COCKYBOX

Why Designers Are Good Pickup Artists

nochance

The number one trait that makes designers and pick up artists siblings from different mothers is their ability to instigate, favourable behaviour, emotions in the end user (which can be a girl they just met or the end customer they want in their sales funnel). Wait, what? That’s possible? But Paul, not all designers are extroverted or have the necessary social calibration to approach girls on the street.

Designers do it through their work- an arresting poster, a book jacket cover, interactions embedded into an app on your phone, provocative evening dress made for the gala, a piece of furniture or architecture and so on. Pick up artists do it through sub communications, while opening and engaging with the opposite sex.

“Hey! You’re hot! But looks are commodity! I’m hoping there’s something more to you and you’re not boring?”

Translate to branding or the design industry at large, echoes of “lipstick on the gorilla” or “lipstick on a pig” reverberate when design has only cosmetic impact. The ensuing argument suggest that design be meaningful and built on true insights- which comes from research, fact-finding, discovery, interviews, user tests and so on.


While designers use typography, colours, images, materials and visuals to make even the most mundane subject exciting, pick up artists use voice modulation, body language and vibe to spike a conversation.


The next thing which good pickup artists and designers have in common is their ability to convey intent. Clarity in communication is key to a successful design work and pick up. Why you need this product or service? What do I want from you?

Guiding users through a complex task on a website with seamless interactions is good user experience design. Leading the conversation, passing shit tests and moving the girl one step closer towards a date or phone number close is good game.

Lastly, good pickup artists and design leaders are equipped with emotional intelligence. They are not only able to guide thinking by listening and being aware of their surroundings and constantly reading/catching a user/girl/customer’s true emotions but being self-aware and congruent in approach.

In conclusion, designers and pick up artists are designing and driving the human experience.


Written for Threadless

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COCKYBOX

Five Life Lessons My Coach Taught Me

ALI

Last month I crossed 500 days of training milestone, while raising my one rep deadlift max to an all-new 300lb. To set the record straight and avoid the ire of fitness elite, I do Crossfit on alternate days of the week.

(Spoiler: Completing x-days has never been and never was the objective. It happens to be a point of reflection.)

Only on retrospection, I realised the life-changing impact my coach (personal trainer) had made, which got me typing up this essay in an effort to share my journey of messy to sassy.

By any stretch of imagination — if — in the process, this 1000 word circuit motivates one more person, triggering a domino effect, I would brandish it a victory.

With that said, I believe you can’t convince someone into habitual training and fitness. Motivation for choosing a healthier path has to come from a voice within. For others, like myself, who can’t take a hint, having one’s body punch them in the face is reason enough.

Black-eye later.

The calling card came early 2015 disguised in shoulder and neck pain. A consequence of long hours at my desk doing client work I no longer enjoyed and the lack of inertia-destabilising physical activity.

Sagar (My Coach/PT)

Knowing I had let the problem drift beyond my steering capacity, it was time to seek help.

The world conspired and I found myself standing face-to-face with Sagar (my Coach/PT).

At first, Sagar ignored my offer reading my laid-back disposition for lack of motivation.

Only after constant begging, pleading and requests did Sagar give me a chance, taking the helm of my wavering ship.

And you’ll see why this detail is relevant in lesson four.

What happened next can only be put in the realm of stratosphere shattering.

Except we’re talking about getting my ass handed to me and there’s no sign of stratosphere or an inspiring visual of SpaceX rocket levitating into space, only balls and their shattering.


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→1. Embrace Shortcomings Not Shortcuts

On day one, instead of lifting weights or having me crank into a Jean-Claud Van Damme epic splits (Watch clip), Sagar put me through his “try-out” routine.

By undergoing a series of tests aimed at understanding my physical limitations, strength, stamina, mobility, and pain points, Sagar, like a patient physics professor, calibrated to my state.

The trial reacquainted me with what being “normal” should feel like.

Post initial assessment, we talked fitness goals, objectives, and the bigger picture. Did I want to be a powerlifter, bodybuilder, athlete or just stay in shape?

With being fit and healthy on priority, in the absence of aesthetics, Sagar drew a roadmap for the year ahead geared towards my fitness goals. This programme entailed rebuilding from the ground up.

Little had I known what Sagar had in mind.

We spent the first six months in the studio without ever touching a machine, working only on technique, form, breathing, posture and strengthening the core. Correct walking and running movements using the body’s natural elastic were introduced. Who knew?

