words is used in a combination with tears to make all attacks 100% successful. No wonder they get away with paying fines and tickets.

Note: You can never fool a woman. They’re just way too smart and plus, they have 5 sensors in their heads whereas men only have 3 (the kinds used to detect lies and read voice and facial modulations). Go figure.

Lastly, there is a chapter on: What Turns Women On and one on What men should do after retirement. If you’re a man and in your early 30s and find yourself to be womanless, I’d suggest reading and memorizing all the words in: What Turns Women On and use the later to ensure she sticks around till you depart for heaven (men die much before women).

Conclusion: In all, a complete and comprehensive study of men and women, backed by facts and studies. Written in the most interesting and light hearted strokes. All the advice mentioned in the book is quiet practical and easily applicable in real life.

From what our ancestors have passed on to us and what we may possibly pass on to the next generation – it brings me to the truth: We’re not bloody unique. No one is. Really. And, if you believe that you’re unique, you need someone to slap you silly.

Lessons learnt by me:

Never lie to a woman (she has 5 sensors to detect lies and a man has only 3).

Be clear about your roles in a relationship from day one.

Woman can multi-task and therefore are good at juggling between the phone, nail paint, baby, cooking and overhearing her husband in the next room – all at the same time.

Men are excellent with the spatial part of the brain. We are good hunters and drivers.

Women like bad boys.

A man who says ‘I only believe in inner beauty,’ is probably gay or lying.

If you’re going to retire in the next couple of years – start planning (you won’t survive lazing on the beach).

Women like small efforts and appreciate compliments – always.

Just shut-up and listen when a woman is talking – it makes her feel better.

Just shut-up. Ha.

Go learn your own lessons now. Have fun!

Book: Why Men Lie and Women Cry
Authors: Allan & Barbara
Price: Rs.250/-

Mr. Pond

Here’s one for the road.

After spending a considerable chunk of my time – during college days and mostly now – in my car, on the road, I’ve come across a particular breed of men and women.

These are not your regular sluggish illiterates, blind-in-most-corners, retarded at the wheel, unable to drive, sort of individuals.

Rather, these people are a different category all together.

Let me show you by example.

In order to understand this matter over a larger base (for the sake of everyone reading), we’ll suppose all men and women – driving on the Indian roads – are Mr. Pond.

Now, lets meet our Mr. Pond.

For this particular argument, he’s a perfectly normal human being; a doctor by profession; a god fearing man; he practices at one of the reputed hospitals in town; he’s got two wonderful kids that have been brought up under his and his wife’s utmost care and guidance; he loves to play golf over the weekend; he’s very careful about his eating habits, and he’s a non-drinker and strict vegetarian; a regular blood donor and he’s even conducted several medical camps for the needy.

Did I mention, he’s never cheated on his wife and women talk lengths about his loyalty.

In all, a charming personality I’d say. If you were a girl, you’d go out with him in one swift ‘Yes.’ And vice versa.

Let’s consider his bio, he’s almost too-perfect of an human to even hurt a fly. He would rather be the sensitive towards preserving life, keep you smiling, whenever you’d meet him kinds. I forgot to mention that he offers lollipops to all his patients.

Now here comes the cryptic part.

As soon as Mr. Pond gets behind the wheel, he transforms into a werewolf-like, with symptoms of monkey and baboons, with a tad of donkey.

To be precise, a hybrid of the biggest cock ready to explode.

These characteristics lead to aggressiveness and impatience, incessant honking (the most annoying), yelling (remember the baboons and monkeys) and rashness that we’d more than occasionally witness on the roads.

How does an accident turn into the Battle of Balaclava?

Well, you guessed it right. Its people like Mr. Pond.

You’d see them get in fights and arguments over minor accidents. Their ruthlessness would surprise you if you’d have known them personally.

As soon as they step out of their vehicles, they’re that charming and peaceful human once again.

What happens to perfectly good human beings on roads? Why is there no road or civic sense amongst people?

A huge stereotype – its India man, who cares. Or its that psychological clock that keeps ticking in every Indian’s head, a direct result of our Government – no work gets done, so everyone is in a mad rush to get their job done first?

On a road, this would mean, no one can wait or give the right of way – they would rather honk and go first.

Readers: Feel free to share your odd stories below.

(If you drive on the Indian roads, you’re bound to come across these individuals. And, if you haven’t, well, you’re probably heading for one soon.)

Divorce Syndrome

What exactly is the “divorce syndrome?” Is it a virus? Are you going to be affected by it? Is there a cure? Is it the new “in” thing? It’s definitely not cool. Will your mom and dad find out that you have feelings for the neighborhood dame? Do you? Ha. Stay focused. And the remainder list of questions, roaming around – like a stray dog let loose in a pile of hay – in your head will only get rest once you’ve completely understood the story behind all of this.

Over a period of the last two years, I’ve come across a couple of daredevils who’ve shown us – not necessarily right – the way. On the contrary, these folks respect the status-quo, they even follow trends – even if it’s just a temporary phase or they just felt like it.

I’m referring to the younger generation. The ones that are on a spilt-timer – which means, they must get a divorce within one year of being married. There are tons of them, everywhere. You probably know someone like this. A close friend, sibling, neighbor, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of them.

You’d be annoyed at the number of times they’d blabber about how bad those last 6 months were, and how they were planning to start fresh.

What’s causing all these divorces and breakups?

I only noticed after Bollywood caught on. (Love Aaj Kal)

If we may, for a moment, go back in history and re-look the roles of a man and woman. What do you see? Can you see the obvious trend? If all you see is this screen, a mouse, a keyboard and those dirty knickers hanging over the CPU, than, don’t worry. You’re still sane. And if you checked your Facebook three times in between the first word and here – you definitely need to get a life.

All these years, men and women have survived together with clearly defined roles – those of a dad and mom; a husband and wife; a brother and sister.

The trend suggests, according to me, the man was the provider as well as protector of the family. The woman nurtured the children and household – binding everyone together with values. A perfectly natural phenomenon, seen amongst several species and most logical – well, to me at least.

During this period you would have seen more joint families; tolerance and patience were far more prevalent. Homes were under the woman’s authority – playing the most important role – and they stood like foundation pillars. Values were much higher, relations between families were stronger, however, divorces hadn’t gained much popularity back then and people seemed to be happier living together.

All I here now is, “Baby, when will we shift from your parent’s house and move into our own place?” Ha. I’m sure there are a huge group of girls who’d disagree – I like this group.

In the present day, all these roles have diminished. Now a man can be a housewife, and a woman can be the one working full time – which is all very well. Leaving out the single parents, gay couples and anything that’s not a ‘man’ and ‘woman’ relation would not be fair. So let’s add everyone.

A vacuum has been created at home, once occupied by the woman. Leaving no one to fill this space, homes are slowly falling apart. Children no longer get the all-round growth, which was once given by a woman and man.

Psychologically, can we see the difference? Can we, including me, show patience and tolerance towards a fellow human being? I’d re-look into this with some honesty. Be true to yourself.

Normal to me is, a man and woman together. That’s the way nature made us. We’ve tested nature, questioned its authority several times before, and look what happened – global warming, depletion of ozone layer, pollution and the works.

Are we slowly moving away from family? Are we bending the system so much so that it slaps us right back in the face? Is a nuclear family a better option? How is it so difficult for a son to live with his parents and wife – under one roof?

(Note: With this post I’m not trying to pin point or single out anyone, rather, I’m trying to look at things from a particular perspective. There is really no right and wrong here. Just how you see it. Simple).

2010 Mercedes Benz E Class

The all new 2010 Mercedes Benz E Class is here. Although, I’m a die-hard BMW fanatic, I felt this was an achievement for the German brothers, and a little ‘kiss-n-tell’ won’t do much harm. The car promises to do a lot of things, including lifting old designs – headlights of the old Lexus LX470 and tail lights of Sonata Embera – and they could have done a grill similar to the new C Class – something about the robust logo that’s just so responsibly seductive and sexy.

The car promises state of the art features, and technologically ahead-of-it’s-time engineering with much stress laid on aerodynamics.

Some of the high tech features included are:

1. Attention Assist: detects driver drowsiness based on 70 parameters.

2. Adaptive Main Beam Assist: adjusts the angle of the headlight for the best possible illumination without blinding other motorists.

3. LED daytime driving lights: use less power and enhance aesthetics.

4. Blind Spot Assist: similar to the S-Class.

5. Lane Keeping Assist: uses vibrations in the steering wheel to inform the driver if they’re veering out of their lane.

6. Speed Limit Assist (optional): recognizes speed limit signs as the car passes them, then displays the relevant speed limit in the speedometer.

Here’s a television commercial of the all new E Class.

Even though the new model is way ahead of its predecessor in all aspects, it lacks the zeal and luster of the brand.

Readers: What do you think of the all new 2010 Mercedes Benz E Class?

Dane Cook

Life can be a bitch at times. What do you do when your girlfriend is pregnant and its not your hard work? Ha. Well, it can happen. Relax. Its one of the reasons why someone started doing stand up. OK, maybe that’s not the only reason. Any how, if you’re a fan of stand up comedy, like me, you should definitively check out Dane Cook. Known best for his observational comedy skills.

You could remember him from his Hollywood roles: Employee of The Month, Good Luck Chuck or My Best Friend’s Girl. (All of these are a must see).

I find his Vicious Circle act to be the best. Here’s a snippet. Happy rolling over!

US Intelligence

After seeing this video, I had a good laugh – the kinds that involves rolling around on the ground, in hysteria. Later, after regaining consciousness, I tried to look at it on a serious note. And here’s what came out.

If this is the state of the American youth, how will they ever catch Osama Bin Laden or even save themselves from the recession?

Failed American show, not suitable for Indians.

Yes, we’re talking about ‘Sacch Ka Saamna’ (face the truth), a failed American concept popularly known as The Moment of Truth. At first, the show seems like a good idea. Yea, sure. Why not? We can handle it. Can we?

Now, just hold that thought. First, for those who have no clue, see what the show is all about here.

From day one, I’ve been following up with the Indian version – Saach Ka Saamna – and noticed a particular trend.

Here’s what I caught my nerve:

1. The entire show is based on the “polygraph machine,” a device that anticipates your bodily symptoms to distinguish between True and False. How accurate is the machine? Well, we don’t know. How do we know the producers are not fooling us or the contestants? Well, we don’t know that either.

Its not 100%. See here.

2. This means the entire show is based on such a willowy platform. Hence, the whole idea of ‘Sacch’ (Truth) is really far fetched.

3. From the many contestants that walked on stage and spurted out their personal and intimate secrets with the world, it seems they’ve shown no responsibility towards the Indian – mentality – people. Apart from the metros, the audience is still largely folks trying to maintain our heritage and culture.

Indians are not Americans. And Americans are not Indians.

By that I mean, its OK for people to kiss – display affection in public – in America, whereas in India we’re still far behind. Bollywood doesn’t count.

I’m sure there are many Indians out there who’ll find the show to be completely normal, straightforward and entertaining.

But, if we take in the bigger picture, what examples are we setting for the next generation?

4. This brings me to an important query, that being of, to what extent should television go, in the name of entertainment? Are TRPs the only thing that make sense?

And finally, by the above argument, I’m not pointing fingers at any individual, but merely trying to poke at the sheer audacity of a show that is based on a willowy “polygraph machine.”

A machine can’t understand emotions. And that’s why its a machine in the first place.

As readers, what is your take on the show and its authenticity? And is money the only thing that matters?

