Here’s a list of quotations that make no sense when you really think about them. I’ve tried to present more logical decoding for the same.
Right. Because animals don’t make any sounds.
Because nutrition is too mainstream, huh?
Yeah, no..she was probably throwing a fit about her hair.
Er…and women whose dress makes them look fat.
Really? ALL of it? Couldn’t I leave just one ventricle at home?
I don’t even…
Oh! Good for you! Well, I found weed. Just like that.
In that case, I ACCEPT that I sometimes kill people for money.
Dont change the subject, what happened to the storm?
Umm, I’m not sure I want your love then. I mean, really tempting offer and all…
What the fuck have you been smoking?
Oh! You mean like have sex with horny people – they need it the most? Got it.
They warned us about giving candy to boys like that at Pedophiles anonymous.
It’s crap like this that stupid people pass off as sensitive and heartwarming. Stupid people who send smses with idiotic motivational garbage that makes no sense. Stupid people who believe in pseudo everything instead of what’s actually real. Being vulnerable is not about saying something or doing something that you do or say in a moment of weakness. It’s about the impulse your brain sends to your face to act like it’s okay and that you’re in control. It’s the antibody, not the disease. Being personal is overrated. Nobody needs to know. Nobody gives a flying fuck. They’re too busy trying come up with #ChutiyaQuotes
Alright folks, this is my first list type post. Hope you like it. I really do. Please like it? Please? Plee-he-he-he-eeeez! *burst into fit of uncontrollable sobs* Why won’t you hug me dad? Why?
Yes. So the dad angle was essential to build up to what follows, I look up to some of these fictional characters and the actors who play them like I would and do my dad. Okay? Okay. Good talk.
Ron Fucking Swanson
Ron Swanson is indubitably the coolest indifferent there can be. Every boy in his teens and aspiring lesbians everywhere should look up to him, say the things he does and strive to one day eat as much meat as he does in a day. Despite his outwardly appearance, Ron is a caring friend, skilled woodworker and skilled lover. As most men on this list are. Contrary to most men in real life. Am I right ladies?
Mr. Cocky Lawyer as I like to call him. Okay maybe this has more to do with me just being totally over actors who play great on-screen lawyers but Harvey Specter takes it to a whole new level. Bear in mind that comparisons are often made with the likes of Denny Crane, Alan Shore and Eugene Young so it’s not always easy to topple the bar or even live up to it. Granted that Suits is a different kind of legal drama, it’s definitely one of the best of all time. If you don’t watch it, start soon. You have about 2 incredible seasons to bring you up to speed. Damn, I wish I were you right now.
Modern Family is the best comedy on TV right now. Period. Largely because of Phil Dunphy. I don’t need say more. You know what I’m talking about.
A role almost tailor made for Patrick Warburton. Jeff Bingham is the poor man’s Ron Swanson. The deadpan delivery, the condescending friendships, he symbolises “Men will be men”. Rules of Engagement may not be the best sitcom there ever was and maybe no one will remember it 20 years from now but it’s on TV right now and it’s damn funny. I used to pretend to watch it for Bianca Kajlich but now I’m reasonably certain I watch it for Jeff Bingham. There’s no shame in it. Haters can hate.
A few years back, when this cool website you’re at was only a brainfart and nothing more, Barney Stinson would probably have been #1 by a longshot. For a long time now, Barney Stinson is the only reason me and probably half the people who still watch How I Met Your Mother and hate themselves for it. Still adorable, Still funny and perhaps the most subtly evolved character on a long running sitcom.
Speaking of characters that have evolved, Shawn Spencer, psychic detective and his cop girlfriend will make you go aww! in a very non-homosexual way. Much the same way him and Gus will. Psych is a one of its kind show. Watch Psych. It’s nice. It’s just a nice show.
What Louis C.K. lacks in abs and hair, he more than makes up for with brain and then some. Louie is the benchmark for comedy shows in the 2010s. Only a phenomenal stand-up like Louis C.K. can be as self deprecating and yet undeniably funny. It’s real, it’s nothing like you’ve seen before and it takes you to places you didn’t think funny could. You need to watch Louie man. You just do.
Saturday Night Live has a long list of brilliant actors who could walk in and out of this list like it’s nobody’s business but Bill Hader is consistently funny in all his sketches and is wasted in movies. He’s a great live performer and the best thing to happen to SNL since Will Ferrell.
