The Old Monk Lovers

Where does a creative guy who is looking for some strength to counter his struggle & failures which are much more than his success stories will head to after a week’s work? Most probably a bar and especially a shady one where they play Hindi film songs. There he will like to treat himself with something which is classic and liked by the masses. Chances are high that he might end up with the world’s largest selling dark rum i.e. Old Monk.

In my last 2 years in Bombay, I’ve bumped into writers, directors, musicians, fashion designers, cinematographers, entrepreneurs, producers, actors, VO Artists and yes even spot boys.

They all tend to carry an opinion on almost everything from films, music, advertising, books & politics. Above all they are diehard consumers of Pankaj Kapur’s favourite, Gulabo a.k.a. Daaru a.k.a. Alcohol. They have all made me believe in the notion that in this chaotic city, apart from hard work and good luck, you also need a little “Old monk”. So here are some of my analysis of why they say so.  

v  Somehow Old Monk has become the face and the phase of the struggle. It is consumed to run-over bad experiences and to have a good time. It is like a whorehouse where you’d like to visit frequently to just leave behind the past & still make memories.

v  Manufactured by Mohan Meakin Ltd. Old Monk has earned the status of being the most popular drink of the creative lot. Tastes like a virgin, it injects a sudden rush. Even the hangover next morning doesn’t make you feel like some dead body. But the drink commands monopoly because you can get drunk and fall in love with life in just 200 bucks. With Monk, happiness comes cheap

v  One thing which cuts these old monk lovers from this dead society is the crazy dreams they thrive on. Sadly, society doesn’t have dreams, but boring aspiration. From Chetak to Maruti, from Rupa to Jockey. On the other hand these dreamers proudly blabber about “seems-difficult” things to achieve after gulping down 3 pegs of Old Monk. The drink reminds them of their dream, snatches the real men out of them and puts it on the table.

v  A peg of 60ml Old Monk mixed with Thumbs Up, poured over 2 ice cubes makes a perfect drink, a perfect evening & a perfect conversation. A conversation between 2 guys starts with, “Do you drink? Do you like Old monk?”

   

v  The greatness of the drink is such that even when people get over their struggling days they never forget the whore, the drink. Because it was one of the few honest things which came along with them this far, trusted them like a lover. 

Recently an aspiring director shared his first film's script with me. I loved it and after discussing some details he asked me, "Would you like a drink?" and then went ahead and poured Old Monk. 

In a nutshell I’ll say, Old Monk doesn't guarantee you any success. It just makes up your mood and nothing else. And it might give you a couple of friends who like to share their views, thoughts, talents and dreams. People who are least worried what the f*** this world will think of them.

To summarize the greatness of this great drink, I’ll quote the famous dialogue from the cult Andaz Apna Apna, ‘Gum Ka Saathi Rum’. 
Cheers!!

**Please note: This article is not written to put down any other beverage/drink or to propagate the popularity of Old Monk. 
***Above all, the writer talks about alcohol much more than consuming it. 

Diva in a Dead Place!!!

Recently I was diagnosed with malaria, typhoid and blood infection. And this recently was last august, 2011. During my two week vacation in the hospital I discovered that a nurse is somehow the most fascinating personality at a place which mostly advertises gloomy and depressing faces. 

Amid broken legs, irritated stomachs and smelly bed sheets, the young virgin (seems to be) girl wanders with her flashy bangles, sparkling earrings and echoing sandals. Carrying a smile on her face she cracks a joke or two with the patients who find themselves on their death bed.

She might not be worried about the stalled hospital clock but she is very particular with the shade of her lipstick. Her fashion statement comes out loudly with her nail polishes ranging from light green, dark blue, brown, silver and at times orange with white polka dots. 

She finds her glorious moment while penetrating a drip in a patient’s vein. With half closed eyes, a little nervousness shining on her forehead and a blushing face she behaves as if she is stitching a button on her husband’s shirt on a bright Monday morning. 

With abundant patients around there is hardly any time for a nurse to even breathe but the clever girl can be easily spotted chit-chatting or playing with her hair. 

