Wednesday, December 26, 2012

A Shitty Morning

We live in really weird times. One of the first thoughts in my head, as I realize I'm headed for what looks like a break-up, is how I'll have to download break-up songs onto the iPod. Don't get me wrong - the situation is bad, but I'm also disgusted at knowing what I've turned into. A fast food-hogging, slow loading internet page of pop-culture references who has an mp3 (not song) up his sleeve for every fucken occasion.

Some habits, unlike hope, never leave us. While rushing out of her place, I see the neighbour's newspaper on his doormat. This is enough for the klepto in me. It's my copy now. The front page carries a full page ad about Vicco products. Suddenly, the song inside my head is "Vicco turmeric, nahin cosmetic.. Vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream." Have you ever tried making sense of a shitty situation while trying to shake off an iconic pre-liberalization ad jingle from the late eighties? I have.

Vicco turmeric. Fucken asswipe.

Cold Delhi morning in December. Waiting for an auto-rickshaw. In winters, these fuckers should be called "freezing death traps".

Bhaiyya, how much would you charge to kill me every second till JNU main gate?

Just till the main gate? You don't want to get killed till inside?


Hmm, sir.. ninety rupees.

Yesterday someone killed me for just seventy. No, I won't pay ninety.

Yeah, something like that.

As the auto-driver picks up someone else, I realize I have stormed out in her chappals. The walk back to her flat is weird. I Go in. Change chappals. Storm out again. Only this time, there's no goodbye kiss.

Hopefully, we'll work things out.
But this morning cannot be shittier.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

On getting "bystandardized"

So I'm smoking a cigarette alone at the entrance of Ozone, waiting for the others. Then I see this tween boy...skinny jeans, emo hair and all that..walking briskly and crying silently. I asked if he was okay, making sure my concern sounded genuine and not pedo-like. He looked at me and said in a very mumbled voice - "John Cena died."

"Who died?"

"John Cena!"

Like an ass, I replied - "So?"

He just walked away.

Came home and checked. John Cena is still alive.

My first reaction was that of confused admiration. Did the tween just pull a fast one on the not-minding-his-own-business weirdo? If that did happen, I was actually impressed at his cheekiness and that too when something else had clearly made him upset.

Later, when I was discussing this with a friend online, a little more research burst my bubble. Apparently there was a facebook viral message claiming that Cena had died of some accident. (details - here)

This social network influenced life can be really disturbing at times.

Title suggestion - Swati Tyagi

Sunday, March 25, 2012

On being Agony Uncle...

A lady friend, who had recently met a guy, asked me today - "How do you let a guy know that you want him to kiss you?"

It was nice to see her happy. A little clueless, but happy.
The thing is, I'm the last guy one should approach for "guy" advice. I pretty much suck at studying people's minds when it comes to heart shaped discussions. The gender does not matter. It does not make matters better or worse either. However, the latest bout of mushiness I had gone through (hopefully it's passed), made me indulge her as sincerely as it was possible by my standards.

All I could suggest was - "If I wanted a kiss, I'd have asked it plainly."
This was just another example of what a deep fucken hypocrite I am. I'd never ask a girl, would I? Chhee Chhee, what would she think?

But at least it got me thinking. (I think when I'm not working. No, seriously, a ghostwriter leaves his brain behind when working.) Why would anyone want that kiss? Is sucking face that important... right after you've had a nice time conversing with each other. Also, after hours of talking over cigarettes and joints, wouldn't you NOT want to share mouth space that smells of tobacco?

My dad, and later my mum, used to show me letters they used to write to each other. The topics they covered dealt more with which cousin eloped with which lover, who had how many beers after Kapil Dev ripped through the Australian line-up, how the cycle ride to the next village was better in the evening than in the morning... and such other gibberish, than with how much they loved or missed each other. Back then I used to wonder why anyone would talk such bullshit on a postcard. Later, I grew up and understood the necessity and charm of a good conversation. Forcing a bad joke on someone is not as cruel as forcing your obsession. (no matter how bad my jokes are.)
I don't know why the kiss is so important. If it's really that precious, can't we get over with it somewhere in the middle, say, when we're eating? This way, I could also taste what she's eating. (foodie high five? anyone?)

On a slightly depressing note, my friend and I figured out that we were both told by our respective dates that we'd soon meet and travel - "here, there, anywhere..".
Is this a new template I'm unaware of? Because, like a child, I believed her.

But I couldn't let my friend drift back to her cynical self.
I gave her some bullshit about how being cynical is like playing it safe - you won't be disappointed no matter what, in case things head south. We ended our chat by agreeing to be hopeful with a sense of humour.

The Smiths are helpful at times. Hopefully.

Friday, February 17, 2012

A Dovahkiin Rests

Adam Adamowicz (1968-2012)

The idea of someone dying can fuck with people's heads in so many different ways. I used to think that only when someone you were related to, or were friendly with, died, did it effect you. A stupid notion that was. I know that now.

