Sunday, May 30, 2010


I am over 30. I went shopping for clothes.
I learnt that boys are embracing the lungi-cum-chuddee look and that girls only wear clothes that require instruction manuals.

Awesome prize for anyone who guesses its gender.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


24th May 2010, Monday:
"By the way," she continued, "I'm STILL not your whore." 
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour," Static texted, "I thought about it. And my answer is no." 
Static checks her bank balance. It's abysmally low. She hasn't worked in nearly a month. She hasn't written in almost as long. Next month's rent. Next month's rent. And oh ya - next month's rent.
Phone rings. She picks up.

"Static! How're you?!?!? It's me, Chutiya Misra."
"Yeah. What's up?"
"So? Have you heard the latest about me?"
"I'm in Delhi. Working with Fantasmorgasmic Films."
"So, I have a job for you. Only you can do it. Also, no one else was free."
"I need you to write for the InternationallyNarcissistic Channel. Investigative documentary. Thrill, intrigue, shock, tears. Blood."
"Subject: Mangalore crash."
"Yeah man! Think about it. First on scene. Beating MyMomma'sAnMP Productions to it."
"Let me think about it."
"Money no object."
"I'll let you know."
"Ok. And by the way, all's forgiven."

23rd May 2010, Sunday
She lies sprawled on her bed, watching the news. A young boy of 13 is in shock. He has a mike thrust in his face. 'Beta, your parents and siblings perished in the crash. How do you feel?'
He cannot speak, he cannot cry, he can barely stand. He is of no use to the reporter.

In deep anguish, Static tweets.

7th Jan 2009, Wednesday:
Email exchange: Static to Chutiya Misra "If I'm reading this correctly, you want me steal SuperMoneyful project from under Esteemed Colleague's nosehair?"
Email exchange: Chutiya Misra to Static "I have bought your soul for pittance. Go forth and kick Esteemed Colleague in the groin."
Email exchange: Static to Chutiya Misra "I won't do it, you mammoth turd."
Email exchange: Chutiya Misra to Static "Don't lecture me on professional ethics, slut. I own your ass. I am King of the Universe. Hahahahhaha."
Email exchange: Static to Chutiya Misra "Give me my money, bitch. I'm outta here."

13th Nov 2008, Thursday:
On recce for the ThisWillWinAwards project. Chutiya Misra & Static check into hotel.

Chutiya Misra: Should I book one room or two?
Static: Errr...what?!
Chutiya Misra: (wink, wink) One room will save money. One bed, hehe.
Static: Yeeeeeaaah. I don't think so.
Chutiya Misra: Oh ho! OtherIntern was more fun. Why not you?
Static: Because I'd like my own bed. Oh, and I'm not your whore.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Ain't Unemployment The BEST?

Two weeks since I had me a job. Two weeks of doing nothing but playing House Frau and becoming One with the Downloads. Two weeks since anyone spoke to me in the language of pay cheques.

They say it's a phase. I dunno. Is brain atrophy a phase?

Ain't Geert sexy?

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Lost But Looking I?...

Ma'am, just lie back down.

Where am I?

You're in the Intensive Care Unit. You've been in an accident.


Ma'am please you need to lie down. Your body's been through a lot. No cause for worry now, but you need to rest.

But I...It's coming back to me...I've lost it....

Lost what, ma'am?

I...this was alive. I held it in my palm. Like this, see?

What is it? Can you describe it?

I don't know...what to call it. It's mine. All purple and gnarly. Bruised but beautiful. And alive. God, I'm so sorry I've lost it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Please! Ma'am, you have to calm down. Are you in pain? I could give you something for it.

No! No...I need to stay awake. Alert. I need to find it. I can't go home without it. People....people are waiting for me. They're depending on me.

Breathe, ma'am. I'm here to help you. Nothing's so lost that you can't find it again. Here. Take my hand. Now think. Where could it be? Where did you last see it?

I don't know, I don't remember.

I got you, ma'am. Now think harder. Don't you worry about a thing, I'll take care of the details. Just give me a clue.

I gave it...passed it around so had such strong rhythm. But it's weaker now...

So it's an instrument? It makes music?

Oh yes, beautiful music. But I never learnt to play it well.

