She

A romantic January night. Cool breeze from the window. Dim lights and some soft Elvis number pouring out of the speakers. I saw her for the first time. She was just perfect. Flawless. Awesome. I wasn't expecting her, like, at all. She was way out of my league.

I had fantasized about her in times of loneliness and despair. Lust knew no bounds. And I wasn't even ashamed. If only I could have her just one time! And here she was. Mine. All mine. The very sight of her gave me goosebumps. It was surreal: beyond all limits of conceivable thought.

But destiny had it's own plans. We soon had our differences and the damage was beyond repair. It wasn’t like she went out of my life. I bumped into her time and again in the arms of others, often being shared by multiple partners. It was painful. I even began questioning her character. Having no hopes of finding her back, I succumbed to anonymous mediocrity.

She was the first A I got in XLRI way back in Marketing 2. Eleven months and three trimesters down the line, I had her again. (And again, today! :D)

--

Okay, I'm doing this for the first time. A little newbie to Indiblogger, I'm finding my way around. Promote this post on Indivine by clicking here.

Why MBA?

Type a 'why' on Google and the first suggestion that it throws up is 'Why MBA'. If you've landed here through Google search, I pity you. Please do not be under any illusions of enlightenment. Leave.

People all across the country, even Sri-sri-ek-hazaar-aath Arindam Chaudhuri, have torn their hair apart only to find themselves more confused every time. Some versions of Ramayana narrate the sleepless nights Rama spent in the endless pursuit. Even some great saints have been known to observe extreme penance to find the Ultimate Answer.

I still puke at the sight of brown newspapers. I still can't figure out the head or tail of an annual report. I still think that market research and statistics are buckets of shit. I still don't know how a stock market works.

But it's not been for nothing:

• I can define 'core competency' without falling down laughing
• I reply to 'What's Up' using a SWOT Analysis
• Requests for financial aids to parents are referred to as IPOs
• I ask my four-year old niece what the 'mission statement' in her life is
• I advise friends to lend some semblance of 'sustainability' to their relationships
• I talk to my girl about our future in terms of all the 'value' we can 'co-create'
• There are never less than six tabs on my browser
• 'Ctrl' is the most pressed button on my keyboard
• 'Reply to all' is my default action on reading a mail
• I make daily diary entries in MS Power Point

But the biggest 'value-add' to my life till now has been the mastery over GASing. For the uninitiated, GAS expands to Global Action Strategy. It refers to the art of blabbering/typing absolutely fucked up bullshit to a captive audience.

It usually starts with an epiphany - "Damn. I do not know jack about this" - usually followed by a quick reference to The Handbook Of Versatile MBA Jargon starring the likes of 'value', 'sustainability', 'strategy', 'organisational', 'leadership', 'hierarchy' and 'culture'. And then starts the quest for the Holy Grail: Frameworks!

Frameworks have been the most crucial inventions to mankind since sliced bread, wheels and condoms. For starters, these are lethally effective weapons of gas construction sired by jobless academicians and money-laundering consultants available to the rest of the world in hour of need/greed. The best of lot, my personal favourite is called a "Two-By-Two Matrix". TBTM is a motherfuckin' gem that swears to generalize even the most specific phenomena on earth. No person, animal or thing has ever been able to escape it's venom.

So, why MBA? The closest-to-acceptable answers are fat pay cheques and networking. If grades are any indicator of the cheque's flab, mine is bound to be severely malnutritioned. And networking, tch. My scorecard on this front shows all red. 553 days into the hallowed portals, I'm still as clueless as Manmohan Singh!

Here's FedEx take on the evil.

The Grand Old Sleeper of India

The good old times were so bloody different. Or probably, it was the ignorance-induced-indifference of my age. Whatever be the reason, the sleeper coaches never used to bother me. They were taken for granted on a family trip. Travelling in air conditioned compartments used to be considered extravagance of the highest vulgarity.

22 hours in the sleeper coach of Purushottam Express brought back everything. It was a kaleidoscope of all the possible colors, dialects and cultures. The toilets stank. Males ogled blatantly at the plateaus of female anatomy. Discussions ranged from instantaneously solving political quagmires to making roadmap of the Indian cricket team to the WC. Hawkers sold spurious packaged drinking water with impunity. Some destitute-turned-junkie swept the entire coach with his shirt – that he would still wear after the exercise – for quick change and some glue to sniff. Ticket examiners made moolah at the expense of the employer. And everyone seemed to flash their ‘chai-neej’ phones squirting the latest Bollywood chartbusters that superimposed with one another making me beg the Lord to enlighten them about earplugs!