She is the diva; she is the heartthrob of the place. No doubt she becomes the central character of the wet dreams of many patients. And with so many fantasies lurking around her, why the world is bombarded with porn films featuring a nurse is beyond question. She somehow fits the bill.

But that’s not only about this class that interests me. The stupidity of men has forced this world to go through most destructive of the wars. Wars, in which he got severely injured, lost almost everything he had, or worse, died. It was only during these armed struggles when somebody was needed to take care of the dying men, to get them back in the war territory. And therefore a nurse came for the rescue.

One of the reasons why a nurse is a female in almost every corner of the world is because this profession demands extensive caring and sensitivity. And who has that better than a woman. No one can do it better than them. The century’s old decision to place a female in the boots of a nurse must be taken on the ground that a woman and her fashion is a reason enough for men in tough situations to regain hope and enthusiasm in life.

So recently when I was diagnosed, the only wish of my broken body and a young heart was, that I didn't want to call this diva in a dead place, a ‘sister’.

999

Feel free to criticize....

kissing the sky

We are very sorry to inform you that due to the author’s lazy bum this article which was written for the Republic Day is releasing post the Day of Independence (2012). The author promises you that he won’t get better --Issued in the interest of the readers.

26^th January meant something to our forefathers whereas it’s a totally different concept to us now. The day in its 60’s has just lost its charm.

Things which matter to the generation X-Y-Z (as I call it) are that it’s a holiday which we are confident enough nobody can spoil. A day when malls team up with brands to offer huge discounts kicking off the season of sales. A Border or Chak De can be expected on the television and roads which remain empty most of the day are a spectacle. For the lazy ones like me who cherish sitting and gazing, it is the parade day when our country indulges in the show-off business by proudly displaying all those big missiles we have wasted our money on. I guess it is an effort to keep dreadful countries like Pakistan & China informed that “if you have it, so do we”. So a lot of crap above makes our Republic Day somehow in our own way special because who cares about the age old constitution which has rusted and is dying for a renewal.

The reason why the occasion is special for Mumbaikars (as now I live in Mumbai so I write more about them) is that they have a ritual of flying kites. Like Delhiwallahs have one on the 15^th of August. We countrymen do the similar things but only pick occasions according to our comforts.

Sadly this 26^th being a Saturday was working and work is karma in the dream city. So Mumbaikars celebrated their 26^th January on the 27^th which was a Sunday (I told you about the comfort). And hence 27^th January became the unofficial Republic day in Mumbai. Blue, orange, black, purple, magenta and don’t know what color of kites were dancing in the sky.

Those who are unaware of this game let me share this with you that only after the initial hiccups which gives a feeling that not even a single kite will take off, things get to normal. Spirited people enter the game with a bunch of kites because whether you are a Mumbaikar, a Delhiite or a native of UP, the first kite always dies a silent death in just warming up. I personally have no experience in flying kites but confidently telling this from my years of observing my maternal uncles when they enjoyed the game.  

So on 27^th, some kites outstood and survived for a long time; some after early glory just lived their last and touched the land. 

The kite runners, the ones who participate and the ones who get pleasure in just chasing the kites shouted, booed and danced to the game in the sky. I, as a distant viewer just enjoyed the happiness spread around me. The colourful sky made the colourful Sunday much more colourful and in this way the saga of 65^th republic day was celebrated for two days. 

Well, whatever I have told you is just the first half. The 2^nd half, which even I didn’t know what to write about earlier, is this: The situation was contrary the following day i.e. Monday. While returning home what I saw was nothing less than a punch in the face. All those kites which for a while had become the darling of the sky, got life and celebrated birth, romanced with the wind, entertained the world, sparked-off smiles and brought people to a standstill, were loosely hanging on trees, electricity poles and hoardings. A few of them were torn off, had lost the artistic shape and were lying as if lying on their death-bed. With little hope, few were trying hard to fly along with the wind but failed. These heroes of yesterday which decorated the skies of Mumbai were lifeless and gone with the wind. Their day had passed, their time is over.