No worries ma'am. You know what they say - it ain't over till the fat lady sings. And I'm not singing.

Thanks Nurse, you're very kind. But don't you have other patients to take care of?

Uh-huh. Look child, look to your side - is that what you're looking for?

Huh? What?

The monitor...those strong strokes. Stronger than ever.

Is it...did you fix it...?

Yes, we did. Now close your eyes. Get some rest.

Diff of Op

My mother and I pretty much disagree on how she brought me up.
I say she did a bang up job.
She says I'm unmarried.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

No Place Like Home

Last week 23 year old Nirupama Pathak died. Under mysterious circumstances, they said. Smothered, not suicide. 3 months pregnant, others said. Choosing the wrong man was her mistake, it was reported.

I believe her biggest mistake was going home. Because, as it turns out, women - girls - like her have no home.

Home is where a woman returns to replenish her soul. It's a place where she knows she will be loved no matter what choices she made out there in the real world. Home is where her wounds are soothed, where she puts her feet up and allows those who claim to love her to wipe the worry lines off her brow. Home is where mothers, fathers, siblings, partners and children rally around & promise to protect her against all odds. Home is safe.

I went home to my parents yesterday. They don't understand many of my choices. We've fought emphatically and disagreed in obscenely loud silences. We are not what Karan Johar would call strictly functional. Yet, when I enter that door I know this strange family of mine will defend me, not do me, to death. Honour for them, is having me as part of their world.

The tragedy is not that this beautiful young thing died along with her unborn child. It's that she was throttled by those who never thought of her as their own. That she had the misfortune of being born in a home where labels trumped her heart. That 23 years of living & loving meant nothing at all, in the end.

And the biggest tragedy of all: Being born to a mother who never had a home either.
That girl never stood a chance.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Really, people...Part III: Ad Nauseum

I love Indian advertising. The Bajaj bulb ad ("Jab main chhota ladka thha..."), the Fevicol series, the Happydent ad and Vodafone pug? Good stuff there. For the most part.

As for the rest...
Forget the rampant sexism (Tanishq wedding jewelery ad anyone?: the archetype of the independent Indian woman being lured by bling, like a cud-chewing cow...also commented on by fellow blogger).
Forget the ridiculous fear-mongering (fear of sunlight, aging, rice, singlehood, ad infinitum). That's staple.   

Because lately, there's been even more insidious shit going on. For some reason we have turned on Africans and it makes me cringe right down to my toe nails. The new Sprite ad shows two ditzes in a jungle. One of them with a handbook on how to deal with African tribals (because, God forbid there should be any other type of African), which he proceeds to do with a jhingalala type Vyjanthimala dance. I don't know how this ad ends because I can never see it through (if one must be racist & stereotype, I'm hoping the tribals turn cannibalistic and eat that porcine motherfucker).

I thought this ad was the most abysmal low we could sink to. Until I saw one so disgusting that my brain retched out any memory of the brand name. I do know it's for a lemon drink (tried searching for the ad online. Failed). The ad shows an African man (again, loin-cloth'd, hut-dwelling, cave-man type) in the desert, parched and trying desperately to collect water in some kind of pot. Hours go by and he manages to get a few drops. He lifts the pot above his head to take the much needed sip. A passerby (cave man 2) enters frame, distracts thirsty cave man 1. Cave man 1 misses his mark, water spills onto dry land and disappears into it. The ad ends when Cave man 1, enraged, chases Cave man 2 around the one straw hut that stands in the desert. Cut to look-ma-I'm-funny tagline and big graphic of beverage bottle.

It's bad enough that we reduce an entire continent to a caricature, that we're ignorant about its culture & people, but to mock its misfortunes and worse still, to use it to sell some lame-ass, over-priced synthetic lemon drink is something I simply cannot stomach (Not feeling well, madam? Nimbu paani?)

Here's a concept, then: How about an ad for a brand of luggage. Luggage so solid, it survives terrorist attacks at railway stations & 5 star hotels. Hahaha...look at that goofy Kasab-lookalike wasting his bullets on our faux-leather finish...that'll show him.
Buy that bag wontcha?

Bit much? Ya. It's late. I'm being stupid. That's what happens when I watch too much TV.