Its just Commercial

I never realized how badly I needed a new washing machine until the sexy girl with the enormously titillating personality in a washing machine ad told me so; I was unaware of the importance of moisturizers in my life until a girl with the perfect pair of big round eyes in a commercial reminded me of it; I never thought lime-scented mosquito repellents completed me until  a lady with two massive mosquito bites in an advertisement told me so. However, when I found myself trying on ladies’ innerwear after watching a lingerie ad I considered that maybe, just maybe, advertising had the power to wreck your mind and was in fact the root of all things evil and demonic. 

Advertising has imparted four fundamental rules to human society-four rules which we hold close to our hearts like you holding this magazine. Rule one: People who can’t afford expensive commodities are equal to assorted pellets of monkey crap. Rule Two: Unbelievably attractive women who look like supermodels will choose you over filthy, rich body-building giants provided you use a certain brand of toothpaste or chew a certain kind of gum. Rule Three: You will be the most popular person in the world if you trust everything that you read, see, or hear around you. Rule Four: The world is a beautiful place as long as you keep buying stuff. 

Despite being tagged evil by most people with a functional brain, advertising does have a compassionate side to it as well. For instance, the world chooses to ignore poor people. Advertising, on the other hand, uses them. However useless the product might be or however terrible the concept of the ad might be, once you show the sad, emaciated face of a poor person and a rich guy helping him out by giving him two bucks, followed by the name of the useless product, it’ll seep into the barely active minds of the unsuspecting consumers and appear as worthy of being purchased. Advertising also has the big-heartedness to never ignore the unfortunate ones amongst us; those given the short end of the stick by fate; those stepped on and spat on by God himself. I’m, of course, talking about those of us who have been cursed with dark skin, pimples, freckles, dry hair, bad hair, no hair and teeth that aren’t as white as a polar bear’s butt. The panache with which such people are shown by advertisers can only be topped by the subtlety with which they portray women as sexual objects. 

Advertising boasts of being the breeding ground of geniuses. But then again, even Hitler was considered a genius by some people. With advertising, the best works are often deemed absurd. Commoners who do not have a sharp intellect like the industry people often fail to make sense out of really brilliant ads; they do not understand why an alien drinks soft drinks; they struggle to comprehend why a chimp playing bongos sells chocolates; it’s beyond them why a condom ad has a salamander in it or why a salamander ad has a condom in it. But they all make sense to the industry people. 

Advertising, if done the right way, has the power to sell even new inventions. I have come up with a very innovative idea that I believe would take the world by storm. My idea is to create shoes with in-built socks. Think about it; no more searching for matching socks, no more taking the shoes off and then the socks off. It’s all taken care of in one quick motion. I haven’t yet figured out a way to advertise it yet but I’m pretty sure I would find a way to sock it you. 

Ask Pachas Paisa #3 (or 50 Cent)

Just a few weeks ago my life seemed perfect

Loved to live, never wanted to forfeit

Never thought about death or about my coffin

But I’m popping pills and spending my time coughin’

In my twenty five years I’ve never felt like I lacked an answer

Until the moment when I was told I’m being attacked by cancer

My family’s devastated and my life has come to a halt

Am I to blame God? With who am I supposed to find fault

All that I ever lived for has suddenly just slipped out

I’ve been reduced to nothing; I’m totally insane and flipped out

I wish God would just tell me what I did to deserve this fate

I have only loved and never ever worked to serve hate

It feels like hell when I’m awake and hell when I’m sleeping

All the people I love are either pitiful or weeping

Screw all the morals and principles I lived by

I’m through with abhorring sins; I’m left with no alibi

There is nothing in front except a void

I’m filled with a disrespect I can’t avoid

Will God tell me what I did to receive this?

I look around and see happy cheats and deceivers

Walking around enjoying life with no diseases

I’m left with a crying wife whose life is split into pieces

My heart is bleeding and my pain never ceases

Thwarted breathing, why can’t you save me oh Jesus?

My treatment is just for some time, say all of the doctors

I’ll be soon rendered helpless, why does death have to mock us?