Throughout, there was focus on process and wellness as a way of life. And over time, conversations shifted from rehabilitation to how can this became a way of life?

We did it by reframing the role and place fitness should have in one’s life, banishing an afterthought approach.

I learned to look my weaknesses square in the eye and turn them into strengths. Pull-ups anyone?


→2. Show Up No Matter What

Each class would begin by Sagar conversing and gauging my mental state. Knowing my lack of discipline and inherit lazy nature, Sagar got inventive and reframed my goals.

“Just show up to the gym and leave the rest to me,” or being the reassuring voice over my shoulder, “do your-today’s-best”.

Not realising, at the time, Sagar had disciplined me by breaking down a fitness mountain into a habit-inducing five-pound dumbbell.

“80 percent of success is showing up”―Woody Allen

I wouldn’t be lying if I told you the first few months were tough and sometimes boring simply because I was performing repetitive movements, training muscle memory.

I learned, the hard way, fitness isn’t just lifting weights and sweating it out running aimlessly.

By putting in the work and showing up day by day I had not only inched my way physically but become mentally stronger and habitual to the newfangled practice.

In your face fight-or-flight response.


→3. Aim Higher But Celebrate Small Wins

Without sounding like a squat rack, six months in, biomechanics, kinesthetics, mobility, nutrition, hydration, cross-functional, mobility and grunts became familiar sounds. As a rule of thumb, I refrain from speaking in mind-numbing fitness code.

How would “Joey” say this?

Underpinned by wellness as the cause and effect we had gone from doing basic movements, correct warm up and cool down, single exercises to completing a circuit. Cardiovascular and overall muscular strength and stamina had seen tremendous progress. Insert Zen-master proportions of epic patience here.

Finishing a workout for the first time was a big deal.

On these rare occasions Sagar would pull out his notes and walk me through progress made, reaffirming my belief system by celebrating different stages on the progress bar.

“It’s the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once the belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to happen”―Muhammed Ali


→4. Respect People’s Time And Your Own

“I don’t get/have time to workout” or “Next week is when I start” or “I’m busy with work all day” or “I’m asexual” or “(insert reason for not taking action here)” and so on with the time excuse parade.

“Action expresses priorities.”―Mahatma Gandhi

If you don’t respect your own time no-one else will. Flake one too many times and find yourself chopped from Sagar’s training calendar. He’d do it without flinching irrespective of your bank balance, popularity or place in government.


Let’s take a moment and address the “busy” right now.

We’re often caught up doing things we don’t like, dropping a yes when it should be a steer-clear no or “busy” exercising people-pleasing. Of the finite time we all have on earth, every second, minute and hour spent doing shit you don’t want is a slice of what you could have been doing instead.

“Don’t let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.”―John Wooden

Kissing that cute girl from yoga class at the party is what your night would have entailed had you not signed up for “How to Pet Your Lonely Cat” the previous evening to help save your friend’s depleting relationship with the cat lady. You don’t even have a cat.


→5. Magic Happens Past Your Comfort Zone

Christoph Niemann has the perfect analogy. You’re trainer is interpreting an effortless workout for lack of trying. That being said, as humans, we seek out paths of least resistance.

Watching obscure Eastern European television depicting cats in dresses on failing to fetch the remote at arm’s length ring a bell? Thinking too far ahead being the nagging cousin.

The world of Product Design thrives on lazy. Designers dumb down the steps taken by a user to get the job done. Effortlessly push a Facebook or Twitter button on signup (*seen next on SQUAD) or buy something using Apple Pay or a Paypal checkout on Pornhub.

Coming back now.

“It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried…” ―Theodore Roosevelt

Pushing past your comfort zone has to be the most important lesson to come out of training. The regret of not doing anything, for years, knowing my body craved the attention will always be motivation to keep pushing.

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COCKYBOX

What’s the Indian rope trick have in common with picking up girls?

Senior Designer, Brand Designer, Experience Designer, Art Director, Creative Director, Branding, Brand Consultant, Brand Strategy, Brand Architecture, Brand Engagement, Brand Experience Design, Graphic Designer, Web Designer, Freelance Designer, Freelance Graphic Designer, Freelance Web Designer, Packaging Designer, Poster Design, Album Cover Design, Branded Environment Design, Environmental Graphics, Signage & Wayfinding, Logo Design, Brandmark, Brand Identity, Brand Driver, Brand Positioning, Naming, Verbal Branding, Visual Driver, Brand Guidelines, Book Cover Design, Editorial Design, Lookbook Design, Communication Design, Copywriter, Blogger, Brand Design Studio, Toronto, Downtown Toronto, New York, New York City, NYC, TDOT, GQ

For many years, people from across the world have travelled to Indian shores to witness a fakir climb miraculously his way up a rope that disappears into the thin sky above. Only to reappear minutes later from behind the crowd to everyone’s shock and loud applause.