Today, I’m one friggin snob. Today I cringe in disgust. Today I travel AC.

Today, I travel with the crowd that throws huge words like ‘civic sense’ and ‘etiquette’ in a split second. The crowd that changes colors like a chameleon. The crowd that does “upar neeche” with the TTE without the slightest of hesitations. The crowd that uses the choicest expletives once it gets out of the coach. The crowd that thinks the world is it’s dustbin. The crowd that contributes more than it’s fair share to the smelly heap of garbage next door. The crowd that knows just one game: that of blame.

Will the buck ever stop? Will Musaddi Lal ever come out of the lazy reluctance bred by the ‘Chalta Hai’ attitude? Will we ever start using dustbins, however scarce they might be? Will we stop promoting beggary by offering them food instead of hard cash? Will the stranglehold on spurious water bottles ever tighten? Will the TTE’s wings ever be clipped? WILL PEOPLE EVER START USING EARPLUGS?

P.S. I’m totally convinced that the education system in UP sucks. This is Ishika (niece)’s take on English:

…C-A-T cat, D-O-G dog, E-O-G elephant…

Some Text, One Video and Six Images

There's this asshole of a Surd (link) whom I usually approach whenever in a dilemma and always regret thereafter. Having decided to participate in a national-level video-making competition (organised by 9XM) just one hour before the deadline,I went to the same chimp. We procrastinated for twenty minutes: better known in B-school circuit as brainstorming. Basically, all we could come up with was the fact that we could not come up with anything on such strict timelines. Meh. So, we gathered other equally-worthy-assholes-in-their-own-right and made this. Voi-fuckin-la.

They didn't shortlist us. :| [Die, motherfuckers, die!]

On the other leg, this series of six print ads that I made for Axe Deodorants in straight 60 minutes did get a shortlist. Yay.

Pissed Off

Well, I've been off blogosphere for a full month now! This very place once used to be my escape-route to a non-artificial world. Not only did it serve as a vent to all the shit inside, it also made me connect to some really awesome writers (and persons). Sorry, folks for not keeping in touch, like, absolutely.

Reason 1: Absolute inability to express anymore. Or, something like it! I've tried and tried some more. But there are no shapes, there are no figures and there are no fuckin expressions. Blogger's block, probably, if such a creature exists.

Reason 2: MBA. But that's no news. I have been suffering from this goddamned disease for 525 days now and I should have gotten used to it. But I haven't. Actually, things are in the worst probable shape ever. I want out and I want it now. I'm mighty pissed off with everything associated with this fuckin plague and that makes the mood ever-irritable.

Reason 3. MBA, again. I have lately been swamped with work. Lots.

Reason 4. Sticksports.com. I just want the motherfucker who coded this shit called Stick Cricket to get ants in his ass. Alternatively, the site can be brought down. When there's no work, I play the absolutely addictive flash game, like, all the time.

Not much has happened in life in this last month. Well yeah, Facebook happened. I finally took the plunge and am sorry I did so. For all I know, this new fad has turned everyone into a crybaby vying for attention through 'like's and comments. More on that later, sometime, probably, in the near future, if at all.

Well, that's all. Also, Indi-fuckin-blogger, all of a sudden, thinks that my blog stinks (the ratings have fallen from 80 to 65 during the month I was inactive).

Ma!

The way you start trying to wake me up: fingers in my hair.

The way you seem like you will never give up.

The way you finally give up, with the blanket in air and a slap on my back.

The way you make my favourite breakfast daily: omelettes.

They way you abhor eggs and cannot stand the smell.

The way you never complain.

The way you're addicted to your saas-bahu sagas, fultoo updated with all the plots.

The way you never understand cricket, however much I try.

The way we watch the game together when I'm home.

The way you never like my haircuts, my sideburns or my goatee.

The way you never understand the concept of low-waist jeans.

The way you always think I'm the cutest kid on the planet.

The way you always try to teach me manners and make me look like I belong to the same species. The way you always think I've lost weight when I come home, including the time when I had gained a good 7kgs.

The way you always pulled the purse's strings when Dad tried his best to spoil me. How I hated you then! The way you explained to me the perils of smoking when He told his cigarette tales from college. The way you never let us know till things got better again that the family income was zero for three years. The way you never needed anything for yourself. The way you never took sides when we fought and taught me how to face the bullies (read: sisters). The way you always let me have the best coffee mug. The way you always cut me the biggest slice of the cake.

