The Indian Platter


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.


Match Tickets


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.


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.


The Truth


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.


The secret you need to know about women


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.


The Mars Theory


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.


A Guide To Rejection


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.




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.


Men Are Tools


You know what happens to the nice guys who pamper girls with flowers, chocolates, expensive gifts or give into her every whim because she has to buy that really cute dress from Palladium – the ones that try to hard at being the “perfect” man?

They get the “best friend” disease, which means packing up your tool and heading for the hills. Here, your best friend will be Lama, a mountain goat. If you want to be the tool women can’t resist, think like a Man. Drop the sissy pink dress and put on your rubber boots.

Men, from a really long time back when you weren’t around, have been born leaders, protectors of the tribe, hunters for food and fighters of life, ambitious for their dreams – the kinds women can’t resist.

Allow me to paint a vivid picture. How many times do you come across a gorgeous looking girl and think, boy, if I was with her? This is when you make the common mistake of putting her on the pedestal – a trophy to be won.

And, chances are you become a fire hydrant in this situation – only twiddling your thumbs. Outcome being, the girl drops you for another man, leaving you heart-broken. You console yourself with: only rich, successful men – the-guys-with-big-cars who look like sculpted Greek gods deserve such women.

Don’t worry – I’ve got the antidote for you.

The first rule to abide by: you are the prize – the trophy to be won. Let women fight for you. Be a tool – women rather share an exciting man than be committed to a loser.

Secondly, think like a hunter: trust your gut instincts. Think DO. In other words, stop counting goats and take the first step – throw that damn spear!

Thirdly, real MEN don’t sit around and listen to women all night, they run around like kids with their toys. They live on adventure and things that go really fast.

Lastly, my advice is like weaponry at your disposal. Avoid the by-the-book routine. Real men fight with lesser armoury like Bruce Wayne from the new Batman movie. Add a mix of your own style and girls will keep coming back for more.

Published originally on GQ.


Learning Venus


If women today were like our mothers, we’d behave like cowardly puppies. A ‘Mr. Dependable’ of sorts, if you will. Too bad women are unlike us men. They have evolved much faster and sharper in lesser time. This means the gap between Mars and Venus can only be closed with one of those really cool space shuttles from George Lucas’ version of the universe – Star Wars.

Since the majority of us don’t have Mr. Lucas on speed dial, we need to notch up our game. Just stay calm and rest assured it’s no rocket science. In fact, its merely about the simple things in this perpetually cluttered world.

To capture Venus is to capture the meaning of little things. It’s all about all those forgotten gestures you engaged in to “impress” on the first date (or even to land one, for some). Venus-setters date and evaluate potential mates on a points-based system. A hypothetical; an act of love – one point, bring her flowers – one point, compliment her new hairstyle – two points. Buy her a diamond ring – well, that one is a whole different scoreboard, if you catch my drift.

While women track score, men track purchases. We can’t help it, we equate real numbers. Bigger the purchase only equals more points. Or does it? Flowers, five points; expensive chocolate, ten. A diamond necklace, again, brings us to a whole new- and in our case- completely different scoreboard yet again. Take my word and get her some flowers and compliment her eyes. Result? Save a couple of thousands, gain some points of your own.

Venus is also about self-belief and confidence. You can no longer flex your way into a flock of women. Intellect and sweet charm is now fashionable. When the battle is between Hulk-Hogan and Bryan Adams, the latter takes the win.

Welcome to 2016 men. Your A-game should be all about confidence, intellect and natural charm. Ooze swagger with subtlety, and do all those simple things you know you secretly love. In other words, be a not-so cocky-confident-corn(y)ball and you will be, guaranteed, fluent in Venus.

Published originally on GQ.


Laid in the office. A guide to office romance


Today, we spend a considerable amount of time in the workplace and come in contact with several people from the opposite sex. And, with polished stock readily available, it’s a matter of time before sparks begin to fly.

For the sake of conversation, imagine (and this could be you right now) you’re at work, and you can’t stop thinking about the girl who’s arrived in the next cubicle- she has a penguin tattooed on the point where her bum divider meets the lower back (you leched/drooled/peeked while she was digging into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet). By a single whiff of her perfume you get hard that can only be described to the tusk of an African male bush elephant.

With everything to lose, you gather up the courage – armed with an excuse to borrow her stapler – and take the first step towards her cubicle. Second step later, reality kicks in and you realize there’s no way the cutest girl in office is going to notice you and plus the office has a strict no-dating-your-colleague policy.

