Sunday, 27 March 2016

A horror story

While the chaps were all-consumed in the thought of the gorgeous woman, wreathing in agony of unanswered, unrequited love, lost in wishful thinking, the others were predicting world-domination by machines, the slavery of man at the hands of a man-made creation.
It didn't take long. Half a century, and the machine-intelligence had dwarfed millions of years of nature's brainchild, the human brain. The sad part being that it all took place right under man's nose. In fact, man even gave things that all-important impetus, that branded on all of humanity's forehead.... "You're in control." All that even before anyone came to know about the rise of a god-like power. The Internet. You, your presence, your absence, images, clothed ones, nude ones, clandestine ones, innocent ones, the ones in which you pouted, the ones in which you forgot to, personal information, the things you never told anyone, all locked, and uploaded, into some cloud. And you were thinking that there's something called privacy. All while sitting in front of a screen. Brilliant.
But someone somewhere got to know that no one was safe. The news spread to another one of them, the whistle-blowers. Then it spread like wildfire, only that it was late, perhaps, a little too late. We had already turned into holographic projections by then, whatever this 'we' was.

It was some while ago that the ads came to notice. Why were some of them so resoundingly recognizable? It felt like a scheme, like someone, in this case, as it happened to be, something was playing foul, subliminally programming the population into servitude. You could hear them in the trains, the platforms, planes, the radio, movies, and oh yes, the TV. You could turn a deaf ear to them when they played about, but the brain still picked it up. You didn't know that, of course, Not consciously at least. But the seeds had been planted. It's not like the Terminator movie, where a weird program took over military control, nuked the whole planet, nearly bringing humanity to the ground. Nah, that would be too much trouble, wastage of resources and energy. All the machine had to do was tap into its favourite, and most potent weapon. The human mind. Which had been handed to it by mankind itself. So all easy-peasy.

A bit about the ads. Men sitting at high places thought that playing them would help them fill their coffers faster. Alas. Fill their coffers they did. But that was just a bone that the network threw at the dogs. And how the big boys scampered to it, the little bones.

We though we could capture our imagination on screens, make them as realistic as possible, with 3D, 4D, 5D, dimensions that we had little understanding about. But the terms seemed fancy, high-tech. And so, our eternal quest to one-up each other became our unbecoming. As it is, when granted Carte Blanche, unlimited freedom, what we do is.... well, we fight. Recognizing this, the enemy accepted our gift-wrapped defeat graciously, effortlessly.

Go back! Make something. Anything, solid, hard, tangible, tactile, smooth, round, beautiful. Because it's going to happen. Our freedom won't be ours for too long. We have fought for it in small clans, nations, communities. Pointlessly. That was hard when we fought each other. Next time, it won't be us on the other side. It will be an unrecognizable, almost god-like enemy, of course just in case the aliens don't get to earth before that.    

Thursday, 24 March 2016

All rise

I was on the lookout for 'hair-raising music'. On Google of course, as no one, well almost, goes to music shops any more. Where are all the PlanetMs? 
Coming back to my quest for hair-raising mucic on Google, I opened the first few links of the search result, and here's what greeted me first.
Before I forget, I was searching for "hair-raising" music. What rose, was altogether another thing. The onslaught of the cleavage continues, so does our search for extra terrestrial life, our eternal treasure hunt for the meaning of our existence, Modi's Swachh Bharat Abhiyaan, and the slaughtering of the common man. And most of us chaps can't take our eyes off of that woman's photo.

A friend of mine at work said that the magazine that we work for, will sell quadruple the amount if it has the photo of a naked lady on the cover, which actually is a brilliant idea, I say. But then "We are a family magazine, yaar!"

Such is the oversexed mobile life of today. And oh yes, it sells like hot cakes, the whole boobs and arse show. But you know what? The fun is a lot more in the partially covered pictures, the excitement, the anticipation. Because then the clothes come off and................. the 6 o'clock alarm rings, and you wake up with a jerk. No, you don't wake up jerked, for those of you who go that extra mile with your imagination. Okay, sometimes you do.


The worst bit here is that almost nothing on the screen, or even in reality for that matter, is left to imagination. The censor-board does its self-righteous bits, but then we all ponder on the pointlessness of its existence. I mean the chaps on the board watch all of it, have all the fun, and then have the balls to keep the good stuff from the remaining population. I was talking about the violent parts.

Mind you, just because the cock started running in the middle of the road, that doesn't mean the pussy wasn't having any fun. See? How many thought of a penis running in the middle of the road? And a cat running after it? Now that would be a funny scene, and a weird one too.


