In vanity we rust

This is not a diss at people posting photographs of their graduation. This is just a diss at society in general. Here’s a quick test to see if you fall under this category of people.

Question # 1: Are you human?

If the answer to that question was Yes, then unfortunately you are vain. People keep saying man is a social animal and you can’t really function like a normal human being without having friends and family around you. I could not agree more. This constant need for being feeling wanted, need for affirmation that people love you, need to propagate your daily activities and actions to your virtual friends via social media or otherwise, is what is primarily modern day vanity.

“You know why love stories have happy endings? Because they end too early. They always end right at the kiss. You never have to see all the bullshit that comes later. You know, Life.” – Californication

There is a constant barrage of well wishers informing you that you look fat or you are growing as bald as a hardboiled egg. They also inform you that are way too hairy in all the wrong places. So much so that society judges you. Or that your skin is too dark or is too fair or is “wheatish”. Either which way you look at it. People, who quite possibly don’t even know you, are constantly scrutinizing you on every aspect of your life. Every aspect of your looks. Every aspect of your character. Whether it is good or bad, the judgement is still happening.

And I would have my nose grow like Pinocchio on viagra, if I said that I am all high and mighty and I have never judged anybody. That’s an absolute lie and don’t let me convince you otherwise. I have, am and will constantly be judging you on every step of your life. Whether I have complete information about it or not. Do I like judging you? Not a chance. But am I still going to? Heck yeah. That’s what makes me human remember?

This drives a lot of people out of their comfort zones to feel accepted as a part of society. I have to work out because my friends think I am fat. If my friends think I am fat, that makes me less of a person. People just stop being satisfied with who they are. They achieve to become the person they think others will like.

Enter the wonderful world of capitalism. Companies and livelihoods are made and sustained on these teeming insecurities. You are fat. Society loves and adores skinny/fit people. Notice the plethora of gyms around you. Go to any medicine aisle in your local supermarket and you’ll see various products that are now fat free or promise you will lose <insert absurd amount of weight loss> in <insert even more unrealistic amount of time>. You have less hair on your head. Rogaine will grow your hair for you. Balding people are looked down upon in society. You have too much hair on your body. Let’s wax that junk off you. Didn’t you hear metrosexiness is what is accepted. Guys’ bodies need to be as smooth as Amrish Puri‘s gleaming head. I am pretty positive that women face this exact same problem, if not worse.

That diatribe was surely much needed, if not for others’ amusement self reflection, for my personal peace of mind. But I am going to end this by saying,

“Don’t tell me what to feel. All my fucking life, people have been telling me I do things wrong. I’m always the fucking asshole. I look around and I see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than I am.” – God Hates Us All.

Yet, you will always be judged. That being said though, I hope a few million people read what I have said here and then flower praise, which would satisfy and quite possibly bloat my massive ego..


What do women want?

Any typos in this article are all entirely my fault. Any grammatical errors spotted in this article were put there because I could. The opinions posted are also completely mine and are about 99.4% accurate. The opinions expressed by me, are (usually) not the opinions of anyone else on the planet. Heed advice at your own risk. Phew. Now that I have this disclaimer out of the way, I still harbor a reasonable chance of delving into the complexities that come with trying to understand what women actually want. There is a fair chance that after this blog, I might need to go back in time and have a threesome with Oedipus and Sigmund Freud.

Bear in mind, this post is primarily trying to cater to understanding straight women. My opinions about what women look for in other women for a relationship, would be as useful as Hrithik Roshan’s sixth finger. On his right hand. All I needed to do was to google, and the responses were there. Everybody seemed to know what women were really looking for in their ideal man. Huffington Post, Men’s Health, E Harmony and even Fox News had an opinion. If you listen to Fox News’ opinion on what women want in a man, all roads would point to Rush Limbaugh or Bill O’Reilly. Both of whom are assholes, but that’s my opinion. Even Times of India had something to say in this regard. According to them, women want a guy who is intelligent, has a deep baritone, drives a cool car, is romantic and not necessarily rich, has a head full of hair, and can dance like John Travolta. Let me go over each of these traits and hope that this topic finally has some much needed resolution.


Intelligence is an oft used but even more often misinterpreted term. Growing up in a country which places more importance on educational degrees than it does on personal sanity, intelligence was directly correlated with the kind of degree you have and the institution you obtained it from. So if you have an engineering degree from IIT, you are probably hung like a horse on viagra. Or you probably make so much money, the current government wants to scam you out of it. So I would assume girls would flock around them. But getting into and graduating from an IIT probably ruined most of their adolescence and the chance of having a first crush, first love, first kiss, etc. So, I would actually wish that girls flock around them. But when I think intelligence, my first thought goes towards knowledge of things around you, world politics and general wittiness. Granted common sense amongst the general populace is like deodorants. Those who need it the most, don’t use it. Intelligence is also learning not to ever ask Mayawati to speak again, because chances are your ears are still ringing from the first time you asked.

