Let's remix a patriotic song. No one cares after that.

It's been a while since I bitched/ranted (yes, those words imply opposite meanings for me) about an ad or a campaign. So here we are, with possibly the single most often run ad on TV currently: DLF IPL.




The ad is so magnificently bad, I'm not even going to get into the asininity of the carpet running across what I presume is intended to be the four corners of the country. I'm not even going to say anything about the sheer fucking randomness of the carpet travelling all over the country and ending at one stadium where suddenly the team Captains appear with children waving their flags. I will ask just one question.

Why did the carpet lead from the Himalayas to a stadium, and if it did, did those poor kids have to run the entire length of it?

Fine, so that's technically two questions. Whatever.

And while we're talking ads, Have you seen these?

Update (08/03/2010): It's not even a friggin' original idea.

Help this poor lady out, please!

Today, out of the blue, this wonderful lady by the name of Corine emailed me at my work address. I'm not sure I can help her out. Can you guys?

I hope all is well with you,including your health, job etc ?. My name again is Corine. I am 25 years old single lady,never been married before. I am from Sierra Leone in west Africa. Iam Easy going,down to earth,loving,caring,with a good sense of humor.some of my hobbies includes,long walking,reading,listening to music,gadening and swimming. I am not a trouble person,but peace loving kind of.

Presently,I am residing in the missionary here in Senegal,where I ran to for safety,because of the political civil war in Sudan. I am suffering in pains here in this missionary here and I really need you to help me out.I need your help also to get my Inheritance from the bank if you can. I will explain more about it to you when we get to that. In brief,My late father left me an inheritance in a bank.He deposited some amount of money in the bank and he used my name as the next kin as his only child. I need help from a nice person with a good heart like you to help me get the money out from the bank so i can come out of this situation that i am into right now and start a new and better life.

My late father Dr. F.D Conteh,was A wealthy business man in gold and dimaond in the western Darfur Sudan  and in Sierra Leone until his death at the general hospital in free town where he was rushed to after he was shot. During the war,the rebel being loyal to one of the greedy business partner of my late father,attacked our house one early morning and killed my mother in cold blood,Injuired my father seriously and he later died some weeks after in Free town,Sierra leone.Is only  me that is alife and so for fear I managed  to run away to this country,Senegal where i now live in the missionary quaters as a refugee. I was able to escape through the help of the UN army though they did not know i was in the car until they crossed the border.Rev Arunna Frances,is the one incharge of this place and it is from  his office computer that i use to send you this E-mail most times.I only use it when he is less busy and just for some minutes.

Please,i will also like to know more about you.Your kind of person,your likes and dislikes and the things you feel i should know about you. I will send you  my photos when i hear from you again.

Do have a nice day until i hear from you and please write soon.

Yours Corine.

If anyone wants to tell Corine about 'their kind of person', please email her at kabbia204@yahoo.com.

We both knew we wanted a dog. She wanted to call him something silly like Booboo or Appu. I wanted to sound cool and name him a punctuation mark.

We went with Apostrophe.

Service With A Heavily Powdered Smile

Go on, sir. Be a good vegetarian. Enjoy your wada-sambhar. Yes, that’s right. That’s a fancy-looking piece of bread to go with it. No, sir, it’s a very popular combination.

And you sir? Oh! Non-veg? You’re the rebellious, atheist type, aren’t you? With the tshirt over your shirt and the casually spiked hair. I bet you’ve got either rock or hip-hop music playing on those earphones. Rock, isn’t it? Here you go, sir.

What’s that, sir? The best part of the meal is undoubtedly the sealed packet of butter? Why, thank you, sir! I placed it on that tray myself. Yes sir? Oh, you thought the potatoes were particularly bad? Yes, that’s a special recipe; they’re just boiled, then lightly fried and sprinkled with stale, finely chopped coriander to lend the appearance of having been flavoured with some exotic European/
Continental herbs. Anything else, sir? You’re wondering what the little black things in the omelette were, since it had no discernible taste to speak of? I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest notion, sir. Dog hair, perhaps? Glad to have been of service.

Tea or coffee, sir? Wait, let me guess. You’re young and anglicized. Coffee, I’m sure. Oh, and you’re one of those pretentious types who have it black, with just a dash of sugar, no? Aha! I knew it!

Sir, you really must stop pushing that button so much. We have other passengers to attend to as well. Oh, just one statement and one question and then you’ll leave me alone the rest of the flight? Splendid! That’ll be lovely, sir. Yes? You’d like to thank me for the warm, flavoured water that I told you was coffee? You’re welcome sir! Anytime! Now, that question? Rather quickly, if you don’t mind; there are others waiting. Why does my head resemble a dog? I find that question offensive, sir. Please remain seated, sir. No, you may not have another packet of butter. No, sir, you can’t get out of your seat. Just over an hour to go, sir. Please remain in your seat, sir. Yes, we will land at some point, sir.

Thank you for flying with us!

(Inspired by the wonderful flights to and from Delhi I just had. On a side note, has anyone seen the wonderful instructions in airline lavatories? They’re well placed, since I’ve always thought of airlines as the perfect place to dispose of soiled underwear… Click to make it all big and sexy.)

An Unequal Relationship

They'd made love like gentle summer winds. Fucked like wild rabbits on the brink of extinction.

She lay back, dreamy, exhausted. He reached over to the dresser and lit a cigarette. Adoringly, she whispered in his ear, "I love you."

Absently, he replied, "Yeah, me too," contemplating the benefits of mushrooms in a cheese omelette.

Does ink die?

...as it dries on a page, spread out into incoherently scrawled symbols?

Or do those symbols grant it a new life eternal?

Just a thought.