Broken, you step back into you cubicle because the only thing you’ll be spreading tonight is an excel sheet.

Don’t worry, I’ve done the legwork and prepared a step-by-step guide, which will have you performing and climbing the company management in no time.

Firstly, avoid the mistake which most men make i.e. attempting cheap parlour tricks to get attention i.e. cheesy pickup lines.

Instead, go with the stapler, which is a perfect way to squeeze in an introduction.

Your cue: step in after a guy has made a move and use the opportunity to console her by adding a “some people in our office will never respect women” garble. Be genuine and throw in a joke but refrain from being Russell Peters (because only he can do the Indian accent and get laid afterwards).

If you play your cards right, she’ll probably lick vanilla off your tusk from under the table in your cubicle. And once everyone leaves, you can pantomime an entire boss-secretary role-play in the bosses cabin and move to the old on-the-office-photo-copier for a detailed examination. It will be your wildest fantasy coming to fruition. But in order to keep it sizzling fresh you must not let an office rumour axe your tusk.

With some mutual understanding and teamwork, you can follow three easy steps. One, you must behave as if you weren’t doing anything (think of the days when you only jacked off to the thought of her riding your tusk) i.e. avoid mushy notes and conversation in office hours.

Two, maintain one-arm’s distance (this is usually where most people get caught), again, think of her as any other colleague who happens to sit in the next cubicle because it will become evident in the eyes of peers that you’re spending way too much time with this girl (instead, in public glare, and for the sake of tusking around, steer clear of her and request her to do the same i.e. avoid leaving from and arriving to work together).

Lastly, don’t tell anyone and try to keep all your adventures as far away from work as possible i.e. your house (perfect for those living alone).

Happy tusking.

Published originally on GQ.


Anatomy Of A Hug Vol 2


Before we get into part two (part one), I am going to share an incident with you. At an early age I learned some cheap parlour tricks by incessantly watching Joey and the infamous “How you doin?” on the hit TV show “Friends”. The idea of scoring women during my early teens was empowering and thrilling. Filled with delinquent ideas and raging hormones, I’d carom myself between girls in the school corridor – with little or no success.

Little had I known that I looked nothing like Mat-Le-Blanc and nor did I star in a TV show. Upset, I sat in a corner –by the steps during lunch- one fine day and watched the other kids have a good time. This is when the cutest teacher from school came and sat right next to me (she’d notice my lunch box open with the contents intact). She asked, in her soft voice, if I was going to eat my peanut butter and jam sandwich. On seeing a blank face, she sensed something missing from my usually mischief face and threw her arms around me in a bear hug.

Boy, when you’re 13 years old and the cutest teacher in school (the one with long legs and blonde hair) throws a hug on you – you throw one right back at her and let her know who’s man. Yes sir you do. Till date, I remember those 8 seconds very clearly. She smelled like a freshly cut fruit salad with strong notes of watermelon. The sun shining above her head – like a halo – and as I moved into her arms the noise coming from a distance numbed – my first bliss cross nirvana moment.

Eureka! I discovered hugs! Along the way, I’ve tweaked and worked some great hugging techniques. In my first article we talked about the basics, but with number two, I will walk you through the language of hugging.

Firstly, and most importantly, being a namby-pamby is not going to land you any action. Put your heart into it and not muscles. Make it genuine. And remember, like lies and fake orgasms – a fake hug might rub someone in the wrong way.

When a girl has her arms around a man’s head, she wants to feel closer to him and there could be intimacy between the two. If the hands are below the shoulders (around the waist) it’s a friendly hug – but not if their chest and lower body are touching and rubbing against each other.

Tip: Like many other Europeans, you could spice up the hug by squeezing her butt with one hand while the other runs through her hair. In advertising we call this the 360 degree approach.

The next time you’re out on a date, at one of your favourite restaurants, sit by her side and sneak your arms around her. Imagine you’re in school and you can’t let the teacher see (the very thought is a riot). Tickle her forearms and elbow when she’s repeating the order to the waiter. My favourite is having her rest her head on my shoulders, while my hands play with her hair and a footsie ensues under the table.

Tip: While seated, with her head on your shoulders, slowly rub her inner thighs under the table with your nimble fingers.
Looks like dessert will have to wait…

Published originally on GQ.