This post has absolutely nothing on it's mind

Recently, the most common question that I ask everyone is "What day is it today? No, seriously". I actually do lose track of what day, date, month or even what year it is. In fact, I have been using my own personal time standard, in hours are defined by the time left until the next meal and sometimes two, or three "normal" days are clubbed together because I really don't remember them as separate entities anyway.

Not that I am to blame. It happens when one is not gainfully employed. Everyday seems like a Sunday. And not a Sunday in which you know that the next day the grind starts again. No, a Sunday which is followed by another Sunday, which is followed by another Sunday, which in turn is followed by, no prizes for guessing, another Sunday.

So, to me, the past year and a half have been like an extended weekend. (Actually, some people I know would like to call it by a different name, but this is what I've decided upon. An extended weekend. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Hi, I'm on an extended weekend. What? Oh, that's part of my work actually. Yes, I specialize in extending weekends. It's a inborn talent, really. No, I don't have any branches. Yet.)

However, there is one thing that even someone as clueless & as intoxicated as me can notice.

I've come to realize that people treat those who are gainfully employed and those who take extended weekends which last more than a year, a tad bit differently. I know. Outrageous, isn't it?

I vividly remember the days when I used to work. By work, I mean laughing at every stupid forward people send and exploring wikipedia for useless trivia (Did you know Mata Hari was actually not a really good spy? Yup. Surprising isn't it? There is so much useless trivia out there, and so little time. Sigh. Also, it only sounds interesting when you are being paid to do something else. Otherwise, who really cares. Pshaw!)

It turns out that a job is like an ass. Everyone seems to have them.

So when you answer the question "So, what are you doing these days?" with the ominous word "Nothing", most people react in a very predictable way.

First, comes the indignation.

"What do you mean by nothing? So you actually aren't doing anything? Nothing AT ALL? Are you crazy?!"

Then comes the surprise.

"Why? What happened? You were doing so well! Are you crazy?"

Then, the weight of the information they have been provided with begins to settle in and a pattern seems to emerge.

"So you're sitting at home? Voluntarily? Why? Are you crazy?"

Then comes the search for plausible excuses.

"Are you sick? No?"

"Are you trying to lose weight? No?"

"Are you studying? No?"

"Are you helping out your family with the business? No?"

Then comes the slight tilt of the head and the first step towards the road of acceptance.

"Awwww. Oh! I'm sure you deserve it. I remember you used to be working so hard".

"Good for you".

"I would never have the guts to do something like this".

Then come the suggestions.

"If you're not busy, you should help out your family with the business".

"If you're not busy, you should study more and add to your resume".

"If you're not busy, you should try losing weight".

"If you're not busy, you should try writing a blog".

"If you're not busy, you should help my son get his wife pregnant".

Then comes the show of fake support along with a huge effort made in trying to encapsulate the overwhelming feeling of jealousy along with a naked attempt to try to make me feel like a loser.

"So you're staying home for the past year doing nothing? So you're doing NOTHING? How do you pass your day?"

"I would go bananas if I had to spend even a day doing nothing! Haha! How do you do it?"

"Aren't you yearning to go back to work?"

"You would have been an ________ by now if you hadn't left your job!"

"What's a blog?"

Then comes what I lovingly call the insane reasoning portion of the evening.

"This is not an age to take a break at. One should only take a break when one's sixty".

"Don't you want to get married?"

"You have to do something. Everyone does something or the other. You can't just sit at home".

"Don't you want to get married and give your parents a few grandchildren to play with?"

"You'll start losing the use of your mental faculties if you keep doing nothing for a long period of time. Stop laughing. It's true. I've seen it happen".

"No one does what they really want to do. So go back to work and get married. It's high time you got settled".

That sums up the conversation with 95% of the people.

One of the things about being jobless is that the "different" treatment you get from people. Suddenly, people find it really awkward to talk to me. And my opinion just does not hold the same value for them as it used to before. People really don't know how to start a conversation with me anymore. And there are so many topics they try to steer clear from. Things they presume that I would get offended by.

We are so used to identifying and associating people with what kind of work they do that it's really hard for us to look beyond that. Even when we introduce ourselves to other people, in most cases, the first thing that really comes out after our names is our occupation or whatever we do for a living. Because even personally, that's our yardstick for defining who we are. I used to do that too. But my "extended weekend" has made me realize that whatever job or line of work you do doesn't have to define who you are. We are so obsessed with titles, positions, the whole concept of "making a name for yourself" that we let it take over our lives. People define success not by how happy they are but by how many weekends they spend replying to work emails on their blackberry. It's in trying to "be somebody" that we lose track of who we really are. I know that because I did.

I'm not trying to knock anyone here. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I, for one, love being treated like a pariah. A few of my friends and some assorted family friends have tried to "turn me around" and "talk some sense into me" but most of the time, they end up projecting. It's funny how the same people who used to tell my parents that they were "so proud" of me, now avoid me like the bubonic plague, even using me as an example of explaining to their children on how not to do things. The general consensus seems to be that I've lost it and that this is more evidence that I am a "spoiled" brat. Well, not that there is anything wrong with that. However, as always, I'm too drunk too care. I don't give a flying f@ck about what these people think anyway!

Yeah, almost everyone treats me differently. Even God. He answers all my prayers with "I'll get to you in a minute, asshole". To be fair, all of my prayers revolve around food and sex. And I guess God thinks that you can only have one of them at a time.

*Chomp Chomp*

Is he trying to tell me something?

This post has so much to give that it's almost bursting at the seams

Sometimes one feels so insignificant. You know, somedays you realize that there is so much happening out there. That there is so much more to life than random snarky observations about pop-culture.

A few hours ago, I got the feeling that I am not the center of the universe. Of course, then I come to my senses and realize that it can't be true. Everyone knows that's not even possible. Silly me!!