Indian men, ever since, have developed a natural knack for a putting on a show. The only rational equivalent, for the sake of my argument, to the Indian rope trick is when an Indian man walks into a bar, approaches gorgeous women, walks out with a bunch of phone numbers and a girl in each arm.

The audience, including you, not only left shocked and amazed but also often left women-less. Don’t sweat, I’ve prepared a tandoori platter of dating tips that’ll have women eating from the palm of your hands. Couldn’t help the inane reference there.

Here’s what you need to know about an Indian man’s dating game.

First and foremost. Drop the plan. I’ve gone through my share of endless “game-plan” oriented dating websites, books and manuals. All those got me were nights alone at home with a beer and stale nachos from the night before.

Coming back home to an empty couch on several occasions, I can assure you that plans don’t work. Here’s why. You’ll have way too much noise bothering you throughout the encounter and have you waiting for the “supposedly” right signals.
And this is one of the major differences in an Indian man’s game. He has no plan. Don’t believe me, look at the Indian infrastructure. We do first, plan later. A famous quote from an Indian businessman, Ratan Tata will elucidate my argument-

“I don’t believe in taking the right decisions.. I take decisions and then try to make them right..” So always believe in your ability and efforts… ”

Here’s what you can learn from that old chestnut. Go out there without a plan, a clear head so to speak and just be yourself. If your funny, be that funny man. Oh, and by the way, women love a guy who can make them laugh their way into bed.

How would you do this? Simple. Think spontaneous, go-with-the-flow, making something absolutely boring exciting and paying close attention to her mood. Let’s say, you pick her up at 7:30 for a dinner and movie. Quite routine, ordinary or run of the mill. Right? Imagine, going bowling the same night (because you paid attention when her mood was clearly not in for Titanic 3D for the 5th time). Or ever seen stars in movies pull up at the airport and book tickets to the first plane that leaves. That!

If you’re not the adventurous sort, taking simpler steps will give you the confidence to do something novel later. To effectively pull of the (no-plan-plan) is to listen very carefully of all the things she has on the bucket list. Like, if she doesn’t like texting, drop in at her place, call her by the large mango tree (for the sake of argument, she has a large tree at the edge of her lawn) and hold her hand, look into her eyes (like a 5 year old boy who’s just discovered dad’s secret porn stash) evade being caught by her dad and maybe even sneak up to her bedroom.

One particular incident I can recollect from my past will elucidate this concept. So, there we were, a bunch of girls and boys, having a pizza and one of the girls started horsing around with me over a slice of pizza. To everyone’s shock and dismay, one thing led to another and we ended up bathing each other with soda that night in clear view of the staff, bystanders, other customers and our remainder friends at the pizza joint. We laughed and people raved about the incident for years. It was random, spontaneous and ballsy because even she didn’t expect anything non-gentlemen like (which men in her life had overdosed her on).

Secondly, women like a guy with balls, the sort who believes in something. It could be anything. As long as the conviction is there she’ll believe you. With our rich heritage and culture, Indian men have a lot going for themselves. Usually, if used in the right dose, it can win over the most difficult girls.

Further perpetuated and personified by our ancestors, grandparents and then the relatives. India, up till now, in large parts is still a land of big families. And a religious boy or the domesticated sort are a favourite with Indian girls (the next tip elaborates a bit on this). She sees you as rooted, God fearing and someone who can shift into several demanding gears that may require for you to juggle kids, her parents and then the household help while negotiating a a business deal with hard-nosed businessman over the phone.

For example. In order for me to explain this concept I will share the most common misbelief amongst men. The bigger his pocket (the more money) or the guy with the bigger car gets more girls. I say rubbish. I’d say most rich boys don’t try to hard because they let their money speak. This, after a couple of months, becomes mundane and boring. She prefers a guy who can speak his mind rather than his wallet. Look at all the artists, musicians, writers (awkward cough*) sporting girls in their arms. You’ll find these girls lost in the eyes of the dreamer.
Thirdly, master the art of perseverance. Most of us give up or retreat, in fear, at an early stage. Women, especially in India, play hard-to-get even if they’re not a 10 or 7.5. The other half fall under the conservative-conventional shell of the Indian society (I don’t speak with strangers or go out sort).