The way you accepted the fact that getting into fights is my way of life. The way you always chided me when the teacher complained of yet another "kaarnaama" at school and then lovingly explained the way things should be.

The way you pretended that you didn't notice that empty bottle of beer in my room that day.

The way you realize my handicap at expressing my gratitude/love/respect to anyone orally. The way you never expect me to greet you on the phone and still bless me everytime.

I've never told this to you and I probably never will: I love you, Ma!

--

It was her birthday yesterday. As always (literally, always), I forgot about it till 1pm.

Plan: Sleep till 2. Go to eat at 2. Go to class at 2.30. Get a gift for her at 4. Leave for home at 4.30.

Action: I overslept and woke up at 6. Couldn't even go home.

Biggest loser ever!

Bunking Chandra Chatterjee

Let's name this prof X and this course Y.

I had volunteered for providing my services for counselling twelfth grade students as a part of the ongoing "Joy Of Giving Week". The schedule happened to clash with Lecture 1 of Y. Now I couldn't let the organising team down by not turning up at the last moment. So, I decided to give the lecture a miss. I pushed the electric-start button at 8.55 am and accelerated. There he was, Sir X, on his way to the lecture hall. Evidently, I had 'bunked' the introductory session and was caught bike-handed by none other than the professor. Dumbfounded, I greeted him and he returned a wicked smile.

Lecture 2. Sir X enters the lecture hall and scans the student area.

Sir X: "I hope attendance is not required today. Everyone seems present."

(Giving me a mean look:) "Oh, you're present! Everyone is here then."

I died in embarassment.

Two days later. We were forced to bunk the Lecture 3 to submit a business plan on time whose deadline, awesomely, co-incided with the lecture. Not having slept for 36 hours, we decided to treat ourselves with the legendary Bauaji-tea. As fate would have it, Baua-ji wasn't open and we came back. While I parked the bike, there he was, Sir X, returning from the lecture. I was caught again, bike-handed. Dumbfounded, I greeted him to a no-response.

Lecture 4. Having a lot of assignments the previous night, I had not been able to read the case study scheduled for discussion.

Sir X: "So, what is the dilemma in this case? Varun, why don't you try?"

Clue-fuckin-less, I turned the pages of the thirty-page case study, hoping for a miracle.

"What is the dilemma? Is it a bird, an animal, what is it?" I stared blankly, biting my lower lip.

"Have your read the case?" I shook my head.

"So you want a break? To read the case and come back? You want what: 10, 30 minutes? You want me to stop the class so that you can read it and enlighten us?"

I died in embarassment.

Lecture 5. I was feeling really proud of myself. Not only had I read the case study, I had also read the scheduled 16-page reading. There was no way in this world could I be raped this time. Bring it on.

"So, who all have read the reading?"

Sniffing an air of arrogance, I raised my hand: only to find that mine was the only one above the sea-level.

"Oh, for a change, Varun has read it."

Chuckles back to himself and repeats, "Today, for a change, Varun has done the reading!!!"

I died in embarassment, yet again!!!

P.S. A few minutes later while discussing the purchase behaviour for a bike, Sir X asked if anyone had recently got a bike for himself. Yours truly raised the fabled hand. Sir X dealt a crushing blow again.

"Oh yes, I have seen your bike."

Damn, this tiny XL campus!

My God in Ayodhya

Sep30 2010. Today's the verdict. Well, not the final one. But, it's got to be a milestone. The saffrons are there. The greensas well. Will they embrace white and thus complete the Tricolour regardless of the verdict or will they paint the land red? Time will tell, like it has always done in BR Chopra's Mahabharat.

In the meanwhile, what does that man have to say who, in all this hullabaloo around him, has ironically been pushed to the sidelines? He's called by various names. He's Rama, whose place of birth is as contentious as Lindsay Lohan's life. He's Rahim, whose dream of a blemish-free religion has been mercilessly stoned to death.

Probably this is what my God wants to scream out.

dafna do mujhe

chaurahe pe

kabr khod do meri

ya jalaa do

kuch sookhi lakdiyon ke saath

maar to tumne

kal hi diya tha

cheekha tha bahot

pehle

koshishein ki thi

samjhane ki

manaane ki

bataane ki

tum nahi samjhe

koi nahi samjha

ungliyan uthi

uthti rahi

bas

ab numaish mat karo

meri

mere nange jism ki

rooh toh rahi nahi

bahot pehle hi

chhod gayi

sikudi

simti

le jaao mujhe

daal aao kahin

apni is duniya se door

bahot door

waise bhi tumhari is duniya mein rakha kya hai??