Anger shrink Charlie Goodson, in therapy himself is funny, errant and often times incorrigible but no one pulls it all off with the ease that Charlie Sheen does. The jokes may seem played out but they genuinely are funny. His chemistry with Selma Blair (therapist/lover) is refreshing and at times surreal. Watch the show solely for them, watch it if you’re a sitcom fan like I am. Charlie Sheen has shown that Two and a half men is shit without him and he truly is #winning.
The coolest midget in all the seven kingdoms. Tryion Lannister adds to Game of thrones just about everything it needs to be perfect. The swagger, the moral compass, the snide, yet charming wit on demand makes him a magnificent man on TV. With him I conclude this list. The first of many more to come.
Now now, I know what you’re thinking. Given my recent writings and the fact that I recently turned single this post is gonna be about some flousy who walked out on me in the dark of the night. No no. When have I ever been that predictable?
The answer, good sirs is never. I’m spontaneity incarnate. I’m not gonna blog the next day about some random one night stand. No no, I’m not that white trash.
This post is merely a collection of folks who I like to call Khisakzaade. They meet every week to discuss their sexcapades. Like at a support group. In fact, it is a support group.
Ryan was a pornstar in the 80s. His big move was going to his co-stars greenroom and saying this: “Look, I’m a thorough professional. In the interest of good adult cinema, I’d like to examine your clit so I don’t fumble on camera.”
It worked more often than you think. Say what you will, but it’s hard to not be turned on when a man you’re about to fuck is examining your genitals. It’s even harder when he’s got a moustache like Ron Swanson (like pornstars did, back then, and women did too, just around a different set of lips) and abs of steel. Yup. In many ways, Ryan was a through professional. He spent 12 hours at the gym every week and the rest, having sex. Either on camera, or off it. Then word got out that he’s just a perv who likes to sleep with his co-stars. Well, when you’ve slept with 265 of 410, word tends to spread. As do genital warts. Ryan had to quit the porn business in 95 when he was 44 and at the peak of his career and still a few years away from male menopause. Ryan eloped to India in the hope of not being recognized there and live a life of quite masturbation and peace. Yes, retired pornstars aren’t all that different from from you and I.
The 80′s was a time when Porn was not yet a business. (at this point, i’d like to coin the jisness. I think it’s pretty self explanatory)
But nuff about Ryan. lets take Khisakzaade #2. Pandey. No one knew what his first name was. For most people, he was just Pandey. Pandey was just a perv. He came to these things just hear about people’s tales of sexual dysfunction and gratification. Pandey was not a nice man. He never took the podium. Never “shared with the group”. No one knew what he did and as per rules of the group, he was never forced to share. That’s all about Pandey, for now. By all means though, give him a first name that you see fit. It really doesn’t matter to me or to Pandey.
Some of my best friends in the world are Muslims. and I love them. I love hem to death..no offence. But Muslims, I know 2 things about you. Not all of you are terrorists and that you take dares way too seriously.
I’ll bet that in an alternate universe, the first Muslims were really chilled out people just sitting there, eating pork, drinking wine, listening to music and then one of them went
“Dude, I bet you cant go without food or water for a month.”
“I could. But i wont.”
“Dude, I dare you. You would if you were a real Muslim”
“Well, fuck you! *flips bird* Now I’m gonna do it just to prove my point.”
I’ll bet they had just one wife and a happy family who went on Club Mahindra holidays and shit and then one of them went
“Dude, I bet you cant have 50 wives”
“I could. But i wont. That’s stupid”
“Dude, I dare you. You would if you were a real Muslim”
“Well, fuck you! *flips bird* Now I’m gonna do it just to prove my point.”
I’ll bet on the morning of 9/11, Osama bin Laden was just sitting on his terrace with a friend and then he went *smokes joint*
“Dude, I bet you couldn’t blow up WTC”
“I could. But i wont.”
“Dude, I dare you. You would if you were a real Muslim”
*smokes joint* “Well, fuck you! *flips bird* Now I’m gonna do it just to prove my point.”
And here’s the deal Muslims, if you’re so pissed off about being mistaken for terrorists all the time, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. All you’re really doing is making films. What do you think Abraham Lincoln abolished slavery after he saw Django Unchained? There’s just too many movies about an innocent Muslim who was forced to become a terrorist. And it’s not gonna help.
Soon enough, you’re gonna run out of innocent Muslims to make a film about.
So one would think. One would think, that if you only had a limited number of films that can be made, you wouldn’t waste one by casting John Abraham as the lead.
I’m kidding of course. Don’t get offended. Because if you get offended, then you’re the Muslims I’m talking about!
I think comedy makes it all better. Just ask the Jews…they got over what Hitler did to them by doing Comedy.
