Voting Blues

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

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

Keep your pants on.

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

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

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

At the White House.

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

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

For all the others, keep reading.

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

Allow me to spread further.

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

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

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

Nano – People’s Car

Everyone is talking about the new kid on the block.

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

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

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

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

It’s the perfect toy for recession.

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

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

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

Back to present.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That said.

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

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

Whatever the outcome be, we certainly are very proud.


See what the New York Times is saying here.

IPL Twister

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

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

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


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

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

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

Lets head to the VVIP Box.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as the game continues.

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

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

Its only a seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


You had everything in shares.

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

Moving along now.

Grab rum. Why? It’ll relax you.

Sedated? Not enough? Here. Take my glass.

Waiter – Yes sir! – *Repeat.

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


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

Ah! She looks happy.


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

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

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

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

Many believe he is a myth. I disagree.

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

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

Here is a compilation of photographs of the world,

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

Seasons Greetings

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

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

Unfolds something like this:

Just great. Another season’s greeting email.

If only you hadn’t read every possible cliche.

You’d pretend to care.

But. Then. Why bother?

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

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

Therefore, this one is worth scrapping.

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

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

But. Reading another word, would only suggest suicide.


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

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

Very well then.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year.

More like… Get a Life!


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hidden agendas were brought forward.

Like these.

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

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

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

Now, try following this for a moment.

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

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

Bamboozled by such a mammoth proposition?


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


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

26.11 Aftermath

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

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

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

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

Doesn’t that ring a bell?

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

You agree with me on this don’t you?

After all,

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

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


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

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

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

Join the 2611 movement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In conclusion,

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

26.11 We can hear a buzzer. Finally!

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

All this while, terror as well as terrorists seemed to be something that belonged to the lower strata of life. Only the poor feared them and the rest lived their lives as they pleased.

I guess, unlike the western part of the world, where the approach is plan and do. We in India still continue with a far unique and rudimentary – now that it’s done, let’s plan – approach.

How did the world not learn that terrorist have finally gotten their acts together and started doing worthy work, for their cause? They seemed to have gotten it right with The Twin Towers in New York and even the violent London bombings; creating terror and hitting the dictators under their belts – financial belts.

Some did roll-up their sleeves and laid out a pyramid like plan – on a huge white board – in their pentagon looking structures. Did everyone learn from the mistakes of the leaders? Well, certainly – NO. Why should we care about what those western folks are doing? We are safe here; the only threats out here are, making the rush hour or finding the right man to bribe – to get the job done, leaving the terror attacks to a lower and more helpless class.

Leaving out what happened during the days of terror in Mumbai, which would only make it rhetoric, we will shine upon the angst and sardonic threat awaiting. But, before that, let’s understand a bigger picture.

A few palpable observations, which were reminiscent of the attacks on the west, are as follows:

a. The head-to-toe approach of the terrorists. By this, with a certain amount of vexation, I would like to point towards the loop-holes in our system and how they – the terrorists – used this, to their advantage.

b. How every channel – television – prays on the fragility of human emotions, for the sake of information or rather caustic financial gains.

c. The audacity of the entire episode.

d. Finally, how we chose to tackle this menace – our fight.

The Head-To-Toe Approach

From the information that has come to my notice, I see a certain intellect and confidence amongst the planners of this modus-operandi. They must have been sitting in their caves and said to each other, ‘why are we killing the poor and wasting our efforts. Let’s hit the decision-making set.’

Let’s train young bloods, with educational backgrounds, fluent in English. This way, no one will know, what hit them. Training from ex ISI and other LET agents as well as pre-attack local study, make this assault not only well planned but also logistically perfect.

Right from the boys, who had been in the city, for the past few months, quietly scrutinizing every nook and corner of south Mumbai to the men with the mastermind – bigger picture – of global terrorism, no leaf, was left unturned.


Without a doubt, this terror attack has seen an incessant coverage, from Nariman house, Trident and The Taj Palace. It is the duty of media to provide the public with information but what eventually aired live was not only disgusting but downright infuriating.