Sometimes I feel that I am missing out. That I should go out and see the world. Travel or something. But then, if I have to go somewhere I kind of need to pack my whole room and take it with me. I absolutely cannot sleep without my favorite pillow. And I can never decide which books to take along. it's so difficult. It's like choosing between your children. Hell, I think it's tougher. Choosing between children is easy. You choose the one who has the most potential for making money. Ignore the others. Or put those losers up for adoption. I'm sure Angelina Jolie or the Octo-Mom would want them.


Then I feel that I should try to do something for other people.


Yeah, I know. I can't even type that with a straight face.


No, seriously. I feel that I have so much to give, specially free advice. I think that I should join an NGO or something and lobby for political change. Although, when I think about it, I would never know what to wear to such a shindig. I'll be left wondering whether I need to color coordinate? Or do I go with black? Or should go ethnic or try the whole retro reporter look? I can never answer such questions. Dammit. There should be a course for such stuff. Or at least a wikipedia entry.


Then I thought I should teach the illiterate. Try to educate them. Teach them something and make a difference in their lives. However, I nipped this plan in the bud. Cause as I remember from my time in school when we were forced by our goody-two-shoes Headmaster er... lightly persuaded to teach poor children, illiterate people have a tendency to stink. Although I still don't understand why the other volunteers were flabbergasted when I kept using a room freshener during my class.


But then I realized that I already do too much volunteering. For example, I have joined over two groups on facebook which purport to bring like-minded people together so that they can post on each other's wall. What more can one do, really?

So I then thought that I should try to give back to my family. Although I strongly feel that my presence is blessing enough. Still, I thought I would help my Dad or Bro with their business. So I asked them if any of them needed an intelligent and hard working person to come work for them. They said sure and they also told me that if I knew such a person I should introduce him or her to either of them. When I said I was talking about me, there was complete shock, followed by awkward silence while everyone exchanged glances, and then after a break of a few seconds there was loud, uncontrollable, bringing-down-the-roof laughter.

This is what I get for trying to be helpful. And just because last time I went to their office and I mistook one of their managers for the driver and told him to get my car doesn't mean I would do that again. You only make a mistake like that twice. And in my defense, he was wearing a safari suit. How good a manger would he be?

Anyhoo, of they don't want me, I will take my talents elsewhere. Somewhere I am wanted and appreciated.

There has got to be someone who would pay top dollar/euro/rupee/monopoly money for someone like me. I have so much to give. And so much to share.

I can tell people exactly what's wrong with their life, just by looking at their face. Even if they didn't ask for my advice. So what if I may get it wrong sometimes, or I might have inadvertently started a family feud which might last a generation or two. You win some, you lose some.

I can also identify both the Simpson sisters. Jessica is the one who looks like a cow and was married to that gay boyband singer and Ashlee is the one who looks like a cross between Nicole Richie and Amy Winehouse and is currently married to that gay emo band singer.

Also, I once judged a book by it's cover. And I was right.

Maybe I should get one of those gigs in which I can buy nice looking stationary and get a really cool business card and tell people that I'm a "consultant". Or maybe a "freelance brain trust". Something which sounds new economy-ish and does not incite any questions.


Or maybe I should chill for a while. I've just started to think about it and I'm already tired. I think the best way to go about it would be in small steps.

It worked for Neil Armstrong, dunnit?

This post has no idea where the comments section is

So I leisurely sipping my morning coffee and trying to stop brooding so as to try to be in a good mood because I woke up early for once. Well, early as per my standards. Other people refer to it as 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Well, you say potato I say pohtato. Anyways, so the bell rings and none of the help or other members of the family are around and I suddenly have to answer it. (Don't worry. Everyone was very regretful later on. They solemnly swear not to abandon me like that again. I was still sleepy. There was so much that could have happened. What if I had hit my head somewhere and died? No one would have been there to hear and chronicle my last words. Which reminds me, I need to add a clause to my will which specifies that no body parts of mine are to be donated after I die. I don't want my eyes to see how poor people live and my liver is so drunk that it has hangovers of it's own. My heart is so tired from working that it wants to retire to the Bahamas and if they cut up and cook my stomach it could feed three small African nations for a week. As for my brain, most of it is just like my love life. Hypothetical.)

So I open the door and it's someone claiming to be the guy who checks the meter for all the water we consume. Now, I presume he's faker because as far as I know, water is a natural resource and one does not need to pay for it unless it's made by Evian and why would we have a meter for something we don't need to pay for?

As I was still in a bad mood and needed to take it out on somebody, I let him enter, made him close the gate behind him and then set my family's dogs after him. Since I am a fair person, (have I ever mentioned that?), I called the dogs back after a few minutes and let this guy him explain himself.

He simply refused to tell me the truth.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, he was telling the truth. I called and checked with my parents. We do pay for water which is not made by Evian.

Who wuda thunk it?

Also, we even have a water meter. Go figure.


So shit happens. Get over it.


After conforming the location with my parents, I took the guy to where the water meter was.

So far so good, right?

Suddenly, this guy turns to me and passes a snide remark about how "my generation" has no idea about a lot of things in the real world.

I was enraged. How dare he accuse me of not knowing how the real world works? Me??

So I lived in a house for quarter of a century and had no idea that we had a water meter. Or that we paid for our water. That does not imply that I am clueless. Not by a long shot.

I know how this world works. I watch Oprah. And once, during a school vacation, I read a back issue of Reader's Digest. What else does one need to run through life, really?

Anyways, at that time, right after he said those words, not only was I furious, I was seething with righteous anger. I was more angry than that poor kid from Vietnam who found out that he was being adopted by Angelina Jolie. To me, this jackass from the water department represented everything that was wrong with this world (fundamentalism, lack of tolerance, bad sitcoms).

So I did what any responsible and mature adult would do in my situation.

I "erroneously" pushed the stool behind him, he fell, and then I "accidentally" let go of dog's leashes, and they "sort of" mauled him. A "little".


Relax. Nothing happened to that guy.

Well, nothing-ish.

He got some bruises and a torn shirt. Serves him right, though.

Since I'm all about being fair and balanced, I had the driver take him to a doctor to get the bruise(s?) checked and I gave him money to buy a new shirt.

