Besharam bevakoof badtameeZ

Some words – Honest like a honey bee's, pure like a butterfly's and dumb like G.W.Bush's when I run out of stupid similes.

Month: May, 2013

Emotional Graphics (Unadulterated)


2200 Hrs

The pointlessness of being an inspired douche bag 11 hours before an exam, which requires probably all the horsepower of a supercomputer (read Engineering Graphics) is slowly dawning upon me. “Maybe the protagonist should have started studying a bit earlier”- did I hear you say? Nay, where in the world is that fun? But contrary to popular opinion, the so-called thrill of living on the edge doesn’t seem quite appealing to me right now. Screwed up grades are no indicators of personality or intelligence, however. Yours truly, and his friends shall surely vouch for that. Singers, musicians, footballers – you name it, I shall give it to you all.  Stop to think and this flow of words shall end, and these are in no way to be recorded for follow up readings. After all, who am I kidding? I am in no dire need of being hired as the next big Chetan Bhagat. I’m not really fond of that guy- sugar coating it- and I am not even jealous. Earning millions he might be, but advertising ‘ ‘is not exactly cool, mate. Apologies. Darn! Before you, O disheartened reader, point out that I’ve deviated from the topic; let me assure you that I haven’t. I am planning to come back to it, very soon, read on.

A dozen months ago, probably when I was in one of those moods, when thoughts seems  to float around clutching on to nothing solid , yet disconcerting you; in one of these moods-  I decided to plan my future. Oh yes, become a billionaire, genius, philanthropist and get a Nobel too on the way- Iron man in short. Then came up the means of doing it- getting bitten by a spider seemed too mainstream, getting my parents killed by a random robber in a dark alley seemed too cruel, waiting for aliens seemed plausible, but I was too impatient. Nah, these would need copious amounts of hard work later, which let’s all be honest here, I was too occupied to indulge in later. So why not be normally normal? Conventionally conventional? Give this heat- oppressed brain some rest? Become a fadoo engineer?  Forget it all, come what may, let’s go! I joined in for the rat race- engineer hi banthe hein yaar, chal! Likhte hein entrances!

Roads frequently travelled, when rode upon with determination, leads one to salvation. The words may sound too uppity, but they are true- not just honestly, but proudly speaking. It took me about 3 precious years of my unwarranted life; but I made it to the hallowed portals of a beautiful, green, sunlit and wave washed(metaphorically) college, which by now, I’ve made my home away from home. Gloat I shall not, but glow with pride I shall; when I speak in praise of this place.

I made friends, a lot of them- maybe a smile helped, I care not- it was genuine. Cultural, linguistic, gender borders were irrelevant; almost transparent. A world of people so diverse in their tastes, interests, choices – Yet so united in their differences- we come together to represent this country. It wasn’t perfect and I know it shall never be, but it was a start. I’m out in this big world where I’m learning that the decisions I make give me the results they deserve. Outlooks, perspectives, opinions -everything changed. Rewards never seemed appealing if given forth in a glittering wrapper of obviousness- no; they had to be perfect, and for this I needed to earn them, everywhere, every time. Punishments were dealt out without mercy and here too I wasn’t favoured for or against. But I did learn a lot, a fair lot.

I do realise that this is probably the last phase in my life were my only responsibility in life would be to be- myself. In that regard, should I blame my luck, my stars, and my pedigree for not giving me the right genes? If that doesn’t sound ridiculous, then you need to check your faculties of reasoning. Though that is what we were all doing! Though I’ve no idea when this monologue became a dialogue between, God knows who and who; I shall not blame you for feeling awe-uninspired. [I’m following right in the footsteps of Mr Shakespeare (funny name eh?) making up mighty words on my own. Don’t doubt my authenticity though, I’m true spoken. A little pretentious maybe, but bloody honest] Coming back.

If this is a mere representation of life to follow, I wonder, shall this be a template for my life or shall it be just a mere starting point? Being one, who doesn’t have much to share from his inglorious past; I shall not dwell in vain, in it. But if each phase of my life is to be reconsidered, carefully examined and put back like a card castle, I don’t think many would call me sane. Again in retrospect, no one is normal. At least all of us have different sense or measuring scales of normalcy. For example -You might think that Justin Bieber beats Michael J’son in terms of fan following, but I shall not let you complete your lines of argument, without a right hook to your temple; unless you are a girl; in which case you shall have a vision of the most explicit expression of disgust. Mind you, my autocorrect suggested ‘barber’ when I typed Bieber-and I almost….