But, I believe (without dabbling into generalization) men are solely to blame for this radical behaviour (it’s the she smiled so I will take her to bed mentality). This not only inflated estrogen balloons but cemented the belief that all men want to get into some pants.

Cut long story short, you could be a player but chances are rejection is on the menu. You must learn to take it slowly and, dare I say this but it bloody well works out here, take the “friendship” route if all else fails. This way one can’t be intimidating the other and it opens up a door to know the person better. But be careful in how you tread on this double edged path (try only rimming the well without actually falling in if you know what I mean).

One tried and tested model that seems to work like a charm 99% of the time under the art of perseverance is flipping the ecosystem. It’s been mastered/perpetuated and thrown around year after year by Bollywood (the Indian Hollywood, duh!). Allow me to explain and break this mystical and magical model in easy, consumable and doable steps.

Let’s say you know a girl from school who also happens to live next door (sort of like an American Pie situation). Now, pay attention closely because it gets a bit tricky here. Get her parents, her friends, her dog, her relatives to fall in love with you. This will make the soil fertile and the ecosystem ripe for you to step in and make the move. In other words, all the “influencers” in her life will vouch for you. Play your cards right and she’ll be the one making the first move.

In conclusion, here’s where I can leave you with a quick recap. Remember to drop the plan and be spontaneous (the do first and make sense later approach), be the versatile social monkey abled to handle all flocks of society in one merry-go-round (without flinching) and mastering the art of perseverance and flipping her ecosystem in your favour should seal the deal (it sort of reminds of that movie “How to lose a guy in 10 days” when McConaughey takes Hudson home). Hmmm…

Published originally on GQ.

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COCKYBOX

Trip to the dentist

Senior Designer, Brand Designer, Experience Designer, Art Director, Creative Director, Branding, Brand Consultant, Brand Strategy, Brand Architecture, Brand Engagement, Brand Experience Design, Graphic Designer, Web Designer, Freelance Designer, Freelance Graphic Designer, Freelance Web Designer, Packaging Designer, Poster Design, Album Cover Design, Branded Environment Design, Environmental Graphics, Signage & Wayfinding, Logo Design, Brandmark, Brand Identity, Brand Driver, Brand Positioning, Naming, Verbal Branding, Visual Driver, Brand Guidelines, Book Cover Design, Editorial Design, Lookbook Design, Communication Design, Copywriter, Blogger, Brand Design Studio, Toronto, Downtown Toronto, New York, New York City, NYC, TDOT, GQ

A few days ago I found myself lying down on a rather swanky chair in a dentist’s office. Nope, it wasn’t a root canal but a perspective client seeking some brand restructuring. In these, first-off meetings I like the getting-to-know-the-client-better by stepping into my nosey 12-year-old self with 21 questions routine. To your surprise, the clients quite fancy my enthusiasm.

Alright, an hour into this meeting, I have had my stats pulled up on 42’ LCD, had a sweet foot massage (by getting into one of those overtly priced sofas) and had my x-rays taken just for kicks.

Even though I dread the chair, this was quite a pleasurable experience so far with little clue of what was going to hit me next. As we were about to call it a day, the door to the cabin opened and in came, along with a blast of cool air from the AC, a gorgeous bombshell with long black hair, sharp features, and boy was she tall (6ft give or take), sporting a business suit, juggling a handbag and some files in one hand with the other on the knob.

I hid my boner like a man and climbed off the chair and grabbed my laptop bag. She exchanged words with the doctor. Apparently, she was a consulting dentist as well as (I’m guessing a part-time Penthouse centerfold) but I wouldn’t take the later too seriously for now.

While I stood there with my jaw hanging, boner intact (hid carefully behind my bag) the doctor was kind enough to introduce us both. Although I had undressed her to a black bikini, she looked no less in a suit.

We shook hands and all I could I think off was being spanked like a naughty boy on the swanky lemon green chair behind me. She oozed power and loads of sex. Or maybe thats testosterone talking or my dick but I was alive. The equivalent to how I felt would be running naked in a packed stadium.