Deep Baritone:

Speaking of Mayawati, apparently another trait that women look for in a man is a deep voice. Let this not be misinterpreted that I called Mayawati a man. Mayawati is as much woman as Riteish Deshmukh is sexy. In the words of Times of India, “Women are approximately seven times more attracted towards a man who has a deeper voice and a superior position and a dominating work style. High-pitch voices hint towards a pro-social behaviour, so women find such men more reliable. A research suggested that women prefer men with deep voices because it signals strength, dominance and good genes.” I think it was Bill Cosby who once said, ” Women want to hear what they think – in a deeper voice.” That would explain the need for a deep voice. And if that’s the case, Mimoh Chakraborty will probably never be in a relationship. Ever. Only because he is a shitty actor might I add.

Cool Car:

“Cool” is another one of those words that is so often misused. Cool is also something that is time sensitive. Like, for example, when I was 4, I thought growing up to be an adult was cool. Now I regret every minute of it. Except for the money that I make and spend. That’s cool. Wearing your hat backwards, wearing your bag on one shoulder and saying “Waaazzaaaaaaaaa” are some of the things I used to consider cool back in the day. But speaking of cool cars, I wonder if a reliable Japanese vehicle, which gives great gas mileage and probably lasts longer than you, is considered cool. Or is cool the new word, for an expensive, two seater convertible sports mobile that travels 0-60 mph faster than Manmohan Singh can say Soniaji. Or is playing loud, obnoxious music from your car when you pass a couple of good looking girls and nod your head up and down once to try to emulate Joey Tribbiani and say, “How you doing?”. Whichever way you look it, if you offer a girl a bullock cart as a viable eco-friendly replacement for her Toyota Prius, chances are she might not find that cool.

Romantic and not necessarily rich:

This one I actually have a lot to say about. Well actually probably not, because I am as romantic as, well, a paper bag. When I use lines such as I love you as much as pig loves mud, I get the look that practically says, “Get outta here before you’re 6 feet under said mud.” But apparently, women want a man who can sweep them off their feet every single day and make them feel like a queen. She wants material goods, but she also wants somebody who would appreciate them with her. Said material goods can be obtained only with money. I tried haggling with a shop-owner and told him I would pay him in love and hugs. The tilt of my nose is now 15% to the right. So, may be you need to have enough money to buy said material goods, but also you need to have enough romance left in you to woo your better half. So if you think you are like Emraan Hashmi, then score. You just got paid a few crores to smooch your partner. Wait you didn’t? Ha ha sucker. Oh wait, neither did I. The joke’s on me.

Head full of hair:

That’s got to boil down to your luck. Or your genes. Or both. Or your razor. But apparently, a balding guy is a major turnoff for girls. If hair was anything of a reference to how popular you were with women, Anil Kapoor would be the most laid man in the history of the world. Or, for that matter, even me. So, apparently, the metro sexy look is not what girls want. According to the world-renowned doctors at Times of India, “In the past, men were never into makeovers and beauty treatments and they were simply crude. And women have grown up seeing their dads and brothers in a typical macho man look, so this orientation of preferring men with more hair has been there with them since childhood.” God damn it. And here we are, as men, trying to manscape everything that grew naturally. So that women might actually find us attractive. Clearly we were misled. Fuck you, Anil Kapoor.

Dance like John Travolta:

This is something I can not give you any advice on. I have 2 1/2 left feet and none of them can dance. Not even form a semblance of rhythmic repetitive steps. So when girls expect that their guy can do the moonwalk like Michael Jackson, and the guy actually practises and pulls it off, he is a keeper. So I am going to have to use my other magnificent talents such as drinking an entire 6-pack of beer and a bag of chips in one sitting, to market myself as a viable mate. That’s not an accomplishment? Then, I am sadly out of talents to market.

Mulling over all these requirements, not only do I feel grossly insignificant, I also see myself uber single for the foreseeable future. So for all you women out there looking for this ideal man, good luck in your search. I would happy to hear your feedback if you think that I am full of shit and I have no clue about real women want. It is a very real possibility and the fact that I check none of the above boxes in terms of requirements, makes me want to learn about this even more.

Did I mention I was single?