An unhindered life needs only very little time to shock us

We can never predict what is there in store for us

But I know for a fact that life is indeed torturous

Could be even tomorrow that I end up in a mortuary

When I was young I thought there was a burning torch for me

But now it’s been put out yet the infernal heat is scorching me

All this undeserved pain and shattered dreams I could have endured

Why is my family too being battered and deeply injured?

If only God had let me know this two years ago

My lovely wife wouldn’t have been fated to shed tears alone

My heart breaks further when I think of my mother and father

Two people who thought I’d reach greatness and even farther

Here I am now sobbing and counting my days

The cancer in me robbing the sun’s rays

I’m now convinced destiny has nothing to do with one’s ways

It doesn’t matter if you’re into peace or into gunplay

Some are forced to leave and some to just stay

Life will slip from you whether you cuss or pray

Nothing’s left for me except pain and dismay

I wish I was never born in the first place

I’m going to die clueless in this deathly maze
Death awaits me around the corner with a cold gaze
As a child I never thought I’d never see old age
I’m about to leave this book of life like a torn page
I placed in God all my trust to ensure my safety
Not knowing in my case he would be so hasty
He didn’t even let me know of my purpose
Instead left me to suffer like a rotten carcass
My heart beats no more and there remains a cold sore
People like fishes swimming to the ocean’s roars
I’ll soon be buried unnoticed in the depths of the muddy shores.

No Hope, Bombay.

Dr. 50 paise replies:

I won’t try to sound absurd by saying I know what you’re feeling

We all have experienced hard times when our lives were reeling

But what you’re going through right now is far too personal

For anybody to demand that you be calm and act rational

Cancer is doubtlessly one of the world’s biggest curses

Into dejection and misery its victims it immerses

Life suddenly twists contrary to what one rehearses

Shattering dreams and the lives that each person nurses

But God is not unfair and he’s not a punisher

He’s the loving father and not a cruel admonisher

Difficulties come our way as little tests of faith

Life for everyone is a fierce struggle with fate

Cancer however can’t be termed as just another hurdle

It scars one’s vision with pits and blurred hills

It’s unknown to this world the plans that the Lord makes

But he has a reason for every single life that he takes

Everything around may seem it has changed for the worst

But a strong heart filled with faith should replace the outbursts

Prayers have been proved to create great miracles

Sincere pleas will help break manacles

Easy it is to have faith when the sky is clear

But the test really is when the dark night is here

Your life has not become a symbol of insignificance

Life becomes death when your interior thickens

They could have all the money in the world

Bathe in gold, rubies, diamonds, and pearls

But you’re surrounded by people who care for you

Ones who’d die for you and be there for you

Don’t think the time till now has been wasted hours

Life is a tree that grows through dry days and days of showers

Filled with fruits so sweet and some that tastes so sour

Bliss and agony goes together like the fate of lovers

Beliefs and strength are never to be let go of

God is capable of wonders one can never know of

Do not treat these lines as if they’re lines of false hope

God is your balance when you’re walking life’s tight rope

The heights you wanted you say haven’t been reached

The promises you made yourself you say have been breached

Greatness isn’t measured by your riches or fame

Nor does it matter how many people recognize your name

What’s real are the hearts and lives you touch

The tears that you catch which you deem not much

The broken lives you support by being their crutch

Give yourself up to God and he’ll take away your pains

An honest man always suffers more than one who feigns

Clean hands are fewer than ones with bloodstains

Goodness sustains life and not merely food grains

Clear your mind and focus on all that you have done

You’ll realize your real journey has just begun

It’s leaving God’s Earth with a clear conscience that’s the purpose

Spreading love and joy that can never be surplus

Leaving other people’s lives better urges God to help us

To the rich and famous life is nothing but a circus

Fire and noise adorned with moments of fake sparkles

Meaningless existence living out your flesh

Meanwhile real life exists outside this mesh

Finding your self and finding the almighty Lord

Resort to the feather and abandon the sword

Pray your heart out and search for the answer

Your soul and spirit will never succumb to the cancer

Leave your worries and submit to prayers

For those who trust have a place up the heavenly stairs.