Every channel, as a social responsibility, could have conveyed the entire – terror struck – episode, as humane as possible. If this had been the driving force, our news wouldn’t have seemed like clips from a Bollywood movie.

Nevertheless, a few channels did manage to pull off a rather sympathetic and emotional episode, which was needed. But, if I had seen this as one big picture, it seemed to be more about TRPs, rather then NEWS.


Like me, many were an audience to the rage of high-society and elite, spanning across media. In one particular incident, which caught my eye was, when this influential socialite came in-front of the camera and vented her angst. She talked about ‘audacity’ and a whole bunch of irk – baloney, I say.

When all these terror attacks have happened in the vying eye of the same people, in vicinity of same borders, but in different locations, on different class of people, then… No one seems to be talking about ‘audacity’.

The one thing I would like to understand is, by audacity are we suggesting that high class have been terrorized or because it was south Mumbai’s prime locales, which have made it an ‘audacity’ label.

If the above statement is true, then, we are also suggesting the fact that, any terror attack on our soil which doesn’t hit the rich lacks ‘audacity’.

Our Fight

As the mighty Indian force – to fight terror – descended upon the shores of Mumbai, from the NORTH (I hope all Marathi’s are listening), we saw a sign of hope. Since, the Marathi’s have shown their true strengths, I feel discussing them further would only waste time.

Now, this fight can be debated on several, logical and illogical means. A few believe that the NSG should have taken control over the situation. Others believe otherwise.

Despite our forces fighting a politically-corrected battle, managing to crack the terror plot, didn’t take one phone-call. The death toll, which seems under-stated, could have been averted only if the process had been dictator-leadership followed. But, this would only be one-more-opinion.

In conclusion, the bigger fight, in the bigger picture, is the main cause of worry, for our future. If this wasn’t a good enough lesson, I’m sure nothing will be.

The people in dhotis must put aside their petty politics and roll-up their sleeves; it’s time to draw a pyramid on a huge white board.

Now what?

Like the most of us, who have been irked and infuriated by the terror attacks, blaming someone else seems to be the only relief. The corrupt officials are responsible, the system is lucid, and it’s his fault and so on.

I guess, it’s but natural for us to put the blame on someone else, when at the end, we all are collectively responsible.

Paying traffic officials to lay us off on jumping a signal or over speeding, having our CA file excessive receipts to avoid taxes and the list goes on. If we are the ones fueling the corruption blaze, then, only we can put an end to it as well.

We all have to start from ourselves. To propagate a better country, we all must unite and take the right steps forward.

Evading tax, paying bribes would be out the door and taking collective decisions in.

Right down from having all the well educated vote and question the system for its accountability; we can make the change.

So lets start doing, rather than just nodding.

Medley Flummox

I am alone. Why are the speakers on my Macbook Pro so underpowered? I don’t like her; I like those. I wish I could eat an apple right now… a big juicy pink one. We want the light. My days are getting shorter. The winter has sneaked into my blanket. I wish I could fly only today, before tomorrow comes back. Had I only not done something stupid? I can make an omelette with onions, tomatoes, cheese and pepper. She thinks I’m a jerk; a self-indulgent prick. Did they leave the vanilla on my brownie? Thinking sometimes leads to sulking or even glut. Why do you care? We all have a purpose in life; cars and mice. Did I tell you about my BMW? She wasn’t getting a ride. She can hold the joystick. My PSP is configured for beginners. What’s this? Not again… Oh well! I can make a new one. Oreo Shake! Yummy! Trance calms me down under stress. Please stop judging, look in the mirror, you are a criminal; we all are. Lovely day, today, for years remembered, till a time when Crocs become blue. Why blue? They are yellow now. Sheer pleasure. I like this song. Lounge is after all… soothing. So, what can I possibly do? Waiting may take forever. Eagerness can murder the neighbour. Why not cut the grass? Had it been for those two females at the club; we would be getting a massage on the rocks. Wait. She isn’t convinced. I hate this. Ok maybe that car isn’t mine. Like the day, when… I was thinking about water. She is an orange. Damn… my favourite track. Yes! Please, fill me up, inside. I need you. I need you more than this song. I can try. Daft.


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.