Saturday, 14 May 2016

The Week, Every week

A second passes, just like a minute, which too races away along with the hour, day, week, month, year and eventually a lifetime. Then you’re like, “Where did that shit go?”
But let’s take a reasonable time frame to look at how things go down, say a week. It’s said that time doesn’t come back. Strangely, Mondays are a persistent. Then again, let’s start with the dreariest day of all… Sunday. 

That’s how it all starts, right? Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday… Eight days of the week. If you start counting days with Monday, boy, you’re some mature person. Also, your week is one day shorter, which however, in the larger scheme of things, shouldn’t make a difference.

Back to Sunday, the worst amongst its daily siblings. Why so? Because you wake up to the thoughts of the impending Monday, then you sulk all day, and the day just whooshes by like a fart. Yes, the beaches and promenades are also crowded with cheerful chirpy people, mostly couples eating away at each other’s heads. It’s either them or aunties who are fruitlessly trying to lose the last 10 pounds that they have been trying to for the past 4000 years. The uncles don’t run. They walk around, do their share of weekly ogling, go home and masturbate like hell! I almost forgot the pesky kids! Who gives these creatures the tricycles? Every time you’re out on a run, these tiddly things veer into your way, and then you need to be careful to not knock their bobby heads off. Yeah, Sundays are bad.

Onto motley Mondays. It’s like walking at 3kph and then suddenly being thrown onto a treadmill moving at 450kph. You can imagine the trip and the kind of rash that you’re left with when your face hits the treadmill’s conveyor belt. If you manage to get ready to take on the world by 12 in the afternoon, it’s cool. You can go to work in peace, reach without having to wring a litre of sweat from your shirt, and get fired from your job of course. Else, you can get up at 3 in the morning, get ready by 3:30am and sneak out before anyone steps out onto the road or the train. You’ll be office-and-dry, no one will notice, and you’ll curse yourself for not having slept those 3 extra hours. You can also wake up at 7, get stuck in the mad traffic, or jam-packed trains, and reach work at 9 in the night, and back home 3 days after. So yes, there’s no way around Monday unless you plan on turning into a house-wife.

Tuesdays are a bit easier. Most people who left work for Monday won’t return till Thursday, and those who returned did so because they lost their jobs. So the battle-field is less crowded. And that’s a lie. Apparently, a lot of people migrated to your city from Bihar the night before, which means only one thing. It’s about as crowded as Monday, and you get to hear a lot of amusing abuses. But yeah, you don’t have to be an un-payed employee at home.

Then we have Wednesdays, which feel vague , honestly. In fact, the world could probably have done without Wednesdays. Or maybe, it should be turned into a holiday or something. You see, it can’t compete with Tuesdays, let alone Mondays, for its sheer energy quotient. And since Thursday is a work-day, the lady won’t go out with you. Now that sucks.

It’s now time for the day before Friday! Yay! Yay!... err.. Yay! Thursday is kind of cool. You look forward to the next day, there’s usually not a lot of work. And precisely when you think that, some gloating idiot comes along with a chest-high stack of work that needs to be sorted. You slap your palm on your forehead and decide to jump off the top of your office building. Nah, you sit till late, finish off the entire pile of stuff that’s supposed to be the most urgent thing in life (sadly you know it isn’t), go home and doze off, hoping tomorrow will be better.

TGIF-- Thank Goodness (or God) It’s Friday-- Now that’s an expensive chain of restaurants set up to celebrate just one day of the entire week. The chap who came up with the idea, a guy named Alan Stillman, opened the first TGI Friday’s in New York in 1965. What’s strange is that he opened the restaurant on 15th March, which turns out to be a Monday. Why Alan?
Coming to Fridays, they’re fun, the people are unusually cool. They don’t honk madly when you cut lanes while driving, and will even let you pass first across a barricade if you shift down a gear and bury the throttle into the car’s firewall. Even the trains have an easier-going crowd, unless of course you are getting on at Dadar. Well, in that place, you need to fight to get into the train even if it’s a Sunday afternoon, when everyone’s sleeping. I wonder who’s hustling at that time. On Friday, your lady looks particularly gorgeous, and the work is a little rushed because everyone’s itching to go to the late-night party (save for yours truly). You decide to go for a little sun-down drive in the opposite direction of your home. Roads are empty, but some bum’s driving at 7kph right on the dividing line, and so, you honk, flash the lights, hurl curses and try to give the guy ahead a piece of your mind. Sadly, he never gets it. Or maybe he does, because he moved to the left. But you don’t care if he got it or shat his pants, or snorted coke. You shift down to third, slam the throttle and shoot ahead with squealing wheels, leaving the world behind in the dust. Man, that Honda City is quick! You might miss out on the movie you planned on watching because of your nightly ventures though. But then, that’s what Saturdays are for.