See, I did him a favor. The shirt he was wearing looked like it hadn't met any detergent grains in years. Thanks to my timely intervention, the shirt got to have a dignified end.

Of course, then the guy from the water department threatened litigation and my Dad had to send someone to bribe him to keep his mouth shut.


But hey, look on the bright side.




At least now I know where the water meter is.

This post is so fat that you'd want to ask it to lose weight

For fat people, the whole world is nothing like an oyster. It's more like a banquet hall filled with people who offer unwanted, patronizing advise.

If I had a nickel for every time someone has counseled me or advised me or given me tips on how to lose weight or warned me that I'm dying, I'd have enough money to have my own 21 storey library.

We all know that most people have this dellusional, self-fufilling prophecy that they know how this world works and that they need to impart this knowledge to other, lesser intelligent life forms. So that fact that I need to lose weight has been pointed out to me by a thousand candidates applying for the post of Field Marshal Obvious. In return, I give them a gift of information. I let them know that they are ugly or that their daughter's a whore or that their fifteen year old son just stole my Dad's favorite Ming vase to finance his cocaine addiction.

Of course, my Dad does not have a favorite ming vase, I never consider anyone a whore and I'll probably have a cocaine addiction when I'm forty because that's considered like dying in gay years. But it's fun to watch people drop their jaw and have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up.

The advise to lose weight is often accompanied by a collorary which states that unless I lose weight I would never be able to find a thin life partner (which in 15 Indian languages means a subservient Indian housewife). Yes, because that's what the world revolves around. Thin, "fair" husband worshiping, pseudo-slave wives whose primary destiny of existence is to keep having daughters until she manages to produce a male child.

The mere thought makes me lose my lunch. Or the very least my after lunch super meal.

This remindes me of an incident. A few weeks ago, one of our family friends was visiting our house with a so called "holy" guru. Now, my family has a lot of family friends and they keep visiting. I tried to educate them about being mean and petty but they don't care about values which are important to me. Then they accuse me of not trying to bond. The nerve.

So I usually don't go to meet these family "friends" unless food items from my favorite bakery are involved. So, unfortunately for everybody except me, on that particular day, my sixth sense told me that there was choclate truffle being served and I happen to enter the room where everyone was sitting.

So this schizophrenic (not actually diagnosed, but that's what I call people who claim to speak with God. Or claim to have met Clint Eastwood.) woman serves me the usual you-must-lose-weight meal along with a side order of thin-girl-logic. So as she broke the rule of not speaking to me when I am eating, which everyone knows is sacrosanct and must be followed even during earthquakes and hurricanes, I told her to get stuffed. I called her bigoted, short sighted and said that even the statue of the laughing buddha in our drawing room is closer to God than she is.

The woman ended up putting a curse on me. Well, pick a number, medusa.

Another irritating habit that people have is to make really bad fat jokes. The only thing people say about fat people is that they eat too much. All their jokes are based on that. The other day this school acquaintance pinged me on facebook and he cracked the same joke he did on the last day of school when I poured beer on his head. I mean, c'mon chuckles, if you can't make up a good joke then at least google for one. If you want to make fun of someone, at least have the decency to use jokes which are funny. Otherwise you're just a Jay Leno wannabe.

My point is (do I EVER have one? Are you surprised?) is that fat people got the memo on being classified as ugly and not desirable when they started using swimsuit models for adverts for tobacco companies. I believe that if I have to change who I am (a glorified food whore) to get someone to like me, then it's not worth it. At least that's what I read in the best selling book "The Monk who ate his Ferrari" (It's a good read, btw). Sometimes a tiny sliver of insecurity does creep in, but then on those days I simply order a ceaser salad.

I know I do have to lose weight someday because it's not good for one's health. And maybe someday I will. When they find a way to make diet fried chicken which tastes as good as the one made using the Colonel's secret recipe.

Until then, can you please pass the coleslaw?

All that hard work down the drain

You spend your whole life trying to build a reputation. Then, one wrong move and everything you worked hard for is taken away from you.

My whole life I have worked hard towards achieving certain goals. And one mistake, one stupid, silly mistake and all that is no more.

Ever since I was a kid, I have worked and worked to have my family accept me as a no good neanderthal who cannot be trusted to do a day's hard work and who is constantly on acid or some other substance.

Now, a few months ago I my family asked for my help for something. Now when they ask me to do something, I'm usually the LAST possible person they could turn to. So, I obliged. No, not out of any guilt. That's because guilt is mostly for religious people.

Anyways, before this incident, my family was well programmed to ask me for a favor only every six to eight months. And they didn't even trust me enough to walk the dogs. Not that I am a big fan of walking the dogs. I mean, it involves three of my least favorite things. Walking, dogs and helping out my family.

Now ever since I unselfishly granted them that favor, without even debiting the six monthly account, things have started to change.

Suddenly, my opinion is being sought on something. My opinion. You know how dangerous that can be. Last time someone sought my opinion, there were tears, broken bones and the threat of bloodshed. However, certain members of my family have started treating me like some insider. They act like I am part of this social group.

How rude is that?

Just yesterday, my sister asked me to watch one of my nephews. Me. You know, l thought she knew better.

Years ago, a cousin of mine who was not privy to my reputation had asked me to watch her kid. She belonged to a family which believed in the evil practice of vegetarianism. By the time I was done watching the kid, his favorite breakfast was sausage and he started eating Pepperoni pizza every alternate day. Needless to say, I was never asked to watch anybody else's kids again.

Even though, all I did was give the boy a real taste of freedom, no one ever asked me to watch their kids again. I wonder why.

Am I not a good role model or something?

Then there's Dad. Who expects me to help out a little with the business. He thinks that it's okay to ask me to help him with my tax return just because he is preoccupied with something urgent. He thinks I have no life.

I don't. But that's not the point. It's the spirit of the thing, really.

And my Mom. Just because I forced her to fire some of the domestic help because I was allergic to their face, she expects me to help around the house. Do impossible things like making my own cup of coffee.