Without revealing much (or further making a fool of myself), I walked out the door leaving the two behind. I had only walked a few yards and my phone rang. I so wanted to pause with an excuse and this was my ticket. I paused in the hallway (in play), and it was another client. The conversation pursued while I had my eyes nailed to the doctor’s door, waiting for this lady dentist who had blown my mind to step out. I felt that behind my perverse thoughts, there was something far more beautiful, a connection.

Bang! She stepped out and caught me red-handed staring down at her from across the hall. For a moment, I had goosebumps on my back for the fact that it reminded me of my days in school when I could barely make eye contact with girls.

A three-second eye contact and I looked away (right from the players handbook), continued to walk out towards the parking lot. My car was awaiting my return but my client was still on call. I couldn’t help but pause by an SUV (it reminded me of one I had just like it) and appreciate it, while at the same time, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl one more time.

There I was, standing between my other car and this incredible SUV. I could see her walk out the main entrance and walk right up to this SUV and plonk all her stuff on the bonnet. She continued to fiddle while I was on call.

From the corner of my eye, I could sense something in the air, by looking at her nose deep into her bag. I cut the call and walked up to her and blurted the most obvious, “Is this your car?”. Turns out, it was her boyfriends and we had loads to talk about. She wanted me in the cafe (in the hospital lobby) and I didn’t want to come off as desperate weirdo.

She persisted I get a ride in her car for old time’s sake and we could exchange numbers. On this request, I couldn’t help but quietly sneak the keys of my car into my pocket and story up how my friend dropped me off and didn’t show up.

We exchanged numbers and got into the SUV. This was even way hotter than I had previously imagined. Girls behind big wheels have this uncanny ability to make some men extremely horny. While she drove at a steady pace, I couldn’t help but thinking on how wild it would be to park the car and throw yourself on each other and make wild passionate love on the massive back seat.

To that, I only looked out the window and continued to talk about how she fancied creative people. To my surprise, we had this common thirst for art (and maybe wild sex but she didn’t mention anything of it). We reached my office and we shared this awkward, should we hug or shake hands before I’m thrown out of the car moment. I behaved and threw in a handshake/high-five. She left and I sneaked back to the hospital, with a friend, to pick up my car.

A week later, I called her up on the offer but the tables had turned. I’m guessing she stumbled upon my blog (brandished on the back of my business card which I exchanged during our meeting from the parking lot) or her better half got the best of her. She no longer wanted to have that coffee or make wild-passionate-love in the backseat of an SUV or in other words, go for a drive.

I guess this was one fantasy never meant to become reality. Sigh.

Published originally on GQ.

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COCKYBOX

The Indian Platter

wave

I’ve just knocked the socks of the hottest looking female on the planet for the 100th time. We lay there, arms crossed, looking into each other’s eye with content. But, only I’m not. I’d be a douche if I said something. Truth is, I got bored. Rather quickly. Too quick for even my own good.

Looking for answers, I pick Google’s brain. Endless columns and blogs later, which by the way are in surprising abundance, ramble the same sad fart-induced ideas. Put ice in her foxy fondle, cherry her on top, lick the nutty nipples, chocolate sauce your turtle and let her tongue polish it shiny clean and so on. You get the drill right?

Yawn! Frankly, these just don’t cut it for me. Done. Done. And, done.

I think its time we set aside continental food and gave the Indian recipe’s a chance. I know how this may sound because I can see you’re brain has already gone in overdrive. Imagining daal, butter chicken, naan (bread), dosa, paav-bhaji, imli-ki-chatni, gulaab jamun and mind-blowing-bed-breaking-activities just don’t go hand in hand. Or, do they.

To be honest, the very thought originated, one late evening, by watching a woman swallow a whole “PAAN” post quaffing down a bottle of russian vodka. Till that very moment, I could’ve never put two and two together. Her lips, those drunk-dreamy-blue eyes and back-revealing saree ensemble had my blood rushing for a standing ovation.

I’d say, the next time you’re woman goes under the sink to clean the pipes, drop in the chatni or chaashni (used to sweeten gulab jamun). Top her up with idli-sambhar or if she’s from the North, butter chicken curry and use naans to wipe her clean.

The creative bunch can also introduce achaar, golas (ice candy), bhel-puri as part of the overall seduction game. Don’t be a weiner, try the tikka and see her soften-up like a tender malai-kofta.

Published originally on GQ.