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Meri Rajjo, meri laado

Baarah baras ki ho gayi aaj

Gubbare laaye hain iske chachu

Chhupte chhupate

Karfoo laga hai na ghaati mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Apne ghar se apne hi bageeche mein

Nikalna manaa hai

Teen gubbare laaye hain

Teeno laal

Bada pasand hai rajjo ko

Bachpan se koi aur rang

Dekha hi nahi na bechari ne

Raaton ko jab shor machta hai

Sannate ka

Neend nahi aati laado ko

Kehti hai ammi, kahani sunao

Sona hai

Thapkiyan deti hun usey

Is dozakh ke dard ke saath

Is dozakh ke jhooth ke saath

"Nahi rahe jo baag bageeche

Kal se dekhna fir se khilenge

Tootey jo saawan ke jhooley

Kal se dekhna fir se hilenge

Aag ka gola nahi girega

Tu ghar se bahar niklegi

So ja bachche, laado so ja

Kal se thandi hawa bahegi"

--

Ek awaz si aayi toh hai

Dil mera dehla to hai

Rajjo, uth ja, Rajjo

Bahot so liya

Uth ja na

Rajjo

Chulbul Pandey in XLRI

We at XL know one thing - to live life XL size! We have formal committees for the most informal of all things in the world. While the most popular committee ensures the absence of sobriety on the campus, Film Lovers In XLRI (FLIX) has pirates who screen awesome-quality shit on huge lecture screens. If it's a movie, it's on FLIX.

I'm one of the six pirates of the campus. We have screened all kinds of movies - from downrightly sleazy to cult classics with audience-of-five. But, this Tuesday was different. We screened Dabangg. The rest is history.

Marketing maniac that I think I am, this was the first teaser that I sent to the batch.

Normally, teasers cease to be anything more than movie posters. They aren't teasers, really, in absence of the tease quotient. But hype had to be created this time. The subject of the teaser read "SCREENING OF THE YEAR".

By 8pm, Anshat and I decided to spice up the movie watching experience. We got popcorn, cold drinks and 'thanda' paan!!! And I sent out another teaser with strategically placed fonts.

Next, I printed out the following and stuck it in the hostel elevator.

(Munni Zandu Balm hui, Darrrling tere liye)

2315 hours. Lecture Hall 2. The experience.

Imagine sitting in a theatre in Bengal watching a Mithoon-Da movie from the first few rows with the "mass audience", as we elitists call them. The atmosphere was equally electrifying in XLRI. The hall with a seating capacity of 70 had 90 people to start with. Whistles, desk-bangings, roars of "Why are we waiting, FLIX is masturbating!"

Chulbul 'Robin Hood' Pandey then took the hall by a storm, a tsunami rather. It was a cheap, sleazy, double-meaning dime-a-dozen flick with a difference. Colossal screen presence of Salman even when he breaks into a dance everytime between a fight, Gawd-level action sequences and "Makkhi" - it was more than we could take. [Makkhi happens to be the nickname of a batchmate Nitin Makhija whose name was shouted everytime "Makkhi" was mentioned onscreen].

Dialogues like "Dekhen, kiske batashe kitney gol hain!" [Let's see, who has the balls!"] flared the lecture hall more than what's happening in Kashmir.

And, among all this, there was Anshat, shouting out his sales-pitch "Popcorn-popcorn-popcorn"!!!!

A night to remember!

Fire And Flood

A sordid tale

Of desert storms

And some frozen blood

Strewn around

The skulls and bones

Unnoticed, unheard

Some purple petals

Of a black rose

Dead from within

Fixated

Obsessed, repulsed

By the raging flood

A Cynic, Some Cannabis And The I-Day

Sixty-three, eh? Long time on earth, you juggernaut named India.

Reams of printing material wasted in long droning newspaper articles. Some singing hymns in the might of the elephant, some 'critically analysing' where we stand today. Yet others (the coloured pages) breaking the news about how did our national lady M.Sherawat celebrate I-Day this year.

Tons of flowers plucked for gigantic garlands for our 'leaders'. The remaining plucked to be wrapped in the Tricolour before the hoisting ceremony by the most corrupt blood-sucking parasite of the locality in the capability of the 'chief guest'.