Ha!! Fat chance of that happening!

I simply order out. Hmph.

This is why I used to have that six month rule. All that is in the crapper now.

Although, now when I think about this, maybe this is a good thing.

Now that my family treats me like I belong, it must translate into more money. Maybe a bigger expense account or something?

Look. I'm all about the silver lining in the dark cloud. Cause when life hands you a couple of lemons, you slice them up and add them to your cocktail.

Isn't that what they teach you in business school?

The one in which we have nothing to say ... well, almost

So the past few weeks have been kind of surreal. Mostly because I have not felt like talking to anyone. For the first time in my life, it's like I have nothing to say.

I don't know what it is but it's like been very quite in these here parts. Which is very unusual because I even talk when I'm sleeping. Maybe the alcohol is wearing off or my brain has gone into a coma and forgotten to inform me or something like that. Hell, I can't even hear the voices in my head. It's like all of them got together and decided to go for a road drip leaving me behind.

Usually I am very anti-social and talk to a very selected few (mainly because not a lot of people cannot stand understand me), but this is even strange for me. I mean me not wanting to talk is like Paris Hilton refusing to have sex or Sarah Palin not horrifying people with every word that comes out of her mouth. Hell, I haven't even clogged the interwebs with my moronic opinion for quite a while.

I have this uncanny urge to put my head in the sand. Metaphorically, of course. As I said, it's quite strange for me. I ALWAYS have something to say. About everything. Even about things I don't know shit about. Like that time when I gave an advanced discourse about "the birds and the bees" to one of my straight friends who was about to get married. (I had to tell him what goes where and how. By far, one of the worst nights of my life. I still shiver and puke when I think about it.)

I hope this "phase" or whatever ends soon. Cause I don't want to turn into one of those people who speak very little and always think and weigh their words before they say anything.

I just want to go back to being the village idiot, with a ton of suppressed issues, who says everything that comes to his mind because he does not have a filter. The person we all know and want to always keep a little drunk because if he is sober, he might be tempted to take over the world.

This post is anything but normal

So I ran into this old school friend of mine. Actually, I shouldn't really say friend. More of an acquaintance. I mean I don't even have him listed as a friend in facebook. How much of a friend would he be?

Anyways, we got to talking, and by talking I mean he was saying something while I was nodding along trying to remember his name. Which, by the way, I couldn't. So the words "dude", "buddy" and "bro" were used a lot.

Anyways, when I finally gave up trying to remember his name, (to be fair I even tried word association but all I came up with was Freckles, which I think is self-explanatory), he told me he was getting married. I looked at him with the same expression of shock and disgust that is usually reserved for when I hear Sarah Palin talk. Anyways, after a few minutes of silence, I asked him why he is getting married and wondered aloud if I should congratulate him or feel sorry for him.

So, my old buddy, whatishisname, told me that he was getting married because, and I quote, "All his friends are getting married too". He applied the same excuse I gave my parents when I got bored of my atari and wanted a Nintendo (that's pre-playstation gaming consoles for those young fucks who don't know) to marriage.

After I fake numbered him and sent him packing, I realized he is like most people. Those who take major life decisions because everybody else is. For them, life is like walking into a resturant, sitting down, looking at the table on the right, and telling the waiter "I'll have what he's having."

These sort of people spend their whole life keeping up appearances. You know, people who just want to be like everyone else. People, who if you look at from far away, will all look the same, right down to the bad haircut and the mass-market trousers, because all they want in life is to be normal.

This is why i think being gay is like a blessing in disguise. The mind numbingly painful teenage years and social ostracisation aside, part of the reason why I can see things from a refreshingly different angle, is because I am gay. Hey, my point of view may not be plausible and might have resulted from too many blows to the head and a little extra vodka in my orange juice, but it's still my own.

As Jodie Foster once said, Normal is not something to aspire too, it's something to get away from. Boy, I always knew good ol 'Jodie was a lesbian.

Lastly, for those who are wondering, I did congratulate him. And I asked him to offer my condolences to his fiance

He thought I was kidding.

The one in which we actually think about other people ... well, sort off

So due to some unforeseen circumstances, I was sitting with my family, while they were having a conversation and I was nodding my head to assure them that I haven't slipped into coma. At least on the outside anyway.

Then suddenly this bit about me getting married comes up. Now, my family knows that this subject is not broached with me. But it was a joke, and everyone was having tea, so I let it pass. Another nail in the coffin of my happiness. Why bother, really? Anyways, it was something about building a separate apartment for me in a few years/whenever I get married whatever comes first.

It was assumed that I would actually be staying with my family whence I go back to wasting my life again.

Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't like anything better than living at a place where the food is good and there is ample parking, but really I don't see this scenario happening.

This is because, well, all the members of my family who are not my mom don't know for sure that I am gay. Of course, they might suspect and hope and pray that it's just a phase and one of those things that boys do like install a basketball board in their yard and never use it or get a weird haircut.

I figure that when I do tell the rest of my family that I am gay, I do intend to move out of this place I currently call home. No, it's not because anyone would say things to me. They know better than that. If I had really cared for their opinion and advice, I would've lost weight ten years ago. That's not the point.

It's that I don't want my family to suffer a smear campaign because of me. I mean I'm used to people looking at me and whispering (Oh, that's his third helping, you know or who the hell wears reeboks with corduroy trousers?). So it's fine by me. I am immune to other people's opinion. That happens when you consider yourself know that you are a superior life form. Anyways, this is not about me. It's about how I don't want my parents to go through all that because of me. Because they have always been respected and spoken about fondly. Even though they have a son like me.

And secondly, when that mob comes to kill me, I just want them to focus on me. Nothing major, I just love the attention.

Hey, turns out I do care about my family. And here I was thinking of selling their secrets for short-term personal gain. Damn you, Oprah.

No, Oprah's got nothing to do with this. I've just always wanted to say that.

