How To Tell People They Suck.....

The world is filled with people having an ambition to be something that they are genuinely not capable of.  Every third person is a photographer, every fifth person is a DJ and one out of five people turn out to be a self proclaimed singer or a poet. One thing common about all of them is that they are all victims of a chain of lies. 

  

One does not choose to be a world class wannabe. He/she is moulded into one. I am expected to visit this South Indian Mallu God temple every once in a while, which I do without a second thought because they serve the most amazing Prasadam my critic of a tongue has ever tasted. But off late a problem has emerged and my visits have been next to Nil. The problem is in the shape of a middle aged woman cursed with the voice of an overly enthusiastic frog. Even Autotune will be vain in its attempt to make her voice bearable.  Every Saturday without fail, the woman croaks sings her own compositions, praising the Lord sitting in the sanctum sanatorium and one must appreciate her audacity to do so by using a Microphone. Call it pity or the absence of guts, no one including the beggars sleeping outside the temple has ever told her about how her singing can make a person question his own existence. Even her husband doesn’t stop her from being subjected to the secret & silent mockery of the people. Every Saturday the Lord decides to call it quits and the visiting pilgrims return back home as zombies.

Why cannot people be honest? Sometimes a criticism should not be taken with a pinch of salt because they are facts and however brutal it is you have to accept how you suck at something that you truly are passionate about. Now I love dancing and after a few embarrassing efforts in the club and a few real friends who made me face the fact that while dancing I look worse than an Orangutan gyrating, I had to silently accept that like most of the Mallu Men, even I a woman cannot dance. Not that I dint take dance lessons after that. Still, I suck and I am fine with that.

But then again the world is full of mean bastards who get sadistic pleasure in seeing someone being mocked by half the world for showcasing an art they suck at but have not been told about it yet. A friend from my college has a DSLR camera which was gifted to him from a now dead relative of his. He loves it and he clicks everything including an artistic pattern coincidentally left by a pigeon dropping right outside the college canteen. Everyone knows he is terrible at it and at one point I told him in person that I detest his photographs. But how can one opinion stand against the strong word of his close friends. Real friends are those who tell you that you suck and help you get through it like cheesecake rather than helping you set up a fan page on Facebook and laugh at you with the rest of the crowd. His pictures range from clicks of broken headphones to close-ups of a cat licking its privates. No exaggeration here.

So next time you see someone pursuing an art they truly suck at, let them know about it. They might never talk to you again, but I guess you could live with that. Who knows, they might even thank you later.  And when I say that you tell them they suck at it, I don’t mean “OH FUCK! YOUR PHOTOGRAPHS WOULD MAKE EVEN MONA LISA FROWN. YOU SUCK!!”. Let them know that you appreciate how passionate they are about something but maybe they should work towards learning and improving in their area of interest before publicizing it.  But there are some brats who constantly flash their talent and go “OMG!! Isn’t this the best thing EVAR??!!” Tell them flatly just why it’s NOT and how to make it better and if they keep pouting, tell them that they have a long way to go before this ‘BEST THING EVAR’ applies to whatever art they are trying in vain to master. 

  

After all, the world and a few temples could do better without a few wannabes!! Amen to that!

P.S- Stupid gym instructor wanted to make me supermodel slim in a day. As a result, the doctor has adviced me a month bed rest because of an over stretched and super strained ankle ligament. Damn!!!

DATE A MAN WHO LOVES OLD MONK

Date a man who loves Old Monk. Date a man whose loyalty lies to the elixir that patiently blended itself for 7 years. You will find him quietly sitting by the bar of the pub you ritually visit, enjoying the company of a bottle of Buddha Sadhu, untouched by the madness around.  He is the guy sitting beside you in the flight; trying his best to cover up his discomfort on the lack of Old Monk but the availability of useless Beer and Red Wine on board. Strike a conversation with him and ease his pain. Ask him about his favourite Rum and see the twinkle in his eyes. 

  

Date a man who loves Old Monk because he is dependable. While the women around you fuss about their men and their bad hangovers, you would be the one waking up to a man ready with a cuppa coffee for you. The Old Monk knows that a hangover shouldn’t be an effect of last night’s divine alcoholic escapade.