Trying not to be preachy here the only way I see it is that metaphorically, life resembles a kite. Destiny gives only one chance to see the greatest show on earth. So either we do what we want to do, we love what we want to love or we just follow the crowd. It is our moment to carpe diem. So before our 26^th January is over, let’s wake up.

999

Feel free to Criticize!!!

The author wrote the article on the night of 27^th January, 12

Thinking Cap: The Journey

Looking back at my 2 years of blogging, the only thing I can say to bloggers out there is that editing is more important than writing itself.

To entertain your reading buds I have come up with a special edition. This post is a tribute to ‘Thinking Cap (TC)’ as it matures and finishes 2 successful years. Nobody has a slightest of idea how it was born except for a few. So to celebrate the second anniversary of TC, I want to share the story of how I lost my virginity and got pregnant with writing and gave birth to Thinking Cap. Here it goes!!

During my graduation I was a poor chap in the English language. In an effort to improve I adopted an innovative method of exchanging ‘letters in English’ with my pal Keshav Jha; a dark guy from Jharkhand who was in the same boat as me. Our letters fantasised about career, girls, dreams, money, gossip, movies etc.

Opportunity struck while I was seduced by writing. One of our professors asked us to write for the college magazine, though he had the least of expectations from us. And it was my chance to debut, to emerge. I ended up penning down an article on Delhi Metro.

The article in the magazine along with my black & white passport-size photo was convincing enough that creativity gives me a high. And so began my journey to be creative, to be a writer. I started with hard-hitting editorials like She, Where Struggle Never Ends and Idle Hands. The inspiration behind was the cult newspaper, “The Indian Express”. Initially every article costed me a month as I was obsessed with vocabulary and a fine finishing. Above all I was slow. Keshav and his school friend Akanksha Jha read all the crap I wrote and were the pillars of my fragile confidence. In fact Akanksha always had the expectations in those days that I should write for a newspaper or a magazine. 

So how TC came into the picture? Well, the thought to start a blog was never there in my mind as I was highly hopeful that some magazine will publish my work someday. But destiny never leaves you. It was at one of the Delhi University’s bus stand when my tech-savvy friend Neeraj, sold the idea of blogging to me. I loved it because it was free. So on 8^th Feb, 2010 over-night on e-blogger ‘Thinking Cap’ was born. A strange number 999, being lucky for me for donkey’s years became my URL.   

Year 2010 was when the world was super-excited about blogging. Every day we’d have thousands of new blogs popping up. So to make a place for Thinking Cap I exploited Facebook, the social sensation during those days. By constantly bugging people with the blog updates, tagging their names or messaging them I gathered the requisite crowd.  

The blog made its mark with “Suicide Note” which talked about a man’s fantasies to face death. It became the darling of the blog and introduced me to the world of sarcasm and humor. The achievement didn’t die there and was followed by another crazy piece called “Eaters Comma”. TC was admired for being true to heart. “Sons of the Soil”, a conversation between a Hindu and a Muslim at the JFK Airport broke all the records and established this blog as a real thinker.

Readers like Sukanya, Nidhi Bindal, Sabyasachi, Keshav, Neeraj, Ankit, Nidhi Khanna, Riddhi, Akanksha, Ankita Bali, Gurleen, Shyam, Ashna Banga were the frequent visitors. In fact Deepa Kashay of Bhopal became my friend after reading the blog whom I haven't even met. They are TC’s biggest admirers and critic. “Without you I am nothing”

My writing got better after a year and I published articles like Dream India, Different smells of my life, A complete Nonsense and The actor in the negative role etc. Every article was a take on the society and left a high impression. TC turned out to be a gold reserve when impressed with it I was offered to write for an amateur production house. The association went for a year. I wrote 3 episodes of a tele-series, 2 short films, and a reality show plot. Unfortunately, apart from the reality show nothing got executed but that phase gave a new direction to my career. I dropped the idea of MBA and decided to be in media.

Experimentation continued and I began writing film reviews. I wrote around ninety of them as I wanted to start a film review blog too; which could never happen though. But writing scripts gave me the confidence to make short-films and I made my first called “Silent Songs”.

