The Blithe, brown boy

Scrambling through bristling hissing hedge

To catch a falling, wanton kite.


The sweaty, sleepless teen

Dreaming romantic, kindly, sweet qualities

In fallen, wanton silver stars.


The college boy bunking class

To puff out rings of cloudy philosophy

To save the fallen, wanton world.


The man sitting behind the desk

Has drowned them all in a shiny, silver pool

To satiate the moral monster: Maturity 

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Sky: Crumpled, spotted, bleached of blue

Clouds: Misty, puffing out of shape

Air: Dull, dirty, stinging, heavy

People: Sullen, angry, restless

Dreams: Jagged, bleeding, broken edges

Life: Stale, placid, passionless 

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Confessions of a Misanthrope

What Carnegie wants to turn humans into

What Carnegie wants to turn humans into

I think Dale Carnegie started this shit with his book “How To Win Friends and Influence People”. I read it as a young man. I guess, every young man or woman reads that book. Because it’s the basic instruction manual on how to suck up to people by pretending to like them. It promises to turn you from a thinking, emotionally variable human being into a super-friendly, tail-wagging dog so that other people are forced to pet you. And this book is often lapped up (excuse the pun) by impressionable youngsters because it is assumed that making people like you is the most important prerequisite of success. They call it ‘soft skills’ in business school jargon. (And people actually pay lakhs of rupees to learn this sort of stuff in B schools. Strange are the ways of people!)

Now I have nothing against it if you wish to spend your life tail-wagging to people. I might even admire you if you become a devious, manipulative asshole who wrings the dough out of a man’s nose by claiming to devote your life to his welfare and happiness. But I can’t do this shit. Fact is: I don’t like people (except voluptuous intellectual women).

Disliking people is not something that I decided to do after performing a lengthy process of reasoning and concluding. It was always a gut feeling with me. But over the period of years (decades actually – why try to hide my fucking age?), I peered inside the murky depths of my soul and discovered the reasons for this tendency.

For one, people expect you to go out and meet them. They just don’t leave you alone. Every day someone was born a few decades back and wants to celebrate the day with everyone he/she knows. If not that, someone is getting married and wants to bribe you with dinner for giving them social sanction for copulating the brains out of each other. Or somebody has got a new car and wants to show it off because he cannot show off his dick, and in any case his dick is probably too small to show off. I mean, if you’re happy and you want to celebrate, just do it with the people you love and who care for you. I don’t care for you. So don’t invite me to your birthday bash and anniversary bash. Unless you have alcohol. Then you better invite me over. Because man is a social animal, and I take the animal part very seriously.

People have this strange concept, especially in India, that your life does not belong to you but to the society. You’re expected to be ever ready to meet people’s expectations from you. They don’t understand that I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to be of any use to society. I just wanna have my bit of the earth and the sky over it and just do my thing. I don’t want to disturb you, or harm you, or kill you (unless you’re screwing Katrina Kaif) – I just want to be left alone.

Most of all, I hate people because people have this annoying tendency to seek free medical advice. There I am in a party, enjoying chocolate pastry for dessert, when a corpulent, flatulent person saunters up to me, and without preamble, starts to discuss his morning ablutions with me. He especially emphasizes that the colour of his morning production keeps changing with amazing frequency, and that the very same morning it had been exactly the colour and consistency of the chocolate pastry I’m relishing. I feel like puking on him and telling him that if his excreta was behaving like a chameleon, then he should go to a gastroenterologist and effing pay him to listen to his…shit rather than spoiling my dessert.

Or perhaps I’m having my drink in peace, when this elderly gentleman clatters towards me, his joints clicking and clacking like a pool table, and begins pouring out his litany of aches, wheezes and shakes. He’ll be sure to give me a complete medical history starting from the time he received his first BCG vaccine as a newborn, taking me through his tonsillectomy in school, his appendicectomy in college, his hernia repair in midlife, his bypass surgery just before retirement, and his piles surgery just after retirement. All the while he takes time out to cough with commendable diligence and consistency, producing a fine mist of spittle – a lot of which lands into my drink.