I’ll bet right now in the audience there’s Muslims going
“Dude. Should we kill him?”
“Dude. I dare you…real Muslim”
*drops dead like he’s been assassinated*
*gets up* So I know this conversation took place.
OK I see some of you are having a hard time processing this.
Here’s the deal…my religion allows re-incarnation. There.
The Comedy Store is an institution for aspiring comics everywhere in the world. Only a few years ago, I was at Palladium and I saw it for the first time. Little did I know that some day, not too far into the future, I’d walk in wearing a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, take the microphone over from Tanmay Bhat and perform a four minute set in front of an audience that paid to be there.
A picture of Eddie Izzard with a fan on the wall outside the store caught my eye. When I went in to register at the Box Office, a blue plastic bracelet was bestowed upon me that granted me free access. Eddie Izzard must’ve worn one such bracelet once.
I’m still very new at comedy and I was gonna take a hiatus after the store to come up with some new, kickass material. But now I think I’ll just carry on doing comedy for just a little longer. It’s too much fun to take a break just yet.
This is a very homosexual post.
It always starts with a blank word document for me. At least most of my blog posts have been created that way. I open up a word blank document and let my thoughts assemble into a beautiful, structured, poetic mess. And then I start typing frantically. Or not. Whatevs.
Anyway, I’ve been reading wikibrands and I should learn a few things from it. It’s pretty vague and doesn’t offer any real guidelines but it’s a good read. It’s the kind of book that generally inspires you to be more productive without showing you how to. Which is good for us smart folks. But one thing that I read made some sense and I think I should try and incorporate that shit into the blog. As you know, my blog has met with a fairly decent response considering that I know nothing about blogging, am not very savvy with computers and/or web design and I’m not the kind of creative that society ogles over. I’m a different kind of creative. But I still want to and feel that I can appeal to a good proportion of the audience. How hard can that be? Wikibrands says I should try and include my audience with the decision-making and the final product. This I gotta start doing. Not a lot of random strangers follow The High Man. That has to change and the time for it is now. Anyway, if you’re reading this, you’re a part of The High Man community and you’re welcome here. You can suggest, tweet, mail, comment and in exceptional cases, write to me with a pen and paper (Neanderthal) about how this can be a better experience for you. Not just the content and/or the material, everything. Do you like the current face of The High Man? Do you have a better suggestion? Tell me. Let’s expand and make this community grow. You and Aye. You and Aye.
Like that. Do you like it when I do weird shit like that? Or do you get enough of it on twitter? What do you like/dislike? What do you really dislike? Did you ever touch yourself in a dirty place after reading something I wrote. Did you feel the need to take your clothes and call out my name at any point? If so, how was that experience? Does your mother hate you? Why does she do that? Why cant you be free to live your life the way you want to? What’s the bfd?
The goal that The High Man strives to accomplish is to create a safe place where you can feel at home. Where you can be given milk baths and cucumber face packs. Where we tickle the space between your toes with our tongues till you shriek with joy. Or not. That’s the point – it’s your decision to make. We’ll tickle your toes with our tongue. But YOU get to decide how that makes you feel. At The High Man, we spare no expense in making you feel like you’re the boss. But it’s also YOUR decision. So if this blog, nay, this community that You and Aye are a part of does not get a lot of hits, IT’S YOUR FAULT. NOT MINE.
The High Man is a place where you can be yourself. Whether you’re black, or yellow or autistic or paedophile or if you’re a paedophile that’s exclusively attracted to autistic kids under the age of 7, you’re welcome. If you’re the guy with a really small penis but gigantic testicles that make you so horny all the time but you cum too soon? You’re welcome here. There’s place for you. On the table next to paedophile #2. If you have a big penis but miniscule testis, you’re welcome here.
As my grammatically challenged college friends would saiy, “Lulz…Can you believe I wrote that during lunch break?”
True Story, except for that my college friends would never write during lunch break. And even I wouldn’t have, nobody does. But two of my regular subscribers @rajananusha and @bhartsimpson (bro and ex, not in that order) were both absent that day and I had come prepared with my laptop to college. And so during break I wrote this post.
Several days later…
I’m at my house in Ujjain, my home away from home now. And this is the first time I’ve carried a laptop here, and this is the first time I’m writing with it. Last night was Mahashivratri, a Sunday. I finished reading WikiBrands a few weeks back and am back to Berlin 1961 (thanks @rajananusha J) a little more chronologically equipped after watching BBC’s Infamous Assassinations.
