Dodge This

Nat King Cole:

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, it’s incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too


I was made for loving you baby
You were made for loving me
And I can’t get enough of you baby
Can you get enough of me

arctic monkey *in an extremely timid voice*:



Michelle Williams in Manchester by the Sea:

My heart was broken…

arctic monkey *doing an uncanny impression of Michelle Williams*:

My heart was broken.


Can I have some morphine?


But doc! you don’t understand. The pain, it’s off the charts.

I haven’t even started.

That’s beside the point. Empathy doc, you can’t be a good doc without it.

How many days did it take for you to get this appointment again?

I know it’s terribly impractical but can I at least listen to the soundtrack of La La Land while you drill around inside my mouth? Will you be able to work around the earphones?

If I let you, will you able to stay still and not do things like tap your feet to the music?

Have a heart, doc. That’s just not possible.

Then I’m sorry, son. You’re going to have to take it like a man.

Please tell Ryan Gosling I loved him.


The day after:

What’s that black thing around your teeth?

Oh that, a cowboy lassoed my molars. He asked if there were any parts of me that needed to be tamed and I replied my molars. He said he wasn’t a dentist and I said let’s just pretend it’s the wild west and call it frontier treatment, if you will.


Describing internet to people who have no idea what it is.

Imagine you are carrying a bowl of piping hot soup. You intend to carry it your sick* mother’s bed-side. At that moment, there’s a knock on the door. You drop the bowl of piping hot soup you’re holding, forget all about the sick mother, and go to the door. At the door is a salesman, he’s selling religion. You lock the door behind you and head out to church. On the way over, you see a jet streak by in the sky. You unfurl your wings and fly after the jet. The jet is too fast for you, you give up and land in an empty field. You’re now lost. Back home, your mother doesn’t know what’s taking you so long.

*Sick as in nothing serious, mind you. Just a bout of the seasonal flu.


I was feeling all sad and lonely standing outside a movie theater with tickets in hand waiting for a friend to arrive. “What is it that takes them so long? Why can’t they be on time? If I can be on time, why can’t they?” Then I remembered Ryan Gosling being in the exact same scenario at a Rebel Without a Cause screening, and I didn’t feel so bad anymore.


I noticed a Camille Rowe poster at the front of a shop and I hung out with the poster until the friend arrived. I said things to the poster I wouldn’t be comfortable writing about in my diary. “Forgive me Camille Rowe, for I have sinned.” “Same time, next week?”


When I went back the next week, and the friend was customarily late again, I walked towards the shop but the poster was nowhere to be seen. I ran into the shop and demanded the store manager be brought to me. I said I needed him alive. The store manager, oddly completely at ease with my frenzied being, let me know the poster had opened up its own therapy practice. I said how could that be? You need certification for that! The manager shrugged his shoulders and showed me towards the exit. I caught up with the friend who had by now arrived and we went to watch a movie called Boss Baby. I was so heartbroken over Camille I could barely concentrate on the movie. *Imitating Michelle Williams* “My heart was broken.” I made a mental note to watch the movie again when I’m in a more stable state of mind.


“It’s alright to be nice to people, to deceive them into thinking you’re a pleasant person.” Me to myself. “Stop being so harsh on yourself, stop being honest.”

1730 A tall woman fetchingly dressed in black is making her evening rounds. I am up here looking down at her and she’s down there walking her evening walk completely oblivious to my prying eyes. Know what would be the biggest joke? If I said I thought about going down and introducing myself to her.

2330 A girl whom I barely know called me “dear” and I got excited enough to take a screenshot.

0915 I’m sitting on the loo cleaning up my photo gallery. I can justify pics of models saying I’m a fan but these screenshots have got to go. There’s simply no explaining them. Gotta delete them all!


If a woman can’t pull off short hair, she isn’t pretty. Discuss. (10 marks)




Writing out of ennui, writing out of turn

I lost all shape last night. I wasn’t moving my feet. I was a WTA player on the cusp of a personal milestone. I was playing to the strength of my opponent. I became their puppet and they my puppeteer. I wouldn’t step back and take a deep breath and gain perspective. I wouldn’t recollect. I was too caught up in the moment, a deer in the headlights, a nerd in the same room as their crush. I possibly put myself in the way of bodily harm too, and in the pursuit of what? I lost sight of the big picture, missed the forest for the trees; I was in the throes of a goddamn disease.