Russell Peters

Russell Peters is probably one the most popular comedians of all times. He features in Forbes as the world’s top 10 most highly paid comedians. He’s made it big through videos put over on Youtube by fans. From an average, comedian living next door, Russell Peters has become a worldwide phenomenon.

The small niche that the comic has carved out for himself is mainly due to:

a) Strong observation and understanding of cultures around the world.

b) His ability to mimic all sorts of accents. (The Indian, British and Chinese being the best, well, according to me.)

c) Seamlessly connect random day-to-day activities into worldly truths.

Here’s one of his videos that’s been viewed over 7,400,000 times.

You can visit his official website here. You can also follow his updates on Twitter and Facebook.

Neil French – XO Beer

One of the greatest copywriters of all time is Neil French. He’s a great fan of the print medium – he even started the World Press Awards. And he usually writes long copy ads – which I simply love – that grip you from word one. I also find his work to be very up market and classy. I suppose its probably because he’s been choosy about his clients.

Some words of wisdom by Neil French himself:

Anyhow, here’s a look at a print campaign which was done as an exercise to prove the viability of the print medium. You can read more about that here.

You can view the full campaign here.

SRK’s detention – “uncalled for”

The recent news of Shah Rukh’s detention at the Newark airport for 2 hours because his name is ‘Khan’ is all over the news and goes out to prove the obvious:

1. Racism is still a big problem.
2. Americans (not all) need instructions to open a can of soup.
3. Being a ‘coloured’ human or having a last name of a particular race and ethnicity can get you in trouble (for no reason).

The sinking economy of the US on one hand invites Bollywood to come and shoot movies in their cities in order to promote tourism. And on the other hand they treat our industry folks (guests) in such an embarrassing manner.

It’s also true that many others – diplomats, ex-president of India, other Bollywood stars – have had to face a similar kind of treatment. For example: our ex-president, Mr. Kalam was frisked by an airline staff before boarding a flight to the US.

Our very own Indian spinner Bhajji can’t figure out what the fuss is all about – “I get frisked and checked all the time.”

The news of SRK has the Indian officials so infuriated that a “tit-for-tat” should be done for all Americans coming into India.

How would Americans feel if Obama or Clinton arrive at the airport in India, they are stripped search, and asked to name people they know from India, and also are not be allowed to make phone calls for at least 2 hours. Oh, and, by the way, an apology can be mailed or sent after the whole ordeal is over.

Some US officials are calling the situation as a ‘cultural mismatch,’ where the Indian rich and powerful are known to get out of tight spots by dropping names.

Although such incidents are very common, their isn’t much one can do. And such displays will continue till proper action is taken.

As readers – What do you think about the situation? And how can we counter it in the future?

Read the story: Times of India, Economic Times

Karsh Kale & Midival Punditz

The last time I saw these guys, they were playing live at Blue Frog (Mumbai). What a night it was. It actually spanned over two consecutive nights. The music and ambiance was so mind blowing, was transcended into an elliptic trance, which I may add lasted over a week. The club (Blue Frog) was packed thrice its holding capacity. If you were there, you’d loose all your senses – except, they’d all be working overtime. Here they are once again doing ‘Challa.’

iPhone flu

Why the iPhone? Why not Blackberry? Don’t worry, I’ll get to that too, a bit later, though. But first, I have a confession. I think I’ve got the iPhone flu. All I can think of is the iPhone. Be it during work, those odd – chicken and duck – meetings, even when I’m ogling away at really hot women, while I’m driving, doing work, and even while I’m asleep.

My appetite for Apple is getting the best of me. My otherwise, usual, poker face, is substituted by an utterly rattled hangdog expression. And I figured, sharing why the iPhone does that to you, with the readers of my blog, be considered downright settling.

Here’s why you’d love the iPhone:

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Made by Apple (I think this is good enough. Period.)

The revolutionary touch screen – which every other company is trying to imitate, but are not even close – will re-sensitize and rejuvenate your lost child hood charm – you’re girlfriend is going to start appreciating you once again.

The iPhone 3GS comes with a magnum 32GB memory – enough room for your music and movies, especially the series of Lost and how can we forget your favourite Barney videos.

2x faster and video recording are an added bonus, including the 3 megapixel camera.

An added Compass will help you find your way home, just in case you wonder off into the jungle or the girl’s hostel. No promises here – the compass only works if you hold it still.

You can regularly update – my favourite part, well, my nerd side believes so – the software.

The number of applications available for an iPhone outnumber all the available applications, for all the phones combined. This basically means, even if you had to take the pill – you’d have a handy app out there. I’m serious. Go here.

And lastly, in my opinion, if you’ve bitten the Apple once, you’ll never go anywhere else – for all those who already own Apple products and are completely fascinated by them and their design and appeal.

On to the Blackberry now.

I am currently using the Blackberry Bold. Its an amazing device. Its got so many features that I’ve somehow lost count. From handy news readers, Facebook and Twitter applications, and my messengers, there isn’t much that anybody could ask for.

Although, a demanding person like me, was unable to locate a Skype application. It turns out Blackberry doesn’t support SIP settings. But this is no reason why I am crazy over the iPhone and not Blackberry.

Here’s how I see it.

Blackberry is a robust device that lets your entrepreneurial skills take charge, whereas the iPhone brings out the child-like creative and fun side back from the hay-days.

Conclusion,

If you can, get both. A good mix that will keep you in-touch with business and maintain that youthful grin from college.

Here’s a review of the iPhone on CNET.

Also added an iPhone 3G S unwrapping video.

Off to WordPress

After much reluctance and anticipation I’ve finally switched over to WordPress from Blogger. Yes, there were those times when anxiety levels went through the roof – attempts to make sense of hosting servers, DNS, mySQL and other similar nerdy quacks became quite an orgy in themselves.

I even ended up deleting a few things that you’re not supposed to. No worries there.

Called up GoDaddy support, and to my surprise, they were helpful and fixed all my blunders within minutes.

This is where a Skype account comes in handy. Just get hold of a monthly unlimited US to Cananda package. You don’t know how many calls it will take, in case you loose your way.

Smitten by GoDaddy and WordPress. (Don’t take me literally!)

Here’s my conclusion on both platforms.

The Short Version: You’ve finally left your dal roti and moved on to pasta – made by a 36-24-36.

Blogger: An excellent tool for beginners. You’ll get free hosting. All you need is a domain and your ready to go.

(Its a good idea to have your own domain. Like me – cockybox.com)

Once you get your domain, Blogger lets you build an entire blog with ease. The characteristics of Blogger are simple, easy and most importantly, all free.

You can setup google Adsense to generate revenue. (Only for those who get a huge number of hits on their site.)

For you and me – couldn’t care less.

And finally, their are many forums and blogs that will help you learn and solve daily mingles.

The key – Free, Free, Free.

At this point, you could be wondering – if everything is available for free in all simple, why would anyone want to move to WordPress?

Here’s your answer.

Cause they’re silly. And they have the cooties. Ha. No, no. Just kidding! Wait a second. Don’t you look at me. I don’t have the cooties.

Moving along now.

WordPress: The easiest way to setup your WordPress self-hosted blog is to go through GoDaddy. You can purchase the domain and WordPress hosting. After that its a click away. You get access to every possible platform, tool – stop drooling – plugins, support at your fingertips.

The only drawback being towards the cost of hosting services. And if you’re looking to start, its as low as 5 dollars per month.

The good things I found about WordPress are as follows:

The neat and minimalist design of its entire platform.
Availability of awesome looking templates that are free.
Levels of customization, which can be done with ease.

Now, I’m sure there are so many things that take the cookie for you. But for me, at the moment, its these few.

So if you’re a bored Blogger user, come down to WordPress, and lets get you a drink or two. Cheers.

:: P.S. – Will miss you Blogger ::

Things to do list:

1. Back up all your Blogger content via Export option.
2. Should prefer using WordPress Hosting from GoDaddy. It makes everything happen over a click.
3. Your Feedburner settings need to be updated.
4. Once you have your WordPress self-hosted blog ready, simply import the file you earlier exported from Blogger.

If you need any help, leave a shout in the comments section or tweet me. Will surely help you with your troubles.

Who is responsible for MJ’s sad end?

Off late, I find myself constantly humming to MJ’s songs, and without surprise, so is the rest of the world. Record sales have gone through the roof, post MJ’s death. Fans across the globe have gone into an inconsolable frenzy as their long cherished idol has left them.

Albums such as Thriller, Bad and Off the Wall featured in the top 15 slots on Amazon.com as best-selling albums. Even Apple reported a magnum demand for MJ’s music, making it one the highest downloaded artist.

Read more on this here. See Amazon.

A fact: MJ’s music, dance and style will remain unabashed forever. That’s that. Simple.

The news and speculations around MJ created this mysterious second character, which seemed to molest children, take drugs and etcetera etcetera. From the beginning, I found this to be all a bit far-fetched and baloney.

For example: MJ was accused of molesting Jordan Chandler, a child who visited Neverland.

See Jordan Chandler.

The truth finally comes to shut-up the unpalatable media, who I feel is in someway responsible for MJ’s sad end.

Jordan Chandler finally lets out the most obvious secret – “MJ never did do anything. My mom and dad made me say all those things.”

Bloody money mongers.

It seems the reclusive and shy star could never cope with the stress of the tantamount trial and media parasite-like scoops that went on forever. And we, the fans, fueled such a heinous propaganda. The entire episode was a parasite, without which MJ could’ve been still alive.

Will miss him. God bless his soul.

Readers: What do you think caused MJ’s depressed like state during his last days?

(I’m sure there are many points which are not mentioned in this post, please feel free to add them in the comments.)

Wedding Entrance Dance + Divorce Video

Came across this video on Facebook. It’s simply awesome. Would love to see such fresh and novel ideas at weddings, however, there is a bunch who seem to think otherwise. Even though in some cultures, especially Indian at large, such displays are common and far more elaborate.

The question: By displaying such enacts, are we destroying the sanctity of marriage?

The debate begins here. The idea is to get all sorts of opinions on the table, and out of the tiny boxes – under and behind our minds.

(P.S.: The music in the background is by Chris Brown and the song is called Forever.)

Intel Rockstars

Although I’m not a big fan of television, I occasionally – usually when the internet is down – watch the tube. The other day I happened to stumble upon this lovely ad by Intel. Check it out. I loved the part where he winks and points. It brings a smile to my face every time. The nerds must be proud.

Let’s Disqus

Dear fan, avid reader, follower, the occasional passerby, the bored convict from Guantanamo Bay and the people from that feverish 60’s cult – the ones that don’t read a single word on my blog or any blog for that matter, you’ll be pleased to know – Disqus has been added to Cockybox.

This means a better platform for debates, discussions, feedback and most importantly conversation. A conversation with the writer. A conversation that can spark a profound arena of views that leave a deep impact on our mentality. From now on there will be an incessant effort to delve into subjects that deeply affect the world around us.

I had an aunt once. Not that she isn’t around anymore. But, she had the idea of getting everyone together. The idea being ‘participation’ and to ‘involve’ everyone’s brain on a subject. At first, the process caused mayhem, conflict, pillows flew across the room, and later when the dust settled down, there would be that one big idea, that one common ground – the area where everyone found comfort and peace.

Any how, the purpose is to make the girls want you. ‘Listening’ to them can help. In fact, it’s all you need to do. Now, go away. Shoo. Pick your nose. Call Dr. Doodles. But don’t take a bath. Save the world from fast-food.