So, Friday night fever is over, the tyres have cooled down, and a good chunk of the city is hung over. Perfect time for a workout! But you press the snooze button and doze off for another four hours, and bloody hell! It’s 11 in the morning!! That means half the day is gone, the newspaper is probably lying in tatters, and the coffee is over. So you trudge to the shop downstairs, see a bar of dark chocolate on the shelf, pay the money, eat the chocolate on the climb back home and…. Oh shit. You forgot the coffee. Screw it. Black tea today. After downing three movies, a family pack of ice cream, and four bananas, or seven, I don’t know, it’s evening. Meaning it’s time for some deadlifts! Basically you lift a barbell, loaded with all the weight plates in the gymnasium, straight off the floor. Something like this…..
sports boy kid child like a boss


Okay, she does it better.... Looks a lot sexier. 
women fitness gym legs muscles

You do it till your butt hurts, then go home, fall on your bed and into a deep slumber until ugly Sunday wakes you up again.


Wednesday, 11 May 2016

More bollocks as usual

You know those times when you're sincerely planning on fixing shit up, and then someone scorns at you for not having fixed shit up? I hope you know the feeling. In case you don't, you feel like dousing all your plans in 100% alcohol and lighting shit up. Trouble? 100% alcohol is hard to find. 
Okay, that got too science-ish. Here's an easier one. 
You fight with your mom. It gets ugly, you decide to never talk to her again, and pray that your mom in your next life be someone else (if you're 4 years old). Then you plan to go, say sorry, give the old woman a hug, make amends, etc, etc. But moments before you apologize, mom scolds you for some goodness-forsaken reason. And you go like "Fuck it! I'm better off as a frog in my next life." 

No, I didn't fight with mom. I do feel like the proverbial princely frog though. Wait, how does one stray, and might I say, slightly scandalous piece of writing come into public attention when there are much better things out there to click on? What is as it is disconcerting is how active people are in front of their computer screens. Imagine if they were so active about their health. Trains would be much easier means of transport. 
Anyway, about apologies, I'm thankful that I've never shied away from the word "sorry". And what I write now, I wish it were an apology letter to someone whom I've come to admire a lot, perhaps more than I should. Only that this is no apology letter. Instead, I'm going to talk about situations where push comes to shove. 

When push comes to shove, Punch. Oh, let me correct myself. When push comes to shove, punch and then RUN. LIKE. A. BITCH. Mind you, that's plain bad advice right there. I'd rather suggest something that one of my new friends would suggest, and mind you, this chap's smart, even if he doesn't seem so(yes, I'm going to get punched soon). He'd say "If push comes to shove, just walk away from the place." And what this fellow says, works. Always. Maybe you could trip a bum bloke or two on your way out, but yeah, walk away man. Walking away brings me to something called "Letting go". 

Yes, that's a troublesome, and many a times, troubling topic. The deal with letting go is simple. You just don't want to, at least your initial instinct doesn't want to. That though is thanks to the faux-fighting spirit that many of us come endowed with. One never wants to quit, never wants to walk out on what seems like a battle worth winning(every battle feels that way, I suppose.) Yeah, that's about all the wisdom for one evening. Yeah, this overdose of smarts comes along when you wear purple shoes. Moral of the story? Don't wear purple shoes. 

If you manage to let go, you get inner peace. That thing that Master Shifu keeps uttering in Kung Fu Panda, but never manages to attain. And the fat panda? He bobs and bounces about, getting his tenders stuck between pokey things, and walks away with all the Kung-Fu swag, leaving his surroundings in the wake of his fart. How?
"Peaceful is a man who can live with himself.", says err... what's that monk's name?? Oh yeah! Thích Nhất Hạnh. That's his name. Don't ask me how you pronounce it. For
a) I don't know how to, 
b) It doesn't matter, because he never uttered that phrase in the first place. 

