From Traffic Rules To Ruling The Traffic

Every morning and every evening (except Sunday evenings), people tried to kill me. They were all unknown to me and had no reason whatsoever to do so. And yet, it was perfectly obvious that they hated me, viciously. As I drove to work, the motorcyclists harassed me from my blind side, trying to push me into the path of the truck which apparently wouldn’t mind mowing me down to allow it to get ahead of the passenger bus. Meanwhile, an SUV was charging at me from the opposite side, speeding at a 100 km/h on the wrong side of the road, horns blaring and headlights flashing in enormous contempt at my insignificance.

For years I allowed myself to be hunted. I felt sorry for the vulnerability of the motorcyclists and put myself in danger to avoid killing them. Meanwhile they created an abstract art of criss-crossing scratches on my car as they rudely zoomed past me. I felt empathetic towards the angry bus driver with a family of six children and a nagging wife at home. I felt sensitive to the basic psychology of the nouveau riche SUV owner who was acting aggressive just to cover over his basic inferiority complex and feelings of inadequacy. I braked in the middle of the road to allow tottering old men and leisurely sauntering cows to cross the street. I tried to be the nice guy in a game played by assholes. And in the process, I had stopped enjoying my driving, which had become a highly stressful activity. I was also beginning to lose my self-respect.

One morning as I approached a quiet crossing, I saw the light turning red. I conscientiously stopped right before the zebra crossing, while a couple of motorcyclists whizzed past me as if the red light did not even exist. And immediately I felt a monstrous impact. An SUV had banged right into me from behind at nearly full speed. Later on, the driver said he’d never expected me to stop at such a quiet crossing – the fact that the traffic signal had been red was of absolutely no significance to him.

“And everybody talks on the mobile while driving” He reiterated.

As my car was being overhauled to the garage, I reflected deeply on the situation and I realized that the SUV driver was right in telling me that I had brought this situation onto myself. In a world where nobody is playing by the rules, you stand out like a sore thumb if you insist on playing by them. And its a natural human tendency to hurt a sore thumb further, especially if it belongs to someone else.  Human beings are not built to resist such sadistic temptations. I lapsed into a deep internal meditation, realized my qualia temporal space in the Universe (as recommended by that supreme ass-soul, Deepak Chopra) and by the time my car came back from the garage, my strategy was in place.

Overnight I had metamorphosed from a staid, gentle tortoise to a snarling wolf. I zoomed from 0 to 80 km/h in a matter of nanoseconds. I hit the highway without measurably slowing my speed. My one aim was to get ahead of the vehicle in front of me – the idea being that the only way to avoid being crushed by the traffic is to stay ahead of it. In achieving this aim, I did all that was necessary. I swerved through the traffic, zig-zagging through cars, carts, trucks and SUVs. I paid no attention to motorcyclists, often cutting them off to the extreme left of the road as I overtook the car ahead of me from the wrong side. I stopped at red lights only if there was a policeman around. Old men on my route began to recognize my car and stood respectfully on the divider as I shot past them. The cows murmured “Holy cow!” in admiration. I began to enjoy driving. Each drive was a thrilling adrenaline rush, and I reached the hospital in an exuberant cheerful mood. My receptionists began to get attracted to my forceful personality and started fantasizing about having orgies with me. Okay, that last part probably isn’t true. But the truth of the matter is, that I became a happy, confident driver. Its been 2 years since the time I had my Bodh Gaya moment, and truly, I’ve not had a single major or minor accident after that. From a miserable nice guy who followed traffic rules subserviently, I’m now the masterful asshole who rules the traffic.

The Higher Principle

chopper scam

Mumbai Rains

Framed in the bleary window pane of the taxi,

The swirling, grinding mass of humans, like a dust cloud,

A little speck in the sky, a desperate shout to be heard,

In the vast stillness of the indifferent galaxy,

Hungry for space, to live and express,

Threatening to take off and reclaim the sky;

 

And then the tiny drops stream down,

Like a lusty dance, in the fading disco light of the sun,

Pressing upon the exuberant cloud, condensing it,

Settling it into a glum, morose sand,

Quietened and chastened, damp and dull,

Sullen and biding its time,

Unhappy about the spoilt, delayed dreams,

Unwilling to feast in the joy of the dance;

 

But me, with nothing inside me, no dreams or hopes,

Emptied of all the thoughts that had filled me,

Those tiny drops, they just rushed in,

Laughing at the folly of the window pane,

Gurgling joyously through my entire being,

Filling me in an instant to the brim,

And pouring through my astonished eyes;

 

And her soft fingers, stretching out in a tender goodbye,

Wiping them off my face, those naughty drops,

And with them, the last vestiges from my soul,

Of the collected bitterness of all the years

Another Superman

Sitting on the terrace, watching the blonde sun dive,

Into the dingy pool of the city,

I wait for my superpower to arrive,

Whiling the time with a cup of tea.