About Ujjain, this piece was written for Raghu that perhaps describes best in whatever I’ve written so far what Ujjain is to me.
“You know Mahipal, we hail from Ujjain, Madhya Pradesh. My grandfather had a bungalow in the heart of the town, the ground floor and first floor of which we would usually rent out either to a government office and recently, to a playgroup kindergarten. I spent most of my vacations as a child in that house. It’s a beautiful place with mango trees surrounding us, branches extending into the courtyard and balconies. Every alternate summer, they’re laden with the juiciest langda mangoes I’ve ever tasted. People swear by our mangoes. Even though our visits were usually restricted to a week at the most, the trees and the house is taken care of by the tenants and neighbors, after all, they’re the ones who get to eat the fruit.
But this is not about mangoes. It’s about what I do in the 4-5 days that I spend there. We never had cable and we recently disposed off our antique bush television. Those trips were about meeting a set of close relatives, visiting a set of temples and chilling out (literally, should you visit around Christmas. One winter, when I was in eighth or ninth, temperatures hit as low as 1.5 degrees Celsius). During summers, there were madhushalas set up at every nook and corner that serve fresh sugarcane juice. There was also “famous kulfi”. My God it was good stuff! But how does one spend the rest of the time? All of the above activities take at the most a day”
Mahipal was listening intently, clueless about why he was being given a homily on their family’s vacation escapades.
“I for one used to read. As would Saheb but he usually had a bunch of things to do – property tax, renewing lpg cylinders, minor repairs, bills, etc. There’s usually someone over to meet him at any given time during the day. While they’re there, my dad’s obliged to give up his Hindu Dharma or Gita Shastra book indefinitely. Some of them are nice. They leave early. Most aren’t. They have this dire need to explain to us that life in Ujjain is just as hip and happening as that in Mumbai. Some would go off on a nostalgia trip and start reminiscing about the 60s and 70s where they were accidentally part of some mildly entertaining event. Every year it’s the same story, slightly more dramatic and with a few candid insights about what they were going through as Dilip Kumar (or a look-alike) was addressing a sea of people who they were part of for a few minutes. The highlight of the story would be their claim that he made eye-contact with them for a second or so. And then their version of it takes a turn for the spectacular. They claim over the earlier claim that Dilip Kumar chose them to lock eyes with because he saw the vast untapped potential in their acting abilities. And that of course, is not baseless. They took part in the school play and an entire primary school’s worth of audience clapped and applauded for it was the polite thing to do. They regret the los opportunity to become a film star and spend their days imagining what life would’ve been like if they had taken up Dilip Kumar’s offer and joined the film industry on his recommendation.
My mother would be in the kitchen, constantly making tea for our esteemed guests, careful about which one to add sugar to and which to not. Then she’d place the cups in a tray with their handle pointing outward if there’s no sugar in it, specifically instructing me to serve that cup only to the diabetic uncles.
Amongst all this, I used to have little or no role to play. I just had to make sure I touch the guest’s feet when they arrived, smile when one of them exclaimed how grown up I looked and answer politely when asked about my studies. Then I could go back to whatever I was reading, leaving my father agonizing about not being able to do the same. I’d fall in love with whatever reading material I could get my hands on out there. It’s the only constructive way to pass time. I’d take a bag full of Archies with me which I’d finish off on the first night itself. Then I’d start the book that I took. Now this is challenging because I don’t know if it’ll be good until I’ve read it. So I’m skeptical and cautious. I reach for the newspaper…alas! It’s in Hindi. After a failed attempt at reading it, I pick up some of the English newspapers I had carried with me the last time I was here. The newspaper is yellow, naturally yellow, not like the business ones, a slightly paler shade from having stayed on the shelf for nearly a year.
I browse through it. The sports section. It brings back memories of the test match that was being played at the time. I read the rest of it and without realizing, the rest of the bunch. And between the feet touching, elaborate meals and late night chaat outings, it’s almost enough time to read the Archies again!
The newspapers were an accident, but a beautiful accident it was. It got me started on the debates on the controversies that were going on then that I had lost track of with time. It was like reading a book of short stories. Some of the cricketers had retired, some of the politicians imprisoned, some dead. It was, on the whole, quite an experience. So the next time, I carried even more newspapers so I can I leave them there. It’s like planting a tree. You think of the fruit you’ll get when it’s all grown up. I used to wonder how long I’ll be able to keep up the ruse but the optimist in me thought that as long as there will be newspapers, there will be old newspapers. And look at this – I haven’t read these books for ages! I almost feel like a child again. Tonight’s going to be fun Mahipal!”