One Word

He cradled his head in his hands. Breathed slowly, deliberately. His head was pounding. His eyes were close to watering. And every muscle in his body burnt. All he wanted was to find a soft mattress of some kind and pass out on it.

The phone rang.

The headset was already plugged in. He looked at the display. That sappy executive at the associate firm. Again. No doubt asking his stupid, ignorant, inane questions. Again. Refusing to understand logic. Again. Trying to get three weeks’ work done in two days. Again.

He answered.

The customary bout of arguments ensued. He tried keeping his calm. Gritted his teeth and rationally explained why it couldn’t be done in such little time. His calm lasted 30 seconds. As he exploded on the phone for the second time that day, at least three people looked up from their machines, eyebrows cocked. Others quietly, and wisely, chuckled to themselves.

He hung up.

He looked around, daring anyone to say something. A few gazes lingered, then quailing, went back to their work. Rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms, he rested his head against his desk. More than anything else, he wished for the day to end.

His message tone beeped.

Certain he’d be looking at another mountain of work, he looked down at the screen. A pleasant surprise awaited him. It wasn’t from the account executive. Or biz-dev. Or his boss. Or any of the clients. He opened the message. It contained just one word.

Coffee?

He looked up and across the room at her. Their eyes met and they both smiled. As one, they got up and walked to the pantry.

And just like that, the first post in the new year gets dedicated to Pink. Because even now, she has no idea what that ping did for me.

Quiet, Cold Nights

That’s when I miss you most.

Words

They’re here somewhere. It’s almost three in the morning and I can’t sleep because I can feel them. They won’t let me.

They're somewhere underneath. Waiting. Crouching. Ready to pounce. Looking for a way out. Stringing themselves together. Lazily floating through each other, joining, disassembling. I close my eyes and the letters are right there, behind my eyelids. All jumbled up and swimming around me randomly.

I have to let them out. They leave me no choice.

 

I’m glad they don’t.

Landmark, you disappoint me.

I visit you often. There is no way you can deny that. I come see you about once a month, on average. Not only do I visit you, I spend time with you. I wander your shelves,  lovingly caressing the spines of volume after volume. Picking them out at random, reading the blurbs, even a few pages. I've even 'stolen' three books by reading them entirely in your hallowed halls.

And you know me. Almost every time I've walked into your outlets, I've walked out with at least one heavy bag, filled with books. And you have records of the kind of books I've picked up. You remember them all, don't you? Of course you do. Don't pretend. You even made me one among 'The Fellowship'. The Fellowship, Landmark. Know what that means? It means you promised to value me. To remember things about me. Wish me on my birthday. Send me a little reminder when I'd stayed away too long. To let me know when that book I had my eye on came back into stock. To gently prod me when new titles released in my favourite sections, softly filling the words, "Come see me again..." in my mind.

Then why? Why did you send me this, Landmark?






No, really. What did I do to deserve this? I don't seem to remember buying the Twilight series.

Then why?

I am heartbroken.

For those of you who miss me loads

So there’s a wedding happening in my house. Going to be busy running around organising and whatnot. Naturally, no big posts coming.

However, I will be microblogging (140 characters and all that) from my phone once in a bit (read: every couple of hours). If you’re interested at all (which I know you will be *heh heh heh*), the action is all on my Twitterpage.

Seeya in a bit!

For two and a half years, my baby cousin sister, who I adore, has been asking me – no, begging me – to get framed the painting that she stayed up three nights to make and give me as a birthday present.

Today, I lost it a cab in front of VT while taking it to get it framed.

Now Playing: My Life

This may sound a little repetitive to the two of you who used to read my blog a year or so ago. But then again, seeing how my posts aren’t that memorable, I think it’s safe to proceed.

Doesn’t it just knock the wind out of you when the radio (or your shuffle playlist) pulls up a song, out of the blue, that perfectly describes the state of your mind?

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Because I don’t have the time

This was meant to be at least two long beautiful posts, but it won’t be.

Two things on my brain right now, no time to post:

1. I’ve switched jobs. Started two days ago.
2. Dad’s in hospital since two nights. Is better now, thanks for the wishes in advance.

I’ll be back when I can.

Why I Need A Stressbuster. And Fast.

A good few years back, when I was your quintessential lad o' pairts (see, I'm always striving to improve your linguistic skills and general knowledge), I spent about five hours a day generally running around and playing cricket and climbing trees and being a general menace to society and whatnot. And in that, my youthful exuberance and exploratory aggression had a healthy outlet.

Since the end of college and the time I sold my soul to the Devil (it's so easy doing business with oneself, it's not funny) (read: got a job), I haven't had the time for any of that. And I miss it. The 'menace to society' bit most of all. = )

Anyhoo. The point of all this rambling: It's been almost two years now since I've had a decent outlet for my frustration. The closest thing I had to it was our office LAN parties, and those were more a mental release than anything else (seriously, how much physical frustration can you wear down by yelling at people to stop giving you headshots and then screaming jubilantly as you snipe them the next round and immediately getting fragged by one of their teammates and then setting off to crush them both the next round and buying the most expensive guns only to have yourself killed in like 15 seconds and it's a colossal waste of money, so you start going at them with the deagle just to act all 'oh, look at me, I'm playing with a mofo'ing bad-ass pistol'... oh, sorry).

You get my point, yesno? No? Umm.. too bad.

Again. Anyhoo. Moral of the story. I need to start playing a sport or start being physically violent in some way and work off my frustration. Why, you ask? Well:

As usual, clicking on the image
will make it all big and awesome.

Awesomeness, no?

Yeah, for those who didn't already guess, and especially for those who did, that screen is supposed to show me the time, battery charge, signal, etc., etc.

Yeah. Awesomeness, no?