TV journalists going to inaccessible military locations once a year to show the rest of India how the 'sons of India' celebrate this day there. Empathy converts into TRPs. It's either Siachen or Shit Rukh Khan - what this day means to him and when is his new movie releasing.

A twenty-4 hour patriotism that spills over to the status messages. SMSes with flags made of hyphens, dots, asterisks and slashes. Universal, hollow wishes of "Happy I-Day".

A holiday for the whole of India.

It's a day of spin doctors. Of speeches and promises and hidden agendas. Of parades and shenanigans and hooplas.

Of shit.

So? If not this, then what? This. [link]

Oral Contraceptives For Men!

Today's ad-making event finally breathed fresh air into this about-to-go-extinct blog!

We had to select one of the four categories - tobacco, alcohol, oral contraceptives and guns - to make a surrogate ad of. For all those who had the sanity enough to not opt for a course in Business Management, I'll lay out the concept of surrogate advertising in simple terms.

We can't show an ad for a product category X. So, we choose to make a product of category Y of the same brand name and promote it on mass media. By this we expose the consumers to the brand and build associations we want to build. Classic examples are McDowell's Soda, Seagram's Royal Stag Mega Music, Bacardi Blast, Red & White Bravery Awards.

Back to the event. We brainstormed, conceptualised, shot, searched for relevant videos and images on the web, splitted the videos, arranged and joined the pieces together IN ONE HOUR. The result wasn't the most technologically sophisticated ad of the world but we hope the message got conveyed. There simply wasn't any time for it. No sexy models. No expert camerapersons. No geeks on the computer. We did it all ourselves.

Remember, the product is "Guardian Angel Oral Contraceptives FOR MEN' and we make an ad for 'Guardian Angel Helmets'.

Some nuances might get lost in the first viewing. A repeat-viewing would essentially bring forward the subtleties. Voila!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaU1d_bwgVw

Team: The Achmeds - We keel you! [Abhishek Dassani, Abhishek Joshi, Varun Kumar Gupta]

Tagline: We do not believe in taglines.

Life. 40.

Ghosts of past. Lingering shadows. Coffee Stains. Yellow newspapers. Lonely cobwebs. Dusty notebooks. Empty bottles. Cigarette butts. Unpacked cartons. Rotting fruits. Dirty dustbin. Broken glass. Rusty bed.

Footsteps. Door. Knock. Knock.

Creak.

Light. Bright.

Smell. Voice. You.

Illusion. Dream.

Life.

[Dedicated to the only reason of my existence.]

I'm Sorry

The last post raised a lot of eyeballs. There was flak from all quarters. The dumber sex got all trigger happy, threatening of dire consequences if I didn't take down that post. Damn, this world of VHP, Raj Thackeray and women!!

I somehow got their tempers in control by promising an apology to the womenfolk worldwide. Here it goes.

--

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I didn't realize that you didn't have the intellect enough to understand the disclaimer. Although you decided to read further at your own wish and peril, just like you always decide to choose the wrong prick as your guy knowing everything about him, I should have taken more care. You obviously didn't choose to be eternally retarded. It was forced upon you.

I'm sorry because I called a spade, a spade. I wasn't as politically correct as you always are. I didn't appreciate you for my vested interests. I didn't disguise intentions in puffery and seduction as you always do. It was honesty, a concept as alien to you as USBs and URLs.

In fact, while I'm on it, I just realized I'm sorry for a few other things as well.

--

I'm sorry about how you must feel when you think about how big a curse you've been on man-kind. From Troy to the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata, you've been the reason of betrayal and bloodshed. Closer home, you are the reason behind 89.97% of the scuffles at school and you don't even know that.

I'm sorry that you suck at mathematics. Numbers make you dyslexic and pukish. Logic and reason elude your pea sized brains as well. I sometimes cry at nights, thinking about how unfair must this world seem to you: a world of walking supercomputers - males! Hang in there. God must have alternate plans for you: like a sex change operation.

I'm sorry that you are attracted to men seven point five times your age. Or probably, it's just fashionable. Or, for that matter, it's something like Lyin' Eyes. Whatever it is, I'm sorry that it's the only way you can drive a Ferrari while you still have baby teeth.

I'm sorry that the only way you can get a ticket is by cutting the queue.

I'm sorry that the only way you can win beauty pageants among similarly challenged species is by being exemplarily dumb. [link1] [link2]

I'm sorry that the only way you can finish assignments is by acting dumber than you already are and letting some big-hearted guy help you in pity.