   

It is amazing to date a man who loves Old Monk. Like his favourite rum he is an experience that you would like to have every chance you get without even a hint of change made to it. He is manly and he attracts recognition and while his comrades go on advertising their worth to gain your attention, he sits back because knows that you will come to him. He is smooth in his approach and he is just like his favourite Old Monk.

It is easy to date a man who loves Old Monk. Buy him an Old Monk XXX Rum for his birthday and hear him pledge his allegiance towards you for life. Get him Old Monk Gold Reserve Rum on Valentine’s Day and watch him kneel down to propose you. 
   

You must date a man who loves Old Monk. He is magnetic just like his preferred rum and no matter which bloke tries to sweep you away from him; you will be stuck to him like glue. He knows you are his to keep. He is the same yet full of surprises and sex with him would be a rush you cannot have enough of. Just like his rum he doesn’t allow you to forget him for his touch lingers upon you and fades into a beautiful memory which cannot be ever erased. 

   

Actually marry the guy who loves Old Monk. He is a people’s guy and doesn’t choose friends after checking their pockets. He is there to console his friend from College who failed in his 5^th attempt at the civil services exams and he is there even to congratulate his affluent colleague on his latest promotion. Just like his beloved rum, he is not judgemental and is a good listener. 

   

Grow old with a guy who loves Old Monk. He will be the same man you fell in love with and time would never change him for the worst. Being similar to his pet rum, he too would never change with time. But do not see this as a negative trait, for you know you love him just the way he is.

   

Date a man who loves Old Monk, because you deserve it. You deserve a man who can give you the fruitiest life imaginable. If you can only give him the monotony of Carlsberg, Red Label or a Signature, then you are better off alone. But if you want a truly memorable life with a man worthy of it all, date a man who loves Old Monk.

 

It’s high time you found a man who loves Old Monk and made him yours, because like they say, a man is what a man drinks. 

Or better yet, date a man who loves Chivas. 

P.S-How are you guys? I just got back after an amazing Europe trip and my spine got its must deserved rest after all the bumpy rides it took on our adventurous Indian roads. I loved everything about Europe, except the whole 'WIPING BUSINESS'. If you know what I mean :P

P.P.S- No, I was not dead! and yes, I missed you all too :D

                                                                                                       

KEEP KAAM WALI BAI

The traditional concept of family needs to be redefined. Earlier to constitute a family all that was generally required was a male, a female and the fruits of their loins. But with the advent of time a new non- blood related member has found her way into this closely bound unit and that is a ‘KAAM WALI BAI’. 

  

Recently I discovered the sine qua non which determines the true maturity of a woman. When your casual talks with your girls shifts from the customary ‘Who is the bitch we all hate?’ to ‘Did your Bai come today?’ it is then that you realize that maturity or reality has finally dawned upon you. This is the age of the Bai, and your domestic life is handicapped without her.

We worship our Bai and we do not ever mess with our Bai. The rules of traditional employment are happily forgotten because her happiness is of our utmost concern. The Golden words ‘Mein Aaa Gayi Didi’ is all it takes to brighten up your day because it is she who keeps the balance of your house and her one uncalled holiday is a gazillion times worse than third degree torture in jail.

We had found Utopia a few months back, having found the perfect maid who was stupid enough to charge less. My ears had their own private tantric orgasm everytime they heard the sound of her footsteps entering our house. It was a beauty how she made sure the broomstick touched every inch of the room and the mop licked the entire house clean. The utensils smelled of Prill and smiled at me with satisfaction. She was the domestic Goddess and I her devotee. But Utopian existence is too good to be true and she left us to return back to her Tamil land. My Switzerland turned into dusty Iraq.

Two days of her absence, and my grandmother was lamenting by being on bed and praying for a miracle. My mother had gone bonkers and was now blaming me for being the useless bone who will be divorced by my future husband for not knowing a thing or two about house cleaning. My father started going to office early to escape the boiling temperature at home and came only late in the evening. My brother shut himself in the room. The loss was unbearable.