Never mind. But, yeah I’m feeling much better after pouring out these. Was I frustrated? Am I not still a bit on the defensive? But the orifice this provided – it was like shouting at the top of my voice to the universe- condescending, ranting, complaining, judging, blaming – it helped. Maybe not much, but it surely did. I shall smile and keep smiling , because a score years from now, looking back I shall not remember screwing up an exam, but sitting in a well lit, air-conditioned hall surrounded by people I care about and writing this. That right there; has proved to be the high point of this day.

Strict parents raise sneaky children, a judgemental society raises uncivilized citizens well hidden behind masks of decency, and bottled up emotions create short tempered volcanoes. Do I want to be one? Maybe, maybe not. I am past caring now. I am at peace. I don’t have a plan. I don’t even look like a man with a plan (HL), but I’ve decided upon what to do, though it involves 8 hours of slumber. But am I scared? Oh no never. I’m staring at you- Life, exactly like I promised – unabashed. Lite-might be the word.


Come tomorrow and Life- bring forth whatever you can. Curve balls, ghosts of apprehension, moments of self doubt. We don’t care. We just don’t. Because you have nothing to threaten us with, for we’ve survived this moment, lived off today in all its mirth and pain. Because we’ve lived in the moment, giving it our all. And we shall keep doing so. I feel free to be happy now, for I’m. More smiles all around. Curtains.


This is my life and I shall keep living it – second by second…..tick tock, tick tock, tick tock….


Credits – Zenith Karri. Check out all his brilliant work at


Inspiration- A myth?

Ahoy reader, I’ll bet you a hundred dimes that you are going to hate me at the end of this small snippet of words. For me today, unlike the normal I of all days am turning hipster-at least a wannabe hippie. Minus the glasses and the attire-damn it, before you realize that I have no idea what the stereotypes are, kindly scroll on.

So yes – enough beating around the proverbial bush. Here’s my statement – Inspiration isn’t real. Yes, go ahead – bite my head off, accuse my feet of getting too big for my boots, abuse my lineage, point out grammatical flaws and style-or its lack thereof. But do let me arrange my arguments and rephrase them, to satisfy the Grammar Nazi in you.

1)      Law of conservation of Inspiration –

a)      Recall those times when you had so much to do, with the clock running against you- remember the feeling? Walls closing in? Monsters under the bed? Deadlines hanging above your head, guillotines in the making? Yes – those instances, when motivation was the last emotion you felt. Tried charging yourself up? Haan- Ob yes. Only to toil like a bull for sometime before life ran out of you.

Inference- Inspiration, cannot be created –when you need it the most.

b)      Now I request you to turn your attention towards those moments when you’d the entire world’s time to do something very important and urgent. But, here was the catch- you did not feel like doing it. Oh no, never- the wind seemed so soothing, the grass so green, the girl across the room remarkably beautiful. Take away this one thing-which you were supposed to do at this moment- you’d do anything else, anything. Singing, writing, dancing, acting – name it. Commonly experienced by students, during exam time and before assignment submissions dates.

Inference- Inspiration, cannot be destroyed- when you don’t need it at all.

2)      F=ma

F= Force of Inspiration   m= Minutes you have before Inspiration runs out

a = Access to resources you need

                Now this one here is a beauty. I’ll elucidate. Imagine yourself wading past the cloud of negativity that life throws at you, at any instant. You somehow feel encouraged; on top of your form, ready to pull off your A game- in short what you might have called your “Inspired self”. The momentum that you have as of now, gives you the feeling of invincibility. You are Bruce Wayne, however…..minus the billion dollars and the bat mobile. One just can’t seem to find the right things at the right time, it seems. Wants to write a world changing piece of literature- can’t find a topic. Picks up a cool sport to play- bloody knees wouldn’t hold up, or the racquet is too expensive. Decides to complete an assignment on time- can’t find those papers. By the time you have amassed all these essentials, the ‘m’ tends to zero. Tired, and off to bed. Zzzzz

3)      Archimedes’ Principle of Panic – The buoyant force exerted on a body immersed in incomplete work ; is equal to the physical and/or psychological pressure exerted on him/her by the society

                This principle, very unlike the Greek’s original, helps in eliminating the wrong assumptions on inspiration. The so called “Inspired- work- that- I- did- seconds-before –the- deadline- strangled- me” -isn’t exactly inspired. This is us, Homo sapiens, working under Panic mode. Yes, hit by adrenaline, spurred on by fear of rejection, fear and potential embarrassment. Results may/may not be satisfactory; but the essence of the task is lost and henceforth the purpose of it, is too.

