You Can be a Millionaire

April 30, 2007 at 11:17 am | Posted in bong, How To, King markiV returns | 5 Comments

(if you had a million dollars)

I am a firm believer of self-help guides. Seriously… I know most out there are flinching at these lines. But I know there lies at least one reader somewhere deep within the savanna all dressed in leaves and waiting for the rich experience and direction pointer to inner peace (try wearing an ant infested leaf and you’ll know the pleasures of inner peace!) and that is whom I target with this post- your guide to be a SELF HELPER

I wanted to write in his native hoiyaare hoiyya hoola hooo tongue, but google transliteration is yet to scale. So I settle for the next closest language of evil, uncivilized, indecent masses.

Self-help books can be classified in a million ways, the most popular of which is the classification based on requirement. However, since they all scream the same thing, classifications don’t even really matter.

The biggest stumble block is the misunderstanding of the nomenclature. Quite obviously, ‘self help’ means helping one’s self… NOT YOU. If I were to help you by writing instructions down, it certainly is not YOU helping YOURSELF (assuming you and I are different people- a very valid and highly probable assumption)! Once you open your eyes to this, you will understand the beauty of the WORLD OF SELF HELPERS.

The first is the easiest part- filling the pages. Although you COULD try this step after you decide on WHAT you actually wish to write about, it is not the least advisable, as you might easily go off track and write something that correlates. This way, people would understand what you are trying to say, and that alone is enough to kill your recurring income.

Coming to the contents, put in a great degree of philosophy. Add anecdotes and examples of popular figures like Socrates and Pliny. Do a little research to make sure these guys are dead, so they won’t question the stories you make up. If you need to write anything current, make sure its either something that happened to you (I was on the bus…), or a friend with a comfortably ambiguous first name (My friend Tim…). The best feature about the anecdote-manufacture process is that you can comfortably ‘put scene’ about the one eyed dragon you preached to during your rock climbing session up mount Everest, while Tim can always play the guy who walked into the women’s room and came out with the black eye!

Try to be the nice guy. Repeat alternate punch lines like ‘Honesty is the Best Policy’ stolen form your grandson’s kg books.

Ok, contents done. Its time to challenge Webster and Oxford. Think hard and come up with two random disconnected words. To make this easier for the scratchie at savanna- what comes to your mind when you think ‘bubble gum’ (word 1). Look out at the roads (word 2) and come up with a good permutation:
Word 1: Blue, Strawberry, Chewy, Juicy, Headache, Wrapper….
Word 2: Cow, Tramp, Cycle, Garbage….

Now work them out. Make sure there is no repetition. Chewy Garbage sounds pretty good…

This is where you choose the genre. Take a trip to the bookstore and look at which shelf is not yet bursting out already. Choose any genre. Make sure you don’t pick any of the books there and SELF HELP your competitor authors.

This is where you have to actually get creative. Make an acceptable story to fit the new word you came up with. It doesn’t matter if you sound stupid- that’s the aim.
Since the general perception is for self help books for self-something, and since you cannot write something obscene (actually you can, but not here…), pour in gallons of self-pity. Make the reader wallow in his own tears, all along reinstating that the reader is the greatest person to have ever lived, and being a no-good, disgusting piece of trash is OK.
The story should roll along the lines of you having a dead end job, sitting on a lump of garbage called life, and once you start chewing it with pleasure your entire idea bout the world would change (Chewy Garbage)
Put it up on the back cover- it’ll add to the philosophical view.

Oh yeah- now pick a name. Make it as flashy, cheap and marketable as possible.
Load it with stuff life “Think, Life, Success, Freedom, Happiness, Rich” etc which are strictly non quantifiable.

All set. Now get an equally dumb publisher, hit the streets, and now you can Think and Grow Rich.

When Hell Freezes Over

April 20, 2007 at 3:20 pm | Posted in bong, King markiV returns | 2 Comments

Its Morning…
Driving down, i fear all the metal in my bike would melt with the murderous heat. i get feelings of the climax scene of T2… the mercury is evaporating in my therometer. the rice is getting cooked by itself.
I dream of Polar Bears…
its sub zero at my cubicle… And i am half way between freezing and exasperation…

Its not really the temperature that is as much the problem. Used to my lovely city, blistering heat and air conditioners… Nothing seems as dreamy or picture perfect as thoughts of Alaska, in the midst of our dearie summer chennai, right at work. Thats ok.
It just gets to you when:
1) you need to carry a jacket or wear thermal suits- and folks on the road look at you like a misplaced astronaut
2) get out to take a walk and your body instantaneously has to decide between a frost bite and a sun burn
3) sit down with your cuppa- take a sip, burn your tongue, set it down… and VIOLA.. friazzo mocha!!!

now, it doesnt make things any easier having the a.c. vent giving me a first hand atmosphere… nor does the dream of alaska….

