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Gross Humor

19 Dec

I am currently not writing here and am available on

I write a daily comic strip there.


Two Perspectives

29 Sep

Today morning as I walked in office, there was this girl walking wearing high heels.

And as the wont of high heels, with every step heels made a clicking sound on the floor, so I told her that women wear high heels to announce their presence. They want every head to turn and look at them.

So she says, no that isn’t true. High heels were invented because short women were tired of getting kissed on the forehead.


Keep in mind

20 May

What I enjoy the most are conversations with my daughter. I pride myself that I can argue over everything (mostly argue for the sake of arguing), yet when it comes to her, I just can’t win. Don’t think I am indulging her, I am fiercely competitive irrespective of the age.

This is our today morning telephonic conversation.

She: Can I go to my friend’s place to play?

Luckily my wife had already warned me that I cannot give her any permissions today as she has been punished and home bound for the next two days. I normal circumstances I always give in but this time I was threatened with dire consequences if I relented.

I: No, you cannot go to your friend’s house for the next two days.

She: But I want to play with them.

I: Your mother has punished you and you are not allowed to go to anyone’s house. Call them over to your place.

She: Now I will never be able to play in their house. I also want to play in their house sometimes.

I: You can go after two days.

She: No I can never go.

I: You can go after 2 days.

She: No I can never go.

I: Why?

She: Because mama said, don’t go out of the house. That means don’t go out of the house ever. I will have to stay here all the time.

I: No it is only for 2 days.

She: But mama….

I: If she said ever, I will tell her it is only for 2 days.

She: Mama, punished me, she is a bad girl.

I: She punished you because you are naughty and one who tries to teach you good manners is a good girl.

Time to change tactics.

She: Then why doesn’t Aarav gets punished? You told me yesterday that you will punish him because he boxed me but you didn’t.

I: Darling I forgot when I came back from the office.

She: But you promised you will.

I: But you should have reminded me.

She: Why should I remind you. Why can’t you keep it in your mind. Like I keep our grey house in my mind, your old office in mind. You should also keep in mind.

I: Ok I will keep in mind today.

She: You didn’t keep that in mind, why you keep in mind that I cannot go out.

I: …..

She: Can I go out?

I: No.

Phone banged down.

You talking to me

16 May


A choice.

Or a compulsion.

I don’t like to talk.

Or maybe I have nothing to say.


3 May

In year 2000 I joined an advertising agency erstwhile FCB Ulka. I was a novice and an idiot. as some people thought, having joined advertising from the client side.

That’s irrelevant right now, for its not my story, it’s a story of my friends.

In FCB I met four individuals, Sudip Bhattacharya, Sourabh Mukerjee, Pratik Seal and Anupama Ramaswamy.

Five of us could not have been more different –

Pratik – Intellectual, well read, recite passages from classics from memory

Sudip – More of a simian less of a human

Sourabh – The idealist

I – The idiot of the group


Anu – The elitist.

I other three I got to know quickly and became friends soon enough but the snob Anu would keep to herself, the elitist refusing to interact with us the hoi-polloi. I realized she actually has a heart that sometimes beats for the downtrodden when I went to her with thumping heart and great trepidation for some help after everyone refused.

And what I got from her was actually poetic.

The girl who was a question mark gave me an ad with a large question mark.

That was one fucking good ad.

The question mark raised my eyebrows and threw some interesting answers.

To cut the chase, we became friends.

And we spend many (and trust me there were many and more) drunken evenings on her terrace.

This story is about those evenings, when we used to talk about changing the world, at least the advertising world. Creating earth shattering communication. Ads that would be mainstream, yet award winning. That it was possible to great work. Compromise is for the weak. When the opportunity came we would not waste it but put our thoughts and words into action. We will prove it that it is possible, feasible and not a fool’s dream.

We were not unique, in that industry at least during those days everyone used to talk like that. It could be like that even now, just that I don’t know, having moved back to client side many years back.
Years passed, most of us forgot those dreams. Those promises. And those words stayed what they were words.

We compromised.

I forgot all about them.

I forgot that I had ever said or even thought of such thoughts.