Let the games begin.

Sunita, the seductress

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If I could recollect that day for you, then, it was an indolent Saturday. I had woken up to a wet and sticky morning. It had just finished raining outside and the AC had tripped. The only thing anyone could do is blame faith or the government. Being pissed with the electricity department or your father for buying that house wouldn’t have solved the problem.

Don’t bother mentioning that last one on the dinner table. Ever.

Here’s what happened.

All bathed and out of the house, driving down to a client’s office – for a meeting – I took one left and two rights at the junction where I wasn’t supposed to. The results of that are thirty minutes wasted. Any how, I finally reach the dilapidated factory, next to my client’s office. It was supposedly the landmark mentioned in his email.

How silly. I should have used the GPS on my iPhone.

I walk in hoping God somehow squeezed in ten minutes, so I’d be on time. Really? I guess I was expecting too much.

At the reception, I’m greeted by the secretary, who directed me towards the hallway on the left and the sixth door on the right.

Sure. Got it. I reach the door. Knock.

No, I wouldn’t barge in like the rest of you. A peon steps out, shows me the way. I walk into an office thats well-done. I mean – wall carpet, wooden flooring, LCD, overlooking the sea, rest assured this was the bosses office. As I took my place in-front of a huge table, the spartan like leather chair slowly revolved to face me.

My client, Mr. Kluter was not in his chair.

Ahem, sigh* Cough. I’m restless all of a sudden. Its my client’s wife in the throne.

**She is a nuclear bomb.

“Hello! I’m Sunita. You must be Peter, from that advertising agency.”

Cough. Ahem. I clear my throat so I can let out a manly voice.

A minor chair shift later and a squeaky, slightly impoverished ‘yes,’ fumbles out.

Sweat begins to trickle down my spine, hands start shaking, all I can think of is Sunita’s Greek Goddess looks.

“Are you OK?”

-”Mm… I don’t see Mr. Kluter around. Will he be coming today?”

“No. He is away to Pune. I will oversee things for today.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

-”Yes. I’m fine. Had gotten lost on the way here.”

I can barely breath.

Sunita gets up and walks over to the mini fridge at the corner, next to the 42 inch LCD. She pulls out a can of juice for me.

“Here. This will make you feel better. It has come in from Greece last week.”

She takes her place on the sofa, next to the window.

Sunita is the trophy wife that only men like Mr. Kluter can take home. After all, who can afford the Bentley, diamonds, 5 acre – beach side – home, and the list that never ends.

As Sunita’s perfume circumvolves me, my brain goes on screensaver mode. By now I have completely forgotten the purpose of my visit.

It’s been long since I said anything. Worried. I collect my breath.

– ”Is that the Marine Drive?”

“Yes it is, Peter.”

Thank god, I said something. I’m sure she must get this Men-On-Pause look all the time. She knows what she does to men.

– ”Lovely! You must love this serene office view.”

“It’s OK. I’m more of a mountains type.”

“Why don’t you come and sit here on this sofa. The view is much better from here.”

– “Ok.”

As I walk over towards the sofa where Sunita purrs, all I can think of is one thing. I’m sorry, she is sitting. Her long legs are crossed over one another. You can be sure of one thing. This will not be just a meeting.

I put my rear in the couch next to her. I can see up her skirt.

“You like what you see?”

Oh shit. Damn it. She saw me ogling.

– “No. I mean. Yes. No. Ah. Yes.”

She relaxes the muscles on her face and a smile appears on her soft lips.

I can hardly feel my legs.

“Don’t worry. Relax. My husband is away. He won’t know.”

After those words, all I can remember is the morning.

Auto Giants Get It Right

Recently a close friend asked for my vote, which would help her in winning a contest that involved a 3000km road trip across the Indian terrain in a Mitsubishi Cedia. The contest requires its participants to collect the maximum number of votes to qualify. More details will be available, albeit shortly.

This contest is reminiscent of something similar done by Ford, popularly known as the Fiesta Movement. Except Ford chose its individuals on their own criteria.

This brings me to an argument of – in times of pocket crunch, advertising budgets are being cut, unlike fats from most bloated bodies. Classic print ads, television commercials, radio spots just wont cut the cheese. So what do you do? The idea is to involve the end consumer.

Follow these links Ford and Mitsubishi.

Just get ordinary people to do the job for you, for free! Well, almost free. It certainly beats spending millions on superstars. Companies around the globe are learning and cashing in on the social media networks. The results are simply rewarding. You get a whole bunch of noise and buzz by people ready to dive on the once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity boat. It seems that some companies have gotten it right. Others, however, look at all this and turn their heads – sooner or later they’ll see the light.

Michael Jackson | Tribute

Michael Jackson is no more. You can pay your tribute here.

When the news arrived I immediately opened Google – 193,000,000 results popped up, and on Youtube – 34,407,010 views. Fans around the globe are grief stricken – the world will never be the same.

From his signature moon walk, white glove, black loafers, military style of dress, to his music that moved our very core. The MJ movement will continue in our hearts and minds.

Only recently I was talking with an old friend, and the subject of MJ popped up. It turns out this friend has been a die hard fan ever since. Here’s a short snippet from the conversation.

“Hey! Was looking for a piece on MJ on your site… Are you not a fan? You’ve not written anything yet. Hoping to see something.”

-“I am currently working it out. You’ll see something soon.”

And this is where it all begins. Nostalgia hits. My friend tells me about all those MJ momments.

“I remember me and my brother saved every penny to buy his albums. And later practised his dance moves together and with friends.”

(That reminded me of the days when I used to pour powder on the floor and practise the moon walk. I’m sure the moon walk could possibly be the most practised dance move across the world.)

Conversation continues…

”At the time when MJ came to Mumbai, I was 8 and in town. I went down to the airport and his hotel – Taj – to catch a glimpse. He was surrounded by security, but I managed a peak.”

“He even wrote something on the mirror before leaving.”

-“You remember all this?”

“Yes! As if it happened yesterday.”

“I just bought a Michael Jackson collector’s set from Amazon.”

-“You really loved him…”

From the above conversation I was sure of one thing – MJ fans are one of its kind. You’d be hard pressed to find a cult (Wait. You will not find anything that even comes close.), a following so strong, religion like behaviour, for any other icon to have survived on earth.

For fans, he will remain immortal.

Although MJ had attracted contrversies throughtout the span of his career, the child molestation cases were the most illicit and shocking. Most of us including me think that he was framed. The media made millions. But, his fans stuck by him.

MJ saw the worst, the best, and finally during his end, the worst again. Reports of his weak body, balding scalp, minimalistic diet, drug overdose were all due to the loneliness that surrounded him. His mental state must have been unimaginable.

Now that he is gone, he will remain within our hearts forever.

Part 2 – Coming Soon

Fiat Punto

The Fiat Punto is finally here. Its a relief from all those Swifts littered on the road. Anyhow, I was awaiting the Fiat Punto launch. So on a Sunday morning I took off for the dealership. And my conclusions are as follows: A spacious car, decently priced, good to look at, smart interiors (I seem to like dark interiors) and finally a nice change from all those me too concepts. Thums Up!

Here’s some innovating advertising of the Punto.

Perfume | The Movie

Perfume. Sounds like a chick flick? Don’t make the same mistake I did. For those who’ve missed it and those who’ve simply ignored it, check out the trailer below, and you’ll agree its nothing short of spine-tingling; anything but gooey. Although, there is some goo. You can check out the official website here. The gripping, fast-paced story line is bound to cause blood clots in your brain. A must see for all the scent lovers. That means you too!

BMW 7 Series 2009

Its like this one time I had a dream about women. Okay fine, I’ll be honest, I dream about women all the time, and why shouldn’t I? After all… I’m a guy, and men can do anything. There goes the feminists. Let them. Its all about male chauvinism and testosterone. And there goes the others. Perfect! Guys, let me tell you, you’re in on for a treat. Pooja… What are you still doing here? Did I tell you, you look fat? There. Now its only us, the men. That’s exactly what the all-new BMW 7 Series is all about. Uber luxury and men. Don’t get me wrong now, I love them ladies, like I mentioned earlier. But, for now, for this moment, please let us drool – not on the car, though – and let this moment take us into a distant world of splendor and indulgence. The thought of getting behind the wheel gives me the goose-flesh. And, not to mention the peculiar taste and smell of the insides. I don’t think I’ll be leaving anytime soon.

P.S. – In the making of this post no women were hurt. It was for the mere purpose of demonstration only. God bless women.

Madonna in an M5

Though this video is slightly old, I’m putting it up here for all those who’ve missed it. Its one of the many in a series done by BMW for its loyal fans. The series was available for a short time on the BMW website. Later to be taken down.

(Talk about exclusivity. Damn!)

The series was created by the best in the industry. Any how, this one happens to be my favourite. And you’ll notice, in the credits, this particular video has been made by Madonna’s hubby Guy Ritchie.

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Enjoy the hair raising, goose-bump inducing, almost hypnotic – you’ll piss in your pants video!

BMW M5 commercial

If I were to sit you down and list the many reasons why a BMW is the discerning devil of them all, you’d pebble the thought for insanity. Albeit, here’s my favourite BMW M5 commercial. Enjoy!

NYC – The Big Apple

Ever wake up in the middle of the night, all sweaty, in shock – gasping for that last breath? And the words ‘NYC’ mutter out as you choke on your own saliva? Well, in any case, even if that didn’t happen; here’s the solution to all your going-to-NYC blues.

Now, planning a trip to the Big Apple just got easier. Simply go here. It simplifies all your conundrums in one neat easy package. The portal allows you to dig deeper and navigate endlessly around the corners, which, otherwise, would be impossible and downright nerve racking.

i-love-new-yorkLet’s say, you were planning a business trip, which was going to be more like – one day’s work, two days of exultant partying, and you were a mountain goat when it came to New York. In that case, you’d be in luck. All you’d have to do is go here. Done! The 2 days of partying, sightseeing, dining at your favourite restaurant with perspective clients – and acting like you practically lived in New York your whole life.

I suggest a similar approach for cities like Delhi and Mumbai. Especially now that the Common Wealth Games are around the corner. Ahem, ahem! Is the government listening?

Here’s the story behind it. Have a safe flight!

Rubber

Ahem Ahem… Rubber? What rubber? Is it the same rubber we used in grade 4? No, no. This is a different kind of rubber. The kinds only adults use, well, maybe not all the adults do. And since not all the adults are up for it, the guys at the rubber factory have cracked an idea. Warning: If you are aged 18 and below, please call mommy and daddy. If you’re well over 18, do get your girlfriend to see this. I’m sure you’re wife won’t mind. See what we’re talking about here.

I love Skittles

Like most kids, I love the sound of candy. At the drop of a few names, my mind is instantly transported to the land of mouth-watering-sugary treats. No wonder I am mostly chilling with my dentist. Hope you’re not shocked. You might need a therapist soon. Why? Well, you’ve forgotten what its like to be a kid. And trust me, people pay tons of money for this – learning to be a kid again. Although I’ve kept it simple for myself.

Moving along now to a deeper conversation of twits.

fruit-skittlesI recently came across a beautiful example of how a brand, such as Skittles has managed to capture and harness the various noises of the social media sites.

Namely Twitter and Facebook.

Firstly,

Skittles re-designed its website, which you can find here. And all the other places in this post, where you see the word ‘Skittles‘ written. Like that. But you already knew all that.