Till about two and a half hours ago, I had no idea who Adam Adamowicz was. And then a friend told me how the internet was abuzz with some people claiming that Whitney Houston's death stole the thunder of another person; "the Skyrim guy" she said. It's funny how the internet works. Within thirty seconds we found out it was Adam Adamowicz. Within fifty, I found how some people online were fighting over how fan posts over his passing were such repeats on this forum. It's a little sad how we lose some sense of morality online. I guess when one has a really badass or hipster user name, one has to live up to it. I shouldn't be judging them though. I have laughed/yawned at funerals. I guess it had a lot to do with some boring rituals hindu funerals are made up of.

Adam's passing hit me like something I had not felt all throughout the last year, when famous people were dropping down like extras in disaster films. Ignore my crassness. There's something weird about celebrity deaths and the social media. I haven't figured it out yet but I can't help but sadly laugh at things like "RIP Steve Jobs is trending on Twitter".

Adam was a concept artist who gave us Fallout 3 and Skyrim. Ever since the Skyrim videos were released in late 2010, I have been glued to YouTube and since then, I've been planning on building a gaming rig that could support this game. The point is, I was surrounded with Adam's and the entire Bethesda team's work.

Remember how you felt when you were told that Heath Ledger was dead, right before the Dark Knight hit the theaters? That's how I'm feeling right now. I haven't played Skyrim yet, but now I must. I can't comment on how his friends or colleagues feel right now. I better not try to gauge what his family must be going through. But to all the people who knew Adam as the genius behind making the world of Tamriel come alive in Skyrim, I tell you this - it is okay to feel sad about his passing, but let us celebrate his immortality instead. Enjoy the game for all that it offers, treat it like an old painting in a museum for it is in no way a lesser work of art. Every hour you have been/will be spending in Skyrim, let it be a tribute to the artist who used to be behind the scenes.

Adam, you will be missed.

I will stop crying now and go back to working.
Only then can I afford that rig I promised myself.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

It hurtsssss us!

I just chatted with clients who say "ASAP" about 47 times in a conversation. This beats the record for "like"s I had heard while talking to a friend, who's like ya-know, like, very, like chilled and cool otherwise.

Then there's this another client who calls himself Shown Parker on the internet. I kid you not - that's how he spells it. Turns out he's a Gujju who wants to hire "Contain" writers. 

This planet is strange.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

How 2011 (rear) ended me..

Facts -
  • Net Resolutions around Dec/Jan have exponentially increased since the arrival of Facebook.
  • The number of fucks Delhi gives in regards to global warming is zero.
  • The content writer is the scum of the universe. Even below the outbound Hindi call center guy who stays near Atta market in Noida. And he is NEVER content. 
So, how did I spend the night of December 31st, 2011 you ask? Come, (don't) I shall tell you.
Did you ever have a dream where you're surrounded by beautiful naked people all around you, stuffing things into each others' orifices?

Well, neither did I. (But I'm sure someone does dream about those things)

But, I got to live one of these dreams. Oh yes! (repeat 6x)
So, when the entire world was celebrating the arrival of the last year of human existence (Yes, I believed everything the Mayans and John Cusack's movie told me), when my yellow bro Thupten was asking me to accompany him to a party which I'm guessing had booze, women, grass and a guitar, when Pori was having a good time with her sisters, when Sunayana was being the cool hippie somewhere in Rajasthan, when my parents were gorging on excellent food back home, when Kar was enjoying the after-party of her birthday party somewhere in the hills in North Bengal, when Pankhuri was eating all the cakes her Mum was baking at home, when the Nigerians in the next building were going in with crates of alcohol every ten minutes, when Johny Hendricks was knocking out Jon Fitch with one left overhook at UFC 141, I was....

... writing 24 articles for the website (The lack of hyperlink is intentional. No, seriously.)
This website sells anal sex toys for men and I (of all content writers out there, WHY ME???) had to write about the heightened orgasms a guy could get if he rubbed his prostate gland with the right amount of pressure. And that was just one of the 24 topics!

So yea, there were no girls, only guys inside my head... and that too, naked ones with this expression. If I were a gay content writer, I could have still seen the silver lining... but, sigh...

I tried going out, but Delhi winters are seriously not good for Bengali boys like me. Also, the auto guys were charging 50 bucks for a 20/- ride to Priya. Screw this!! I wanted to hit them on the head with the biggest prostate massager mankind has ever seen...

I came back to my room and tried to finish the work. I even waited for Stockholm Syndrome to hit me. But no. Nothing. I just sat like a loser and carried on typing.

Happy New Year, everyone.

P.S. All you guys out there who want to 'experiment'. Let it be known that stimulating your prostate gland can induce an orgasm which can last up to an hour. For more details, go to

Woody Guthrie's New Year Resolutions from 1942.