RANDOM RANTS!!!Sad (somewhere between a dune and an icicle!!)

Five Years….

April 15, 2007 at 5:06 pm | Posted in Of Reena... Of Love... | 10 Comments

Series are in… In a big way… And im no duck to just sit around. So here goes the first bit of my first series. For a little prologue, this series is on love (YES! AND IF YOU ARE SQUIRMING WITH THE MUSH, SHUT UP and SHUT DOWN!!!). All charecters in these are purely fictitious, or at least I try to make them. But then again, since I draw inspiration from life around, that little line between reality and not-so-reality could be crossed over every once in a while. So here goes my love of Reena… [Prabhu, if this reminds you of my drunken blah-blah, enjoy maadi:-) ]

It’s been five years. Five years since I lost the innocence of my smile. Five years since I assumed life a complexity.

We all make mistakes. We all learn to forgive. We all learn to love. It wasn’t the first time Reena wanted to split. It had kind of become a game then- she wanting a break, me giving it to her, and she coming back in less than a few weeks, weeping like a drenched puppy. I hated it every time she just walked off. I hated it more every time she gave me the same I-did-it-all-for-ma-folks stories. I hated myself for buying that 2-bit crap. And I hated myself most, for tipping logic and reason. I loved her. And it was all ok.

Times changed. Love gradually took the back seat. In my fear of losing her, I began to impose restrictions. She accepted. I imposed more. But for the sporadic fights and arguments, I would almost write it off as a dictatorship. The love that I had nurtured was slowly becoming a killer. Killing both her and me.

It’s been five years. Five years since I realized the difference between love and hate. Five years since I realized both imposter’s the same. Five years since I experienced LIFE first hand. Five years since I died.

I loved her. My life, my world, my living was meaningless without Reena. Yes, we fought. I often screamed that I did not care for her anymore. More than once I asked myself if I even truly loved her. I was quite sure that a couple of months and my life would go on the way it had. Yet all it took were a couple of tears from those beautifully sculpted eyes for me to fall into a heap of incorrigible mass at her feet. Every problem that I could have with the entirety of mankind could be lifted away with that list in her voice. There were nights when I needed no words. Just a sight of the moonlight bouncing off that golden skin would show me the heights of contentment.

Five years since the greatest of bliss. Five years since I was born again a million times over. Five years since I saw the difference between pleasure and happiness. Five years since I bowed down to the angel on earth.

Five years since I went to his birthday. A classmate. A meeting ground for the friends that further enhanced the already wasted time. Just as usual, mocking, pulling each other’s legs, complaining…. That was when I first met her. His cousin, Reena, he announced. It would have further filled the romance if I could recollect the color of her clothes, the design of her hair band. But all that filled my senses were the infectious smile she spread. Her golden voice you could listen to for all eternity. I really didn’t need much of a prodding to go talk to her. She was the angel that made lives worth it. She was what I had been waiting for, for all those years.

The next hour or two that followed were like a snapshot to heaven. My friends just disappeared. Every other life form on this planet ceased to exist. I don’t think I spoke too much sense. At least I didn’t make a fool of myself like macho men in movies do. But even today when I close my eyes, I can sense that soft skin so close, and yet planets apart. I can feel the radiance. I can smell that fragrance sweeter than miles of rose gardens. I can taste that moment, savoring it by the second. I can dream, and it feels like forever. Yet its been five years.

Five years since I smiled without malice. Five years since I could love and live. Five years since I died.

A couple of years down, and one phone call to tell me it’s all over. I begged. I pleaded. I argued. And for a very long time I accused her of causing me to distrust love. I now realize its been equally my fault, if not more. And I plead neither guilt nor apology.

I do not wish she had never broken up. I do not wish to go back these two years. I wish I never met Reena in the first place. Live in peace, ignorant of the angel a few blocks away. But it’s been five years. Five years since I lost me… And it could have as well been a hundred…

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