The Hagiographa of a Lotus-Eater

Before we start, let's get two things out of the way. Firstly, why does this blog exist? I recently came across the news of a webinar that attempted something similar, teaching men how to date, or up their game or something like that. And it was hilarious how they aggressively dismissed the only woman who bothered to join the webinar to tell them where they went wrong. It's almost like teaching people how to convert to Christianity but setting fire to the first cathedral you encounter. So I decided to write a blog about the same topic instead, and simplify things a bit. Also, blogs can't be interrupted by anyone with logic and reasoning. Secondly, this blog is only for men. Thank you. Now, it can be a daunting task to be where I am, but as your messiah (I have had multiple women voluntarily let me coexist next to them on several occasions), let me tell you that it all boils down to five simple steps. Step 1: Don't. Do not get a woman. They're women. Not a priz

Today, a friend fell in love. I know it sounds cliche. To some, it's about sharing a cigarette in the middle of a summer shower. To some, it's the whole 'I can feel the wind, I want to run free right now'. To some, it's just being. Just sharing a comfortable warmth in the company of each other, irrespective of how many silences that warmth contains. But in every case, when you know you've found the person (and I truly, really mean the person)  there's a rush of blood to your brains. And brains are always  inside the cranium. Just saying. In every case, though, there's a sense of euphoria. A fleeting, ephemeral, temporary, whatever-you-call-it sense of euphoria. And it's altruistic. Suddenly, as soon as you ask her out and she says yes, you want to tell the world and everyone in it how much you love everything. Scream it to your friends. Hug the trees. Admire the concrete. You get it. And today, a friend fell in love. But why do we deal with re

Before I start attempting this, there are certain things the reader must know, the first of which is that this is not a review. Well, at least it doesn’t conform to the commonly accepted definition of one. It isn’t meant to give you my opinion on the different things I observed in the movie*, while providing you with some running commentary/side note all along. This is a token of thanks, the purpose of which is not to provide you with a reason to watch the short, but to provide you with one to appreciate it. So if you haven’t watched it yet, do it  (Or be prepared for me to spoil it all for you). And then maybe read this (Or not. Your choice.). Two, I am not a person who possesses any knowledge about film making, the aspects of it, or anything related to it at all. I am a mere layman, writing like I usually do, not as a form of art, but more as a response to some stimulus that initiates some form of a thought process in me. If you tell me about the lighting or the various camera

Fuck. F**k. ****. “…exchanged harsh words…”                 The first one’s from a popular website with millions of readers. Picture CollegeHumour or Cracked. The second one is what Indian Express would do. The third one is The Times of India and the fourth, The Hindu.                 Now my question to you all is, why is the media under so much restriction? Because it will corrupt the younger generation? Now I understand that this is hypocrisy at the highest level (I wrote an article about how TV corrupts young minds) but a generation that is more open and casual about abusive language can never be corrupted by anything, least of all the Indian media.                 The purpose of media is to present the facts as and when they happen and there is seldom any scope for putting out opinions. And very rarely does anyone utilise the opportunity, which is funny, you’d think. If any person, at any point of time, were to sit down and write at random, all he can natu

The ball goes high up in the air. The fielder’s running in as quickly as possible. The ball’s still in the air, but the altitude’s falling, and falling rapidly. The fielder’s still not positioned himself at the right place. Still quite a bit of ground to cover. The ball is only a dozen feet or so away from the ground, almost as far away as the fielder is from the ball. And the moment arrives. The man in the green jersey throws himself at it. A giant leap forward. The ball falls perfectly into the comfortable palms of the player. Out. The finger’s been pointed upwards, and a billion hearts broken at the sight of the batsman walking. Cricket. It has been defined as everything from being a funny game to being a gentlemanly profession, but here in India, we take that religion for granted. A country which is often accused of communal violence and discrimination based on faith is no different when it comes to a 22 yard long temple. People still fight across borders when it’s an Indo-Pa

Hi. Two decades and my first hi. And I suppose “Why so late?” isn't the question. There’s so much to procrastinate. The right thing to ask would be “If nothing got you slamming keys in the past twenty years, what is it finally?” That. Right. Rewind a few days. Say hello to continuous internal assessment exam and people trying really hard to get me serious. No sir, I am not someone with an academic history worth showing off. And I am putting less effort into changing that than I am at trying to think of a witty end to this sentence. So coming back to where we were, the devil was already working overtime in his workshop when there was the mini “Aha!” moment and I recollected one of my friends telling me about a blog he wrote. A tap, tap here and a click, click there and voila! There it is. “Nociception”, says the title. Nothing but pure, undiluted Hindustani music. So undiluted that I didn't understand more than half of its content. But I thoroughly appreciated what