Too tired to think of a title

So yesterday, I did something completely out of character and did a task that had been pending for the past two and a half years. No, I did not suddenly wake up and become a do-er of things, it was the absolute last day I could do the task. The final extension had already been granted. I checked. So I pulled up my sleeves (metaphorically only, mind you) and actually finished it.

My parents, who really expected the time limit to lapse and were resigned to another disappointment from me, were surprised to know that I did it a few hours before the clock said that it was midnight.

Strangely, this got their hopes up and they are counting on me to do another thing that has been pending for the past six months.

Six months only? Ha! It's too early and not urgent enough for me to even think about starting to work on it. Hell, I am tired right now and need a break of a few weeks/months.

I mean, parents never learn do they? They always expect their children to come through for them. Even someone like me.

Really, when will they realize that it's not about what I can do for them, it's all about how I can get through life by doing the minimum amount of work whilst getting maximum gains. No, I'm not lazy. That's simple economics. Maximum utilization of minimum resources. Or something like that.

Seriously, aren't I a catch?

Career Day at Whippersnapperville

So I heard some lady on CNN talk about glass ceilings and being what you want to be and so I thought it would be great to have a career, once again, even if it is for a week or two. Don't wanna try too hard, too soon, y'know.

I thought I'd be a politician but then I realized that it involves being nice and telling ugly people that "Beauty is skin deep" and doing other crappy things like kissing babies and shaking hands. That's really not any fun. Plus if you're in the system, it's pretty hard to criticize it and blame it for your unwillingness to do something about all the shit floating around in the world.

I wondered if I could be an activist working to change society and uplifting the poor and the downtrodden. Then I realized that it would mean that I would need to go to places which don't have air conditioning or bottled water or an espresso bar. Without these things, it's really impossible for me to exist. And I'm allergic to fresh air anyway. Also people who look like they haven't had to eat in ages freak me out.

So I thought that maybe I can try to be a lawyer. While I was reading article 1 of the constitution, I realized that why try to change things which already have a system? Poor people vote rich people into office. That's democracy. Poor people come into office and rob other poor people. That's socialism. And when poor people come into office and become rich by killing all the rich people, that's a revolution.

Then thought I'd become an actor. However, there's not enough money in the world to make me pretend to be a straight guy again. Unless it's straight guy who does other straight guys on the side. Then I'm up for it. Alas, to my utter disappointment, I found out that in the reel world, fat people don't have sex. So that ended all my silver screen dreams.

So on a bright, sunny day, I thought I'd take up a gig as a motivational speaker. Then, when I was getting ready to write my first speech, it dawned on me that telling unsuccessful people that there is still hope in their life and giving them a reason to live is really not my cup of decaf mocha. I mean with one stupid speech, I can't change their destiny, right? There is a reason lethal prescription drugs are sold at most pharmacies. I'm not suggesting anything, just pointing out some facts. Don't shoot the messenger.

Then I thought I'd become a psychologist. Why the fuck not, eh? But something made me realize that if I hear one more person bitch about how fucked up their life is I will go ahead and beat them with their own arm after I tear it out from it's socket. And then shave them bald and write "this mind is clusterfucked" on their big, bald head. Finally, just when they think it's over, I'll make them watch John McCain speeches in an endless loop. Nothing can be a more fitting punishment for such people.

Afterwards, when I was flipping through CNBC, I thought that I can try to be a successful Investment Banker. However, good sense prevailed over me. It's not that I won't enjoy wiping out the life savings of unsuspecting shareholders right when they need it. I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life copy/pasting things into a Microsoft Excel speadsheet. And all this talk of bulls and bears puts me to sleep. It also turns me off for some reason. Maybe because it's so unsexy.

So I came to the conclusion that I should stick to my current career path. It's the only thing I'm good at. And the only thing I want to do, really. Being fat man passed out on bar stool.

Sounds like a perfect profession for me.

*hic*

You know you are really fat & lazy when

- all the eateries around your house have installed a special private line just for your calls

- a restaurant introduces an "all-you-can-eat" offer for it's regular patrons, it sends you a notarized letter informing you that the offer does not apply to you

- in a time of crisis, your family turns to you after they have exhausted ALL their options

- you don't want to have children and/or pets because taking care of them will be "too much work"

- you receive an award and you phone in your acceptance speech

- when you show someone your photograph, you tell them that "the camera adds 1800 pounds"

- at your favorite restaurant, when you ask the waiter to bring "the usual", it actually refers to everything on the menu

- your t-shirt size is "oh my god! what the fuck"

- the reason you got late for the meeting? the escalator got stuck

- you classify dialing a phone number as exercise

- your daily intake of food could feed three countries in Africa, for a month

- your doctor privately refers to you as "my house-in-the-Bahamas fund"

- when a car bangs into you, you barely notice while the car is damaged beyond repair

- you are legally required not to jump because the last time you did, it cause an earthquake which was measured at 7.5 on the richter scale

- you have your own postal code

- your blood group is sugar

- you supersize you burger and fries and order a diet coke

- you'd rather die of thirst then go to the kitchen 5 feet away from your room to get a glass of water

- you get invited for an event, your first thought is "how can i get out of it?"

- your insurance company pays you in tubs of your favorite ice cream instead of money

- you haven't watched tv in ages because you can't find the damn remote

The world is going to the dogs

So I was half asleep, lying on my bed, out of sheer exhaustion, having been working the whole day. And then ...

Fine. I know you folks wouldn't believe me anyway. So let me rephrase that.

So I was lying on my couch, almost passed out from having had a little extra to drink than usual, when suddenly I found myself privy to some strange conversation.

I have always suspected that animals speak to each other and just pretend to be dumb in front of us. Yesterday, I got proof. I heard my family's pets talking amongst themselves. Coincidentally, it was about me.

So let's call these pets M, D and S.