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Match Tickets

glass

There I was, a chilled beer in hand, on the edge of my seat, watching the match between India and Australia. Despite my bleak knowledge and interest for the game, the cricket fever had gotten the best of me. An adrenaline rush ensued once Yuvraj hit the ball down the boundary towards victory. It sure felt euphoric.

I settled back in my seat on hearing the phone ring. To my surprise it was a distant friend from Bangalore. I figured he’d be excited and be calling friends to congratulate them. But, before I could utter a word, he blurted, “Could you arrange some tickets?”

Even before my phone could find it’s place back on the table, another call from a relative in Rajasthan, and another from Delhi, and another from Mumbai – every one wants to watch the ball bashing action, live.

I feel like a hotshot bookie. I console and sympathise with all of them – “too difficult boss, but I will try my best”. Apparently rumours are afloat that 50% seats have been reserved by sponsors and the ICC for “delegates” and “very important people”. And who will these people be is still speculation.

Newspapers are littered with headlines of elusive tickets and how the “who’s who” have squeezed every connection high and dry. Reports claim that right down from the peon to the government “babu”, all are inundated with calls having to carry their phone chargers everywhere. A few have, in frustration, even switched off their phones completely.

However, I did notice something unusual over the past day. It all began while I was walking down the market and two random men approached me on overhearing my telephonic conversation for tickets. These men assumed I had a few lying around, to spare for random people I meet in the market. I consoled them too but they persisted and ended up taking my number.

I was witness to a unique Indian-like over-friendly – the kinds when you travel to a rare European country and see the only other Indian. This entire episode reminds me of deprived members of society running after a truck loaded with water and food grains. The rich and influential could care less; they’ve rolled out the red carpet to the terrace and VIP box with pocket change.

Frankly, I find heading to a local pub, fitted with a big screen and some chilled beers a far better deal, and it definitely doesn’t cost a month’s pay cheque.

Published originally on GQ.

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Water cooler at the gym

get the ass

For the past month, I’ve been dodging social media in all its forms, which includes selling the iPhone. You could call it cognitive therapy for the overdosed in media exile. During this limbo, with time to spare, I took to bodybuilding solemnly.

Like most gyms, mine is littered with 40-inch plasmas, which usually play HBO or CNN. Come what may, I’d step in unperturbed and complete my workout avoiding any social banter. But, to my surprise, something extraordinary happened a few days ago.

Um, well… I – along with other testosterone bodies – salivated at Lisa’s (esque-Katrina Kaif item number for Tees Maar Khan, a Bollywood flick) derrière between lunges. This orgy led to an unplanned huddle by the water cooler – a tête-à-tête on two sex-sirens.

At first, Kate (esque-Maliaka Arora from Dabangg, again a Bollywood flick) took centre stage and tickled our belly of pervert with kinky ideas. The young man on the right plonked, “she’s one sizzle fest, a cougar I fantasise about during expansively boring boardroom meetings or when my wife is away to her parents”. All of us nodded while I pictured this almost immaculately in my mind’s eye.

From Kate the conversation drifted back towards Lisa (Sheila ki jawans fame). At this point, our chuckles were tippled in slinky satire that sounded like a bunch of 13 year-olds who’d just discovered panties in the dictionary. Only at this point I realised that men from all age groups were participating without judging each other (a rare commodity these days).

That day onwards, the moment Lisa and Kate’s doppelgänger- Sheila or Munni appears on television, we all share fist-bumps or smirks and grins from across the floor.

Published originally on GQ.

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The Truth

donkey

Here I am, a little past 2, bladdered on cheap Mexican beer. I’ve just gotten off the phone with a beautiful woman who’s triggered a pixilated argument over male sensitivity and transparency/honesty. Under these inebriate circumstances, my ability to rant swings to women or real-life in general (the life on Facebook and Twitter doesn’t count).

But, wait, I think of women twenty four seven irrespective of cheap Mexican beer or not. Who am I kidding? This one, like everything else I write, has sex all over it. In fact, I can’t fall asleep without fantasizing about beautiful women. They tickle and trigger my adolescence-like boy-with-peanut-butter sandwich mind.

I am an honest man or at the least I would like to picture it in that fashion. This, arguably underestimated, truth doesn’t go down well with the balloon people. In other words, the folks who live in, beautiful yet wee, bubbles or those who should be crowned frog princes in their perpetual wells of delusion. They find the very idea to be a canon ball full of sand and downright impenetrable.

Like the guys in movies who’ll pee in their pants at the very thought of doing something criminal. Yep, those buggers!

