Letter To Cupid, 2012

Statutory Warning: The following post contains words and imagery that some people may deem as inappropriate. I have used the word ‘fuck’ twice and I talk about raising my middle fingers to someone, giving that someone the message to go fornicate with themselves. I have used a photograph of a winged child-thing found dead, face down, with an arrow in its back, lying in a pool of its own filth. If you or anyone around you find(s) my language and mannerisms offensive, please click here. Else, continue reading. 

Cupid is Dead

Dear Cupid Asshole

Here we are again, in 2012. I’m still here, single as fuck, and you’re still there, dancing around with your gay wings and your gay arrows. I wrote to you earlier, around 4 years ago and you promised me that the next time would be different. You are a filthy liar and nothing more. If I look back on this year, all you’ve given me is hope, despair and embarrassment. What the hell is the matter with you, jackass? Can’t you just do your job right?

So, in the light of all that you’ve done for me this year and for the past so many years before, I raise both my fingers to you. Go suck an orange, kid.

Do you remember how I signed off my last letter to you? You don’t? Drop Dead.

In all sincerity,

Go Fuck Yourself.

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As I Sit In My Hotel Room

Yes. I’m in a hotel. I’ve checked into a seedy hotel and the room looks hauntingly familiar for all the wrong reasons. I think I’ve seen many a porn movie shot in this very room. I can’t be too sure about this, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Why the sudden turn or events, you might wonder. Why did a guy like me, who has such a lovely house in the suburbs of Mumbai have to check into a seedy motel at 9 in the night on a weekday, you might ponder. Well, even if you don’t wonder and ponder these mysteries, I’ll enlighten you.

It all began two months ago when my landlady turned stupid.

She noticed that the power company had failed to deduct the monthly electricity bill from her bank account, and being stupid as she is, she thought it was her good fortune that the power company forgot to charge her. Little did she realize that it was a major oversight on her part that her bank had stopped the automatic clearing of bills. She had the same ‘good fortune’ last month, apparently, and she was over the moon. She had saved so much money!

So, I come back home at 8 this evening, tired, drenched in my own sweat, reeking of the day’s exploits and turn the keys in my front door and enter a dark abyss. I turn on the light switch to no avail. I panic a bit. I turn on other switches all over the house and I’m still covered in a thick layer of darkness. I panic, stumble blindly from one room to another, screaming for help and trying to get the darkness off my body. No, I’m exaggerating. I have a flair for drama and I get carried away sometimes. I get my torch and find out that the power company has ripped away the fuse and left a notice in it’s place. It’s a notice that’s in their letterhead and looks very ominous.

“Dear Cheapo,

Pay your light bill in the next 15 days. Or else…

Sincerely,

Power Company”

Or something to that effect. I call my landlady and explain the situation to her. She then realizes that her ‘good fortune’ was actually a serious blunder. She apologized profusely and told me a hundred times that she’ll rectify the issue tomorrow and begged me not to make a big issue of this. I reluctantly agreed and told her that I’d dropped the idea of driving to her house to spend the night.

So, here I am, almost in the middle of the night, checked in to the nearest hotel I could walk to, and I sit here on the chair, where I’m vaguely sure that many a pretty chick has done it doggy style. The creepy blue lights and a transparent bathroom add to the cheesyness.

Yes. The bathroom / toilet has a TRANSPARENT wall. Fuck you very much, landlady.

Transparent Bathroom
The Transparent Bathroom
Cheesy Blue Lights
Look Familiar, Porn Fans?

 

“I Have Mother!”

Or, as it’s rightly said in Hindi, “Mere paas maa hai!” was, still is and will remain the most famous dialog in Bollywood for the next few decades. The 1975 classic Deewar set new standards in Indian cinema and elevated mortal beings into superstardom. Sadly, the ’70s were all that Bollywood could offer in terms of originality, innovation and pleasure. Apart from the occasional gem, a majority of  the movies made in Bollywood today are worthless pieces of stool.

There is one – just one – formula that all Bollywood movies follow nowadays:

A meets B.

Falls in love with B. 

A thinks life is all roses and unicorns. Sings a song or two. 

But, oh no! What’s this? B is in love with C! How unexpected!

A is shattered. Depressed. Sings a song or two.

C, meanwhile, is a jerk and does something inhuman, untrustworthy. 

B loses faith in C. B is depressed. Blames self for misfortune. Sings a song or two.

A swoops in like a knight in shining armor. Consoles B.

B falls in love with A. All is fine, sing a song or two.

Optional (for violence): C and A have a fight. 

If A and C are men, you have a strong romantic movie filled with songs, drama and action. If A and C are women, you have a spicy, romantic chick flick.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but every one of these so-called ‘new and improved’ movies work on these lines. This is the core formula. The unchanging storyline for any movie worth it’s salt to pass inspection. Package the formula with a college theme, a superhero theme, a gangster theme, and just about any goddamn theme – you get one crappy movie after another.