Now I know that a lot of people have this picture of a doctor as someone with wings on his shoulder blades and a halo around his noggin, flitting from one suffering human to another, curing them with the magic dust of sweet words and the occasional prick in the ass (with a sterile syringe, I mean). But that’s all complete nonsense, I assure you. Medicine is a profession like any other, and doctors just do their jobs to the best of their ability – BECAUSE THEY’RE PAID FOR IT. No doctor is ever thrilled to his deepest renal papillae when called upon to give free medical advice.

Now if this article has conveyed the impression that I’m a misanthrope who hates people, then I will pat myself on my back for having successfully conveyed to my readers what I wished to convey. So it is my humble request to keep away from me (and to keep me away from you, by all means), unless one or more of the following conditions are fulfilled:

  • You wish to consult me professionally (with full fee paid in advance, even if you are a distant relative)
  • You ever happened to share a school, a college or a hostel room with me
  • You propose to fill me with alcohol of any kind
  • You wish to lend me your Mercedes
  • You are a voluptuous intellectual woman








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Stop Motivating Me!

Image courtesy: Google

Image courtesy: Google

6 AM on a Sunday morning and the cooing of the Samsung notification bird wakes me up. Fuck, I think, as I peer through the haze of my sleep into the glare of the screen. An old school chum seems to have gone on a Sunday morning jog and decided to announce this fact to all his Whatsapp contacts with the message: “Arise and Shine! Life is too short to spend in slothful slumber! Let’s do something worthwhile!”

Even if I were to agree with the highly questionable philosophy that doing something worthwhile is better than slothful slumber, it was difficult to find something to do at this unearthly hour. Unlike my chum, I hate jogging, and it seemed rather unwise to start the day with an activity I loathed. So I poked my wife, until she stirred irritably and said to her:

“Life is too short to spend in slothful slumber. Let’s do something?”

“What the fuck?” She groaned.

“How direct you are my dear.” I said.”What I said in euphemism, you pronounce in bold, unfettered terms. So let’s do it.”

At which point my wife pushed me firmly enough to roll me off the bed. Being a fairly intelligent man, I understood this as a wife’s way of communicating that she was not interested in doing ‘it’ at this particular moment. So I just lay on the floor and ruminated on the concept of motivational messages.

It seems everybody these days is busy sending motivational messages to everybody else. From the US president to the local pimp, everyone is doing it (not that I have received any motivational message from any pimp, I just assume that pimps send such messages too). No social media platform, be it Facebook, Whatsapp or Twitter is free from this plague. But why exactly do people want to motivate other people?

I mean, the way human beings are manufactured, we’re highly self-centred creatures. We mostly think of ourselves and our own needs. For instance, when we wish to defecate, we just sit over the nearest commode and do it. We don’t invite all our friends and acquaintances to do it together. Similarly, when our hormones rage inside us and get us all heated up for sex, we simply reach out to our partners and do it. We do not invite the neighbourhood couples over to an orgy. So why is it that when we feel the desire to be motivated, we immediately wish to share the desire with everyone we know?

Also, if some quote motivates you to achieve your goals, why should you share the secret with someone else? Life is a rat race, a struggle for survival, a Darwinian crow eat crow world where only the fittest will survive and get to the end of the rainbow to find the Ferrari and the pneumatic blonde waiting for him (or the Ferrari and the Greek God hunk waiting for her – feminists, don’t get your panties in a bunch). Some colleague sent me this message the other day:

“Life always offers you a second chance. It is called tomorrow.”

Now why share this extraordinarily important insight with me? Maybe, right now I’m feeling so low and defeated with life that I might have given up all hope and am packing a sparse bag to retire to a quiet monastery in Tibet, leaving you without competition to secure that promotion that you’ve been desiring for so long. But now that you’ve given me hope that tomorrow might give me a fresh chance at kicking your ass, I might just decide to stay and snatch away that promotion from you! Daft, isn’t it?