But yeah, keeping your shit together when it's thundering down under is some skill! I've met a few rare specimens who have it, this skill. Boy are they cool! They probably know the whole mystical letting-go routine. Maybe I should take classes from them. Or maybe, I should say Skadoosh and buzz off. So.... Skadoosh.  

Tuesday, 10 May 2016

Learnings from the day

I learned a few lessons today, lessons that I should have learned 3000 years ago. But the mind is perverse, the heart more so. And in a bid to retain my learnings for today, I bring them to you in this heart-felt piece of writing.

For starters, silence is golden. So is the flesh of a ripe jackfruit and mango. As is honey, especially when it shall run down the skin of this gorgeous creation I know. Mind you, gold is golden too, unless it's been reduced to microscopic particles and then made to float in water. It then surprisingly turns blue or something. 

As for silence, it's kind of a remedy to just about everything, as much as the noisy world suggests otherwise. Bad day? Chuck the company of people who mollycoddle the situation, making you feel worse about your predicament in the process. Made a blunder? Keep mum! The interrogator will get tired eventually :P (or you'll die getting tortured).

I'm yet to figure out what to do when you are debilitated at the sight of your crush. So someone help. Maybe you should shout out whatever you have in mind, right in the middle of the road. You might just discover that you will never require a megaphone in your life, just as I did. But then again, that, I'm sure, is not the best advise on the subject. And so, moving on.

Beware of the ugly friend. Yeah, I love this one particularly. If you're a chap, and you like this female, please note this down. Especially if the woman in question has this demonic, frightening-looking and well, let's be kind, ugly friend, you need to do one thing. Pray that this friend gets run over by a truck-sized rat that has fangs for teeth and likes putting its butt-hole on the faces of people it runs over. Yeah, that sounds like fun. The only trouble is that petting such a rat will take some effort, since it, quite obviously won't fit into a hamster-cage. Also, just in case you're successful, the female you're trying to crazily woo, will cry like crazy. The craziness is most likely to spread like wild fire, and then everybody will end up in a mental asylum. What you'll have as a result is a lot of people who fear ugly friends of the girls they like, and a bigger lot of people who will now, get scared by rats of any and all sizes. So yeah, beware of the girl's friend. 

On a more serious note, I saw a sight over half a year ago that stunned me to no end. It still continues to stun me everyday. I thought the pangs that the sight induces somewhere in the chest will go away one day, maybe in a few days, a week, a fortnight, a month, a few months. But sadly, the pangs never went away. It may sound a bit sadistic, but the throbbing heart circulates that extra ounce of warm blood that feels a bit like downing a good shot of brandy on a cold winter night. Just that in this case, instead of putting you to sleep, this brand of brandy acts like a double can of Redbull. Which means you feel like doing push-ups all the time. Good for the pecs, I tell you. Bad if you're too sweaty. And since this too is a place where I'm a little stuck to say the least, HELP!!!!!

All that of course brings me to superhero movies, deodorants and chocolates. Actually, no, it doesn't. But anyway, has anyone been watching TV lately? Or is it just me? You get deodorants that fool you into thinking that spraying them around your pits and butts will make you smell like Iron Man, or that spandex-clad looney who runs around with a round shield and a star sticking out of his bum. Oh yeah, Donald Trump! Crap, he's the chap with the hair like a parrot. Chuck that. 

Why was the Maruti Baleno advertised during Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice? Did Maruti think that buyers can be duped into mistaking the Baleno for the Batmobile, and their own selves for the Batman? I have to say though, the Baleno actually looks pretty sexy. Smooth, slightly voluptuous, just how most beautiful things are and should be. 

However, Cadbury's involvement with Batman vs Superman is still open to debate. It seems Dairymilk, the chocolate, now comes with Batman and Superman images embossed on it.... In 3-fucking-D!!! Even the chocolate wrapper has Batman's face, and half of Ben Affleck's on it. Wow! Basically, if you eat them, you're supposed to be endowed with Batman's and Superman's abilities. Magical, ain't it? What all companies do to cash in on a movie that virtually bombed. 

Lesson from this? Bonkers ad-ideas work, I suppose. Children will want everything with Batman on it. So will 24-year olds, as will 2000 year-olds. Also if you think that you'll smell like Iron Man or Captain Stupid by spraying the latest set of Axe deodorants, it's probably safe to assume that you're an Appam Chutiya. For those of you who don't know what that means, you're going to be very happy in life.