What if I told you women like a cocky man? The kind of man who can be found in a club with a woman perched on his lap; he usually spanks a girl’s ass in public; has made out in the backseat of a car; has the balls to kiss her in view of public; and never steps, even for a moment, in the “best friends” trap; can be often found with one hand in her panties without hyperventilated into a sweaty towel.

We, under our very skin, like the blanket of generalization because it protects us from evil boogers and ghosts that haunt our egos. Whoever wants to openly talk about sex, booze, drugs and condoms – (put the name of any lead rock band vocalist here) doesn’t count or me for that matter.

While others zip up their beliefs, I believe that the riddle i.e. fear can be solved by unzipping the mind and the pants too. I also think the world bifurcates on the river of balls.

Men from all age groups think about it all the time, they fantasize like little boys in adolescence (that reminds me, I don’t think we, men, ever grow up). We often fall short and shy of expressing our feelings towards the opposite sex.

On another important yet pointless note, leching on gorgeous women and their assets is downright perverted and disgusting. Its sick yet so exhilarating, a social evil yet heavenly, disrespectful but the light in the dark tunnel – one that’s littered with pornography-induced ideas of legendary orgasms – a ventilation for all the anxiety hidden between our legs.

As a sensible man of society, I think of sex, more sex and lots more – like breathing air. There. So? I love a firm ass. They are so sexy, however, I could never work my kink towards boobs. I find women to be so fascinating that I can’t imagine an un-horny world.

By being an expressive man, a woman sees you as a confident boy, aware of his desires and “feelings” or in other words, a guy with Superman’s balls. Sex sells. Period. Women are no longer afraid to talk about it so why should you?

Now, you can blame the media or the Mexican-beer-drinking-moustache-brandishing-pornstar for polluting the society at large or you can follow the animal that lives within – both these roads lead to sex.

Why question nature then?

Point is, women love men who love women and sex. And that, my friend with one hand occupied, is the truth. The next time you meet her, for just this once, think from your better brain.

Published originally on GQ.

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COCKYBOX

The secret you need to know about women

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You’re sitting in a café, busy munching away a blueberry donut, eyeing a gorgeous babe from across the table, daydreaming a sequence from Dil Wale Dulhania Le Jayenge where the protagonist runs slow motion in a cotton field.

Moments later, you’re awakened by the roar of a scolded African gorilla – relax, it came from a Harley. A man in leather, sporting out-of-bed looks struts in. This guy resembles Mick Jagger met Arnold in a Scandinavian cave.

On regaining focus, you notice the short affair from across the table hijacked. She’s ogling at the man in leather like a hungry wolf waiting to pounce at the prize. At this point you’re invisible. This leaves you bewildered with a 9 to 5 job, decent salary, safe and single.

Are you thinking what I’m thinking? What’s this guy got? How can you become a chick magnet? Don’t sweat; you’re in good hands. Gather your donuts for a tête-à-tête by the Harley. Lets begin once you’re done salivating at the Twin-Rod. Done?

Here we go.

To begin with, you don’t have to dress like an 80’s Rockstar or own a Harley to become a chick magnate, although, the later could leverage your case. The truth is, women at large, are bored with their routine – home, work, the same old parties and guy friends, leaving little room for excitement.

So, if you want to be the man women call all the time, then, you’ll have to pull up your socks and think laterally. Women love men with a passion for life. Involve them with stories of deep-sea fishing expeditions, bungee jumping in the Canyon, trekking in the Australian outback or even the time you drank 30 bottles of beer.

The idea is to extract you from the safe bubble – the one your mom help you make – to become outward and confident. Take chances, take a different route home, and make decisions based on nothing. Most importantly, live life on the edge. In other words, before taking any decision, think what would Indiana Jones do.

Lastly, remember that women love originality and men who tickle their imagination. Start small; grab some duck tape, a flagpole, a rope tied across two buildings and a bicycle. Get the idea? Meh!

Published originally on GQ.

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COCKYBOX

The Mars Theory

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You’d agree if I said girls, today, jump in and out of a relationship on a whim. That said, they are certainly running the show, multi-tasking life, giving the bandwagon – cause you can no longer be in the same one – a tough time and even calling the shots on Mars.

In all this canoodling of roles, rare breeds of women have risen from the ashes, like the Phoenix, but only better looking in a two-piece bikini. Of course there’s a flipside to all this, I mean – while others gaze in despair, you can cash in on the opportunity.