The Bollywood Crap Factory has been churning out disaster after such disaster for the past twenty-odd years. And it’s amazing how people just fall for it each and every time. Either that, or re-hashing successful old movies with more masala and lesser clothes and disgusting lyrics to excite more hapless people.

Unabashed over-the-top acting with too much drama and too many emotions and too many movements of the eyebrows, relying too much on non-Indian folk to add some elements of ‘variance’ or as the producers like to call it, ‘a global touch’ – these are few of the trends that are bound to backfire and implode sooner or later. Actors who engage in silly publicity stunts, those who sell their souls to be on a reality show and those who sell their bodies to get featured in a newspaper – we have all kinds of lunatics in this business.

I crave for the day this ridiculous trend is overturned for something better. Bollywood needs a face-lift. And soon!

Wanted: Full-Time Muse

Job Code: Muse2012

Job Description: A highly reputed writer and blogger based in India is seeking a muse. He is stuck without inspiration to write anything and even ten words take a lot of pain and effort. He is currently willing to pay top dollar for the muse.

Job Requirements: Muse can be either male or female, but the writer prefers a female muse. Males can apply too, and unless you make a very strong case, your application stands a good chance of being rejected. Candidates can be of any age, nationality, race, creed, sexual orientation or religion. The writer is an equal opportunity employer. All women will be considered fairly. Candidates need to have at least a year’s experience in being someone’s muse. References will be needed and a very strict background check will be performed. A very strong command over the English language is a must. Writing skills is a bonus. Ability to resist incessant flirting will be an advantage. Strong knowledge of computers, internet technology and instant messaging.

Duties & Responsibilities: The primary responsibility of the muse will be to adequately inspire the writer to churn out good material for the books and blogs that he is struggling to write. Most of the writer’s material is based on a fictitious super-awesome woman that he’s constantly in love with and the muse should have the ability to take up the role of that character in order to encourage the writer to write. Don’t fear, the writer rarely says or does anything inappropriate. He’s a gentleman and he will treat everyone with equal respect and condescension. This role-playing ability is vital for the job.

Compensation: Competitive.

Position: Full time.

Interested candidates can apply by sending in their resumes and their photographs to writer at mirrorcrackedmuse@gmail.com

If your profile gets selected, you will receive an email from the writer personally, asking you out for dinner. All the best.

Return To The Bay Of Pigs!

A long, long time ago, I had written a piece on how men can be more successful in wooing women. I had come across a lot of men who had complained to me about the difficulties they were facing when trying to talk to a woman or flirt with a woman.

Recently, a close stranger read this post (titled ‘Bay Of Pigs’) and decided to write a rebuttal for each of the points, this time from a woman’s perspective. What started out as an experiment in killing time soon became an insightful glimpse into the mind of women, what they think of men and what they expect from a man when he tries to flirt.

You need to read the original post for this to make sense, because in the interest of time and keeping in mind my readers with attention deficit disorders, I’ve edited those parts of this article that belong to the original.

Bay Of Pigs: Redux

(Note: The text in italicized black is part of the original post, while the text in brown belongs to the stranger, the woman who wanted to argue. Any mistakes in spelling or grammar are entirely my own and not the fault of the guest author.)

men-are-pigs

Men are pigs.

They say that God created Man because he was bored and that He created Woman because he needed a challenge. Man is the blueprint while Woman is the masterpiece. […] Men can consider this post as an eye-opener and take stock of what qualities they lack, and women can consider this post as an easy read and be amazed at my insight into the female mind.

Men are pigs. Truer words were never spoken!

1. Sense of humor: Most women look for funny men. But be warned, being funny does not mean cracking inane jokes and making complete idiots of yourself. It’s the wit that counts and not your ability to remember jokes. […] Just make sure you’re laughing with them, and recognize when they’re laughing at you!

A good sense of humour does appear to be amongst the top 3 of “what women want”, and the author appears to have it figured out. I think this is what most women want. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want a man that can make me laugh as such, rather, I like it when a man can keep it simple. By this I mean, a light and easy-going conversation is favored. I am the kind of person that is rather shameless, and have no qualms about laughing at myself. Men seem to love making jokes at the expense of the ladies around them, and get terribly disappointed when it isn’t received well by their female counterpart. In that regard, I am a good subject of jokes, I would say, because I almost always laugh along.

2. Build: Women are very realistic unlike men, and they know that not all men can have a body as hot as Arnie and Stallone. […] We men need to be realistic, and not stupidly optimistic. All women are hot, no exceptions!