I'm sorry there's a wiki how page dedicated to you that reads "How To Act Like A Dumb Girl" [link]

Enough. I'll let this do the talking. [lyrics] [video]

Do you want more or I'm sorry enough already??

Lucky Bastards

Disclaimer: Meant to offend. Go screw yourself.

--

I don't think of females as the inferior species. I think they're just dumb.

It's not their fault, really. They're just wired this way. It thus becomes our duty to accept them as they are, always making them feel they're "special". Poor souls - misconstruing pity for chivalry.

Anyway, this post is not about them. Quite contrarily, it's about us. \m/

Here's why we were lucky to be born with a wee-wee and the wisdom chromosome.

• We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
• We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
• We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
• There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
• We can afford our underwear.
• We buy shoes we wear more than once.
• Cockroaches are scared of us.
• We understand music.
• We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
• We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
• We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
• We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
• We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
• We don't have a dietician.
• We are never depressed!!!
• We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
• We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
• We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
• We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
• Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
• We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
• We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
• We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
• We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
• We don't fake accents.
• We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
• We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
• We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
• We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
• While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
• We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
• Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
• We know no one cares about the fingernails.
• People look into our eyes when we talk.
• We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
• Our phone bills are minuscule.
• We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
• We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
• Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
• When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.

We don't think we rule the world. We would rather prefer beer, porn and someone to clear the mess we leave behind.

P.S. Contribution from a fellow lucky bastard Sakya: We know if we're oversized. We don't ask rhetorical questions like "Do I look fat."

Pink Freud

Dawn had never been more beautiful. More painful, neither. Critters filled in the uncomfortable silence. Still in his arms, she rolled down the window. The wind was misty. Or, perhaps, it was the heaviness of her thoughts. It had rained, probably. There were droplets on the glass. Few and far between, like stars on a cloudy night. And there was her face - the moon - going back into the darkness of anonymity after shining so bright all night long.

It was a night of ecstasy. Of liberation. Of emancipation. Of flight. Of fantasy. Of love, or whatever was left of it.

He had never been there before - in the concaves of her body. But she didn’t stop him this time, ironically, when she was about to walk away from it all in a few moments. How else could she have carried his memories with herself. She had to. She had to, if she wanted to survive among the ghosts of the past and the wolves of the future. And she did. A part of him: his being.

And then it happened. Beads. Big ones. All of a sudden. Uncontrollably. Inexplicably.

She hadn’t cried for ages. Ages, that had been dark and cruel to her. Times, that had made her feel like a worthless blot on humanity. Today it whelmed over. Over and over again.

JAAG!

The world around us is a mess. And we are in our cocoons.

Two options. Stay in the comfort zone; blame everything on the system. Or, BE the system.

Jaag! is one such initiative. But rather than going radical, its about a gradual process called "awakening".

Today's youth has exuberance. Today's youth has energy. Today's youth is sick of the present. Today's youth desires a change. And at least before familial engagements tie us down, today's youth has high morals. Let's tap all of these.

Let's try to make people stop and think, at the least. Write on things that bother you, that piss you off.

Why JAAG? Why not keep on writing random posts on similar topics?

The purpose, remember, is to make people stop, at least for a while, and take a break from the regular rush of life to realize that things are screwed up. JAAG! will serve as a channel to make those thoughts flow. Ideas will be reinforced everytime a person will come across the word "Jaag!". And who knows, he gathers up will power to say, "Enough." Let's get together and bring about the resonance.

How to get associated?

One, contact me and tell me you're associated with "JAAG!" by commenting on this post on jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com. Any other non-participating comments can be made here.

Two, upload the "JAAG!" image shown above in every blog post related to the cause.

Three, give a brief introduction to "JAAG!" in every post related to the cause.

Four, give a link to JAAG!(jaagtheawakening.blogspot.com) in every post related to this cause as it will serve as a reservoir of all the JAAG! posts on all the blogs till date.

Five, contact me and tell me whenever you have posted any JAAG! post. I'll update it in the reservoir.

Six, spread the word.

What next?

Just sit back and let the ripple effect do its job.

Intellectual Rape

There was a time when programmes on TV made sense. Today, they make an ass out of themselves and a mockery of our intellect. Today, they make money.

They make my blood boil. And I make no bones about it.

Gone are the good old Sundays that started with BQC and ended with Filmy Chakkar. Today’s tube could make the veterans cringe in their retirements/graves. Glamour is in and so is the melodrama. What’s out is substance. I’m seriously!