By the way, anyone seen cats having sex? Damn! How do they manage to be so secretive about it? Dogs on the other hand are kind of open, a bit too open perhaps, about their sexuality, hence we have the doggy style, but no katty style. The latter must be something of a style-statement. Moving on...

It's a strange feeling, when you're super high on pot, and you are jolted by this understanding of some untold, enigmatic secret of the universe, and you go "Damn! So that's how it works!" Although moments later, you're still trying to fathom what exactly it is that you understood so profoundly. That's exactly how I felt when I realized moments ago, that the hair-raising musical bollocks that I was in pursuit of, has been long since forgotten. Al for that gorgeous woman who reminded me too much of someone who honestly drives me crazy. 

Tuesday, 22 March 2016

Reckless abandon

It's difficult to understand why the words of a senior you admire, have such a profound effect on you. Is it because of the astuteness in what they say? Or is the profoundness a consequence of your admiration? The ego will never admit the latter as the cause. However there might be a rare instance or two where the former might actually be true, that what you admire, is actually completely worth admiring. Here's hoping this to be true this time.

Reckless Abandon. Here's the deal with these two words. As funky as they sound together, the visual impression they leave in the head is that of a head being repeatedly bashed against a mirror, shards flying, blood dripping, teeth clenching, or wait. It may not be that gory a picture. It sounds more like running your car over some stupid bloke crossing the road, feeling his bones crunch under your wheels, first your front wheels, then your rear, looking behind at the dilapidated body, and then fleeting from the scene with your tyres squealing.  Maybe even that was a bit too gory, but  the latter example better covers the words 'reckless' and 'abandon'. But hope you get the picture.

The issue isn't the meaning of the words. It's the fact that the mind is infested by the two word as though by that song that keeps playing, ringing in fact, inside the head, or the face that refuses to leave your sight. Talking about the face, now there's something that either won't leave your sight, or all you want to do is to see it perpetually, without an eye-blink coming in the way of your sight. But that's worth another piece of writing altogether.

But why Reckless Abandon? It's what you feel when there's no one to open the doors to your own house. It's what the nights do to you when you let the fire in the belly die down. They recklessly abandon you. How so? They put you to sleep by midnight. That's how.
It's what goals feel perhaps, when you seek instant solace. Okay, the last line may be the part you wish would be true. But nevertheless.

There's another aspect of reckless abandon, out of many that remain unspoken about, of course. It's called Whatsapp. It's a phenomenon that manifested itself when an extra smart chap took two fancy words, joined them together in a grammatically incoherent fashion, and made that into an application. All in an attempt to bring humans closer(or so were the intentions). But look around. Do you see one pair of eyes wandering into free space? Looking around, even with the remotest of chances of meeting another in the eye? All eyeballs on a palm-sized screen, endlessly peering at a distant friend's image, or maybe that of a group of them, awaiting a *ping*, or a *ting*, or just a tremor in the pocket. And in the process, humanity, the kind that you see for real, hear, touch and feel, has been recklessly abandoned,   

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Bad Combos

Beer spurs up your creative juices, says one school of thought, which school it is, I know not. But being tipsy does give you weird thoughts, sometimes even abysmal ones. But it doesn't seem too far-fetched an idea that you might stumble upon something seriously genius when you happen to be under the influence.
Now, it is no new news that coffee wakes you up, gives some serious spring to your step, and also a boner sometimes, Let's assume I didn't say that. But yeah, caffeine can really spruce you up if you feel like a bit of a laggard. And a double espresso can get you to do a 100 push-ups straight.

But what happens when you combine the two? A social lubricant+ smarts inducing fluid with good old caffein? Do you get a potion to everlasting(long-lasting) creativity? Or do you end up with a goopy feeling?

 To answer such inconsequential queries, yours truly conducted one of the most un-thought of experiments in the history of mankind. One bottle of beer, one can of Red Bull, another bottle of beer, another can of Red Bull, another bottle of beer, okay, that's enough fluids for the day. I honestly thought I'd give Shakespeare some serious competition after that string of drinking. And I did. To the effect that no one, even I can't decipher a word that I have written.  But yeah, in the name of science, the experiment was a complete disaster, and not to mention, a complete waste of time. Not only was the Red Bull unsuccessful at keeping me awake yesterday(when I originally started writing this post), the beer was super effective at putting me to sleep. So creativity jumped right out of my bedroom window.