Print outs of TC accompanied me in my interviews at SIMC (Pune), ACJ (Chennai), St Xavier’s, Bombay. When I got the admission in Xavier’s Bombay, life took a turn. I developed keen interest in writing poetry, shaayri and copy for ads. I even interned as a copywriter and intend to do this in future too. I also wrote another short film. Sadly, I could give no time to Thinking Cap where everything started.

Thinking cap has given me readers which I love the most. It has given me confidence to write, a hobby which was a passion and then an obsession and which will be my profession. Whatever I’ll do in my life it will be creative and will be related to writing. In a nutshell how can I not say “Thank You Thinking Cap; you have launched me”. 

Yours Truly

999

Photo Courtesy: Ambrish Patil, Dhavalya Kalem &Ankit Saxena. 

Feel Free to Comment!!!

What an Idea Sirjii!!

According to a famous saying, “an idea is like a fart. It can strike you and surprise you anytime. So forcefully thinking upon it is of no use”.

Sorry Dude, according to a modern theory, this crap is not possible if you are in the business of advertising. This infamous business thrives heavily on ideas generated on fingertips. You just can’t wait for an idea but have to actually produce it.

Just look at the situation. A Copywriter** is given the most dreadful of the problems by his agency and then he’s expected to come up with path breaking solutions. His situation is like that he’s kicked into a sea without a life-jacket. Or he’s left into a jungle which is only full of hungry carnivores. By default, every time this creature is expected to escape the narrow death. That is, he has to come up with an idea.

The Question is, is generating rapid ideas really possible? If yes then how? How come a copywriter (who proclaims himself as the next writing sensation) can gift this world idea after ideas???## Where the hell his big ideas or I shall say frequent farts comes from??


Does it come from observing other exceptional advertisements? But that only leaves him in awe that “how can someone be that creative”? Or does he derive it by just approaching the King of Problem Solving i.e. “Baba Google”? Or by falling into the trap of having a ginger tea or tobacco or utterly butterly delicious chocolates assuming that it might kick start the jammed engines of his brain?

What if his all sophisticated methods fail? Does he leave everything and hit a bar or a pub or any damn place where booze is available? Or does he find some inspiration in Shakira’s shaking and lying hips, or to the tunes of RD Burman, or watching Rajnikant wearing a lungi and beating 35 henchmen in one go. Random Stuff, you know!!!

As per my experience, after being exposed to so much, our poor fellow might come up with something. But his desire for that “Big Idea” leaves him unconvinced.

He asks stupid questions from his roommates, family, friends even neighbours and his maid to find his consumer insight. He flips newspaper, traces history, play scrabble and what not. Sometimes he goes for a walk, or just gaze at the sky or a tubelight, writes random stuff then tear it all, then write again and tear again. This nonsense goes for a while. Watching porn is always an option. His indulgence in sex is an indication that he’s going through a creative block.

Now you all wanna know that whether this jackass has finally hit the bull’s-eye or is he still lurking around? The irony is that many Copywriters get the best idea when the campaign is over. Even our guy hasn’t come up with the big idea and might come up after the marketing campaign which is to be presented in next 48 hours.

Now this is what happens:

He reaches office the next day without his big idea. He has tried all his formulas but he hasn’t reached the answer. Though he has some not so unique ideas to present and he has definitely not lost the hope. So he is just involved in daily chores like chatting, printing, coffee, peeing and flirting. And when he has nothing to do, the thunderbolt strikes him. He freezes for a moment because he has got the criminal i.e. the idea. The idea that was absconding till now is with him. So like a fart it just hits him. It was approved or not is another story.

The question is whether by stressing too much you’ll get the idea or you need to work it out??? In our boy’s case he worked hard but he has to wait for “The Golden Moment”. As they say “Soch kahi bhi aa sakti hai”.

The quote like “An idea can change your life” is too exaggerated for a common man but for a copywriter An Idea actually does so. His entire way of living is chained around that realisation and enlightenment of what we all say “The big Idea”!!!