Here's whatever part of their conversation I could remember:

M: So he's passed out again on the couch.
D: I'm getting sick of this shit, ya know. This guy has no life.
D: I mean, I'm not trying to judge here, but get a job, buddy.
S: I know!! He just lies around all day doing nothing. What a bum.
M: What are you guys talkin about? Don't you see him typing away on his notebook most of the time?
D: He's probabaly seing some porn again. What a fuckerhead.
D: That's the good thing about being a dog. You don't need porn. You're always naked.
M: You're such a dweeb, you know.
S: Shut up both of you, you'll wake him up.
D: Oh, don't worry. He's not going to wake up for another few hours.
D: Even a bazooka wont be able to wake him up right now.
M: That was funny, *giggle*
D: I'm funny like that, sometimes.
S: Oh, shut the fuck up asshole. I already hear him say that the whole day long.
S: Now you don't start. If I hear it one more time, someone's going to need a rabies injection.
M: I know. He thinks it's funny. Someone needs to tell him that it's the best seller at the lame-o-rama.
M: Lamer than his joke about calling us "Sons-of-Bitches" the whole day long.
M: I mean, for the love of the big woof in the sky, get a new joke. It's been two years, jackass.
D: Oh, he thinks he has a sense of humour.
S: Well, I don't know where he gets such weird ideas from.
S: And he's really been unstopable the last few weeks.
S: Someone's been giving him the wrong idea that he's funny.
M: You know, sometimes, when I hear him talk, I want to kill myself, just to feel a little better.
M: I agree. It's just not worth it.
D: You guys, you should start meditating.
M: Where do you get such weird ideas from?
D: Well, I was hungry and got one of his books to eat, but it was this new age spiritual book and it got interesting.
D: I now know three types of meditation. Yay for me.
D: And, I started my second bok already. I'm currently half-way through something called The Secret.
S: What's it about?
D: It's about positive thinking and shit like that.
D: You need to tell the universe what you exactly want and it ends up giving it to you.
M: Like a drive-in McDonalds?
D: No, not exactly.
S: Then?
D: Well, it's complicated. Too deep for your primitive minds.
M: Who died and made you a neo-guru, huh?
D: You know M, you can be such a bitch sometimes. Bow.
M: Yeah, like totally.
S: You dogs are crazy, you know that.
S: You're stealing and eating too many of his "special cakes".
S: I think you're getting delerious.
M: Oh, man, fuck, those cakes are delicious. They take me to a place I never even new existed.
M: Like a higher ground or something.
D: Forget that. I was talking to you about catharsis.
D: Whenever you get angry at him, just go and pee on his car.
D: He hates that.
D: And I love it when he gets a panic attack everytime I leave my man-juice on his car tires. The expression on his face when he discovers that is priceless.
D: It just makes all his bad one-liners worth listening to.
M: D, stop licking you own balls. You should know how to behave in front of a lady.
S: Like you're a lady. Ha!
M: Well, I'll have you know, that I pee sitting down. Hmph.
S: Oh yeah, that's the most important thing for a lady. You're right. My bad.
D: I'm hungry. I need some chow.
M: Well, I think he got a new batch of his special cakes made today. It's on the table in his room.
S: Let's go.

How to be a dumbass in four easy steps

Step 1: Inspite of having a severe cold, shower with very cold water.

Step 2: Right after the shower, sit in your room with the AC on full blast and the fan running on full speed because "The weather is so bloody humid."

Step 3: Instead of having delicious chicken soup your Mom has made especially for you, go and have a cold can of diet coke. Add ice for extra dumbass points.

Step 4: Refuse to adhere to anyone's advice and have only those kinds of food which aid the frikin flu. Use your own "Hit a cold with loads of ice cream" dumbass logic.

Final Result: End up worse then before and have no one but yourself to blame.

Congratulations, you're now a perfect 10 dumbass. Please take your head out of your derriere and collect your prize.

A two day trip to Urreallyfuckednow town. Enjoy.

Whoever said that happiness is a state of mind was an alcoholic

They can put a man on the moon, send a mission to mars, shoot a camel in the middle of the Kalahari desert from the sky, divide a fucking molecule into sub-particles, but they cannot come up with a cure for the common cold? Priorities, people. Where are our priorities?



****



You're bravely weathering the flu. You fell as irritated and helpless as the guy trying to teach John McCain about the internet. You decide to watch TV to distract yourself from everything. Then you switch it on, expecting to be entertained out of your miseries, when suddenly you see the following message on your tv:



"The STB cannot receive a signal".



You try to stay calm. You restart and try again. Maybe the bad message will go away. It does not. You then remember that it's satellite television. It does not work during rain, tornadoes, eclipses, sunshine, moonlight, boogie nights etc. Basically the equipment is a piece of crap. Then you get more cranky, call up the customer service and ask them to shove the stb up their useless asses. They pretty much don't have an answer to that, so you bang the phone down. Yes, you showed them.

Then you realize, that you still can't see the flippin TV. Aargh.



****



Thinking positively only works when you're high. Or when you're scaling Mount Everest.




****




I have more medicines flowing in my blood stream right now than Courtney Love has in her medicine cabinet. In fact, I think all the bacteria in my veins must be really, really high right now.



****



Does anybody else find it strange that even though I'm heavily drugged, I can still recall who Courtney love is?



****



This has been one boring, big-ass post. However, please do not blame me. Please blame western medicine. Thanks.

Missing Blogger found . . . . . alive

The Blog police has finally managed to locate the missing blogger, Mr Rambunctious Whippersnapper aka Whippy aka Ramby aka RWS aka Ramb (you get the drift).

Mr WhipperSnapper was found today, lying unconscious on his bed.

He was wearing a black t-shirt which had the words "Mayor of WhipperSnapperville" on the front and "I disappear like that, sometimes" on the back.

The police got suspicious when various blogs started to miss a few stupid, lame, repetitive and moronic comments. It led them to the conclusion that Mr WhipperSnapper is either dead or in a coma. Sadly, he was just missing.

After they found him, there were various attempts to revive him. One fine day a mysterious lady appeared wearing a dress made out of the Union Jack and threw some dew drops on his face. The next day a minister wearing a bandage on one hand and holding a dumbbell on the other, came in and read out some hitherto unheard of psalms from the bible. Also, all the time there was a fly buzzing around him, watching his every move, clamoring for him to wake up.