 

To zip into the past, uproot the weeds of pain,

The brambles that choke my creative thoughts,

To sow the seeds of a luxuriant, noble forest

Burgeoning in the plains of my present mind;

 

Or flash into the spectacular future,

To build the gleaming cities of gold,

With beautiful, mysterious women sunbathing

In dark glasses on the soft beach sand.

 

I wait with grim brow, marshaling my powers,

Willing them to grow, intent and furious,

While the laughing blonde Sun pirouetted through the air,

Flirting in the arms of the humming breeze,

 

The unthinking birds flew back to their homes,

While the greying clouds slumbered to rest;

And all the while it was just stupid me,

Sinking in my past, and leaping to my future.

How To Become a Twitter Celeb

First of all lets face it – Twitter is important. People who claim to be too busy in ‘real life’ (which essentially means working hard on weekdays to make money and accompanying the wife and kids to the malls to watch them spend it on weekends) to have time for Twitter, either don’t know what they’re missing, or more likely are too dumb for it. Even the high and mighty of the world who have underestimated the power of the little bird have often ended up with its shit on their botoxed faces. Twitter might have less users than Facebook, but its power is multiplied many times over its actual user count, because of its ability to connect millions of perfect strangers from all over the globe in a trending cause. On Facebook you’re often forced to interact with the same people whose persecution has forced you to flee from the real world into the promised land of the virtual world. But on Twitter you can choose to interact with people of your level of wits (or tits if you desire) and your real life tormentors would probably be too dumb to follow you there.

But then unlike Facebook, Twitter is not easy. People who sign up to Twitter with high hopes of instant success and stardom are too often disappointed and forced to go back to the clutches of real life. It’s a medieval world out there, with its Kings and Lords, who have staked out their feudal kingdoms which they jealously and fiercely guard against bright-eyed aspiring adventurers. The purpose of this article is to give you the weapons and the strategies and tactics to scale their fortresses, murder these kings in their sleep, and steal their castles and lands, their acolytes and their maidens (virtual of course).

Just as in the real world, the rules are different for different genders. I will take up only the cause of the male and the female genders. Transgenders, transsexuals, mixed genders, shemales and others should go to other authorities skilled in their unique problems.

NB: If you’re some sort of freakish genius like @Roflindian or @RameshSrivats, with your brain teeming with witty ideas like ants in an ant-colony, you don’t need this article. This is meant for lesser mortals like me

Men First

At the risk of appearing to be an MCP, I’ll take up the case of the men first – simply because its tougher for the men. So fellas, lets get started, and lets start at the beginning.

The first step is of course making an account. Its crucial to have the right handle, because that conveys an instant message to people what you are, and what you promise them. Also, most people on Twitter, just as in real life, are too dumb to go beyond first impressions. For instance, I use the handle @doctoratlarge .I realize now that it was not a great handle. Firstly, it didn’t make sense to many people. They still keep asking me what it means. Many have assumed that it indicates my interest in above-average size feminine assets and a certain celeb has even went on to insinuate that I might be a star in the midget porn industry. Also, it’s the general impression that doctors are dull, uninteresting people, too busy with suffering humanity to have any cheer or wit left in them. So it happened that it took me many months to even get 50 followers.

You can lech onto a famous personality, preferably someone who is also controversial, and derive your handle from his name. Pretend to hate that famous person, even if you’d give your right eye to be like him one day. Also you can derive your handle from mythological figures, popular Bollywood villains, delightful sexual acts or positions – anything that gives the impression that this chap could be fun to follow.

Choose a DP which is creative, rather than outrageous. Outrageous DPs give the impression that you’re begging for attention which is totally uncool. If you’re skilled with your hands, use a hand-made sketch or painting – if not, at least something that matches your handle and your bio. For God’s sake don’t use pics of your ugly phallus or posteriors, unless you want only porn bots to follow you. If you can think of nothing, just use your face, suitably photoshopped to make it less ugly, of course.

Bio is important. It should represent what you stand for and what people can expect from you. If you’re a Maoist or a right wing fanatic or a cannibal, state your ideology in no uncertain terms so that people of your ilk and inclinations flock to you in hordes. Or if like me you’re essentially bored with real life and wish to con people into believing that you’re a witty and fun guy, then be a little outrageous and a little creative. But believe me, it isn’t wise to harp on your favorite sexual depravity.