Mother wakes me up at 1130. I know this because checking her claim against the time on the phone is the first thing I do. “Oh good, it’s only 7 hrs until England v Wales,” I mentally establish. A pleasant thought to start off the day. She says something about lunch and heading out but having just woken up and busy with thoughts about England v Wales, I pay no attention. I never said I was a role-model.

When I finally get off the bed, it’s 6 and 1/2 hours to kickoff. By the time I finish brushing and listening to select tracks from Kanye’s Life of Pablo, it’s  6 hours… you get the drift.


We met on G-chat. Well, me met in real life first but we didn’t really open up to each other until we hit the G-chat. And by opening up I mean, I sent her links to my favorite songs and she sent me links to her favorite songs. I preferred my songs to hers but I knew enough to say nothing more than 🙂 I was more eloquent and less dependent on emojis when holding forth on other matters and judging by the number of haha’s I received, funny too. That or she was distracted and was merely being nice. After a while me moved on to Whatsapp and this was more convenient. I could now chat with her while simultaneously watching and feverishly tweeting about sports. Then one day, she asked if I had an account on Snapchat. I said I didn’t and she sent me a sad face. I didn’t know it then but that was how the cookie crumbled. I couldn’t stay up with her and she left me behind. The perils of seeing a sixteen year old. The only place where I see her these days is on Instagram. When people ask me what I’m doing on Instagram, I say I’m only there to comment ‘Lord’ on Bendtner’s photographs, nothing more. When they persist and ask why is my account locked and why do I not let them follow me, I politely change the subject saying it isn’t worth it.


A friend I knew and an online acquaintance I’ve never met walk into a bar. They both order the bartender to send me a message each on FB messenger. I notice their messages as soon as they’re sent. It’s now been a week.


I lost all shape last night. (I was laying prone on the couch). I wasn’t moving my feet. (They were resting on the armrest of the couch). I possibly put myself in the way of bodily harm. (Left eye prone to dryness on continued extended exposure to electronic screens).

If I were the protagonist’s best friend, I’d be the one with the theories

Question: When do women find a man attractive?

Wrong Answers: When he’s kind, when he’s funny, when he’s smart, when he’s good looking, when he’s athletic, when he has a towering intellect, when he’s tall, when he pays attention, when he pays for travel, when he knows his way around tools- both kinds, when he knows how to dance, when he’s confident, when he’s humble, when he’s self-made, when he has an endowment fund, when he has a great set of teeth, when he’s popular, when he’s lonely at the top, when the boss loves him, when he does what he wants and is his own boss, when he cooks, when he’s so involved he forgets to eat, when he fights for the rights of the downtrodden, when he’s close to his mum.

Right Answer: When he’s with another woman.


Question: When do men find a woman attractive?

Wrong answer: “When she’s a lesbian?”

Right Answer: When she’s asleep, when she’s awake, when she’s brushing her teeth, when she’s team morning breath, when she’s groggy and miserable from lack of sleep, when she’s refreshed and raring to go after a good night’s sleep, when she swears by makeup, when she scoffs at makeup, when she’s gotten a fleek new hairstyle, when she’s got no hairstyle, when she likes kids, when she hates kids, when she’s smoking a cigarette, when she’s disgusted by a person smoking a cigarette, when she’s a doctor, when she’s a lawyer, when she’s a painter, when she’s an engineer, when she’s down for everything, when she’s down for nothing, when she curses like a sailor, when she blushes at a cuss word, when she’s the life of the party, when she can’t wait to leave the party, when she’s all loose on the dancefloor, when she’s uptight and thinks all who dance are sluts (her words), when she’s an outdoor person who likes to run, when she’d rather stay in and watch a rerun, when she likes Woody Allen, when she doesn’t mind Adolf Hitler, when she’s lost some weight, when she’s gained some weight, when she likes to read, when she doesn’t understand why people read, when she’s the one with the brain, when she doesn’t like to think because “it causes wrinkles”, when she knows how to play an instrument, when the only thing she plays is one guy against another, when she’s a mother, when she’s a daughter, when she’s a blonde, when she’s a brunette, when she has a pair of arms and a pair of legs.

So don’t sweat it ladies. What you are is enough. Down with the brands, and down with their ads.


Question: Is this post pro- or anti- women?

The Initiation

Long time readers may find it hard to believe but recently, I’ve started to drink. Beer, whiskey, vodka, rum, moonshine, whatever, there isn’t a drink that hasn’t been in my piss stream. I haven’t told my parents yet so shh. The rationale for keeping it from them being a) I don’t enjoy drinking. I am as indifferent towards drinking now as I was before I started drinking, and b) I don’t get drunk. I remain sober no matter how much I’ve had to drink. No point in letting my parents make me feel guilty for something I don’t enjoy! The Nazi officials should have used the same defense at the Nuremberg trials. “We didn’t enjoy torturing them, your honor. We are therefore not guilty. Please set us free. We have much to contribute to the new world order.”