Food for thought

Being raised a vegetarian, life’s traumas are aplenty. Especially, if you’re trying live to in a country, where being vegetarian or vegan (both are different species by the way) is a niche. It’s like living in a Salman Khan movie where he doesn’t take his shirt off. Or Mallika Sherawat. It’s almost a rare occurrence to find a vegetarian only restaurant or even one that has more than one non-meat delicacy on its menu, unless you live in a neighborhood teeming with hipsters with their cliched attires and attitudes. Ordering low fat with 33% by volume skimmed 2% milk only coffee latte. The coffee beans have to be freshly roasted in the heat that is generated in your leather pants on a normal Phoenix, AZ summer afternoon. Apologies for that diatribe against hipsters but it’s hard not to like them.. Maybe it’s just me. YOLO. *carefully finds the nerve on self’s wrist for quick impact*

Hailing from a country where, apparently, two aspects rule the roost when it comes to being considered good looking. The first being skin color. With an immense amount of self control, I shall sidestep that minefield temporarily. The second being, of course, physical appearance. Granted when I was in graduate school in Missouri, between juggling 3 jobs, courses that would make one cry tears of acid, and projects that are best left undescribed , food ranked low on the priority along with sleep. Being a lethargic asshole, I would much rather have sleep than food. But being denied food, my stomach protested by making sounds that can only be described as a Himesh Reshammiya orgasm. Without the shitty hat obviously. When the stomach wants, the stomach wants. So I complied. In a state where steaks are served in a buffet, my gluttony ensued in the ravenous, dark confines of my lab. Gormandizing on my 1/2 lb Cheese burrito with beans instead of beef, smuggled under my shirt from Taco Bell. Yes, eating at Taco Bell was considered a step down from eating at a restaurant. Peers said the consequences would be dire. I failed to see their point. The burrito was delicious.

A few months on, the dire consequences started to show. Specifically, on the hips, stomach, ass. And of course bowel movements. The Fire sauce had worked it’s magic. Cue a trip back home to India, where the first question upon arrival was, “How was the flight?” And the second one being, “Did you eat the entire country’s supply of food?” It was a common trend that I encountered all throughout my annual plastic smile visits to “well-wishers” who keep taunting the fact that I genuinely represented the “Pizza and Burger eating” culture that the United States was renowned for. It was hard enough keeping track of the taunts, so I refrained from explaining how tacos and burritos were made. The concept of “putting on” is still alien to me. I understand people care about my deteriorating image, and the fact that I needed 2 cameras to take a photograph or the person had to be standing atop a hill so I could fit in the frame, but I do realize the fact that bending down is now actually a chore. Steps were being taken.

California had given a lot more options. “The Land of Hipsters and Hollywood”, as it’s affectionately called, had a lot more culinary options for me to gobble upon. The healthy lifestyle can wait. I got new money flowing in courtesy my job. Years of living like a student on Maggi (Ramen) and Burritos had run its course. Now it was time for real food. Extra cheese? Why the fuck not?! Picture this. An extremely obese guy is watching a porno. He is finished when the pizza guy delivers the pizza in the movie. Or like the first 5 minutes of any Sunny Leone or Uday Chopra movie. The enthusiasm to fatten myself lasted about that long. I was soon turning into THAT fat guy. Seeing all those beautiful people on the beaches inspired me no end. This fat and this disgusting lifestyle had to go.

This took me to the wonderful world of the internet where opinions were like assholes. Every single asshole had one. I started typing “how to” and google spontaneously detected my immense self loathing and possibly heard the creaking of the chair I was sitting on. It prompted, “How to lose weight, you fat loser”. Google always knows best. Diet plans were aplenty. Atkins, Dukan, South Beach, Stillman to name a very select famous few. None of these had what I wanted. I wanted the ability to eat whatever the heck I wanted and also lose weight. “Does eating count as exercise?”, was my next question to Google. It said, “If you want to die by 30, and have that written as an epitaph to you, then yes. Eating is an exercise.” Point well and truly made. I had to move my fat carcass off the couch that was reserved for video games and take it to the nearest gym.

Then came the move to Virginia. This is a state that can only be described best on a psychiatrist’s couch with dolls. At least the part that I was moving to. To celebrate a friend’s birthday, we asked him where he wanted to eat. He suggested a steak house. Not just any steak house, a steak house where you could choose the steak you wanted. Some of these steaks were as big and red as something that would feature in a M. Night Shyamalan movie or the latest Saw remake. When all my friends were busy choosing their steaks of choice, I was busy fiddling around with the free groundnuts that they had offered us. Then we sat down, and the server came by to ask us what we wanted as our sides. Cue my standard response, “Do you have anything that does not have meat in it?” I can see the rolling of her eyes and instant judgement on her part, while she was thinking, “Do these people not read English? Why would you come to a steak house and ask for vegetarian food?” But her mouth, thankfully tried to look for options. A salad maybe? No that has bacon bits. How about some fries? No, that’s fried in cow lard. Do you  consider fish to be meat? All I had was a beer and fried onions. Make that 3 beers.