Getting the first few hundred followers is the most difficult task. Basically, no one on Twitter is really interested in what you have to say. They’re all interested only in what they have to say. To get them interested in you, they have to find some use for you. If you think you’re witty, then send your witticisms to celebs (Twitter celebs, not real-life celebs). However, remember that just as in real-life, Twitter is ruled by celebs who are mostly assholes. Asshole is king, everywhere. And its typical asshole behavior to ignore an upstart. So mostly, you will be ignored. Persist. Keep sending your tweets to them. Because the degree of assholism varies. Some celebs are less assholic than others, and may retweet one or two of your wittiest tweets, thus starting you on your career. Once a celeb shows some interest in you, his hangers-on generally start following you.

But if you’re not witty, your only hope is to suck up to the celeb. Put your mouth around his/her virtual organ and suck relentlessly. Go HAHAHAHAHAHAHA on his stupidest witticisms, retweet him like mad, agree with all his viewpoints on politics, religion, ear-piercing, everything. There are many legends of upstarts who went on to be celebs merely using the power of their oral muscles to suck.

For every asshole on Twitter, there are several nice guys too. These are men who’re truly disenchanted, their real-life dreams shattered, hearts broken – typical losers of the world. They are often blessed with genuine wit and humor, and more importantly are interested in humor as a principle. Which means, if you have something witty to say they will be genuinely interested in you and will do their best to promote you (I told you – typical losers). Follow these guys and they’ll often follow you back. Later on when you become a celeb you can unceremoniously unfollow them. Because it really doesn’t look cool for a celeb to follow losers. Until then, interact with them freely. Massage their fragile self-belief. Tell them that they’re fine fellows who have been really badly treated by a cruel, cruel world.

One good and honorable way to instant stardom is to pick a fight with a Twitter celeb. But remember certain principles before you start. Pick the right celeb. The really witty and confident celebs will just ignore you if you berate them, or worse, block you if you’re too pesky. Pick someone who has a bit of talent but which he has exaggerated in his own mind to be Einsteinesque and whose ego is so fragile that he can never condone a sarcastic comment on himself, especially if the comment is true. This is generally an asshole who has earned a name by being a parasite of a famous man, pretending to hate and ridicule the man who he is leching upon. And never fight for the sake of fighting. Fight for a principle. For instance, when I picked up a fight with such a celeb on Twitter, I fought him because in those days I used to hate assholes on principle. Also, never fight with a celeb until you have at least a few hundred followers yourself – otherwise even this type of celeb will ignore you. But this method of directly challenging a celeb is fraught with danger. Because usually, the favourible type of celeb is empty inside and his bravado and bragging is merely to hide this fact. So he will always move about in a gang of similar fellows like himself, and they will all gang upon you, to beat you to a virtual pulp, and if that fails, they’ll try to discredit you. The friends of the celeb I had a fight with tried to get my Twitter account suspended by spreading all sorts of falsehoods about me. So this approach, though undoubtedly highly effective, is a potential landmine that can actually blow you off Twitter.

Another time tested technique to success is to ridicule real celebs. Some celebs are meant to be permanently ridiculed. Justin Bieber, Kim Kardashian, Rahul Gandhi, Digvijay Singh, Kapil Sibal, Nitin Gadkari, Mayawati, Mulayam Singh, Chetan Bhagat, Salman Khan, Shah Rukh Khan, Kamaal R Khan, Uday Chopra, Abhishek Bachchan, Sagarika Ghose, Rajdeep Sardesai, Arnab Goswami, Barkha Dutt, Ravi Shastri, Rameez Raja, Rohit Sharma, Ravindra Jadeja ……. the list just doesn’t end. Pick your own pet celebs to make fun of. I chose Chetan Bhagat, Salman Khan and Rahul Gandhi for most of my barbs – Chetan, because he’s a glorified masaala writer who is desperate to be accepted as an intellectual; Salman because he’s unabashedly dumb and commands a huge following of equally dumb fans who are generally too low-witted to even understand sarcasm, and Rahul because of his charming dimwits and his proclivity to insert his foot into his mouth with predictable regularity.

If you’re serious about being a Twitter celeb, never engage in long, serious discussions with anyone. Be pithy, to the point, and never drag on an argument – people are generally not on Twitter for serious discussions. They want fun and a relief from the mundaneness of real life. In fact, after you have a couple of thousand followers, just stop replying to mentions. Its the same rule of life that also applies on Twitter: People look up to snotty arrogant bastards. In fact, I seldom reply to my mentions – that I still occasionally do so is because I’m not yet a fully developed asshole, just an aspiring one.