I'm Here

The best way to explain how good this short film is is to tell the story of how I watched it. My wife is no sci-fi buff; on the contrary, she is someone who has not even seen Star Wars (the sacrilege). So settling down one night to watch a film together, I recommended we watch this short by Spike Jonze, all with the promise that we would watch a lighter rom-com afterwards. Not only did I not hear a word of complaint during the approximately thirty-minute running time, I witnessed the quiet appearance of wife-movie-tears at the film’s close.

The protagonist, Sheldon, is a robot with a head made of what looks like a CPU cabinet, from which he pulls a cable that he plugs into a power socket every night to charge. Not the stuff of exciting, light romance. From this starting point, the film manages to extract an extraordinary amount of sympathy through his minimalistic facial expressions. Jonze manages to show the humanity in very simple things: the day-to-day boredom of commuting, working, waiting. For viewers, these emotions are far more common than the passionate overexpression that film can often slip into. Seeing Sheldon do something day-to-day that we must suffer through as well, with the same melancholy that we saunter on with, has a lot more pathos than the obvious ‘do robots have emotion?’ gestures thrown around in other films.

The emotion conundrum has been couched in multiple ways by filmmakers for decades, but always with the ominous sub-text that robots may pose an existential threat because of it. Jonze is no ordinary filmmaker; he is one of the minds behind such mind-benders as Being John Malkovich, and Adaptation. His achievement in I’m Here is perhaps more impressive because he avoids his usual post-modern tricks completely. The simple sense of sacrifice that Sheldon possesses in the name of love is enviable. It is uncomplicated by human problems of selfishness, anger or frustration. When Francesca (with whom he has developed quite a tender relationship) comes to him first without an arm, he unscrews his as a gift; when she comes without a leg he does the same. In the end he is left as but a head: now picture that as the trade-off between love and self-interest. Sheldon possesses a purity of emotion superior to humanity. Why should our complex functioning minds be the ideal version of how emotion manifests?

The world of the film, independently of the powerful story at its core, has insights of its own. Sub-text is used to the level that Hemingway would’ve been proud of; there are histories told in the dialogue left unsaid, and the visuals simply mentioned and not explored. Francesca’s head is more anthropomorphised than Sheldon’s; it is closer to a face than his. Nothing is said of this. It simply reflects that there has been a generational development of robotics, and the corresponding treatment of robots has developed. When Francesca roars away in a car, an old lady at a bus stop yells (in typical ‘old lady on bus’ style – there’s always one), “You can’t drive”. This and the shots of worker robots earlier in the piece tacitly speak about a history of prejudice and subservience, referencing the roles we assume robots will fill as pieces of functional technology. But to get too bogged down in this would be to ignore the pleasantly simple emotional story of Sheldon and Francesca.

Andrew Garfield manages to capture a sense of vulnerability as Sheldon. The film is soft-spoken, subtle, and ultimately compelling. At no point in the thirty minutes are you bored, or annoyed by pretentiousness (a common flaw for a short). Jonze’s cinematic decisions are smart, and extremely touching. It is available on YouTube and I recommend you watch it – all of you.

Request to Join?

People make a big deal about really stupid shit everywhere. There are groups for the blatantly obvious everywhere on facebook, and if you fail to join a group for a good cause, the assumption is you’re a cold hearted douche or a terrible human being. There’s a group on facebook against rape, as if it’s required of me to state explicitly that I am against it. If I had the energy, I’d make 25000 groups for other things that are completely fucking obvious and see how it goes.

• Hungry people should have something to eat»
• Paris Hilton should not attempt to perform open heart surgery»
• People in a coma shouldn’t operate heavy machinery»
• Don’t go on a shooting rampage against newborn babies in the maternity ward of a hospital

I expect at least 50000 likes for stating blatantly obvious banalities.

I thoroughly dislike that these bullshit groups exist and that people feel compelled to join them in order to show that they are against something as if someone needed reassurance that yes, rape is indeed a bad thing to partake in.

Don’t invite me to your dumb fucking facebook groups unless it’s at least a debatable issue. No one is for rape you dumb faggots.

Anti-Thesis

We seem dissatisfied with our heroes nowadays. I think it’s because people have caught onto the fact that flawless human beings can’t exist, and if they did we really wouldn’t want them, because, really, they wouldn’t be heroes. They would just be perfect…boring…unchallenged.