Mahipal thought he was obliged to share a story about his native place. “I went to my gaon in Jalhandar last year Sahab. I visited Delhi for a day. It had changed a lot! Just like Bombay. Malls and traffic everywhere.”
“I’ll need some fresh sheets and pillow covers Mahipal. Have the cleaning boy arrange for them please” Raghu was in no mood for Mahipal’s chronicle of Delhi’s metamorphosis. Just as Mahipal was about to leave, he got a call from Pramod. “Dude! Where are you? Meet me for a drink”
“Now? I’m at my father’s place. I just finished dinner.”
“So? Come meet me Leopold in an hour. It’s the only place that stays open till late at night.”
“Come na pussy! What’s the matter? Daddy won’t let you play?”
“Alright fine! See you there”
Alright, now if you’re still reading, I gotta ask…are you into me or something?
I don’t know how many union governments present a rail budget every fiscal year but I do know that in India we couldn’t do without one. Simply because in our country, the rail budget directly and indirectly affects the lives of millions of people, belonging to all classes of society. Yes, even those who never travel by trains because they’re too evolved to mingle with the general public. This year’s rail budget was not too different from the past few rail budgets the Congress has presented, full of promises and ideas that are way too difficult to practically implement, sometimes so brutally obvious that people don’t even expect them to be implemented.
Take for instance, the AC coaches on Mumbai’s local trains. I travel by harbor line everyday and the state of affairs is pitiful to say the least. Over the last five years, I’ve travelled several times on the central line and western line too and the situation while a little better is still not far from pitiful. Bear in mind that I’m not a cynical pessimist who bashes the government unnecessarily. But AC coaches is just fucking ridiculous. Anyone who has travelled in Mumbai’s railway trains will know that having an AC coach should be the least of our priorities right now. Our railway stations are home to thousands of homeless, drug addicted, diseased men and women who live like the world is their oyster and just because they can’t afford a shanty or a slum dwelling, it shouldn’t keep them from using the platform like a spacious living room. Not that I don’t sympathize with their plight, but I kinda don’t. Not if you collect used mineral water bottles to buy smack and call it a lifestyle. But that’s not the railways’ problem. It’s certainly not the police’s who’re stationed at every station, little or large, busy or desolate. For the constable stationed at a railway platform, life’s just an excuse to judge every passing passenger, waiting for meal times and awaiting a transfer. The railways’ problem is not theirs to attend to. They’re cops after all. Their job is to catch Dawood Ibrahim, the day he shows up on Kurla station without a platform ticket or doesn’t pay 5 bucks to take a leak. Nothing else is worthy enough of their services. I know this because I once asked a female constable to attend to a child who didn’t look like he was just asleep in the subway connecting Canon Pav Bhaji and CST. The least the constable could have done is taken a bottle of water to revive the poor thing. But she couldn’t leave the passenger helpdesk. Because that would mean disturbing the perfect butt imprint she had caused by the prolonged geological pressure of her bottom. She was in the middle of creating art. The passed out child could wait. Sadly though as uncharacteristic as it was for me to bother about another fellow human, I had a train to catch and lectures to attend. (Attend, being the operative word). I moved on with my life. God know what happened to the kid. God knows what happens to all such kids. It doesn’t keep me up at night and God knows, it doesn’t keep our butt artist up at night. It’s like the police and the railways are competing over who can be more incompetent. Once again, bear in mind that as far as concerned citizens go, I’m far from being one of them.
Everyday, people die while crossing the tracks. It’s easy to blame them. It’s fair too. They were stupid enough to risk their lives because they didn’t want to climb a flight of stairs. Some of them cant because their knees hurt. Well, life’s hard. But I can’t help but think of the stations that do not have functioning foot over bridges. Or as the railways call them “Ad spaces for English speaking courses”. People who die everyday because they have no choice but to cross railway tracks don’t die, they’re murdered. Because the railways are busy making AC coaches for those who can afford to drive to Vikhroli in a Honda city. I mean, why drive a merc to office when you can take an AC coach to work, right? Fuck those poor assholes who die because there’s no foot over bridge, they’re poor! Nobody cares! Certainly not the railways. The railways needs more rich people traveling by AC coaches. It makes for better train sequences in Bollywood movies. Never mind the people who die. It’s a small price to pay to watch Jackky Bhagnani travel by an AC coach with earphones on for a 10 second movie scene.
If I didn’t bother writing railways with a capital R, it’s because like I mentioned, I’m far from being a concerned citizen. Like the police, I’m just here to watch.