Then, thanks to his co-conspirators, after a few days, suddenly, he woke up, still a little sedated, muttering "I need to blog ... I need to blog .....", over and over again.

----------------------------------------------------------------

I know, I know. Very, very cheesy. But I couldn't resist. We shall resume normal programming shortly. You all are wonderful people.

I can't think of a title for every post

So one of my neighbors is getting married. His funeral marriage procession is just passing by. The band is playing some irritating hindi song which I have drowned out with some hip-hop. I'm practical like that, sometimes.

I don't know why but this suddenly reminded me of the time when I wanted a traditional wedding. That was very long ago, much before I had discovered my inner Satan and dispensed with any and all traditional garbage.

I actually felt bad for my parents. Which in itself is new. They would never have this whole big-traditional-wedding with cute-invitations and multiple-cuisines as far as I'm concerned. Not that they would be surprised. I am anyways a big disappointment and have never made them happy, really. Except that February in 2002 when I suddenly got good grades for the first and last time. No, I hadn't studied, the person sitting next to me was really easy to bribe.

I wonder why suddenly I am concerned with other's happiness? It's quite a strange and unusual feeling. I think it was the vegetarian food I had for lunch. Vegetarian food makes you think. Note to self: Please stick to destroying the ecological balance. Nothing is more noble, really. Dumb green vegetables. Gimme a steak anyday.

When I was younger, I thought I'd have India's first traditional gay wedding. Be the first to send out those groom weds groom cards. But then some stupid lesbian couple beat me to it. Sheesh. Women. They just have to do everything first, init? I mean you got multiple orgasms, let us have something for crying out loud.

Anyways, realistically, if I actually have a wedding, (which I doubt because nobody really likes me), it'll probably be in some first world country which has gay rights and all, with three or four people as witnesses and some kooky old judge pronouncing us as "Partner & Partner". And then we'll head to a dinner for eight at some overpriced restaurant. I mean where's the romance in that? Stupid homophobic straight people.

You know you've spent a quarter of a century on earth

- if you saw the first Die Hard in a theater during it's original run

- when you can speak of a time when George Micheal and Micheal Jackson were cool

- if you ever owned a Nintendo, a gameboy and a sony walkman

- if you played snake and brickbuilder on your computer

- if you ever owned a dot matrix printer

- when you couldn't imagine an Oscar or Grammy award ceremony without Billy Crystal hosting

- when you remember a time Woody Allen had not yet become a creepy old man and Oprah just had a few hundred million dollars

- if you remember when people used to say "Can we look it up on that internet thing" instead of "google it, bitch"

- when being an Indian tourist in a foreign land meant being asked about "where you park those damn elephants?" or "Is snake charming a high income profession?" or "You mean to say you have electricity in India?"

- if your angst filled teenage days were provided a soundtrack by the music of Linkin Park and Korn

- if you had a huge collection of Simpsons memorabilia

- when you remember a time that music channels used to play only music

- if you used ICQ and IRC chat to connect with all your friends

- if you ever thought that an Indian winning the booker prize was a big deal

- you used to have two words for your friends and teachers (a reference only wwe fans would understand)

- your first cellphone was as big and heavy as a brick

- if you remember the controversy caused by that episode of Seinfeld when they talked about "masturbation" (without actually using the word) for the first time on prime time television

- if you remember the pre-K Jo-ed Shah Rukh Khan and a moderately angry Amitabh Bachchan with real black hair

- if you remember when there was no Gmail and your hotmail account only had 2.5 MB storage

- if you had a huge collection of Archie, TinTin and Asterix & Obelix Comics

- you thank your lucky stars that you were not born at an age when harry potter came to life

- you're a fan of David E Kelly shows

- if you ever thought that reality shows were just a passing fad

- if you've hummed MC Hammer songs

- if you remember dancing to "Everybody by Backstreet boys" when you were really, really, really drunk ... i mean reallllly drunk!!

- when you remember paying for music

- your fist blog was your diary

- if you've ever "chilled out" or made someone "talk to you hand" or exchanged wasssssuuupppppp's with your friends

Saying Goodbye

"You need to go out a little" he said. "You can't stay with me the whole day".

"I can. I don't want to be anywhere else but here". I told him.

He looked at me and smiled. He really did not want me to leave.

"Will you promise me something?", he asked me.

"What?", I inquired.

"That you will love me no matter what. That even when I grow old, start losing my memory and appear haggard & wilted compared to the young ones, you will still love me". I could feel that he was scared. My heart ached for him.

"I promise to be by your side for as long as I shall live", I assured him.

He sighed.

"I need another promise", he said, looking away from me.

"What now?", I said, in a mock-irritated tone.

"If I .... cease to function one day,.." he said carefully picking his words, "you will find someone else. You will not grieve over me. And you will give away parts of my body to those who need them. So that I can live another life through them".

I didn't answer.

"Promise me", he demanded.

I nodded my head. It was like acknowledging the elephant in the room. I sighed.

I didn't have enough strength to look up and face him.

"Get the new model to replace me. The one you had your eye on", he told me, half in seriousness, half in jest.

"No one can take your place. You're special. You will always have a place in my heart", I told him.

I meant that and I wanted him to know that.

He then appeared to go into a long slumber.

We knew what was coming. The virus had taken over him. It was just a matter of time.

I thought of all the time we has spent together. All those times we shared a good laugh, those times when he bore the brunt of my anger to relive me of my stress, those long Saturday afternoons we spent playing games with each other. Those winter evenings which we passed reading books and listening to my choice of music and all the good and bad movies we saw together.

I still remember everything like it was yesterday.

We tried all that we could to keep him alive. To make him live another day, to witness one more sunset.

However, the virus was too strong for him to survive it.

Then , suddenly, in a flash, he was gone. Gone forever.




That's when I knew that my favorite computer had processed it's last binary digit.