From its concept to its superb execution its got Skittles-is-ahead written all over it.

Secondly,

Instead of tweeting, Skittles merely displays tweets with the word ‘Skittles’ in it. In addition, it also displays photographs on Flickr with the word ‘Skittles’ in them.

A beautiful concept executed with its target audience in mind – all Skittles lovers.

P.S. – Did I mention, I wrote this while being held hostage, at the Skittles factory. They made sure I hyper linked every Skittles. I totally ripped them off.

Root Canal

Unable to swallow the lump in my throat, I slowly gulp down a bottle of water, by my bed side. The pain in my mouth has woken up – the otherwise – lazy bloke. The thought of getting on a chair – at the dentist – gives me the goosebumps, however, the agony leaves me no choice. I pick up my blackberry and reluctantly make the call.

“Yes, you can come down in 30 minutes. We’ll take an X-ray.”

An X-ray doesn’t sound so bad? With that consolation in mind, I grab my gear and head to the clinic. The drive down to the clinic is full of nervous, spine tingling thoughts.

What if its a root canal? No. It wont be. God can’t do this to me. After all, I didn’t do anything bad this year. God, please, let it be a filling. Yes. A filling.

And the sinking feeling takes over.

I shouldn’t have cheated on my girlfriend. It must be her, cursing me. It’s all coming back to me. How stupid of me. I should’ve been faithful. Damn those feelings.

Some more remorse.

I shouldn’t have stolen those shirts from Tommy. And for those making judgements on that last one – go back to church where you belong.

Others, continue.

Watch it, twin eyes. Who gave you the car, any ways?

I shouldn’t have cursed the guy who cut me off. Damn. This will be a filling in the near future.

The clinic is finally here, I take my time to find a parking. Going around the block, missing several perfectly good spots, all in denial.

Maybe if I call my girlfriend and apologize, the pain will go away. Damn. Why can’t life be like that.

Moving along.

I walk in and meet the doctor. Give him the lowdown. He walks me over to the X-ray machine as promised. A sigh of relief.

The doc walks over with the X-ray in hand, settles me down, and hands over the verdict.

“It looks like a root canal, we’ll have to put you on medication for 3 days, to subside the swelling.”

As the words sink in I feel elated, relaxed, and my face – finally – starts to animate expressions of relief. Sigh.

My blackberry rings. I pull it out of my pocket, to see my dear friend on the line.

“Hello.”

-”Hello.”

-”Buddy, I forgive you for eating that last piece of chocolate truffle, the other day, at the party.”

Voting Blues

Post 26.11, we had that fever, that adrenalin rush, to stimulate every Indian’s voting leg. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry, including their families, their friends, their servants, their canines, were all infuriated by the infantile men in white. They shouted, they screamed at the top of their lungs, their erratic behaviour lead to the disobedient movement. Well, that’s our wayward approach to most situations.

All those psyched folks must be busy – at home, at work, at the pub, a few must be down in South Africa – titillated by western cheerleader, who, by the way, are beyond our social conforms.

Keep your pants on.

Here we are, the year 2009, and voting fails to excite us. Had it been similar to ‘Superpoke’ from Facebook, we’d be tickled by the idea. We would even go as far as sending it to 20 odd friends. Needless to say, that itch, is in all the wrong places.

We have better fish to fry. Once our minds get free from IPL, which is obviously recession proof, and the thought of taking your car to work, since all this while you were hard pressed to not do without your chopper, and maybe H1N1 (popularly known as swine flu), no, it’s not a code name for the US visa.

Let me add here, heading to the US, at the moment, well, is clearly not a good idea. All our punjabi folks aside, who could care less.

At the White House.

Obama must be sitting with the boys, from all those soon-to-be-making-bicycles automotive companies, and brainstorming their own version of Nano, with an in-built swine flu cum any-future-flu anti-virus, and most importantly, make all future cars Facebook and iPod ready.

“That’ll put us back in business boys. And if that doesn’t work, let’s call Steve.”

For all the others, keep reading.

What if there is a different flu out their? A Voting Flu. Popularly known as VF1. What would that mean for you and me?

Allow me to spread further.

This flu would show symptoms of voter’s anxiety, the sudden urge to vote, and even cause the host voting day-dreams and hysteria.

We could spread it via Facebook. Every ‘Superpoke’ or ‘Comment’ would infect the recipient. Every score update on your cellphone could add to the spread.

Hence, in no time, a nation full of VF1, would queue up to vote. I wouldn’t bother finding a cure for this one. For now, at least.

Nano – People’s Car

Everyone is talking about the new kid on the block.

The media, the maid, people at work, your friends and even your stingy uncle from Russia – all feeding you with information, as if it were a newborn baby.

Awn… Look! It pooped. It smiled. It burped. Etc etc.

The family living next door is planning on booking one. Your friend from Punjab – who has all the right connections – is expecting delivery anytime soon. The guy at office – the one who serves tea and cleans your messy desk – has already booked a red coloured CX BSIII.

Now, you’re thinking about it. Unwillingly, unaware, your subconscious mind has gone in an orgy of Nano proportions. Before you can come to terms with all this madness, you realize there are feelings in your head for the Nano.

It’s the perfect toy for recession.

It reminds you of your college crush. Even though you scored the hottest babe, you still had a thing for the short and slightly chubby Mala, from Mrs. Perkin’s class. There was something uniquely cute and Indian about her. Especially when she walked around all goofy in a saree.

The Honda you bought last month – on instalments – the one parked outside, which is being washed at the moment, is feeling a bit jealous.

Call us sick, if you may. We can’t help this Indian feeling. It makes all of us proud. So god may not have blessed us with magnum hogs for the ladies, but he has certainly shown us the way. Nano way.

Back to present.

You open the morning paper and see a full-page advertisement of the Nano. It looks like a mini shuttle – full of dreams.
Its staring right back at you, with its goofy snooped snout and button like eyeball headlights. Want a ride?

You have to admit, the invitation is hard to resist, despite the Hondas of the world.

I remember at the time of Auto Expo 2008, I was completing an internship at an advertising agency in Mumbai. I flew down for the weekend to get a sneak peak of the Nano. Yes! I was there for the BMW, Porsche and Audi but Nano was up there with the big boys.

The Tata stall was the place to be. It was full of jabber and excitement. We could see kids being carried on their parent’s shoulders. Cameras being held high and above – to get the money shots.

Even though pushing and shoving comes naturally to us, one could feel the anxiety and spirit in the crowd. Initially, I thought they’re handing out free food.

A few minutes into the frenzy an overhead announcement was made. Moments later, Mr Ratan Tata rolled out onto the stage, in a red Nano – the world was never going to be the same.

That said.

The Nano has raised criticism and debate, but also dreams and hope.

Many are talking about the infrastructure needed for the clogged and choked roads, while others are planning picnics.

Whatever the outcome be, we certainly are very proud.

Cheers

See what the New York Times is saying here.

IPL Twister

Initiating launch sequence. Five, four, three, two and here comes a charging six foot monster, with a single motive – to throw the ball as if it were a missile on a enemy fighter plane.

The ball is released into its trajectory. A short pitch connects to a bat, well swung over from the right.

Its a six! What a shot! Hammered. The crowd has gone ballistic. It seems that the poor ball has gone home to the motherland.

Punjab.

In the middle of it all, a young man in his late 20s, wears a grin, similar to a ‘I had her last night’ grin. Satisfied with the results, he does the walk. That walk. You remember don’t you? Its his signature walk; when he holds his bat up like a sword and leaps as if on a horse.

The ladies watch their prey as a hungry cougar would. They seem to enjoy the smell of his body, lathered in sweat. For now, they can only swallow the humid air.

Over the distance we see our lad taking form once again. (Match Continues…)

Lets head to the VVIP Box.

What do we see? It seems due to the shortage of funds, the organizers have had to compromise.

Compromise?

But you heard some bloke – some ‘Modi’ – make claims that the market wont affect cricket.

Can this really happen to us? Well… It is.

The VVIP Box smells like home made food, which the owners brought from home. Preity shouts over to Mallya.

“Hey! Pass the cury.” Mallya replies “Mom only packed enough for me and Sidhartha.”

An argument is about to take off when we hear the crowds roar.

We look over, down the window and see the batsman walking back home with his pants in hand. The uniforms from last year aren’t holding up too well. Budget cuts led to players wearing last year’s jerseys. Some players are sharing… Its the only option left for some.

As long as the game continues.

The MLAs from the state have donated their dhotis. These men can do anything during the elections. They can be so inconsiderate.

Instead, they should offer their seats. Since the players are looking for a career change.

Its only a seat.

Instead of television ads, which cost billions, the players have decided to distribute leaflets in parking lots, malls and outside cinemas.

A few have decided to give coaching classes in their respective neighborhoods.

“Its a team effort” says a reclusive Modi – otherwise flamboyant and very Page 3.

“Even I’m bringing food from home and instead of cheerleaders we have appointed our housemaids to cheer on the crowds with their ‘jhadus’ – its taken the crowds by storm.”

Their isn’t any television coverage this year, but instead we have implemented an alternate medium – word of mouth. We have invited all the ladies from the ‘K’ serials for this purpose.

To our surprise. It seems to work faster and better.

Yes! Their is the occasional melodrama, but its free. And if its free, we don’t mind.

As a joint decision by the BCCI and owners of the teams, the venues have been shifted to school grounds and neighborhood parks.

Even Shahrukh is working over time and has convinced Yash Ji to hold one match at Yash Raj Studios.

“Anything for the game.” says a cheerful SRK.

The players are also finding traveling by local trains for the matches to be exciting as they get the opportunity to interact with their fans. And it greatly reduces costs. This step allows them to enjoy a single samosa and tea in the lunch breaks.

“We are taking this opportunity to show the world that India can handle any situation thrown at them” says Dhoni.

Recession

What a pain in the ass. Heartbroken? Dreams crushed like a twig, under Jumbo’s foot. He couldn’t see Reena’s love – the hippo at the pond – the last time he went in for a swim.

Nonetheless, you’re fried for no reason. Charged up for a riveting battle of twits, with the biggest lump in your throat – unable to swallow – you look for relief in a glass full of xxx.

Yuck! I can feel the sand in my mouth. Similar to the one found on the islands of Greece. Wonder how many blonds juggled in it.

Anyhow, you did call your wife. She has been waiting for that late night rendezvous – the one you can’t afford – the one you promised her months ago.

Why?

You had everything in shares.

Satyam shares. Eureka! Go explain that to her. Bloody recession has got nothing to do with it.

Moving along now.

Grab rum. Why? It’ll relax you.

Sedated? Not enough? Here. Take my glass.

Waiter – Yes sir! – *Repeat.

The endless running around, the wall – your only friend, tells you all about life. A nice tale about it passing by, but there was so much left in her.

Damn.

Where did she come from now? What does she want? Why me? I only have a couple of thousands rolled up in the glove compartment.

Ah! She looks happy.

Bitch!

She doesn’t care about the recession. In fact, I’m sure her business is booming. Look at all the depressed logs around. They all need her services.

She gives the best hair cut in town. You feel like a rock star in no time.

Answers. We’re all looking for some. If only we knew where to find them. A couple of bucks would do just fine.

Let me tell you about the runaway writer. No, no, no. Not the runaway bride. But a runaway writer – later to be found in the foothills of the Himalayas.

Many believe he is a myth. I disagree.

Met him at Barney’s, last week. He stood like a rock. Fit as ever. Didn’t write any longer though. But made all the ladies week in the knees.