Allow me to elucidate a theory.

Firstly, instead of being overwhelmed, observe the pencil heeled, dressed in a suit, with hair tied in a bun. She has the bank balance, looks that make you quaff like a cave man, a fancy car and a 36th floor apartment with a view that makes the moon look like a lamp post. Now, don’t ask me how I know that last bit.

Stay with me. You need to get yourself a Sugar Mamma. She’s a ray of hope – a mistress of excessive and indulgent fun. And, by doing so you’d be no less of a man you ever were. In fact, this will only reinforce your lost childhood confidence.

She wants to escape the corporate battalion and you need a break from stereotypical pressure – a win-win for everyone in the equation. The benefits of being with a Sugar Mamma begin on the lazy boy – chilled beer in hand, watching the game and having pizza delivered at the door – her place, bruh!

These ladies desire love and affection – not necessarily leading to marriage – from a man who’s utterly devoid of work-induced-nag. The kinds most intellectual gentlemen do in boredrooms (aka boardrooms).

The easiest way to get noticed by a Sugar Mamma is to, one, being goofy or if you’re a natural comedic – making her laugh (women love a guy a funny man), two, mastering a rare Chinese technique which can sedate a girl with just a wrist action (rubbing her feet silly) and three, a bottle of wine and some chilled beer – if you’re half as smart as you look, you’ll only drink the wine.

Published originally on GQ.

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COCKYBOX

A Guide To Rejection

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Unless you’re Hank Moody from Californication or a shade of Brad Pitt’s chiselled Greek-half twin sibling, there’s a good chance you get the my-blood-freezes-so-I-hose-down-the-armpits-and-stutter at the sight of gorgeous ladies syndrome.

This fear is triggered by thoughts of humiliation, in public mostly, and having your –delicate dandelion- masculinity trampled over by a girl and then not being able to handle the scene like a man.

FYI: Even for the few who did gather up their balls “this-one-time-in-the-summer-of-1987” and got rejected and drowned in a sack of rejection forever- there’s hope.

Like if you’re a premature launcher of excitement, the boo-boo fixer will write you a cure. Like a “relax, take a deep breath and exhale” routine.

So, here’s what you need to do.

Although, I bet even Hank Moody has his off days. Well, to be honest, and I know what you’re thinking; the guy is clearly a chick magnate, the woman-whisperer so to speak, right? But, he does have offs. I know. OK?

The real secret is practice and speaking with loads of women in your routine. You’re going to prepare and embrace yourself to be like a squash ball-resilient.

Pro tip: The hottest looking girls get hit on the least because most men assume they are already taken.

Location, location, location. The best place to approach hotties is either in a professional atmosphere or at a club or a social event (like a nude parade, kidding) when most girls let their guards down.

In short, it is easier to strike up a conversation there versus the creep who followed me home.

Are you with me?

Next, make it casual. Start the conversation with what you’re doing at that point in time. Like, if this is a girl working at the shoe store, walk in and stroll around for a bit and approach her with a “are those shoes available in red?”

Mimic the playground. Hesitation and fear can be overcome by speaking with women who work at coffee shops, the passenger in the next seat on the train home, at the office water-cooler, the gym reception, wherever they are supposedly employed for customer service, which in turn will build your confidence.

Pro tip: Walk into a ladies store and chat up the sales girls. You can use the “I’m looking for something special to give to my grandma or sister for her birthday/ anniversary” routine.

This again will build your confidence over time and reduce hesitation in speaking with the opposite sex.
With time, and once you feel you’re ready (and, you’ll know you’re ready), begin to approach ladies at clubs first (because they are their to have a good time and bonus is they are probably drunk).

Once you’re comfortable speaking with women, handling and composing yourself will become a lot easier. The best and easiest way to approach and handle any lady is with a smile, a non-obtrusive and nosy attitude and keeping your chin up no matter what.

Pro tip: Speaking in a soft voice will bring her closer to you (because she wants to hear what you have to say) and maintaining that tone no matter what.

Lastly, exit on an optimistic note (always) because there are plenty of fishes in the sea. Who knows where you’ll hook the next one. Cheers!!

Published originally on GQ.

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Resolutions

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What? Not another New Year resolution? You’re feeling sea-sick? A stomach hurl coming along people. 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 cobwebs. These could be tiny little nothings i.e. going on a diet, smiling everyday, taking a bath every week, check of 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 promised publicly.

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. Cheers!!

Published originally on GQ.

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