Let me make this clear – most women do not aspire to be at the arm of men like Arnie; Stallone maybe, but not because of his build! Men are the only ones that want Arnie bodies. I wouldn’t want a “flabby piece of shapeless dough” (I’m shallow that way) I would like a fit guy though. Let’s face it – they’re so much more fun to look at, and show off! We women tend to look awesome pretty much all of the time (unless we’re caught in midst of beauty treatments like face masks or oily hair) and men need to realise they should at least try to live up to the standard we set so early on. Digressing from build, allow me also to add that well-groomed (which means well dressed, clean and smelling good, just in case you’re clueless) is what we’re looking for. So if you’re going to show up in denims and a sweatshirt, make sure you look cute while you’re at it, would you?

3. Chivalry: The concept of chivalry, for most men, stops at holding the door open to women. Wake up, men! That’s not all what women look for in the chivalry department. […] It takes great skill and greater patience to hold your own and also defend her while arguing in a group.

Ah! This is the tricky one. You don’t want to be chivalrous to a point where we constantly feel like damsels with faint hearts,  but you don’t want to be so aloof that we feel like you don’t care. It has to be just the right amount. That’s all I will say here. Why should we make it easy for you all the way? 

4. Possessiveness: Women like men to be possessive about them. It makes them feel special and wanted. […] For more advice on this, mail me.

Do men actually enjoy being possessive? Oh yes, you have the whole Neanderthal way of expressing ownership. You might as well pee all over us to state we’re “yours”! I personally don’t like possessive men. If a guy were to “tell me at every opportunity that they’re….” yaaaaaaaawn.. Oh MY, I think I just dozed off there a second! No no noooo! I really don’t want to hear that, I’d probably end up punching you in the nose!

5. Music: Women hate tone-deaf men. Every woman has a particular taste in music and it may not always match with yours. […] Listen to her favorite tracks with her, and encourage her to play it again if she wants to. You can pull your hair out later, when you’re alone.

Looking at the next point I’d like to say, mood music is very important – make it sensuous, trust me, you’ll enjoy it too (if you can get past the fact that you’re getting it on!) I don’t know about most women’s taste in music, but I’m always open to listening to new genres of music. In fact, most of the music I listen to today was introduced to me by men. If you don’t listen to death metal and the screeching, banging sort, I’m good to go. Some women really seem to enjoy sappy music, and that’s where I think you men should just take a stance and say, “hell no!” (and knock some sense into your lady’s head, please!)

6. Sex: Do not, I repeat, do not push the woman for a physical relationship. Women are very, very careful in this matter and if you push the wrong buttons (no puns intended) you come across as a sexually-frustrated despo! Be careful!

You have to tread carefully in this department. Women may say they are alright with casual sex, and want no strings, etc. but trust me, they almost always hope that strings will develop, that they dazzle you with their sexual skills, and you’ll fall in love with them. Sometimes that does happen, but I’ve noticed that men are capable of knowing the difference and maintaining it, women are NOT. I would suggest, if you really like the girl, take it at an easy pace in this department, and things will fall into place nicely.

7. Family Values: Most women like men who have good family values. Respect her parents and her family and she will like you all the more. Never ever call her dad “Dude!” or “Old Man!” because that will being down your brownie points!

What gets to me the most about a lot of Indian men is that they’re “mumma’s boys” and they want their partners to be as domestically awesome as their mothers. It’s all very well that you love your folks, in fact, I endorse it, but come on – recognize! I don’t know about other women, but that’s a big turn off for me. On the other hand, I don’t expect that my partner will get along brilliantly with my folks. It’s almost a universal fact that there will be friction between them. That’s what keeps life interesting, eh?

(On an entirely unrelated note – what exactly are brownie points? Am I allowed to cash them in for an actual brownie or two?)

8. Perseverance: Women like to be pursued with vigor. They hate being ‘flung’ around, if you know what I mean. […] Trust me, it works!

This one’s true, makes us feel special and adds the whole romantic movie atmosphere to real life. Lots of fun! Keep it real, don’t be a big pile of mush, because that gets old real quick. We like to be shy and coy and play hard to get – it makes the whole deal feel that much more special. Indulge us, would you?

9. Fighting: Fights are inevitable in every relationship, and when there are situations where you know that the reason is trivial, just take the blame. […] You do not blame the woman!

Don’t be irrational, that’s all. We are always right, that’s true, but we would get suspicious if you always agree – we’re smart that way. And that would lead to a whole new set of fights! So pick your battles, men, put your ego aside, in fact, maybe its best if you forget you have one, while you’re with us! 

10. The Ex- factor: Do not, I repeat, do not maintain contacts with your ex- girlfriends while you’re pursuing a woman, or when you’re in another relationship. […]

Hmmm, this one is a bit tricky. If you’re staying in the same city as your ex, and have common friends, you are bound to run into her, right? What we want to see is that you’re over her, and there is no residual anything for her. You’re better off if you cut all contact, unless you want to see us turn into raging lunatics? Oh and by the way, we’re complete hypocrites about our own exes – we will want to remain “friends” with ours, and you’re not allowed to protest. So there.