I'm nice like that . . . sometimes

So I'm kind of in the middle of an important decision about which book to read next and then suddenly I get informed that there are some people who have come to see me. I wonderd who they were because usually people are polite and well mannered enough to call before coming to see me. This way I can make an excuse to not meet the people I don't want to. Nothing personal, but I just don't like to meet people who just love having the same conversation over and over again. I mean, college and school were a few years ago, get over it and learn to talk about books, music and politics. That is why it's important to screen your visitors.

Anyway, I go to receive these people and I am surprised to see them. Because I don't remember who they are and what connection I have to them. And the worse thing is, they are very happy to see me. Then in my mind, I eliminate various possiblities about their identity. First, I rule out the possibility of them being my cousins. Clearly, these people look like they survive on two meals a day, so I cannot be related to them and even if I was, they wouldn't be happy to see me at all. So then I think that they must be from my ex-workplace. Because I remember I used to ignore most of the people there under the pretense of "working". And I used to avoid going to office parties by telling them I use my off time helping orphans. Helping how, you ask? Well by having all the vodka I can get my hands on so that there is none left for the kids. I'm nice like that, sometimes.

Moving on, I'm thinking that either they are from my school or college, albeit from the section of those people that I ignored. Which could a lot of people. Or maybe they are printer salesmen? Who the fuck knows? So I thought I'll find out.

While I'm thinking and trying to figure out their identity, those two people extend their hand, which after pondering about it for two minutes, I shake. Then, they proceeded to talk to me as if they were good friends with me. I am really surprised because I don't think I know them from Adam. I take out my phone and send a text to my brother and Dad to keep an ear open in case they hear me shouting for assistance. Not that I would need any, these people look like I could take them both and still have one hand free for eating ice cream, but people have all sorts of weapons these days.

Anyways, they tell me some story of being our neighbors once upon a time and me playing with them when I was a kid and teaching them english and about rolling their r's or something. Sounds like me. Though I wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was appaled by the shirt one of them was wearing. It clearly looked like it was made from three other shirts and some leftover tablecloth. Anyways, I don't judge people like that, so I tried to make conversation. Maybe they wanted money? Anyways, one of them told me about his sister's wedding. Since I assumed both of them were brothers, as they had the whole "I-need-a-job" look going on, I congratulated both of them. I'm nice like that, sometimes. Turns out they were just friends. Doesn't matter, no harm, no foul.

Anyway, they wanted to inquire about one of the people who I supposedly worked with. I told them I really don't know much about 95% of the people I worked with, except maybe rating them on the bad emails they write. I also add that if he still works at my ex-workplace even after 4 years, he must be either very patient or have no talent whatsoever. I also told them that they could've just called me and asked me all this and that there was no need to come so far (I assumed they live somehwere far off, I didn't bother to ask where). Then they asked for my number and I think I gave them one of my out-of-work numbers because I really don't want to be their friend. Nothing personal, but I just don't see ourselves having anything in common to talk about. I mean, clearly they don't have time to read books or watch and understand Boston Legal.

And as I always do, I took the opportunity to educate them on calling beforehand when coming to meet someone. Just dropped a hint or two, nothing major. As I said, I'm nice like that sometimes.

The Rated R Rant

Warning: The following blog post is not suitable for people with low tolerance quotient for the f-word and for those who have a weak heart because of language and content. Skip it if you fall in any of the above demographics. For the rest, come let's all get angry together and box a punching bag. And if you still read it and find it offensive, well, pardon my French.
------------

- People have got to enter rehab for facebook addiction. No, I don't care if you're out shopping for your wedding dress or you just broke your arm. It really would make no difference to my life if you didn't invite me to contests which ask such high-brow questions like which serial killer you think like or what your blond index is. Also, there is a reason I have not contacted you in the past five years, I fucking don't want to. Superpoke this, , bitch.

- I beseech people to stop making the same old fat jokes. Aright. We're fat. We eat. Try to think of something more original, you malnutritioned moron. At least don't insult my intelligence and move your lazy ass to google for some new material. I love to laugh at myself but at least go beyond the "haha!! you will break the chair" or the classic "Do you want to supersize that? Lol." joke. I'm really not amused. The only thing that is supersized is the duration of your stay at the lame-o-rama motel. And the next guy who looks at me when the lift beeps because it is overloaded, as there are more people than it can carry, is going to have to get my shoe surgically removed from his ass.

- I really don't understand how people can talk about stuff they don't know with such authority. If you fucking don't beleive in same-sex marriage, then don't marry someone of the same sex. It's as simple as that. Elementary, my dear homophobe. Or do you want me to spell it out for you, you sanctimonious, righteous, self-loathing, miserable, unhappy, son of a bitch? It's not a fucking disease you moron. You're kids are not going to catch it.

- People have to stop getting so hyper over the iPhone. It's a bleeding phone, dammit. Were you drugged as a child? Is it really that important to you that you stand in line, without any food or water, without using any facilities, from 5 am in the morning, for more than 4 or 5 hours, and then being told that the store is out of stock? Don't you realize that the iPhone is nothing but an iWash and a real iPain in the ass? No offense meant, though.

- People from my old workplace have got to stop calling me and complaining. I mean, if you really feel that you're being screwed and not being recognized for your hard work and shit, then do what I did, RESIGN, motherfuckers. Don't keep crying like a little girl. Even if you are a "little" girl.

- People need to stop doling out free advice. Do I really care what big-loser-with-no-life-and-three-kids thinks about the virtues of marriage? Do you really beleive that I'm going to take someone who has a hairdo which was in vogue in 1925 seriously and heed his career advice? The only people whose advice I care about are the ones who can tell me to go "Do what you want and go fuck off and die" after I consistently don't listen to them and all the people who read this blog (give yourself a big hug, dear reader). Besides them, unless you're asked, please have a nice, warm, hazelnut flavored cup of shut the fuck up. For example, I don't go around telling certain people that they if they have kids it would be a crime against humanity because the kids will be born ugly and dumb and no one deserves that. At least not to their face. I write them letters on a nice piece of stationary. Common courtesy biatch.

So who do YOU want to rant against?