** Copywriter is a person employed to write advertising or publicity copy:

 

Feel free to Comment!!!

The article was written for a competition!!!

Read More:

"Dream India"

"Different Smells of My Life"

In one of the Sunday issue of Brunch, Editor in Chief of HT Media------Vir Sanghavi wrote extensively on the aroma and fragrance of different scents and cologne being invented in the world. But I democratically feel that his article was incomplete because he only mouthed about the one side of the coin i.e. the positive and the manufactured smell which everybody loves to inhale. But the missing part was the negative and the natural smell which is also present in this world and which we all hate.

So THINKING CAP has bore the responsibility to talk ostentatiously of such arrogant and criminal type of smells which have the balls to even kill you leaving no option but to inhale it and die painfully.

1.      As I have travelled enormously through public transport system so I can accept that I am not a stranger to its characteristics like too many people, tiny spaces, low price, jerks etc. But one of the most peculiar features of it is the smell of the sweat. When passengers ranging from tiny teens to pension earners, from a boring housewife to a virgin blonde to breadwinners all lift their hand or hands in unity to take support and guard against the jerks. Raising hands release the aroma of sweat in the atmosphere, sweat which they have earned throughout the day by completing different files, selling unsalable products, standing in queues and performing daily chores. I call it the “mix vegetable” of sweat as everyone contributes towards it. Slowly and gradually the vegetable gains pace & mass and turns in a hurricane. It reaches every corner of the vehicle. The irony is such that you are standing in front of a middle aged male inhaling his sweat into your lungs and still smiling at the rascal and vice-versa. 

2.      I personally feel that the insane smell of “Gutka” can turn the furniture inside your body upside-down. The business houses create addictive brands like “Rajdarbaar”, “Kuber” and “RajniGandha” to create an illusion of luxury to the consumer and make him tour heaven for some minutes. At the time of consuming unexpectedly one of these knuckleheads approaches you, takes his face very close to yours infact to your nostrils, wide open his “Gutka” filled mouth and proudly inquires “Bhai time kya hua hai” or sometimes “ye bus khaa jaayegi”. And you lose your wicket. You are in a situation where somebody has released poison inside your blood and has left you for a slow painful death.

3.      This one is my personal favorite. Every day you inhale it and that too happily, like you’re worshipping. The non-violent, non dangerous smell of the food you could not digest i.e. the perfume of defecation.  Every morning, sitting in the most comfortable position, relaxed as never, you inhale it dedicatedly. You are choice less because this activity makes you blissful and full of joy. Sometimes I wonder that how come the Fried Rice which I was dying to eat a night before can betray me and behind that rich and healthy smell there was hidden a non thinkable smell like this one. But this smell had always gifted me some wildest ideas.

4.      If the previous one was my personal favorite then this is my personal non-favorite. The problem with this smell is that it attacks you like an earthquake and you are not even prepared for it. As an earthquake creates a lot of havoc and destruction this smell too destroys your mood completely and makes life a hell. The perfume of a dead rat. First you hate these jackass monsters roaming in your home or office and breaking your privacy. And then these fuckers hid in one of the damn corners of the home and breathe their last breath. The trouble is that his body is lying and decaying in some part of your home, smells like thousands drains flowing next to you and you don’t even have the slightest idea where the asshole is. You actually want to butcher him on his this sinful act.

5.      I guess this particular smell flows only in the air of developing nations especially India. And this is not a smell but a shame for our country. All other smells above are like a free bird. Nobody can control them. But this shameless smell we can definitely stop. This is the perfume of pee on Indian roads. To attend nature’s call some people look for isolated corners and pee on them. As we are Indians so we all follow. As a result the place officially becomes a pee point and gives a distinct character to the place because of its smell.

In this list of developing nations smell, there is another chap which I guess is multiplying and is in race with our “never say die” population growth. The perfume of the swollen, perished, abandoned and decaying garbage. The implied rule in India is that every single piece of the garbage should be outside the garbage warehouse thus converting the whole place in a bin, making a choice for people to throw anywhere or everywhere. As we ourselves create such smell so we anticipate it when crossing a garbage warehouse and clamp our nostrils till the smell stop chasing us.  