So isn’t Inspiration a fragment of our imagination? The unreal elixir of life? A false hope that beckons hapless beings towards it?-a mirage?



Before anyone rights me off as a cynic or an underprivileged pessimist; let me make a confession. I have been bugged by my own fruitless efforts to get inspired. The so called – “being in the zone of unparalleled perfection”. I have wasted numerous hours waiting for Einstein-ic thoughts to dawn up on me, lift me up into Newton-ic levels of excellence, and bring to me glory and fame. Yes I admit it. Nothing happened. Nothing.

But like every wise man, (Now I am about to gloat, brace yourself), I’ve learnt a small truth.

It wouldn’t come to me unless I go looking for it.

It is valid for everything out there mate, everything. Every single statement I hear, or make myself -“It doesn’t get into my head – so I hate math”- no, I realized- it is because I chose to hate numbers, that I despise it. “I can’t rhyme, I don’t have quality”- No buddy, it’s because you haven’t tried writing before. “I’m not sporty, or fast. I don’t have the right genes, I just don’t”. Of course I might not – but that doesn’t give me any right to stop trying. Does it?

 I belong to a soft generation- “We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.”(BP)

But I shouldn’t be, damn it. Because if every man is to himself, and if God created us all equal, then we all have equal chances. A bad phase, a grey patch- that is his way of telling me that I’m not doing it right. If I hate what I do- it isn’t because there is something wrong with me- it is because I’ve grown enough to realize the fact that I deserve more, can do more, and fucking get more.

I’ve got my answer. Inspiration isn’t a myth. It is a belief. Although blind faith can get me to heights- to stay there, I need to do my part. And till then I’ll be what I am, not a step ahead. So I’ll start walking now. Cheers to a better tomorrow, to a better me. *Clink.  🙂 Image

Much ado about writing

The best things about penning an article and in this respect an original one; is the feeling of starting at one point and not knowing where one would end up. Unless you are somehow blessed with Carol-ised writing genes or a bad-grammar-tolerant-Shakespearean audience, being creative is not an easy task.


There. The first paragraph of this wannabe essay is as generic as it could be. I’ve heard that writing only comes from life experiences, bad decisions and eventually better judgments. After analyzing my brief 19 year old existence in this world, I’ve come to the conclusion that my life, despite my best efforts hasn’t been a biographer’s dream. So for lack of anything mind blowing, why not write about -….writing about?


Just like any kid born in the early nineteen nintees,the author’s stint with writing started with his English examinations, where questions always started with “In about xxx words write a brief essay on xxx…”.Neither was the first xxx brief, nor the second xxx in anyway interesting. I mean come on; there is a limit to the ink wasting that you can do on honesty being the best policy! And just in case you get in the zone and end up writing something satisfying (never within the word limit of course), then you stand the risk of being judged. Teachers, I’ve observed, are big-time fans of thinking way within the box. Numerous underlined sentences, pop culture references cruelly crossed out, few remarks about the precise difference between ‘who ‘and ‘whom’ ; in short, the answer sheet would never be a pretty sight. High school was in some way better- they gave us extended world limits, and a license to be cool; at least to try to be. But the results again, weren’t encouraging.


Diary entries. Now this one was a biggie. The liberty of not being marked on, and of not having an audience, richly helped its authenticity. Well, there were instances when I would put in fancy expressions and eight syllable words to impress the imaginary reader- after all I should be prepared – the odds of humanity being wiped out in a day, and my diary being the only script that survives, is quite high. But genuinely speaking, these were thoughts and feelings fused with the need to be heard. On a serious note, reading one’s old entries is quite a different experience. Barring the silliness of it all, it is like seeing yourself grow up. That time in your life, where your worries were limited to not having a fancy pen, talking to that cute girl with dimples, scoring a goal or worst case – getting a 90+! ; is worthy of being remembered.


So what have I learnt from all this? Our own words are influential. Yes.

Maybe not in an ‘its-gonna-change-your-life-today’ kinda way, but they leave you with a pleasant feeling. And that should be or could be the impetus to write. No fear of rejection slips, no fear of being graded or laughed upon. Just be you, be me.


“After all, the day I started writing I became an artist, and if I am an artist that means I live in a perverse fantasy world with unrealistic expectations.Thank you world; for understanding.”Image