Oh God! I knew it!

Every now and then you come across a pseudo intellectual who wants to know if you believe in a “god”. And he wants you to say you do. Because he wants to look at you like one looks at a one-legged puppy, pat your back, then smirk and let out that little “ppfft” and then go on to gingerly sip his scotch, which really is water.

So what do you do? You humour him. You tell him you do believe in a god. Or one of the many that revolve around our planet, or whatever it is that they do. You may even go so far as to say your god is the best and he’s whack (and other words kids use these days).

Which will predictably be followed by “So where is your god? Can you see him? Can you hear him? Can you touch him? What proof do you have that he even exists? What’s the logic?” He then goes on to lean back on his chair without a back-rest, sipping scotch from the now empty glass of water, waiting for you to dwell on his wise words.

And like always, you have nothing to say. You murmer something about judgement day and “I’ll be back” and “cybernetic organisms – living tissue over metal” only to realise you’re thinking about a movie that most certainly didn’t star god.

Now I’m no selfless devotee. I’m neither a devotee, nor selfless really. And I certainly won’t burn the man to the ground, simply because he could be very much right. However if the time really does come, this judgment day, when we’re judged for our sins (not when the machines take over the world), the fast food we’ve hogged and the women we’ve lusted for, I know I can raise my hand and say “me, me…I believed in you!”. And then be escorted down the red carpet entrance of the pearly gates of heaven, past the non-believers, rapists and Bieber fans.
It’s only logical really. Heard the scotch’s great there too.

The ring-tone must be destroyed!

So after having to endure innumerable “you’re not on whatsapp???”, countless horrific gasps and an annoying number of worried glances, I finally decide to get a smart phone. Not that I don’t like technology. It’s just that while it’s meant to make life simpler, I know it only does the opposite.
In fact I like technology just as much as Frodo liked the ring, the first time he saw it. But it’s the same blood that flows in my veins - the same weakness.
And I just knew things were going to go downhill when I involuntarily exclaimed - “I will take the smart-phone to Mordor”, at the mobile store.


Slowly and surely I feel the device taking control. What started off as an accessory has slowly begun to overpower me and enslave me to its will. I sometimes slink to a corner to glance at my prized possession, completely invisible to others. Many times I catch myself sliding the touch screen for no apparent reason, only for the dreadful words to slip out - “my precious”.


It’s pure evil. And while you pay huge amounts of money for it, it never really is yours. After all, it is a thing of power, and it has no master. It’s the kind of thing mothers warn random strangers about. And you can’t fight it. You can’t stay away from it. It’s always there, calling you. It begs you to have a look at it every few minutes – when you’re at work, sleeping, on the pot, or sleeping on the pot, it demands your attention.


Soon I won’t eat. I won’t sleep. And I’ll probably retreat into a cave somewhere deep inside the earth’s crust. And all I’ll need is my smart-phone and a place to charge it. You see, one simply doesn’t become smarter by buying a smartphone. Now let me check why my phone hasn’t beeped for the last 3 minutes.

Words scorned.

So here I am, in advertising. Writing “Sale” when, well, there is a sale. And “Hurry!” when no one wants to visit the sale and “SALE” in upper case, because apparently words are more powerful when they’re written in upper case.

In the process, I’ve forgotten to really write. I’ve forgotten how to craft words, play with them, tease them and seduce them to my will. Sure I was no master, but there was chemistry – the kind moms don’t warn their daughters about because it’s a tad too embarrassing.
However, what was once a full blown affair has turned sour.

When you start taking words for granted, they know. Like women, who know you’re in the process of leaving the toilet seat up, they sense it coming. And while they won’t beg or plead for attention, they will slowly slip away from your control. And let you down when you need them most. After all, unconditional love is simply not in their nature.

When you finally realise your folly, you can only hope to make amends. You can’t buy them roses or diamonds. You can’t buy their love. You can only earn it back.

And this takes time. Words simply don’t sail across the seven seas and run back into your arms in a sunflower field. They amble back. Slow and hesitant. Taking naps and having tea. Making sure your heart’s in the right place.
And all you can do is wait, work, read and drink lots and lots of coffee.

Oh, and beg for forgiveness too, I think.

The clean slate

Everyone likes a clean slate. Not everyone deserves one though.
Rapists, murderers and FarmVille fans for starters.
I, thankfully, am neither.

And so in one moment of inspiration (or some may call madness) i deleted my previous uninspiring blog posts.
Very much like Shakespeare, who trashed below-par tales before he wrote Macbeth; or Steve Jobs who chucked his original plan of a nail-clipping saloon, only to start Apple. In the words of Shahrukh Khan, “Kuch paane keliye, kuch khona bhi padtha hai” (To win some, you gotta lose some, bro”). And while winning anything looks like a distant dream at the moment, deleting the old posts was surprisingly refreshing – like dropping old baggage, flushing an ex’s favourite lip-gloss down the toilet or burning your depressing old report cards.

Oh the sheer joy! The throbbing of the temple. The excessive salivating over the keyboard. The manic glint in the eye every time I clicked the ‘delete’ button. Simply put, it felt good.

To conclude, this blog deserves a better class of posts. And I’m gonna give it to em. Watch this space for more.