6.      The last in the series is a sinful, dead, negative and dreadful smell which is a question in itself. If you want to inhale it, then go and open the drawer or closet where you have stocked medicines for emergency. Or pay a visit to a dispensary, hospital or a chemist. The smell of medicines. Why the smell of medicines which are actually developed to cure human beings makes me even sicker is still mysterious to me.

So these are the dirty, naughty, notorious and infamous brand of smell whose tyranny we have to suffer almost every day. And they are unbearable is no doubt but they have given an opportunity to crazy thinkers of the world to find out their antidotes. There would have been no perfume if there is no sweat and no room freshener if no smell of the dead rat.

Please don’t perceive that as I have given a lot of space to these smells, I like or love them. Like normal people I too wanna inhale and live in scented and healthy air.

 999

The Article was written after being inspired by Brunch (HT magazine).

Feel free To Comment!!!

Recommended Articles:

 "Eaters Coma"                                                               "Idle Hands"

the power of motivation!!!!!

When some 1 motivates you, you feel like conquering the world, hitting the world. You feel like chasing dreams and facing whatsoever comes. The heart becomes brave heart and you walk like gladiator. Nothing seems stoppable and nothing seems tougher.

Only one thing fly in the mind—“yes we can”. Those few words of motivation, so easy to speak, that positive smile which says “you have got talent” so rare to spot, that pat on the back and that jaddu ki jhappi so easy to give is so rare in this world.

You feel like giving up when suddenly they meet you, like a prophet’s farishta. Inquire you “what are you doing”??? You might or might not disclose but gives a little hint. They give you an expression of achievement and say proudly “keep going my son, do good to yourself “.

God knows but sun rises again in the bottom of your heart and you decide not to give up so easily and set on your marks. Those few words of happiness and encouragement keep roaming in your mind; while you chase your dreams and make them happen one night.

Why there are so few precious motivators and large rallies of demotivators??? Those few priceless motivators so rare to find like an extinct dinosaur or a dying roar of an endangered tiger.

Unknown to the fact that they are inspiring some 1 because of their happy-go-lucky nature they have given this world some of the biggest findings and discoveries. Who knows behind a bulb, behind a law of gravity, behind a search engine and behind a trip to moon there is a motivator who just motivated the researcher. Who knows??

The infinite power of motivation is immense. The motivator can be a teacher, a guru, a mother, a friend, a fictional character, an author or a stranger on the train.

Let’s seek motivation or give motivation to others and make this world a better place to live in!!!

Post Script: Sometimes you have to motivate yourself which is very tough. In such situations I watch movies which are biography of successful achievers. Try it!!!

999

"The article was written at authors home"


Feel free to Comment or rate the article!!!


Recommended Articles written by me:
"Eaters Comma"

"The Lady I Loved"

We giggled we smiled

We talked we walked

Unknown to the fact that our friendship will take us miles!!!

When I looked at her

She blossomed like a flower

Her half- closed eyes and a glorious smile

Would extract the most innocent happiness

From the bottom of my heart!!!

In pursuit of happiness, their life continued

And the friends got lost in translation

Assuming, that their company is forever!!!

She was Emma and he had a beautiful mind

But together they had a war

A Charlie Wilson’s War to be the rank holders!!!

When going gets easy, their education life hit the bottom & a 2012 struck them

The result was, that the day after tomorrow was not together but alone, Home alone!!!

Though she lived 16 blocks away from my house but I never visited her

But we were always in touch, thanks to cellular!!!

At the age of 21 when I realized that it is love actually

The irony is that she is not with me!!!

Because

The machinist like me changed path from love to chasing dreams & making career

But couldn't afford to forget the American Beauty like her!!!

Today I am stranded at The Terminal waiting for her

Confused & flummoxed that though it is complicated

But in my lifetime I have to say her once that

P.S I love you!!!

The words which are written in Italics are the names of the Films.


"The article was written in a DTC bus"

(Feel free to Comment)