Something about a nine iron – he didn’t mention golf though.

Here is a compilation of photographs of the world,

put together by the New York Times. They paint a vivid picture. Comical. A few.

Seasons Greetings

For the less fortunate amidst us; absent from my Facebook: ‘Cockybox’ group.

Invariably disgusted by emails full of fabricated emotions, I decided to write my own analogy.

Unfolds something like this:

Just great. Another season’s greeting email.

If only you hadn’t read every possible cliche.

You’d pretend to care.

But. Then. Why bother?

By now, you must be thinking – nobody really cares.

It’s all a gimmick at the end. Isn’t it?

Therefore, this one is worth scrapping.

Don’t bother reading a single word. Seriously. Stop it.

You’d rather take this time to sharpen the pencils on your desk or even change the sand in the kitty litter box.

But. Reading another word, would only suggest suicide.

No?

Research suggests 75% men would not be around for this bit and 65% women, either.

Well, I guess, their the ones we give two pieces of cake for.

Very well then.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year.

More like… Get a Life!

Ambush

As expected, like always, our bluster talks of patriotism have taken slumber. I don’t see the anger, not even, a tiny bit. I guess, we all knew, what was on the buffet, next.

Anger has quietly slithered down to our knees, very far from the brain, or shall I take the liberty of saying ‘heart’. Down there, all that anger is oblivious to terror and patriotic slogans.

Only if we got time from our daily conundrum of traffic snarls, a full supply of water & electricity and basic shelter, that, we would worry about our nation’s security.

At the moment, we seem to be sleeping. If we were wide-awake, with eyes open to our eyebrows, we would see that – these terror attacks are reminiscent of 9/11. Ok. Maybe, you already knew that, but, what I’m about to elucidate, may catch your fancy. So hold on, this will be one cactus-spanking-on-your-rear ride.

Conflicted with several arguments put forward by our nincompoop media, I began a quest for answers. In this endeavour, I came across a series of videos on youtube, which give a different perspective of 9/11.

In concise, these series of videos suggest that, the terror attacks were crafted and executed by the people, who run the American government. To name a few: Bush, Dick Cheny and the members on board PNAC.

The videos take you step-by-step into the loopholes and flaws of the perfect plan. One would only describe them as scrotum-shrivelling. By the end, I lampooned in disgust.

Hidden agendas were brought forward.

Like these.

How the lease owner, Larry Silverstein made a wicked $7,000,000,000 bonus, from the insurance company, post attacks. Larry had conveniently signed on the WTC lease, six months prior to the attacks, fine-tuning his insurance plan with a clause on terrorists attacks. He even took the liberty of cleaning illegal asbestos from the foundation, which only relieved his pocket to amass a bigger wealth.

Other arguments brought forward included: the accused terrorists, who were flying the airlines, managed to survive and show up in the middle east, all well and hearty.

One peculiar argument, which intrigued my mind to its very wits, is as follows:

Now, try following this for a moment.

A country devastated by losses suffered in continuous wars staged over the years, made a plan; to refuel the sinking ship called “The American Dream”.

For this, masterminds at PNAC laid down a strategy, which would not only recover losses, but also make immoral profits.
Therefore, if Osama is an aid of the Bush run government, the entire 9/11 episode is a theatrical event, with the motive of gaining sympathy from citizens of the world, to stage war in the middle-east, for control over oil and jeopardize the world’s oil supply.

Bamboozled by such a mammoth proposition?

Similarly,

If the truth is, that, a bunch of sycophantic goons in our government planned 26/11 for their political conquests.

Then,

Where would we stand then? What would we do as a nation? What action would we take, against the scum?

26.11 Aftermath

How long does it take an aggravated nation to get over a barbarous terror attack on its financial capital?

If I were to elucidate on this, I would find myself dafter.

This is only because, the idea of forgiveness and tolerance has been imbibed in our blood from pre-independent British-ruled-India phase.

Even so, the father of the nation was a propagator of the ‘non-violent’ movement.

Doesn’t that ring a bell?

Without a doubt, we, the people of India have learned over the years to get along with our mammoth family of problems.

You agree with me on this don’t you?

After all,

We are good human beings; we can’t be like the ill-fated terrorist, even if we tried, we couldn’t come close.

Yes! It’s true, that we are angry now.

But,

Certainly not angry enough, to pack our bags, and head to Pakistan for a terror orgy.

We might gather together, shout livid slogans, criticise the system and even behave cynical at a few occasions. But, that’s it for us. After that, we have to get home, to our homemade food.

I hope all this is not coming as a surprise to you. Because, if it is, then don’t just sit there.

Join the 2611 movement.

We must let the world know, we can only be pushed so far.

You don’t seem to be moving a muscle. Is something wrong?

Amidst all this fury, my displeasure towards the with-time-out-of-mind thought process is gaining momentum. Farcical incisive terror is entrenched in my cerebral cortex, where a certain burlesque will take place.

Seems like, we are all a bunch of hare-brained nitwits vying for space, on this, already claustrophobic planet.

How can I forget about the ‘SPIRIT’ of our countrymen? Well, to be precise, the reason why I’m annoyed. Its that if-I’m-ok-needn’t-bother attitude which uproots the very ground we stand upon. Rather, everyone seems to be out and plying there regular routine.

Apparently, they don’t have much of a choice as well. Moreover, the common man –middle class- is riddled with a false sense of security.

In conclusion,

Life will go on, and if terror doesn’t come knocking on our door, you and me will get old and cease. Don’t worry, no one will notice.

26.11 We can hear a buzzer. Finally!

Seems like everyone and anyone – with a desktop – is talking about it. Everyone is irked and disgruntled with the sad turn of events. Why shouldn’t they be? After all, they’ve been hit, where it hurts the most. Their pockets – that is.

All this while, terror as well as terrorists seemed to be something that belonged to the lower strata of life. Only the poor feared them and the rest lived their lives as they pleased.

I guess, unlike the western part of the world, where the approach is plan and do. We in India still continue with a far unique and rudimentary – now that it’s done, let’s plan – approach.

How did the world not learn that terrorist have finally gotten their acts together and started doing worthy work, for their cause? They seemed to have gotten it right with The Twin Towers in New York and even the violent London bombings; creating terror and hitting the dictators under their belts – financial belts.

Some did roll-up their sleeves and laid out a pyramid like plan – on a huge white board – in their pentagon looking structures. Did everyone learn from the mistakes of the leaders? Well, certainly – NO. Why should we care about what those western folks are doing? We are safe here; the only threats out here are, making the rush hour or finding the right man to bribe – to get the job done, leaving the terror attacks to a lower and more helpless class.

Leaving out what happened during the days of terror in Mumbai, which would only make it rhetoric, we will shine upon the angst and sardonic threat awaiting. But, before that, let’s understand a bigger picture.

A few palpable observations, which were reminiscent of the attacks on the west, are as follows:

a. The head-to-toe approach of the terrorists. By this, with a certain amount of vexation, I would like to point towards the loop-holes in our system and how they – the terrorists – used this, to their advantage.

b. How every channel – television – prays on the fragility of human emotions, for the sake of information or rather caustic financial gains.

c. The audacity of the entire episode.

d. Finally, how we chose to tackle this menace – our fight.

The Head-To-Toe Approach

From the information that has come to my notice, I see a certain intellect and confidence amongst the planners of this modus-operandi. They must have been sitting in their caves and said to each other, ‘why are we killing the poor and wasting our efforts. Let’s hit the decision-making set.’

Let’s train young bloods, with educational backgrounds, fluent in English. This way, no one will know, what hit them. Training from ex ISI and other LET agents as well as pre-attack local study, make this assault not only well planned but also logistically perfect.

Right from the boys, who had been in the city, for the past few months, quietly scrutinizing every nook and corner of south Mumbai to the men with the mastermind – bigger picture – of global terrorism, no leaf, was left unturned.

Television

Without a doubt, this terror attack has seen an incessant coverage, from Nariman house, Trident and The Taj Palace. It is the duty of media to provide the public with information but what eventually aired live was not only disgusting but downright infuriating.

Every channel, as a social responsibility, could have conveyed the entire – terror struck – episode, as humane as possible. If this had been the driving force, our news wouldn’t have seemed like clips from a Bollywood movie.

Nevertheless, a few channels did manage to pull off a rather sympathetic and emotional episode, which was needed. But, if I had seen this as one big picture, it seemed to be more about TRPs, rather then NEWS.

Audacity

Like me, many were an audience to the rage of high-society and elite, spanning across media. In one particular incident, which caught my eye was, when this influential socialite came in-front of the camera and vented her angst. She talked about ‘audacity’ and a whole bunch of irk – baloney, I say.

When all these terror attacks have happened in the vying eye of the same people, in vicinity of same borders, but in different locations, on different class of people, then… No one seems to be talking about ‘audacity’.

The one thing I would like to understand is, by audacity are we suggesting that high class have been terrorized or because it was south Mumbai’s prime locales, which have made it an ‘audacity’ label.

If the above statement is true, then, we are also suggesting the fact that, any terror attack on our soil which doesn’t hit the rich lacks ‘audacity’.

Our Fight

As the mighty Indian force – to fight terror – descended upon the shores of Mumbai, from the NORTH (I hope all Marathi’s are listening), we saw a sign of hope. Since, the Marathi’s have shown their true strengths, I feel discussing them further would only waste time.

Now, this fight can be debated on several, logical and illogical means. A few believe that the NSG should have taken control over the situation. Others believe otherwise.

Despite our forces fighting a politically-corrected battle, managing to crack the terror plot, didn’t take one phone-call. The death toll, which seems under-stated, could have been averted only if the process had been dictator-leadership followed. But, this would only be one-more-opinion.

In conclusion, the bigger fight, in the bigger picture, is the main cause of worry, for our future. If this wasn’t a good enough lesson, I’m sure nothing will be.

The people in dhotis must put aside their petty politics and roll-up their sleeves; it’s time to draw a pyramid on a huge white board.

Now what?

Like the most of us, who have been irked and infuriated by the terror attacks, blaming someone else seems to be the only relief. The corrupt officials are responsible, the system is lucid, and it’s his fault and so on.

I guess, it’s but natural for us to put the blame on someone else, when at the end, we all are collectively responsible.

Paying traffic officials to lay us off on jumping a signal or over speeding, having our CA file excessive receipts to avoid taxes and the list goes on. If we are the ones fueling the corruption blaze, then, only we can put an end to it as well.

We all have to start from ourselves. To propagate a better country, we all must unite and take the right steps forward.

Evading tax, paying bribes would be out the door and taking collective decisions in.

Right down from having all the well educated vote and question the system for its accountability; we can make the change.

So lets start doing, rather than just nodding.