I began circling my colony asking every random person I spotted if they knew a good maid whom I could possibly hire. Now Indian families are very possessive about their Bai’s because sharing your Bai results in her being tired and coming to your place late and not cleaning your house well. You cannot even scold her for it lest she deserts you. So even when they had a maid evidently cleaning their front porch, people lied to me about the non availability of a Bai. Traitors and Barbaric brutes!!!

Yesterday the balance was restored, when our neighbours vacated their house and generously offered the services of their maid to us.  It was the best goodbye gift ever!

The smell of Prill has returned and the sound of broom as it sparkles up my house is back to tingle my auditory senses. I have presented the best groomed broomsticks available in the market at her service and the buckets are filled with water beforehand to make it easy for her to mop. So what if she charges a few hundred bucks more and so what if she orders me to make her tea everyday before she leaves. Isn’t it normal? Please tell me it is.

Diamonds might be a girl’s bestfriend, but if you truly love a woman, gift her a good maid. She would reward you generously for that, if you know what I mean!!

P.S- I have the most boring family ever. We visit the same restaurant everytime we feel like dining out and we order the same stupid Butter Chicken, Nan and Veg Jalfrezi every single time. Yesterday I admitted in a raised voice to my father about the spiceless existence we have. This resulted in him rolling up his sleeve and promising me a different restaurant and different meal yesterday night. He took us to Indian Coffee House and we all had Masaladosa. Sigh!!!

Image Courtesy- keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

NEED IS ALL WE DO.....

‘NEED’ , the one word that I have grown to hate vehemently. Believe it or not, this tiny 4 letter word is so deceptive, that unknowingly your entire life runs on the illusory fuel it provides. You run, you get tired and during that run you even forget the purpose behind the rush. You even question yourself if you actually want to run. And then someone somewhere reminds you, that you ‘need’ to run. This is how every goddamn person alive on this godforsaken planet is surviving.

The point is, putting too much sense into everything makes it senseless. From the very inception of my life, I have been unknowingly injected with the concept of ‘NEED’. This is when the people around you trigger you to see life as a platform to attain everything that is needed and most of the time you are coaxed into believing that this is exactly what you want in your life. I need to get a respectable job because I need the appreciation of the society I live in. I need to be rich because I need to attain everything in the market that I don’t even need. I need to marry a checklist because I need the approval of the relatives I don’t even like. I need to put on a mask and crush my dreams because I need the support of my parents. I need my child to never pursue his talents because I need him to be better than the neighbour’s kid Einstein. I need money because I need money. Needing is all I have ever truly known. 

And then one day you realise that this was all just a rat race, a wasted life. By then you are so stuck in your fake little world made up of constant lies and futile needs, that you have no option but to continue your existence hating everything right from your respectable job, your checklist marriage, your child who now hates you, your big house filled up of objects that mean nothing, the money that gives you nightmare and yourself for living such a vain life. But then you learn a little trick. A trick that can be used to console yourself of the tragicomic existence that is you and that trick is ‘Judging’. You somehow get the audacity to actually compare your fruitless money to the genuine happiness of a person who isn’t as rich as you, judging a couple who survived all the lashings of the society just to be together while you are stuck with your checklist. You compare your friend’s kid who is a dreamer and an artist with your vain child who though makes big bucks out of your so called respectable job, hates you for crushing his dreams. You do everything that makes you feel better about your inconsequential life. Now you actually allow yourself to be blinded by ‘ Need’

Then you become the puppet master. You inject your child and then your grandchild with this theory of NEED and promote them to strangle their offsprings with it. Slowly the entire world survives on the NEED to please the people they don’t even care about. A Greek tragedy and a masked existence. 

But dreamers are blessed for they find a way out of this colossal mess. They are the enlightened ones who know the true path to happiness is not the one you took. They are good enough not to remind you of your vain existence while you continue to make their living hell for choosing a path away from your gold plated route of ‘NEED’. 

It is immaterial whether they make it or not for whichever angle you look at it, you would realize that they lived a better life than you ever did. Silent jealousy is all that you have now. 

The greatest evil unknown to man is 'NEED'.

P.S- Dark Post I know. Had to write this off my mind.