Also, this motivational stuff usually messes up with my brain rather than helping me do things. Here I am, having a lark doing something I thoroughly enjoy when this message comes on my Whatsapp:

“Time can be your Best Friend or your Worst Enemy depending on whether you Use it or Waste it”

And now I start thinking whether I’m wasting my time by doing something that I merely enjoy when I could use that time by doing something that could earn me more money. After a lot of careful deliberation, I convince myself that doing things that make you happy is actually a use of time, but the whole process has taken away the spontaneity of my actions and forced me to find a logical reason for doing something I love. And that has destroyed the purity of my enjoyment, and I find that I no longer enjoy doing that thing so much. That fucking motivational message has poisoned my happiness.

This I feel is the biggest problem with motivational messages. If you take them seriously, and try to follow them, you find that your life has been robbed of its spontaneity, and you have become a mere algorithm following automaton running on the diesel inside your pipes rather than an organic creature thriving on the vital juices inside your veins and glands.

Most of these motivational messages are hogwash anyway. Sample this:

             Why Complicate Life?

  • Missing somebody?………….Call
  • Wanna be understood?……Explain
  • Have Questions?…………….Ask
  • Don’t like something?……..Say it
  • Like Something?…………….State it
  • Love Someone?……………..Tell it

Absolute rubbish, each one them. Let me show you.

You may be missing your ex very badly and every evening you try to reconcile yourself to the fact that she’s now copulating with some other man by drinking cheap whiskey (because if you could afford expensive whiskey, she wouldn’t have left you in the first place). One day, you happen to come across this motivational message on Facebook and decide to act on it. You call her. She cuts you off. You call her again. She cuts you off again. You keep calling her till she tells you to go to hell. But you’ve been so motivated that you persist. Net result? She either files a case of stalking against you, or her husband turns up with a few of his buddies and kicks your ass in the bar. Or the police kicks your ass behind bars.

“Have questions? Ask”, advices the quote. Bad idea. Especially in medical college. Where, if you ask too many questions to your professor, you will in all probability be detained for six months beyond the time you’re supposed to have passed out, just so that you can get the opportunity to tone down your over smartness a bit. Also, never ask your wife why she wants to buy such an expensive watch as gift to her father on his birthday. Just grin and bear.

“Don’t like something? Say it” – just try this with your wife’s cooking and you will not only wish that you were not born, but that the Big Bang itself should never have happened. Also, start believing in life after death, because you’d have absolutely no chance of copulating in this lifetime.

As for “Like something, state it” – just think of how many times you’ve had occasion to take a liking to a woman’s …err…eyes, and just think of what might’ve happened if you had heeded this advice and let the fact known to the possessor of those…err…eyes.

I think the main reason why people send motivational messages to each other is to remind others of their own existence. Each man is an island in the ocean of life’s misery, and the only way he can communicate with others is by throwing out a bottle with a message in it. And since most people are not really creative enough to actually be able to say anything much, they just take up a quote from the internet and send it across to other human beings. But the real purpose of these motivational messages is not to motivate. The real purpose is to say:

Hey there guys! I’m alive, and lonely, and miserable. Please notice me you buggers!”

PS: If you still wish to send me a motivational message, I suggest that rather than sending me some random quote, send me an eyeful of the big, beautiful err…eyes of any voluptuous woman. I assure you, I would be far more motivated and kindly disposed towards you. Eyes like the one below, for example.

image courtesy: Google

image courtesy: Google

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The stranger

After we make love

We watch the TV shows,

Not my favourites – I hate them –

Just the ones that you love.

Because, I like the man you love.


We blow puffs at each other,

Gold Flakes or Davidoff Lights.

Maybe because smoking kills,

And maybe it’ll kill all the men,

Except this stranger you love.


And when after the goodbyes,

When life takes over again,

And familiar men start waking again,

The stranger goes off  to sleep

And lives in dreams of those puffs again.

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Refusing To Die

Old, wrinkled, broken he lies,

Screaming for me to come to his side;

His decay filling the house with stink,

Rotting flesh, wounds scabbed and dried.


Ugly the more, because beautiful once,

The hideous creatures gives me no peace;

The click-clack of his rheumy joints,

A constant background score of unease.


Starved, unfed, uncared, still living,

Whining of a love given no more;

Reminding me of shared happiness,

Of how I once pampered and adored.