Good luck. Live long and prosper. If you didn’t understand that, you’re no fun, and you’re not a geek, which is what women want! (Or do we?)

AUTHOR’S NOTE

It takes great literary skill and greater convincing skills to get a chance to write for, or be featured on MirrorCracked. To have successfully passed all the barriers and made it on to this forum, I would like to personally extend a warm greeting to the lovely stranger (who has expressed her wish to remain anonymous) for her time and effort in helping men pick up women.

One beer coming your way, ma’am.

We are open for comments, opinions and brickbats, which I will deftly deflect in the stranger’s direction.

The Day I Turned Ninety

Saturday, November 26, 2011 will always remain etched in my memory as a historic occasion, a day to remember and revere as I try to live out the remainder of my days painfully. I aged dramatically that day and it reminded me of The Last Crusade, where the bad guy drinks from the wrong cup and turns into an aged, shriveled skeleton in a matter of seconds.

It was a really bad decision to play a professional cricket match with no practice.

I used to play a lot of cricket as a kid. Played for the school and college teams and garnered a bit of pro experience here and there. I wasn’t a great cricketer, but I wasn’t too bad either. I could hold my own against the real professionals. But, its been an awfully long time since I’ve played competitive, professional cricket, and I’ve been woefully out of touch and practice. I have put on a few extra kilos around the middle and I don’t move as quickly as I used to. I had completely forgotten what a grueling ordeal it is to be out on a cricket field on a hot and humid day for six hours.

As I started with my warm-up stretches in the morning, I wondered whether the exercises had become tougher over the past few years. I soon realized that my body was resisting it after being accustomed to comfortable couches and soft beds. I forced myself to finish the work-out and to my horror, found out that the match had already started, that my team was batting first and that I was to bat at Number 3. For those who are uninitiated into the sport of cricket, if you’re third in the batting order, then you go out to bat as soon as the first wicket falls.

I padded up in a hurry, went out to bat when the first wicket fell and was clean bowled first ball. I didn’t seem to notice the ball zooming past my bat and my sluggish head was still trying to decide what to do about it, while I made the long walk back to the pavilion.

When it was our turn to field, I shuttled from one end of the field to the other after each over and by the time we were halfway through, I was ready to drop dead. I prayed for a natural disaster to disrupt the match, I prayed for the opposition to knock off the runs quickly and I prayed for an excuse that would allow me to get off the field with a feigned ‘injury’.

By the end of the day, after we had lost spectacularly, my feet were beyond pain and I had to remove my shoes and carry them with me as I hopped painfully into a cab to come back home. My entire body was one big bruise. I ached in places I didn’t know could ache. Muscles that I didn’t know I had, hurt each time I did something trivial. It was painful for me to spray deodorant on myself because my finger hurt when I squeezed the can.

The whole of yesterday was spent in recuperating at home, in bed, with timely cups of hot tea.

Saturday, November 26, 2011. The day I stopped being twenty-eight.

The day I turned ninety.

Hunger Strike!

hunger strikeWe Indians have a peculiarly unique way of demanding justice. We stop eating and call a press conference.

It all started with the great Mahatma Gandhi, who went on a hunger strike to oppose the tyranny of the British Raj, back in the 1930s and 1940s. This habit has not died after we got our independence. Every time the government does something that someone doesn’t approve of, a hunger strike is called along with a press conference.

Recently, Anna Hazare did it to oppose corruption in the government. He was hailed as the present Mahatma and the press jumped to draw parallels with him and the original Mahatma. They called it the new Freedom Struggle. And more recently, a guy who made his living doing yoga, Baba Ramdev, went on a hunger strike and no one knows the reason why. I’m sure he gave a laundry list of reasons for doing what he did, but no one really understood them.

It’s like an infectious disease here in India. If one person goes on a hunger strike, it spreads like a virus on heat and before you know it, your neighbor’s on a hunger strike against the local corporation office demanding better roads and clean water. It’s about time I joined in the fun.

I am going on a hunger strike from today onwards to oppose hunger strikes all over. I will eat obscene amounts of food and go on a strike against hunger until everyone stops their respective hunger strikes and eradicates the country of this ridiculous disease.

My diet, during this hunger strike consists of the following:

Breakfast: 12 eggs, 24 slices of bread, 2 pints of orange juice and a quart of coffee
Lunch: 5 helpings of rice, dal and a 12 rotis with vegetables
Dinner: 16 helpings of rice, dal, 20 few rotis, along with some sweets for dessert

I vow to not go hungry again until my objective is fulfilled. This hunger strike will prove to the whole country that I am quite serious. I will not end this hunger strike until all hunger strikes have ended in this country.

I am ready for my title now. I prefer something cool, and nothing with the word “Mahatma” in it. That’s become cliched.