Except one.

She remembered.

That quiet girl who used to sit in a corner remembered.

And she made sure, those were not just words.

Words are actions that one can live and make true.

Well done Anu.

And thank you.

I too shall remember to remember my dreams again.


In more ways than one.



26 Apr

I sit on my seat. Opposite through the half opened blinds two arms rising peeping above the prisoned closeted cubicle trying to escape the confinement, eyes peering possibly into a lit screen, two men walking by in an alley between the spaces, engrossed in a chat, discussing a moment, co-conspirators of that moment, a chair showing its back disdainfully as if hurt by some unsaid words, sulking, angry, muttering unheard words, a bag bulging contouring an early morning, hiding aromas of afternoon meal, door open like welcoming arms of a lover or a hell’s angel inviting, scaring, luring, overhead engraved in the false ceiling incandescent lights lighting up the gloom that descends on the souls, voluntary imprisonment, at a distance beyond the green grass, behind the shrubbery cars slowing down and undulate like a camels hump over a swelling on the road like life ceased by fate, empty mug with slush at the bottom in a corner with a marker for company, a silent phone awaiting to hear that someone remembers its existence, bin full of lost battles, forgotten thoughts, gloating in failure, half scribbled words, sentences in hiatus on way to destination, unevenly placed chairs evoking memories, clues of visitations, now vacant like stations after the train has left leaving the platform empty yet with smell and sounds still hanging in its stale air of recent past, a clock ticking in an unending cycle trying to match the beat of the heart, a thirsty flower begging for relief, searching for sun, unopened forgotten books decorating a bland colorless shelf, board decorated with stolen thoughts proclaiming false ownership. I sit in my office.

Why I read?

15 Apr

Some days back I was chatting with a friend about books and favorite authors, when she asked me the question.

I thought it will be easy to answer but when I tried to reply surprisingly I could find no words that could construct a satisfactory reply. And I was silent.

Eventually I said I don’t know.

But the question stayed with me.

I still have no answer to it. But when I look at my overall trajectory as a reader, I know what I read and the reason for it. This arc is specific to me and is not a generalized reasoning.

The starting point of this goes back to my school days.

I was never a good student and text books were my nemesis. Learning was boring, a punishment, a dreaded activity. I don’t remember except for maybe one or two teachers who got me interested in what I was reading. Anything that even remotely smelt like education immediately got a repulsive response from me. And this was true all through my educational years. But studying was mandatory which had to be. It was option less. So I studied, but my mind made an official submission that he was undertaking this activity under severe stress and compulsion.

So the studies were compensated by indulging in pure entertainment in the books I chose. World is in danger set ups, flights of fantasies, thrillers, spy games, murder mysteries, Phantom, Mandrake, Green Lantern, Bahadur, Champak, anything that was entertaining.

Entertaining as defined by me. Things that did not seem like a punishment.

And definitely didn’t require any coercion or a teacher with a stick.

A voluntary action.

Surprisingly for someone with my academic record, I had some very intelligent friends, not the muggers but intelligent. Students who loved what they read, and they would always be lost in those boring formulas and equations and reactions and balances and theories and other vague stuff. They never felt the need to escape from that humdrum academic studies. They seemed to find the same joy in their books as I found in my escapist world.

I stuck to my reading habits for years and years and decades.

And with each passing year, I grew older. As a grew older, I don’t know if I turned wiser but my reading habits changed. I still loved my comics and murder mysteries but in general I became a seeker. I looked for not much but a little meaning in what I read.

With this change, came some semblance of order in what I read. Books I picked, authors I read were linked to each other in some manner, even when the linkage was tenuous or tangential it was there in some form.
And these books were my textbooks. I read them, though the authors were abstruse and subjects dense, yet I stayed with them. I tried because they engaged me.

Now I understand my friends who spent hours with their chemistry, physics, quantum mechanics, number theory books. They wanted to read them because those books entertained them.

Education and entertainment I would timidly propose are synonyms.

That I guess also answers why I read.

I read because I want to learn.

I read because I want to improve.

I read because I have ambition.

I read so that I too can dream.