 

Rules for girls

 

Many of the above rules for men also apply to you ladies. But women, no doubt, are a privileged lot on Twitter. Its easier for them to get followers, because well, they’re girls. And yet there are some principles which they should remember.

Firstly, the DP. Believe me, overtly sexual DPs are passé – in fact a complete no, no. Don’t believe that mediocre blogger turned Bong writer who once wrote a magazine article on how to get more followers and advised girls to show cleavage. Pliss not to listen to him. Showing cleavage on Twitter gets you stalkers, not followers. Let your pic be cool and photoshopped to make you look cute with an ineffable air of mystery about you. Background is important too. Choose a background with pristine scenic beauty if you wish to portray the image of an innocent Wordsworthian heroine. Choose a bookshelf with the proper mix of modern booker winning authors and old classics (suggested ratio = 80:20) if you wish to appear as the intellectual woman of substance. Or go for a plain white or modern-art background if you want to be seen as an angst-ridden tragic Shakespearean heroine, holding back her tears with the firm determination of the walls around her broken heart. And keep changing your pic. Men quickly get bored with a woman who never changes – constancy is after all a masculine characteristic.

What you tweet is less important than how you look. If you’re a girl, just tweet about your daily life, the new soap that you’re trying, how much Biba clothes suck, how mean your new boyfriend is, how possessive and loving your mother is, how you’ve rescued an adorable kitten from the streets and have put him up for adoption, how cute the new trainer in the gym is, and so on. Also twitpic your breakfast, lunch and dinner, the fancy cookies you’ve baked, simultaneously cribbing about the weight you’re putting on despite all your long hours in the gym.

The intellectual woman should of course not tweet such stuff. If you’re the sort of lady whose favorite color is NOT pink, and who thinks that Barbie is an evil invention to keep women enslaved to the image of the frivolous woman, then you are an intellectual woman. Tweet about all the important events of the day – politics, films, music, crime, and the latest Chetan Bhagat book. Always tweet in a moralizing, sermonizing tone. Believe yourself to be always right and never brook any opposition. If someone calls your views rubbish, brand him a misogynist, and let the world know that you’ve blocked the idiot. When you follow someone, make the fact known to the whole of Twitter as if you’re bestowing a huge favour on the poor bugger. Also, its beneath the dignity of an intellectual woman tweep to button retweet anybody – she only does manual RTs. Never stoop so low as to engage in a conversation with an ordinary tweep – interact only with celebs, preferably media persons who’re as addicted to sermonizing as yourself. If you have had any association with an IIT or IIM or similar hallowed institution, even as a typist or a receptionist, proudly proclaim the fact in your bio. And put yourself down as a feminist – any intellectual woman worth her salt is always a feminist.

 

Disclaimer: Like most self-help books, this article too may turn out to be of absolutely no use to you. But since you’ve paid nothing for it, except your jobless time, you cannot sue me for it

The Dawn of Hope

 

In the distant horizon, the dawn broke,

Rosy, like lovely lips,

Golden, like fairy-tale locks,

Exultant, like the sailor boy,

Gleaming, like the scimitar blade,

Brave, like a freefall,

Happy, like a heart in love.

 

I saw it, and I slunk away,

To the darkness inside,

Dark in the brilliant lights,

Safe, and comfortable,

Fed, and warm,

Dull and numb,

Petrified by my awakened dreams,

Terrified of the dawn of hope

 

Another Wasted Holiday

Hungover eyes, by sunlight pried apart,

Completed sleep; yeah, a good start.

Brushing the teeth, lemme see the match,

Sachin hits a few, then gives up a catch.

Why take a bath, what’s for lunch honey?

This Sunday editorial, the guy’s quite funny.

Yes child, lets play for a while,

My wilting soul needs, the drench of your smile.

And music – my mind sure deserves its treats,

vacationing let it swim, in the rivulets of the beats.

The movies are dull, lets go to the mall,

The dull thud of life, has my wife on the wall.

Finally, type a few words, but not so sweet,

Not the story of my life, but only a tweet.

The Quiet Despair

In the guilty cigarette’s stolen puffs,

In the love of a friend’s manner gruff,

In the pleasing curve of a young breast,

In the mind gamboling in dialectic unrest,

In the amnesic welcome of the wine,

In the sublime expressiveness of a line,

In the exhilaration of a Sachin ton,

In the round of office politics won,

In the wife’s persistent nagging care,

In the child’s innocent pesky dare,

In  life’s little pleasures I while my time,

Waiting for a universe where you shall be mine

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