We want internal turmoil. We actively crave Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight; it gives us joy that every superhero in Wathcmen is as broken as the world they inhabit; Iron Manis only interesting so long as he is an egotistical wanker. It’s an exercise in self-validation, a look at the greats, thinking, ‘if something that amazing has a really shit side, then my shortcomings by comparison must only be mild and weak-limbed, because I’m only an average bloke.’

In that vein, here’s some balm for your heroic souls:

Hercules went mad and killed his family.

Ghandi was very often a terrible husband.

Martin Luther King Jr was a serial womanizer.

Turns out Lance Armstrong was on drugs.

Oscar Pistorius may possibly have a bit of a violent temper (subject to the outcome of his case – in which, funnily enough, his prosecutor was taken off due to multiple charges of attempted murder. South Africa FTW).

Everyone wants to be a hero. Unless you’re apathetic, which, I guess, makes you a student. In that case, you, dear reader, probably don’t want to be a hero.

I say seek out anti-heroism. It’s what Epics are made of these days.

It’s the tragic fall that makes the hero shine brighter and turns his/her story into an epic. Try to do as much heroic shit as you can before then. Because you will fall. Trust me.

Note: On the other hand, if you think I’m wrong and are an optimist like my high school English teacher, do check out my conversation with the retired messiah.

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke-free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been uplinked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bicoastal multitasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet and pushing the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I’ve got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top but under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless. I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case, pre-maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing – a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore – no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Driving and moving, sailing and spinning, jiving and grooving, wailing and winning. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hanging in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hanging tough, over and out!

The Confessional

Muslim Extremist: I have sinned, old man in a white robe.

Catholic Priest: Call me father.

Muslim Extremist: Papa.

Catholic Priest: Not Papa, Father.

Muslim Extremist: Dear Father, I have sinned.

Catholic Priest: What are your sins, my son? Confess and be forgiven.

Muslim Extremist: I’m not sure where to begin.

Catholic Priest: Let’s see, have you ever indulged in any kind of incestuous activities?

Muslim Extremist: Not at all. My family frowns on such things. If my dad knew I even

touched my sister he would make me suck his dick as punishment.

Catholic Priest: Ok, what about rapes? Done any of those?

Muslim Extremist: Just girls.

Catholic Priest: Well, that’s no sin then. How about cursing? Are you a frequent user of

curse words?

Muslim Extremist: Fuck No! I’m not a foulmouthed cunt like some modern Muslims out

there. I stick to every word of the Koran and completely refrain from swearing.

Catholic Priest: Well then, have you taken the life of another man?

Muslim Extremist (hesitant): Quite a few, actually. I’m sure you must remember those

beheadings that was all over the news and Internet some years back. I did five of those.

Catholic Priest: I thought I recognized your accent. So you have killed five people?

Muslim Extremist: Well, beheaded five. I have skewered seven, bombed eighty four, shot dead nineteen, tortured to death twenty two, strangled six, poisoned three, pushed off the cliff two, farted to death eight, and bored to non-existence twelve.

Catholic Priest: Damn, boy. That’s a big-ass sin list you have there.

Muslim Extremist: But I did it all to uphold the honor of Islam and the Prophet. I did it so I can force others to believe what I believe consequently enslaving them. I was merely using fear to get people to do what I want.

Catholic Priest (thinks for a few seconds): Well, that’s cool then. We do similar stuff to

gays, Jews, Protestants, women seeking abortion, and pro-stem cell research people and then  blame it on black people.

Muslim Extremist: I guess the blacks are really useful to you guys in that sense.

Catholic Priest: They also make good punching bags.

Muslim Extremist: Umm…don’t you think that’s kind of racist?

Catholic Priest: When I said they also make good punching bags, I meant they produce good punching bags. I didn’t mean that it felt good to punch them. I mean, I don’t know for sure. Maybe they do. But that’s not what I meant.

Muslim Extremist: Ok.

Catholic Priest: Coming back to you, I really don’t think all that you have confessed so far are really that big a deal. A lot of people do it and still mange to lead very productive,

successful lives.

Muslim Extremist: But I’m not done.