Medley Flummox

I am alone. Why are the speakers on my Macbook Pro so underpowered? I don’t like her; I like those. I wish I could eat an apple right now… a big juicy pink one. We want the light. My days are getting shorter. The winter has sneaked into my blanket. I wish I could fly only today, before tomorrow comes back. Had I only not done something stupid? I can make an omelette with onions, tomatoes, cheese and pepper. She thinks I’m a jerk; a self-indulgent prick. Did they leave the vanilla on my brownie? Thinking sometimes leads to sulking or even glut. Why do you care? We all have a purpose in life; cars and mice. Did I tell you about my BMW? She wasn’t getting a ride. She can hold the joystick. My PSP is configured for beginners. What’s this? Not again… Oh well! I can make a new one. Oreo Shake! Yummy! Trance calms me down under stress. Please stop judging, look in the mirror, you are a criminal; we all are. Lovely day, today, for years remembered, till a time when Crocs become blue. Why blue? They are yellow now. Sheer pleasure. I like this song. Lounge is after all… soothing. So, what can I possibly do? Waiting may take forever. Eagerness can murder the neighbour. Why not cut the grass? Had it been for those two females at the club; we would be getting a massage on the rocks. Wait. She isn’t convinced. I hate this. Ok maybe that car isn’t mine. Like the day, when… I was thinking about water. She is an orange. Damn… my favourite track. Yes! Please, fill me up, inside. I need you. I need you more than this song. I can try. Daft.

Ice

Hello! Ladies and gentlemen, I will be the connoisseur for the evening. Now, now, please calm down. Settle down in your seats. Please. Kindly turn your satellite and Vertu phones in slumber mode. Wine will be served shortly at your table. Non-drinkers, do not worry; we have prepared a special recipe for your indulgence. A mix of chicken and sushi, from the clearest waters – right down from the islands near Hong Kong, topped with lemon and coriander.

“Voila!” Our chef told us, but we beg of you to leave it at that. No self-respecting man or woman can risk the idea of arousal in public.

Oh! By the way, I didn’t mention that it’s the Viagra of all dishes, did I? But I suppose, a fine person like you doesn’t mind getting naughty. Food is considered to be one highly volatile aphrodisiac. I consider it to be quiet imaginative and exclusive – for renewing your otherwise boring routine. A little rubdown of ice – after – can show your mate blue stars in the morning twilight.

Aroused? Not yet. Are you sure? No. Ok, I believe you. What if I gave you details? Would you change your mind then? Yes! Did I just see your eyes open an mm wider? And while your lips are tightly held back but murmur that ‘yes?’ Hey! It’s good enough for me. I know you could use the action. After all, we all want it in the first place.

You sir! Yes you, in the back! Please switch your phone off. We don’t care if Martha Stewart is on the line. Switch it off or kindly step outside.

By a raise of hands, presently, how many off you have invested in stocks? Kindly raise your hands so I can see them. Now, please look over both shoulders. Do you see where this is going? Ok you can bring your hands down now. So everyone here has invested their hard-earned money or the not so hard-earned into shares, equity, bonds and etc, etc.

Excuse me! Pardon. Madam, I don’t understand. Would you kindly come up here? I can hardly here your voice. Lets share what you have to say with everyone. Right up this way. Yes, that’s it. Welcome! You are?

“Bandova, Mrs. Bandova”. Ladies and gentlemen here is Mrs. Bandova.

Applaud.

Mrs. Bandova, what is it you wish to share with everyone?
“I would like to know about that ice. My husband talks of stocks all day.”

Can you hear the hooting and cheering? Now that’s the power of ice. You see the glass in front of you, the one with the three thousand dollar scotch in it. Yes that one. Put some ice into it, if you already haven’t. I certainly fancy it on the rocks, no adulteration and hedonistic in nature.

Only the other day I was at a party, close friends and some new people. These new people certainly had a few distinct ways of taking their shots. Milk would be one of the ingredient, a few had the idea of mixing vodka with watermelon, topped with snake poison, the lethal kinds. If only I could get my hands on the JD, I would be blissful in my own world. Shot after shot the men settled down in the large couches – the Italian leather ones, imported by the gentleman who organised the party, in his private Boing 777 – sobering down. Only later to start sessions of their overtly expensive first class trips around the world and their worldly babe conquests.

What did get my attention was the lioness in green. As I finished my last drink, I gathered up the courage to go speak with her. I navigated myself across a room filled with statues and furniture, hand crafted by slaves of Africa. Ok, Ok. I was making that last part up. Moving on now. As I skim across slowly, trying to avoid stepping on any of the six Chihuahuas. As I got closer to my prize, it seemed to get better and better. Ny now, my focus got sharper, the lines and curves got bolder. Every square inch was formidable. Her hair – long but trimmed at the front. High cheekbones and a flattering devil’s smile, complementing the Greek-Goddess voluptuousness. She had the body of a tigress; every square inch was pure muscle, and skin glowing like fresh apples from Swiss.

So I approached her. She noticed my movement. A smile of confirmation from her gave me confidence. I arrived in close proximity, all the women around her turned around as if expecting me to say something. This was putting me on the stage, the limelight. Did I mention – I picked up a bucket of ice while I was walking along? Yes! That’s right, a big bucket of ice. I looked at the ladies and gave them my I-have-come-prepared grin. I held up the bucket of ice and said, “Would you ladies like some ice on those cock-tails”. It was amazing, almost like throwing meat in front of hungry sharks. They jumped at it, one by one all iced up. I took this moment to excavate the green lady out of the rigmarole.

As we safari through the room towards a bedroom upstairs, she teasingly says “Don’t leave the ice.” This piece will not be printed further due to censorship issues.

Out off work? Cover guide

“Dude, Damn right! Absolutely free, like the guy under the bridge. It rocks! I’m chilling now.” Ok, so you’ve heard that one before. Nothing new. In fact, something you might have said to a friend. It’s real easy laying it out like that for someone. Leaving them with all the mess. To dig out the gravy from the chicken. They might have the chicken but no gravy. No gravy means – well, hmmm… rubber in their mouth. So, why do we do such a thing? Is it comforting? Or does it give us easy escape from all the rigmarole. I guess we all have our little reasons. Please, their is no big reason for such a floozy; only small. Now keeping it small makes it refreshing. Like a tequila shot, one quick, single gulp makes all those presentations and figures on the screen look like visualizations. Keep it on “Random” for best results.

So you’ve given the boner and moved on. Is it all that simple? Well, let’s find out. In my opinion… It’s simple all right. But somehow, we manage to complicate things. “No, it’s complicated. It’s not so simple. There is so much on my mind.” In addition to all this there would be a “time has changed, I’ve changed. Things are not the same.” I certainly think it’s a load of bull crap. It just tells you one thing clearly and that is ‘Get Lost’. It sure is the sugary way. Beating around the bush makes the world a better place; so does ignorance and irrelevance. It just gives us something to do, cause otherwise, deep down inside, we will always remain the same.

Layering the old defecated, out of shape mills with steel does spruce up and cover up. It’s what we do all the time, feel terrible and lonely on the inside but on top “Yippee, I’m on top of the world. Rocking. Party on guys.” We all are certainly good at those. I’m sure you can tell me a hundred ways of covering up, which are better and far, far realistic. Don’t be proud of it. I wouldn’t be. Inside we are all quite alike, we all want love and something to fit into that huge emptiness. Like Lego; piece-by-piece dreams come true and experience is all we get out of it. Let’s not forget memories, a wonderful piece of the pie called life.

Those darn politics we play. Some of us think, that people are fools. They may do as they please. It’s that package we discussed earlier. For those who try be to be nice and do good things, only face a certain kind of music. I can reassure you that the music is horrid. All right! I’m taking a break; time for some coffee and fresh air. Let’s meet in 15.

You see all this above; it’s all bullshit, and nonsense. It’s like the fake things people tell you when all they really want to say is “I am lonely.” You really have to be eager to get deep down inside, to find out the truth. Not everyone wants to know. Who cares? It’s the one that do, which matter. Did we ever think or come to realise that; the fake act could be the reason for the emptiness.

As time passes by, I do wish things could be as simple as the early days. All I had to worry about then was, my homework. Now, every little task comes with it’s own baggage; like this one, full of meaningless and endless paragraphs. Has anyone seen ‘Gia’? If not, it’s a must see. Angelina Jolie has done justice. At first, I was enjoying it for reasons to believe but later, from climax and beyond. The movie did give out a clear message, which I will not mention here. I certainly do not want to spoil the climax.

Being an out of work copywriter is similar to being a dog with no leash. You can take the free time to do as you please, write as you feel and even roam about, doing your business. You can put freedom in your speech cause otherwise; you have to do what the client wants. We all know what the client wants. Let’s not discuss that further for humanitarian reasons. It gives you the time to re-cooperate your senses. It’s like that feeling, when you run for your life to get on a running train or bus. Once you finally make it, you can take it easy and enjoy the journey.

You can do many things with your free time. Sleeping and watching movies would be one of the best. Never mind the world; people are sheep anyways. Take this opportunity to be with yourself and explore the darkest corners of your mind. Be true to yourself, if not others. You may stumble upon things and surprise yourself. Keep a notepad nearby. It’s for jotting ideas that you may meet along the way.

You can walk down to your local mall and grab some goodies. Food and alcohol will make the time pass like a cool breeze. Once you have all that in place. You may end up writing something like this. Don’t worry; I’m new at this myself.

Faking it! The big “O”

When was the last time you faked it? Oh! It was yesterday only.

Yea right!

Don’t lie to yourself.

Please! Or, was it the other day after dinner, at home?

No, no, no.

It was a few hours earlier with your spouse, when you were trying to slip under your parents nose. It’s not so much fun though. It seems to be the only thing on our minds but the truth is; most of it is only in the mind, where the thoughts stay and slowly rust, till they decay and grow molecular bacteria. You have tried complaining several times but only if the human at the other side could understand your grief.

It’s slavery to a system of mundane rituals, performed to please your needs. Only temporary though; nothing long lasting or savouring.

One thing is certain from this entire hullabaloo; that the big “O”, the cellular “Operators”, never listen to your complaint. They will give you the run around, making sure you don’t escape the drudges of uncannily ridiculous game of cat and mouse. “No sir”, “yes sir” and a “thank you sir” will end your call.

However, The long distance service you require while sitting far away from home; well that won’t work. Only the call with the “O” will. Rubbish isn’t it.

Off and on these companies have taken the media space by storm, bombarding you with emotional melodrama of boys playing soccer or even daughters tuning into the bell at the temple. Pompous claims of network as far as the corner of the earth ooze out of every 30 seconds melodrama.

How silly.

What will one do with such signal strength? That too, half-way around the world. All we really need is a nice un-interrupted conversation with our girlfriends. During the night, sitting inside the closet or in the bathroom and sometimes even under the bed; all we wonder is, why do they show those half-baked commercials of people having signals on the peaks of mountains?

And here, you sit with zero signal strength, having your girl waiting at the other end.

I guess these big “O” people are fooling us and faking the entire episode of butter glazed, sugary, laced with maple syrup communication. I suggest that for a change, they put their sugar-lazed doughnuts up where the moon shines. To see something in context to public having the glory in the vicinity of their home would certainly be down right amusing.

Run along now, shows over.

Sheep Story

Ok, Yes! I’ve heard the news. I can remember now, it was only a few days back. I’m sure your familiar with the topic. Or shall I say a topic that is stuck on every Indian’s tongue like a fat man on a Twinkie diet. It’s not the most pleasant site yet it makes you want to stop everything and look. So for all those who are still with us, I would like to congratulate our Olympic heroes for making a billion plus people proud. It’s a different story that more than 80% have no clue what we are talking about but still, it feels good to use the billion plus number someplace. Only yesterday I was out with my cousin at the platinum lounge. Oh! Wait. Did I write all that in small? Let’s have a second take. I was with my cousin celebrating at “The Platinum Lounge”.