I’m sick of this new plague that has come upon “entertainment” – reality shows. It’s a wonder how it has weeded the quizzes and the game shows totally out. All we have today are the same semi-celebs dancing in one reality show, anchoring the second and judging the third. Imagine Bindu Singh judging a dance competition!!! I’m ashamed of the times I’m living in! [Bindu Who? Well, sigh!]

I’m sick of painfully long “talent shows” where the exhibition of talent takes a minuscule proportion of the telecast while the majority is dominated by judges’ “commenting”/fighting or participants/their families/their neighbours/judges/anchors/all having their eyes and nostrils all welled up. Awwww!

I’m sick of the anchors who give their unwarranted opinion after every performance before redundantly turning to the actual judges who come onto the stage after every third performance and use standing ovations more liberally than Sony Entertainment Television telecasts CID.

I’m sick of Rakhi Sawant featuring on some or the other reality show round the year, promising to bid adieu every time some “drrrama heippins”. The Swayamvar thing took reality shows to a whole new level! Proud of you, girl [or whatever you are]!

I’m sick of Saroj Khan, her weird arrogance and her truck loads of make-up. I’m sick of the king of pelvic thrusts Mithoon Da judging the “biggest” dance competition on the tube. I’m sick of Geeta Ma who has not known how to shut her speech-hole up. I’m sick of Anu Malik and his instant shayaris on his only means of employment that are worse than the spam SMSes. I’m sick of Abhijeet Sawant who finally has a job and thinks he’s funny making a schmuck of himself. I’m sick of Shilpa Shetty who still thinks she is the hottest diva in the country. I’m sick of Ravi Behl. Period.

I’m sick of flop heroes of C-grade movies [read: Sameer Kochar] and not-even-that skimpily dressed females hosting the cricket shows. Sometimes, honestly, the awe-inspiring cricketing knowledge of these pretty faces and the sheer quality of the questions they ask the veterans on the show make me miss even Mandira Bedi!

I’m sick of “Film Festivals” that serve the same old Bollywood crap in a new package. I’m sick of the daily soaps where the sole bread earner for the show is feminine rivalry and 61.62% of the time is wasted on close-ups of the faces of everyone present in the scene after every dialogue. I’m sick of the Expletive Channel, formerly MTV. I’m sick of Hindi electronic journalism. I'm sick of the long narratives. I’m sick of what makes news today.

I’m sick of India TV.

It’s time to wake up and bring some goddamned shape to this mess. Enough of rona-dhona. We make the TRPs. We bring the advertisers. We are the change we want to see but are reluctant to put our fingers on it. Lets not degrade ourselves in absence of options. JAAG!

--

There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the second in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.

My God

Disclaimer: Possibly coarse content. Strictly personal views. Offence intended. Tinge of MBA jargon.

Who has actually seen God, has had a tete-a-tete with Him over shots of Tequila/milkshake? Has He ever come down upon Earth and set the damn protocols in stone? I’m an agnostic at times but this is not that. This is the God-believer talking. I believe in Him, His omniscience.

My concept of God is CEO, World. He handles the Finances, the Operations and the HR. And there are no broad issues with the three departments barring a few recessions, earthquakes and suicides. But where the bugger has fallen flat is the Marketing. Unclear of his positioning, he has inadvertently gone into various line extensions [read: religions] and brand extensions [read: castes, sects and all that shit] managed by radically autonomous brand managers.

I think he is a pretty cool bloke. He isn’t too much excited by Ramzans, vrats or yajnas. If you do any of these because your heart tells you to do so, carry on. But if you do it because your faith dictates you to, well dude, you’re an impotent pushover with no friggin’ intellect of your own! Start questioning!

And the sacrifices of blood! Holy blabber! Doesn’t ‘kindness leading to God’ ring a bell??

I believe He likes genuinely nice people. Not the perfect ones. No body’s perfect. He just likes people with a genuine concern towards humanity and an empathetic heart that can feel the pain of others.

He doesn’t give a skeletal ass to microphone chants and colossal bronze bells that make the life of others hell. The processions that bring the traffic to a standstill are plain jokes to Him.

Also, the places that have made Him a business, He makes sure He steers away from those. The Tirupatis, the Meccas, the Vaticans: there is more to Him than these. You do not have to go somewhere to seek Him. In this age of Bluetooth/Wireless, why stick to InfraRed? When we say he’s omnipresent, it means that even if you talk to Him from the confines of the walls your ping reaches his chat window instantly!

