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.



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.


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.



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 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!


Growing up, I was brandished by my peers as the renegade, the square peg in a round hole, the tomato potato. Let me tell you, they made no mistake. I could care less of what they thought. What went off their father’s anyways? Punctuality and I hadn’t been acquainted yet. I deliberately arrived late everywhere, 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. Nor were they hiring first graders out of private school.

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 10am and not 7am? 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 7am so as to make the lives of children miserable.

He was a lonely man, drinking hooch, naked, by the fireplace, dreaming unicorns and not worried about the parents of children he had in his room that day.

Since I was never on time, I figured, what the heck? While I’m at it, why pay attention in class or even face the teacher? As it is classes are boring and they have you do ‘kiddy’ stuff. Where the adults at bro?

All those repeated lectures, no bathroom breaks, as if I had committed a biological sin. Having to wear a uniform, which would have any rock star from the 60s cringe.

It must have been the naked principal, who made us come at 7am. No pun intended. 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 accept what’s being handed to them. Another being not having the balls or guts to change and question ways.

Who wants to fucking reinvent the wheel, right? Right?

Classrooms were full of boring textbook knowledge (who knew Google would be a thing) and a far cry from “kids-oriented.” I chose to stand at the back of the class and stare at the interesting wall (it was a blank wall painted white) sharpening my pencil.

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy!

Time would fly and my parents were happy. Everyone was happy. Like Coachella back in the day. Shortlived and at bay, were these sweet periods, only in time for report card season. Before the arrival of grading thunderstorms, I had nothing to worry about and went about being a carefree chipmunk.

Turns out I was never paying attention in class, my report cards read like a fairytale with many climaxes. Think little red ridding hood gone slutty, shaving her head, screwing the wolf and selling the video rights to Pornhub. 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.

In retrospect, how silly were those fucking report cards.

As school progressed, I chose to put my life on the line for the sake of my career. Did all the leg work! Such as: Never being on time, not having the proper uniform, bunking class, 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! Fucking stubborn little prick.

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 the naked guy that I would one day serve tea at stalls. My ignorance 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 and draw – during math class, during science class, during biology, during prayer, during detention and any other time that I got. Even in the loo, crouched over the poop station, for that matter.

Let me tell you I am no artist or painter, I couldn’t paint for beans now. How ironic! 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 off your fathers? It’s my life (cue Bon Jovi).

Life continued. I did get into a 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 pencil and sharpener. I know, I know sharpener, but gotta give those guys some credit. It’s a public blog for crying out loud. Hey Brian! Playing XBOX tonight?

This meaningless life was going nowhere. All the partying, sleeping around – the alone at home, alone type, 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. He decided to take matters in his hands and have me pack my bags and sent 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 advertising, I discovered lunatics have a place on earth. At that moment, I knew I was home.


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


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.