Now, I’m sure half of you have no clue what this is, but that was the point. That’s a vivid picture of that 80 percent, who don’t give a fart of some man shooting or some man fighting for metals smaller then their palms. Here comes the sheep. They certainly do care about other things that are far more important to them. Waking up early and getting in line at the village tube-well is certainly one of them. Being late will only make everyone at home overdue for their duties. The thought of a power cut makes us restless in our Bugs Bunny pyjamas. A 30 min power cut will not only make you curse every K serial ever made but also all those politicians you’ve never heard off. Who, by the way are busy printing money at home, not literally of course. Ok, let’s leave the politicians out of this; we will get them in the next piece.

So, where were we? Ah! Those poor 80 percent people who give a rat’s rear for the artificial life. We certainly do pay a huge amount to lick or rather massage that rat’s dirty rear. Let me add here that- no politician has paid me to do this piece. I wish they did though; that instalment for the 5-Series is pending… The people who make cars are really the technological mothers of the earth. Perplexed? Let me explain. A car after being born is adopted in a family like a child. The sheep is almost here. There are a few blatant imbeciles, who should never be given this fruit of the mother. But, for some inane reason, they have managed to get their hands on money. The money the 80 percent doesn’t give a pile of poop for. Yes! That money! Don’t read all this and act like you don’t care like the 80 percent. Once the family adopts a car, it is family. It needs all the attention a baby craves. Who am I kidding? We all crave attention, the things elder people do are far more ridiculous than what a 2 year old does, even though it may seem versa-vice. It’s true some babies need more care than others.

Why don’t the people behind those rolled down windows understand that? This blog entry is a secret message to tell them off. Yes! That’s right. It’s a piece of my mind to all those nitwits, eager for a peak, jerking the throttle like a cheap slut, canny for every dime in their pocket holes. Roll up the windows on them Beemers! Wash them so you can lick their tyres and don’t drive them. Hovercraft is the word here. Finally! Now that feels good. Walking into a zone of life where… the seldom thought of glee is misunderstood for money or honey and that’s only the beginning.

Only a few years back, being surrounded by a bouquet of predicaments was unseeingly the non-profit future that led to the collapse of stubborn victories. Tasteful downpour of this crème aroma has made me thirsty for the non-ending circle of delusional fixation. I certainly miss those days. I hope they come back soon and let’s send the sheep home; it’s got nothing to do with all this. Start running for a cause; otherwise you look like a fool running with no cause.

Lemons. A bona fide fable.

Their once was a damsel in distress, all she wanted was a surprisingly long list of things or in other words every god darn thing money could supply. Then there was a man who polished her ego for such filthy desires. Now we only have added to the grumble. Its one reason why men only believe acquisitions should be singular as otherwise we would all have to become crooks. On strolling through a vale topic, like the type we would be accustomed to for the early mornings or late evenings. We certainly felt endowed to reciprocate tantamount. The conviction entirely implicit with which the elementary topic had been focused upon, it certainly fondled with our perceptions. It’s canonical, for it is what all men desire deep down inside to explore the corner off, even if it had to be the bed of the Caribbean Sea. To flirt with the irony of the situation would be far more interesting as well as amusing to our tickle wired mind.

Let’s see what we can do here. Not a chaotic approach as it would convolute us further from an already befuddled truth. So let’s commence our so called ‘bona fide fable’, as it is the reason why we are all here. The day when petrol becomes dirt cheap, would certainly be the day when beggars would become choosers. It’s subjective with some room for generalization. Yet it’s more of a gut-feel rather then some diluted fact. So all men out there have other problems, for petrol and diesel prices are not their only concern. They do need their female counterparts to fill the window of hollowness from which only a snowy day is visible. It’s a stormy snowy day, for to be home alone and not have company to go along with that six-pack would only add to the gloom. For it is the six-pack of beers which we are referring to, since only men on screen get the time to make such ridiculous Herculean looking bodies. Real men take out the trash; they have things on their restless mind which otherwise remain placid. Only if it hadn’t been the long list which these damsels carry in their super duper tiny purses. They do say first impression should only be first impression.

Real men perspire and work industriously so as to savor the fruits of nature. Hair grows on them as leach would be on some bloated pig in mucky slush. No time to dress appropriate, for occasions which otherwise would be far less consuming in themselves. It’s quite a task as their objectives are far beyond the ordinary routine of ‘what shall I wear today’ and oh-my-god-I-only-have-like-400-dresses-and-I-don’t-have-anything-to-wear. Its true men are from Mars but women certainly are from that tiny dot we can see from Pluto opposite our galaxy. It really far away, you’d have had to squint like a moron to see it. That far! Ok so now these so called damsels have had their ways all this while. For what? Not for the reason they can’t do anything on their own, it’s for all that spoon feeding we men have been doing.

Now that these females got sporadic for routine, they decided that let’s become ‘Feminists’. Quite the lucid attempt, as being spoon fed on idealistic terms they slave to follow. They are quite satisfying and pleasurable. On a contrasting note, women make us weak in the knees for more than feasible reasons to believe. They do have a way with making us feel good about being us! It’s quite an ego trip fueled by the suave buttering. Not literally of course. Cause otherwise the content here on would become explicit in nature. So they make us do all the things for them, it’s far better to be on this side. The provider side is a side which does have consequences but for it makes us a superior class. Feminists would find melancholy in such a belief but for it is truly real.

So, we have taken some cases and pampered a few, for it’s all for amusement rather then critical-anal-a-sys. Women want everything a man can give; when the lemon is squeezed till the suns don’t shine it is time for a divorce. For men if the lemon could be dipped in every dish then our palette would certainly remain afresh. So a simple solution is that freshness is ultimately what makes everything stay alive. No! This was not an answer to any question we asked earlier. Its more of a ‘excavation lemon’.

Yellow Perturbation

Yellow dirty fellow! Yellow mellow! Yellow buffalo! We can go on and on and on and people will wake up in different beds. It’s rambling? But this one has a destination. How motley in nature? Something you will find out only by reading the unexpurgated feature. Immoderate play of words crafted to perfection. Not an inch longer than required. After all audience demands are at stake. For the sake of argument, if some bloke was to dress spiff contradicting his yellow footwear, would that betoken a sense of hullabaloo? It sure would be eye catching, arresting in its own motif. A ramification of mundane perceptions would triturate rationale. Any fickle brain will not want to absorb another word.

So at this melancholy moment, let’s animate our notion to rhathymia. It’s a nippy morning for the eye in sro. It’s a tempo of comatose volley awning the hustle-bustle below. Up here it seems to be a canopy of realm. For it’s the infallible time to draft the tube. It may be undersized nonetheless perpetually just right. Bliss instantly transported in a river of epochal cargo. A quick shower leads to the spiff style of dress. Within the cave one descends on reality from above. It’s similar to blood running in a living creature. Nothing godly about it though. Just human. Like everything else in this mirage. One goes about the daily routine for there are no options. Money could be damned but it may have other ulterior agendas. Ok so now that we have gotten to a point where the wrinkles on your face couldn’t get any funnier looking and mouth any wider. Lets change course.

How does a man catch signals from women? How? Where? When? ‘It’s the simplest thing” women say but tell us guys about it. We look once for a second too long and we are put in a box, packed and couriered to Mexico or for reasons to believe far off places. Places where the sun don’t shine. It’s such a battle for poor guys like us. Women show no remorse or slightest of pity. It’s all about the first impression baloney. How do these women live with themselves? Their should be a moment in time where all of us sit down and just expel all such ideas. Give everyone some air and chance. These godly looking women should understand we are guys, humans for crying out loud. Men become bamboozled when a conversation has to be made initially. It’s like; how you feel when the CEO from your company says “Hello” to you, and you’re in a lift going down from the 300th floor. Yeah! That’s right. That’s how men feel when confronted with a beauty. It’s also true they get tired of the same thing as the days pass. Yes we are ‘Pigs’. This is the time where women have to show more talent then just their beauty. Sorry ladies. The truth is beauty will only get you, well, hmmm… to the first stage. For men have only one stage. We are not complex like you.

So, what to say? No line on earth could unlock the first impression paradox. Jerk! It’s a label used widely for all of us guys by women. Ladies all we’re saying is give us some prominent signal. Obviously not the type’s policemen give to motorist, because that would be down right hilarious. Let us imagine for a second if women used signals which the traffic police use, for every time they wanted to suggest a guy that they are interested. A whistle would definitely add to the amusement. A hand signal plus a whistle means your going for dinner later. Two whistles plus signal means dinner and dessert. Three whistles and hand signal means ‘challan’ and impounding of vehicle. Now that would be amusing for all the men out there. Ok enough of fun; let’s get back to our very serious article the way it was originally meant to be. Perpetual feelings induced from the tardy yellow footsies will arouse a sense of friendship amongst women around. Warning! Stunts attempted in this article are not meant for the real world.

Boring!

Reading an article titled ‘boring’ is all very well, but in the end, it’s still nothing more than aggravation. It’s frustrating already for a few. So spare a thought, please, for the immaculate boring. Delve into the tumultuous for the sake of ‘Boring’. It’s bloody boring but that’s the intention. Life is boring; unless of course you’re a superstar, on the big screen. Television is boring; it’s got nothing but melodrama. People are boring; they are self-obsessed. The dog is boring; it doesn’t seem to play at all. That girl in the next building with a nice bosom is bloody boring; all she wants is some absurdly rotund plutocrat to make her the queen of Lanka. The food at the restaurant behind the office is nauseatingly boring, especially if you eat the same god damn thing everyday. The work station is boring; it’s an old school desktop with no speakers; where will I listen to The Doors, Marley, Hendrix and Peppers? The roads are boring; they don’t seem to have adequate women strolling on them. The trees are boring; they just sit around all day enjoying the breeze and soaking up the sun. The sea is boring; it doesn’t do a damn thing, just polluted with all facets of pricks without a cause or choice. Clients are boring; all they want is some yellow and red with every damn thing written in bold with impotent fonts. The train is foolishly boring; every hoodwink wants to get off and on forgetting, it stops at every station for ten seconds, to make situations better they are all irritated, perspiring and pricks. Let’s not spare the first class either. The hoardings are damn boring; nothing eye-popping or inducing, just plain old boring. Why make such hoardings anyway? Don’t they take away the charm of a perfectly in-order locale? It’s the pricks. The absurdly fat pricks, they get all the affluence in life. All they want is more and more. It’s the sphere of never ending gluttony. They can buy anything. Anything! Even the glumly, with bosoms. It’s quite bloated, yet factual. Even such a thought is ridiculously boring. Now being a connoisseur to the sulkily boring. It’s an irony for all who crave to be in such sinister jails. Why does life follow such dark yet on-the-top-bright-looking sphere? Makes materialistic far more important then the most important. The government is boring; they do care, off course they do, but for themselves. The days are boring; for yet it’s only a sole train, an outcome of girls at the bar, who are boring; they only want the pricks. On a brighter note; theirs music. Aha! Music indeed; a best friend. Solely responsible for the non convoluted peace. It does make escape convenient. So come on let’s break on to the other side.

Why short copy is boring…

Yea that’s right. You read the heading correctly. You also did make a judgment subconsciously of what this article would be, but you didn’t expect it on this BLOG, did you? Confused? Voila! I do a fine job, I know. If you do know me personally this article will do anything but amuse you. So it’s better you stop reading and do something important with your life. Gardening perhaps! Ok maybe not that challenging. Figure out something for yourself, I am not your babysitter. For the rest of us who do have a life don’t get insulted, continue and entirely ignore the statuary warning.