Catholic Priest: Ok. What else have you done? Have you stolen any babies and then torn them apart to sell their kidneys?

Muslim Extremist: No.

Catholic Priest: Have you tried pleasuring your pet cat using your index finger and

succeeded?

Muslim Extremist: No.

Catholic Priest: You mean you haven’t succeeded?

Muslim Extremist: No, I meant I haven’t tried pleasuring my pet cat using my index finger.

Catholic Priest: Do you get turned on while reading your Holy Book?

Muslim Extremist: Is that a sin?

Catholic Priest: No, but that definitely makes Sunday mass a lot more exciting. Forget it, have you treated a woman with equality?

Muslim Extremist: Oh, God, no! I would never do something like that.

Catholic Priest: Good, because that would really ensure damnation for you.

Muslim Extremist: Duh! You don’t think I know that?

Catholic Priest: Have you ever preached about love, peace, and harmony and actually meant it?

Muslim Extremist: Father, please, I’m not an animal. I have always been hypocritical in my life and set double standards to everything that I’ve said and done.

Catholic Priest: You appear to be a gem of a man to me. Have you ever thought of

converting?

Muslim Extremist: Never. My religion is sacred to me and I shall never abandon it.

Catholic Priest: Well, that’s fine, I guess. We do need someone to bitch and groan about. Frankly, speaking fighting the Hindus is no fun. They are either too busy fighting amongst themselves or breaking windows and burning stuff.

Muslim Extremist: Yeah, I know. What’s up with that?

Catholic Priest: Well, that’s it. I have officially run out of sins to list. I’m even considering

canonizing you.

Muslim Extremist: I don’t know how to say it.

Catholic Priest: What is it? What is this big sin that you feel you have done? Go ahead and confess. Be not afraid, thou will be rescued from thine mistakes, by ere Lord shalt doth would or some shit like that.

Muslim Extremist: I bought Paris Hilton’s music CD.

Catholic Priest (goes silent for about a minute and speaks in a cold voice): You did what?

Muslim Extremist: I don’t know what I was thinking. I was scanning the location of a music store to plan a suicide attack and then my eyes fell on her slutty album cover and…and I …I just did it. It was an impulse buy and I regret it every single second. I am a bad person. I am a horrible, terrible person.

Catholic Priest: Damn, right, you are. You bought Paris Hilton’s music CD? If at least you had downloaded it, there was a chance the Lord would have forgiven you. But to buy that piece of crap…

Muslim Extremist: I know the heavens have scorned me because every time I listen to the CD my ears feel like they are bleeding and my brain goes cold trying to figure out what a spoiled, untalented little cocksucker this bitch is.

Catholic Priest: I’m afraid your soul has already been lost to the dark…

Muslim Extremist (interrupts): Please, father, don’t say that. Help me out. One religious

extremist to another. Get me some providential pardon. Would it help if I destroyed the CD in front of you? I have my little brother outside waiting with it.

Catholic Priest (suddenly sits up): Your little brother?

Muslim Extremist: Yeah, he’s waiting outside with the CD. Please, figure out some way to help me get providential pardon.

Catholic Priest (licking his lips): How old is your little brother?

Muslim Extremist: He’s eight.

Catholic Priest: That’s perfect.

Muslim Extremist: What are you talking about?

Catholic Priest: You see, there’s one way the Lord will forgive you for the ultimate sin of

buying Paris Hilton’s music CD. All you have to do is let your little brother be alone with me inside this detachable confessional booth for about three hours. I’ll try really hard to convince the Lord to forgive you.

Muslim Extremist: Oh, thank you father. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll never buy

anything that’s even remotely related to Paris Hilton. I’ll go get my brother now.

(The Muslim Extremist returns with his brother. The Catholic Priest, by now, has rehashed the Confessional Booth in such a way that the intermediate separation is no longer there. The scared little boy enters the Confessional Booth as the Catholic Priest bids goodbye to the Muslim Extremist. The Catholic Priest, then, hangs a sign outside the door before closing it.

The sign reads, “DON’T COME KNOCKIN’ IF YOU SEE THE CONFESSIONAL BOOTH

ROCKIN’”)

Catholic Priest: Oh, God. Yeah. Oh, God!