His shrill cries pursue my daily chores,

His hisses permeate my nightly rest;

His desperate, unyielding will to survive,

Daily hammers at the walls of my breast.


In the attic of my mind he continues to lie,

This dream that simply refuses to die.

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Men Will Always Be Men – In Other Words, Stupid

tanu weds manu Spoiler Alert: Those people who have not seen Tanu Weds Manu Returns are warned to read this blogpost only after watching the movie. Any request for compensation for spoiling the fun of the movie will not be entertained if you still continue to read this post.

To begin with, this is not a critical review of the movie ‘Tanu Weds Manu Returns’. I watch movies primarily for entertainment (though I’m not averse to a bit of intellectual stimulation, provided it is not in quantities that are hazardous to the human mind). And this movie is without doubt very entertaining. Also, Kangana Ranaut is absolutely brilliant in both of her roles. I don’t think I’m enough of a movie buff to shed further light on the technical aspects of the movie, such as direction, editing, script and such. Why I’m writing this post is primarily to explore the dynamics of the interplay between the three principle characters in the movie – Tanu, Manu and Datto. Because I think, it offers a fascinating insight into the wider dynamics of male-female relationships.

Right at the beginning of the movie, it is pretty obvious that Tanu and Manu, despite their rhyming names, are not meant for each other. Manu is the most boring man on this earth. His idea of a great weekend is to go to a discount sale at the local supermarket. On top of that, he’s a doctor. Tanu on the other hand craves excitement and thrill. Nothing is common between them, their sex life is as existent as Rahul Gandhi’s IQ, and quite understandably their marriage is on the verge of breaking apart. Tanu is a beautiful, charming, vivacious, emotionally expressive woman. She’s also selfish, manipulative, and completely narcissistic. After manipulating the British authorities into confining her husband into a mental asylum, she returns to her hometown in India and immediately picks up the threads of her pre-marital life. She actively searches out her former admirers and brazenly flirts with them, evoking sentiments which she has no intention of reciprocating. She’s simply enjoying the power of her beauty and charm.

Manu follows her to India and meets Datto, the Haryanvi student athlete. Manu first pursues her because she has a physical resemblance to his wife, but soon realizes that unlike Tanu, Datto is a simple, straightforward, village girl, with no womanly wiles or guiles about her – and it is these qualities that attract him to her, despite the fact that she’s a plain Jane in comparison to his wife. Datto, unlike Tanu, is so selfless that before going to her own village to talk to her elders about marrying Manu, she takes a detour to first help Manu’s friend Pappi. Manu realizes the full extent of her love for him when he sees her furiously fight with her brother and other relatives for the right to marry him.

Meanwhile Tanu hears that Manu is marrying Datto and, shocked, she rushes to confront him. She makes cruel fun of the rustic Datto, but the unabashed Haryanvi girl replies that she’s a state level athlete who has earned her own place into Delhi University in contrast to Tanu who has depended all her life first on her father, and then on her husband to provide for her. When her womanly wiles fail her, Tanu resorts to the last weapon in a woman’s armoury – emotional blackmail. She stays weepy eyed and moping in front of Manu all the time, silently and piteously reminding him of their shared moments of the past. And at the last moment, the man’s heart softens and he rushes to comfort the beautiful woman’s tears – leaving the woman who loves him standing lonely and devastated at the marriage mandap.

So in the end, even though the man realizes that the girl with the inner beauty, the woman of substance, is who he should actually spend his life with, it is the woman with the outer beauty, charm and guiles who manages to hold on to him. And is this what happens in real life? Do I really need to answer this question?

So am I blaming the beautiful woman for this? Not at all. Everyone has the right to be what he or she is. I don’t advocate being moralistic about anything in life. Do I blame the simple woman, the plain Jane for her devotion? Of course not. The only person I’m blaming here is the man, who is wise enough to perceive the true beauty of a woman, and is yet ultimately so blinded by external beauty that he foolishly goes back into a relationship that is bound to give both the concerned parties future grief and misery. And yes, probably all the men in the world are like that.

A man usually knows what will make him truly happy in life. But he will still desire only those things that will make him seem like a success in the eyes of other men.

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Posted in humour, Philosophy

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