All this while I had been away from life, detached from the world and the so called rat race. It wasn’t as if I was missing out on something, I was happy doing things at my own pace. Life was like a BMW & I being the blissful driver, in complete control. For those who don’t know BMW. Open your eyes to the world of beauties at http://www.bmw.com/. You see that’s how you do a nice brand placement. If any creative director is reading this my contact is on the homepage. Life was ok or at least it seemed that ways for a while. Only till the day when all my friends departed on the celestial ship of careers and sailed into the lucid waters, headed straight for the islands of achievement, I felt the Goosebumps on my spine. The feeling was quite perplexing. At the time I didn’t realize the cause for such a feeling. They made me think a lot. Well I did have a lot of time since I was in my so called detached world.

Day after day I would sit alone with my thoughts, reaching a dead end, almost like a copywriter’s mental block. They suck don’t they!? I agree with you buddy. For the extra punctuations you just saw, enjoy them. Daring people challenge the orthodox to achieve the unparallel. Yes I enjoy writing such lines; they should be simplified for the layman. Repeated blocks led me to believe that maybe I needed a third opinion, like a subtle counseling. In order to put some rest to my mind I prepared a set of questions that I would ask all the people who had even the slightest bit of wisdom. Yes I should have asked you “Oh Lord Mighty”. I know that you would have offered me full on ‘Gyan’. A journey started person after person… almost like mission to solve the mysteries of the unquestionable. For those who have gotten this far, congratulations! Take a minute to look away from the screen and relax yourself, even a quick stretch would be heavenly. You give me your time; I will certainly take care of you. For those who didn’t follow, reconfirms that I am one good writer. For the feeling that last line gave you, please re-read my domain name out loud. Yes that’s right!

The process of questioning was not exactly what I had imagined it to be; simple and effortless. Rather it was a much more tedious process, like when you have to scratch that one corner of your foot when standing at ‘attention’ during PT class in school while the teacher is watching with a stick in hand, out in the sun. Concluding a painful long month of questioning and hunting, I came to a conclusion; that if you’re confused, just ask yourself with an honest and straight face. The person inside will have all the answers. You don’t need other people to give you answers. It’s really that simple. Ok maybe not for everyone. For everyone has their own person within them. A soul you can say. That has all the answers. It’s true what they say about how God is within us. Any atheist reading this, you don’t get a refund, better luck next time buddy. To talk with the person inside will give you an escape from the rat race world to a new but clear paradigm where you are in control, you make the decisions. It’s like being in the BMW seven series. Love that creature.

It does take me an awfully long time to get to the point. The point being about the headline I have given to this article. Beating around the bush is something only a few master. So our headline is not a statement that will change how advertising is done, definitely not part of the lyrics to a song that plays in a true copywriter’s mind, I do contradict this last line sometimes. Rather an expression of how brilliance goes to waste if one short line does the job. You must be wondering? Has this guy gone mad? Has he lost it? This doesn’t sound right. I beg to differ. After all the years of experience, late hours at the office; carefully crafting, snipping, editing, molding one’s language so as to make it big one day. For what would all that hard work go if short copy was the order? If only we all enjoyed copy as much as copywriters’ do. Life would not be so boring…

Break rules. It feels damn good!

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Growing up as a child, I was always known by my peers as the least bothered, carefree, no meaning to life- the square peg in a round hole. Let me tell you, they made no mistake. I could care less of what they thought. What went of their father’s anyways? I had this habit of going everywhere late, even school, where people would get in trouble for coming on time, kind of school.

It wasn’t that I had a rebellious nature of any sort, like the Guvera’s or Hendrix of the world. I just simply refused to follow man made systems. Why should we follow systems? And man made systems. Why can’t all the schools of the world start at 10 am and not 7 am? Who makes all the rules anyways? Some man sitting way before I was born – at an old desk made of wood – decided schools should start at 7 am so as to make the lives of children miserable.

Since I was never on time, I thought, what the heck? Why pay attention in class? As it is classes are boring and they make you do ‘kiddy’ stuff. All those repeated lectures, no bathroom breaks, as if I had committed a sin. Having to wear a uniform, which was over the top floozy. It must have been the same fellow, who made us come at7 am.Why couldn’t we be kids, when we were kids? It’s a system everyone chooses to follow because of a few reasons. One, could be because they choose to follow the leader. Another, be because they don’t have the balls or guts to change ways.

Now that classes were full of boring text-book knowledge and least kids oriented, I chose to stand at the back of the class and stare at the interesting wall – sharpening my pencil. It was the most fulfilling thing! Time use to fly and my parents were happy. Everyone was happy. Till the time report cards came I was safe, nothing to worry about, carefree attitude, like I mentioned earlier – in a world full of ice-creams, chocolates and endless cycle rides with my buddies. Turns out I was never paying attention in class, my report cards read like a fairytale with many climaxes. It was a thrill, however, my parents didn’t seem to agree much. They murdered and reincarnated me, every time they saw a report card – cheers to that!

As school progressed, I chose to put my life on the line for the sake of my career. Did hard work! Such as: Never coming on time, not having proper uniform, bunking, never read or studied for a single exam. It did give my parents sleepless nights. But, I did what I wanted. It sure felt good!

My reckless behaviour continued, I had failed in every class offered by the CBSE syllabus. I had carved out a unique niche for myself, an ‘I could care less’ kind of niche. On several occasions I was told by my teachers & especially my principal that I would one day serve tea at stalls. My ‘I-could-care-less-attitude’ allowed me to live beyond those remarks.

The only people who had any faith in me were my art teachers, they did see something in me. It could have been for the reason that all I actually did in class was draw, draw, draw – during math’s class, during science class, during biology, during prayer, during detention and any other time that I got. Even in the loo for that matter.

Let me tell you now that I am no artist or painter, I couldn’t paint for beans now. How contradictory! Isn’t it! Well it so happens my ‘I-could-care-less’ attitude got the best of me and I stopped drawing. What a waste of talent, you may be thinking? Stop it, right this moment. What goes of your fathers’, it’s my life. Life continued.

I did get into college eventually. You must be wondering how? After all, he did fail every class. Well, it turns out my daddy knows people everywhere, freaking everywhere. College days went by like a blink of an eye. Almost like this sentence. Made good friends though! Friends, I can count on with my life. Ok, maybe not that dramatic but with my BMW at least. I know, I know BMW, but gotta give those guys some credit. It’s a public blog for crying out loud.

This meaningless life was going nowhere. All the partying, sleeping around – the alone at home type (Yeah! Only you can think like that buddy) – drinking, going for crazy long drives with friends, had come to a climax. The movie needed a twist. Here came the director, my dad – finally sick of my disastrous endeavours. So, he decided – he was going to pack my bags and send me far-far-far, really-really far away from home. OK. Maybe, it’s not that far. It’s a two hour flight from home. Here, the place far away from home, called the world of ‘Really-silly insanely-dumb let’s talk jargons’ world of Northpoint, I discovered….. to be continued. Yeah! That’s right. I enjoy such lunatic ends.

Brandishing brands is the name of the game

“Yes dad, that’s right. People are foolish to waste money on big brands, one can buy the same t-shirt at the local shop for Rs. 200”. That’s how an argument ended with my dad on the phone, following my purchase of an expensive branded t-shirt.

The number of international brands flooding Indian markets everyday is mind-boggling. Earlier on, only a few had the privilege to get branded stuff through a relative coming from abroad or if they were lucky and had the opportunity to go abroad themselves.

Now you don’t have to wait in long queues outside embassies to travel abroad or be super rich to see something extraordinary. All you have to do is step in a local mall where lists of international brands are displayed at every possible visible corner.

This phenomenon has brought in a new paradigm, giving birth to fresh mindsets. Largely consisting of the ones who buy only things of known brands as these are now easily available and the ones who could care less of what they wear.

Surely now the question arises why does one splurge on something such as a branded cloth which is five times costlier than the similar stuff available in a store in close vicinity of the mall.

What makes one shell out those extra bucks? Are we getting a premium product? Is it going to change the way we do things? An argument in the mind starts, “What am I really paying for? The material certainly doesn’t feel different; the quality may be better but not out of the sky. We try to reason out with ourselves thinking; it’s such a big store, an international brand & fashionable.

Why all this baloney?

May be the only reason why one purchases a brand is because of the way it makes one feel. As humans we tend to make judgments based on appearances. This holds true for more than large part of the population. Now for instance the ones who don’t care of what brand they wear as long as they are wearing something. They fall in a similar trap. It’s only in their head that they don’t care what people think of what they wear. They think people who spend money on such expensive brands are stupid and illogical. They say that such people only wear such dresses or shoes or glasses merely to show off.

If only both sides were cleared once and for all of what they both are. A person who doesn’t bother wearing branded thinks he is above all and no one can control him, he makes his own choices, but let me tell you that some businesses have been created especially to cater that type of clientele. These businessmen have decided what people of that mindset will want to wear. They are definitely not much different from the ones who splurge. Cause another set of business is thriving on people who want to be seen wearing the latest and trendiest.
At the end of the day there are a few who want to be known for their labels and style & others who care less.

Now surely what you wear won’t change you as a person but will make sure that the way you feel is comfortable and in your own skin. I guess it’s a battle for that only…

Mosquito Coil

Brand : Mosquito Coil

Television

Scene 1

Black screen

Background sound : a man spanking a woman.

Sound of slap!! Woman ‘Awnnhh aur maro!!!’ repeat for 5 seconds

Scene 2

Line in center in white : mosquitoes?

Scene 3

Product Shot + tagline of mosquito coil.

No Marks Cream

Winner of The Royal Creative Rumble

Medium : Television
Product : No Marks Cream XYZ Brand

Idea 1

Scene 1: Bosses Office (Cabin) 2 people, Boss & Employee, Boss yelling at employee regarding business. Later tells him to take his wife out for shopping. Employee while nodding his head says “Yes sir”.

Scene 2: Morning in office lobby same employee running to catch the elevator. Just manages to enter the elevator at the last moment. He is late for work. On entering starts fixing collar of shirt. Notices a hickey on his neck. On seeing the hickey he has a grin on his face. Looking satisfied from last night with the bosses wife. He takes out the no marks cream from his jacket pocket and applies it to the hickey.

Scene 3: Inside Bosses cabin. Door opens the employee walks in(shot in such a way as showing the area where there was an hickey earlier, which is no longer there) and says “you asked for me, sir”. Boss replies and asks “did u take my wife”, employee looks at the boss with a very subtle grin on his face, replies “yes sir, I took her”

Scene 4: Product shot

Idea 2

Scene 1: 2 Families, boy’s and girl’s sitting together in the drawing room. Boys & girls parents discussing if the boy and girl like each other(wedding), having tea, sharing jokes, laughs. Girl’s mother says to daughter “why dont you show Rahul your room”. Boy and girl look at each other with shyness, a small smile, start walking towards the room.

Scene 2: Girl boy enter the room, the girl locks the door behind her as she enters. As soon as the door has been locked both look at each other and give a naughty smile and have chemistry sparking.

Scene 3: Both are now standing in-front of a huge mirror in the girls room and getting dressed, when the boy notices a hickey on his neck, he panics. Girl holds his arm reassuringly with a naughty smile and hands him the No marks cream. Boy applies the cream.

Scene 4: Boy and girl walking back into the drawing room, sit down with their respective family opposite each other. Girls mother says loudly while looking at her daughter”Is there chemistry”. Girl & boy look at each other with a smirk on their faces and simultaneously say “Yes”

Scene 5: Product Shot.