Now, onto some random, but nevertheless astute observations... Save for the Maruti Alto, the price of every single car on sale has shot through the roof in the past decade. Hatchbacks that costed 4 lakh, now cost 6. cars that costed 6 lakh, now cost 10. Remember the Skoda Octavia? The older one that quite literally looked like a tank, and was even built like a tank? It costed about 10-12 lakhs when it came to India. Now, it costs nearly 20. But my problem is with the Wrigleys Orbit. The chewing gum, that is. In 2005, it costed Rs 5. In 2016, it costs Rs 5. With the only difference being that now, you get 5 pieces of gum instead of the 6 that you used to get earlier. What makes me wonder is exactly how much did Wrigley's profit out of the one missing piece of gum per pack? Is that profit worth dissing nearly every customer? One piece of gum? Just one? महंगाई डायन खाए जावत हैं। 

Sunday, 6 March 2016

More troubles... Snap!

Some evil mind must be plotting an apocalyptic plan , a(all) politician must be, or is cunningly working his/her way to a higher vote count. Some German might, any moment now, have a eureka! moment for the most beautiful, yet simple automobile ever conceived. Oh wait, there might be some dufus sitting somewhere, trying to get in touch with extraterrestrial life(you idiot! You're going to get all of us killed.) And amidst all of this, and countless more things happening on this wonderful planet, here I am, completely consumed by the thoughts of this woman. 
Imagine this.. Helicopters flying in the background, battle tanks lobbing grenades, missiles, and pebbles at each other; a soldier getting the bullet right up his rear entrance, and then receiving a blow to his tenders(Damn! Which one is more painful?), everyone around running for cover, some chap getting his dick blown, another guy blowing someone's dick, yeah, I know, these things happen. Apparently even on a battle field. Somewhere around all this chaos, there's this chap wearing ugly heart-shaped pink glasses, leaning on a railing, dreaming about this beauty, whose soft cheeks he wants to touch, Zappppppppppppppppp!!
Honk!! Honk!! It's a battle you moron! The signal's green, and you're behind the wheel of an excessively.... slow car. Nevertheless, you dump the clutch, stand on the throttle, and power away, leaving the competition in the dust, your dust. And the thought's of the gorgeous woman, well, you'll have to keep them on hold for now.

I know, none of that makes any connect, what so ever. Except of course for the fact that all three paragraphs ended with the thoughts of a gorgeous woman. And that's a bit troubling. It's even more troubling if this is your condition for the past two months. Yup, such thoughts make life a bit tiring. But then some bum clicks photos of famished children in Africa and posts them on social media, and you wonder where your own problems disappear. But then weekends come along, and you are thrown back into the existential crisis loop, where you're constantly trying to figure out what you want to do with the time you have left on earth. Mind you, it may seem a lot. But anyone saw two decades disappear? So yes, you want to make a dent in the world(I wonder how), woo the girl like no man can, change the course of history to come, and blast away down a straight, endless road in a 911 R, and not a bloody Bugatti Chiron. Weird. Too much Geneva motor show. Yikes!

A bit about learnings from this weekend. I read somewhere that nothing happens. As in actually nothing happens. You can start afresh after every thing that seems like the end of the world. Save for the fact that our mind's chemistry fucks us up a little with every potential threat to our apparent existence. Again, the word is apparent. I couldn't have understood this 'Nothing happens', perhaps a decade ago. Or even two years ago. Girlfriend dumps me, I screw up my results, and all things go southwards. Three months later, I could hardly remember the incident. Not that my grades improved(I sucked at grades anyway), but the thoughts of not being able to romance one female were obliterated in no time. Job lost? Same scene. Well, actually I don't know how that would go, but as my boss told me once, 'Is it the end of the world?'. That one line that he uttered, that too at a time he was technically roasting me, blew my mind. I mean, on a serious note, what's the worst thing that can happen? Lose your job? Demotion? Humiliation? Love interest not interested? Maybe too much of romantic issues here. You see, you only end up writing more of what plagues you. And the narrator is smart, well nourished, and very well looked after, and very good to look at. So the next thing that can get yours truly worked up..... is the gorgeous. 
But you see, as long as you look right, then left, and then right again before crossing the road, and cross only if there's nothing rushing at you at 4000km/hr, you'll do fine in life, at least till the time you've crossed the road. But if you are one of those women who walks in the middle of the road, the case with EVERY woman I've walked, your hopes of living are low.

In conclusion, yeah, I can't name the woman because she'll get embarrassed, and her friend will kill me. Life is awesome and so was David Foster Wallace. However, as usual, the world is not enough. And I want to snap my fingers and fix everything. Everything! Just like that... SNAP!! SNNNAPPPP!!!
Goodness gracious!! SNAPPPPPP!!!!!!
Shit, that worked!