He never made any priest, imam or pandit the brokers between Him and you. They just reached there first and lay their claim. You don’t need these middlemen. The longer the supply chain, the greater the Bullwhip Effect. Deal with Him directly. Talk to him: make jokes, share sins. He likes it. He’s one big voyeur. But He’s a patient listener. And the Guiding Light as well!

And the riots in His name: Oh, what an absolute insult to Him! Some bastards, sitting at the top in peace, make their living by making you kill your friend from a different faith. Grow up. Open up your widely shut eyes. There is nothing – absolutely nothing – to die for, kill or rape. It’s the temporary insanity that overtakes your conscience and the ability to think properly.

Make religion a strictly personal domain and respect the rights of others to subscribe to a different brand of faith. JAAG!

“You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will still be one.” – John Lennon

P.S. Un-dear Feminists, kindly notice the use of ‘He’ for God. I honestly believe He’s male.
--

There are a few things that bother me. Rather, they piss me off. And what’s the most discouraging, if not disgusting, is the scale that these ‘evils’ have adopted. The text above was the first in the series of a campaign of sorts that I’m starting – JAAG! Help me if you want to by spreading the word. I am no hardcore optimist. I don’t hope this text is going to make any substantial difference in the way people think. But I’m a dreamer. And there’s a difference between the two.

Comes Without A Title*

Okay, this is like the lamest attempt at humor.

Doesn't it happen sometime when you hear a movie title, a certain someone comes to your mind instantaneously. There is not even a remote connection between the two but the title fits so aptly on him/her that we cant stop chuckling. Here are some of the chuckles that I've had with Hollywood titles in the Indian context.

Any fit not understood by a reader will be duly explained. Kindly leave a comment. Also welcome are similar "connections". Let the creative juices flow (:

Artificial Intelligence - Rabri Devi

No Country For Old Men - Sourav Ganguly

Die Another Day - Ajmal Kasab/Mohammed Afzal

I Am Legend - Arindam Chaudhari (Think beyond the IIMs)

2010: The Year We Made Contact: Kishenji

Before Sunrise - Baba Ramdev

Jackass - Raj Thackeray

Jackass Number Two - Pravin Togadia

Minority Report - Mayawati

Italian Job - Sonia Gandhi

All About My Mother - Rahul Gandhi

Baby's Day Out - Varun Gandhi

I, Robot - Manmohan Singh

Clueless - Pratibha Patil

The Insider - Lalit Modi

Say Anything - Shashi Tharoor (On Twitter)

What A Girl Wants - Sunanda Pushkar

Down With Love - Shashi Tharoor

Up In The Air - Praful Patel

Con Air - Poorna Patel (Praful's daughter)

Wanted - MF Hussain

Almost Famous - Abhishek Avasthi

In The Name Of The Father - Uday Chopra

Dead Man Walking - Ashish Nehra

Life Is Beautiful - MS Dhoni

Interview With The Vampire - Shakti Kapoor

The Man Who Copied - Pritam

Scent Of A Woman - ND Tiwary (CM in sex scandal)

Definitely, May Be - Virender Sehwag

Kiss Of The Dragon - Shilpa Shetty

Zack And Miri Make A Porno - Mika & Rakhi Sawant

Meet The Parents - Jaya Sawant (Rakhi's momsy)

Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Sex - Sherlyn Chopra/Khushwant Singh

Extra Terrestrial - Krishan Kumar

A Beautiful Mind - Charles Sobhraj

The Innocent - Salman Khan

Basic Instinct - Swami Nithyananda (The Swami in sex scandal)

Beauty And The Beast - Sania Mirza & Shoaib Malik

Dirty Dancing - S. Sreesanth

Cruel Intentions - Raghu Ram

A Fistful Of Dollars - Madhu Koda

Boys Don't Cry - S.Sreesanth

Dumb And Dumber - Riya Sen & Raima Sen

Cast Away - Rahul Dravid

50 First Dates - Deepika Padukone

The Gods Must Be Crazy - Kamaal Rashid Khan

Bad Education - Arjun Singh

Devil's Advocate - Ram Jethmalani

Sound Of Music - Baba Sehgal

School Of Rock - Himesh Reshammiya (Jai Mata Di, Let's Rock :P)

Knocked Up - Neena Gupta

Whatever It Takes - Shit Rukh Khan

* because I couldn't think of one!!!!