The thing about drinking is that it puts you amidst drunks. The thing about being amidst drunks is that they’re brimming with Dutch courage and are ready to pester the opposite sex. The thing about being amidst drunks brimming with cheap booze and fake courage and ready to pester the opposite sex is that it gives you the opportunity to play the knight in the shining armor. You get to be Shrek, the drunk gets to be the dragon, the woman upon whom unwanted attention is being bestowed gets to be Princess Fiona, and Eddie Murphy gets to be the donkey. The thing about rescuing possibly slightly inebriated damsels from booze-sponsored dragons is that it gets you fast-tracked into their good books- and if lucky, into their other good things. (Wink)

The other night while I was trying to leverage a stranger into my wingman, things took a turn to the violent as they are wont to do under such circumstances. The dude wasn’t pleased that I was preventing him from hitting on this woman. He started to punch and kick out at me. His words were no less violent. I tried to laugh him off but he put me in a chokehold. I didn’t have the power to break free. The dude was enjoying the dominance, the primordial exhibition of manliness. I was deprived of options. I reached for the only one I had, his balls. No one could believe what I’d done. India, after all, is still quite homophobic and Indians shy away from touching another dude’s balls even if it’s a life or death situation. But not me, I don’t feel restricted by such mores. I take advantage of them rather.

And in this instance, the dude was predictably gobsmacked. He instinctively let go and put his hands up in the air- as if I had a gun against the back of his head, as if he was at a music concert and the DJ had ordered him to do so. I didn’t reciprocate by letting go off his balls though, I ain’t no damn monkey. I adjusted my grip and made him wince some more. I asked if I reminded him of his dad. The color slowly began to return to his face, rage was taking over from shock. I goaded him on some more, he reached out for a glass and smashed it against my face.

The referee called for the bell. The dude was disqualified and I got to keep my world heavyweight championship.

smiling brad

Lament of a pretty woman

Before the age of arctic monkey, I could walk down a street without being spoken to by random strangers. I didn’t know then that this would become something I would look back fondly upon.

These days I can’t get a moment’s peace even if I am with a man, even if I am in Saudi Arabia. They just won’t stop asking me out. It’s as if all these guys look at me as an opportunity they’d regret not seizing. Most of these guys who were too shy to even make eye-contact, they come right up to me, introduce themselves, say how they feel attracted to me, and ask if I would like to go out on a date. At first, I was flattered by their effrontery but nowadays it’s simply gotten to be too tiresome. There are just too many bold dudes out there in the world. I wish they’d go back into their shells and returned to being their mama’s boys. We girls should have been careful about what we wished for.

It’s as if the gene responsible for the ‘fear of rejection’ has been excised from the body. Once upon a time, we used to complain about how guys lacked the guts to ask us out and how miserably intimidated and tongue-tied they were. But then, ever since AM, we can’t catch a break. It’s a constant bombardment. For one thing, the friendzone doesn’t exist anymore. AM pretty much made loitering in it a statutory offense. It’s guarded tighter than the mythical Area 51. Guys no longer hang around offering their shoulders on the off-chance we may give them something more than a few errands. They are frustratingly upfront about it these days. They come right out and say why they are here and what they expect to get out of this. They demand clarity, they no longer beat around the bush. Oh god, how we used to love the bush. We can’t get away with vague promises either. And to think we were so good at those.

Where have all the gutless and spineless boys gone? Damn you Arctic Monkey!

There’s no on left to listen patiently to our complaints through the night. Seems all the free therapists got swept away in an epidemic. They won’t chat, unless it’s personal or raunchy. They’ve wisened up and it drives us crazy. They used to be so happy with so little but these days there’s no pleasing them, unless there’s actual pleasing involved; if you know what I mean. It’s like the price of their company has gone up. A smile and a hi!! won’t do anymore. It’s all gone inflationary and we don’t like it a bit. Hey Rajan, how about raising those interest rates? Hey Bernanke, ease up on the quantitative easing. To use an analogy, they don’t accept cheques anymore, they want cash!

This new found appetite for risk, it’s a virus that goes back to arctic monkey. We can’t have our calorie-free cake and eat it anymore. And we hate that. Bring back the wimps, or we stop looking pretty.