I was fortunate to learn how to feed myself by cooking food that resembled something like a potato that tried to commit suicide in a shallow pan with a side of onions and garlic. Yet, the taste was divine. I had come to tell myself that I was an excellent cook. Delusion was my only escape from the nightmarish culinary experience so far in Virginia. So hear one, hear all. All I have to say is eat all you want, when you want. Yet, ensure that bending is not really a chore.

My motto is “People eat to live, I live to eat”. 165 lbs and counting. (Completely made up number)

Color me rainbow

With the whole arranged marriage building up a considerable head of steam, I received a profile of a guy working in San Jose. His father was very interested in my profile and thought his son and me should get talking. He also asked my Dad for my horoscope. Much to the chagrin of my Dad, he asked me if I knew something he did not. Not that I am against Gay Marriage in any way, shape or form, but I did not think that guy was cute. Secondly, I don’t think any guy is cute. No disrespect to any cute guys there, but I wasn’t wired that way. I did not choose to or decide to be straight. I was born that way.

Which brings me to the main issue. Homosexuality and gay marriages. Of course, during the course of growing up, I have called effeminate guys who I studied with as gay. I simply assumed stuff and judged. I had no clue about their sexual orientation. I don’t think any 10 year old kid knew about their sexual orientation. I heard somebody say it, immediately made the connection that effeminate equals gay, and went ahead and labeled the kid that. I was a smart cookie like that. But then I also grew up in India. Where people aren’t really open about discussing  sexuality and parents never seem to be too keen to discuss sex or protection.

My first foray into dealing with said sexuality was when Govinda was trying to get in the sack with an actress and he was crooning this beautiful masterpiece aptly called Sarkai Lo Khatiya. So when parents aren’t taking responsibility for teaching their kids, they seek guidance elsewhere. Enter Shakti Kapoor, of casting couch fame. And it’s not that Indians don’t know about sex. This is the country that came up with the book of all books. No, not the chronicles of Chetan Bhagat. The Kama Sutra. Although, Chetan Bhagat’s photo on the back of his books are far more disgusting to look at than the last page  in the Kamasutra that says The End. Why yes, I am straight and single. Why do you ask?

If the name Baba Ramdev means nothing to you, then it is safe to say you are not an Indian – or a yoga enthusiast or are in complete control of your senses. The guru’s international yoga camps – where he preaches a medicine free world – have been attended or watched on television by an estimated 85 million people worldwide, making him one of the most recognisable Indian faces on the planet. That guy is as flexible as having a beer on a Monday afternoon. You know if you are employed, generally Mondays are most harrowing of all days. You know it’s a shitty pun, if you have to delve into explaining it yourself. Anyway, given the political wars ongoing in India right now, pseudo godmen such as Baba Ramdev try to voice their opinion about how homosexuality is the bane of all Indian cultural existence. Existence of homosexuality is evident in Indian culture since prehistoric times, as seen in different forms of art like paintings and carvings in temples. Here is photographic evidence.

Yet his exact words were,

“These are unnatural acts not designed for human beings. The decision of the High Court,if allowed to sustain will have catastrophic effects on the moral fabric of society and will jeopardise the institution of marriage itself. This offends the structure of Indian value system, Indian culture and traditions, as derived from religious scriptures”

Yet, we have women being raped every minute. Each one more atrocious than the next. Each victim younger than first. Yet, instead of finding ways where the average horniness quotient of the average Indian male could be curtailed by means of his yogic talents, he tries to find a cure for homosexuality with yoga. Indians are known to procreate with ease. Just read through our annual census reports. 1.3 billion people can’t be wrong. I think acceptance of homosexuality in Indian society could potentially solve our growing nightmarish population problems and also potentially bring focus to more crying needs such as rape victims or female infanticide. Or basic education. Ours is a country where the moral police have a problem with couples holding hands and kissing in public. Yet, men can quite freely intertwine their pinkies together and walk merrily along the streets. What’s another word for merry? That’s right! Gay.

Don’t let the likes of people such as Govinda, Shakti Kapoor and Baba Ramdev explain about sex to your kids. Take the mantle in your own hands and distinguish between those darn birds and bees. And also teach them to respect women and not treat them like sexual objects. And also, make them listen to Govinda and Udit Narayan songs from the 90’s. They were absolutely staggering and their lyrics were the stuff that The Beatles could only dream of.

Case in Point