iDEATE

Doodling my heart out about all things 'creative' ...

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Show me the money, honey!

How much money is ‘enough money’? I always have people come up to me and ask, “What do you do for a living mate?”. And after I’ve given them all that spiel on ideation and creativity, they go, “So how much money do you make?”. I mean what the F man. Half these people (well, make it nearly ALL) are stuck up in ruddy jobs that only lets them exercise their rusty thumbs to do a Ctrl C and a Ctrl V. They create absolute zilch their whole lives, going about their zombie-ite existence and making their parents go, “Oh, my son works for this fancy company you know. Makes money in dollars”. And all of this, only for that pseudo satisfaction of being able to count xyz rupees at the end of the month. Nobody wants a career. All they want is a job; and still, unfortunately so, THEIR cheeks are what all relatives want to pinch and squeeze in every fucking social gathering.

Now before I send out the wrong signal, lemme clear the air. I don’t want any grubby hand on my cheek, however adorable the intent maybe, squeezing it in an affectionate fit. My girl pinches me enough to compensate for the rest of the populace and boy am I glad for that or what! What I hate, is people signing me off as a no-brainer the minute I tell them I’m making a fraction of what their s/w engineering nincompoops are making.

WTF! I probably tax my brain more than all those s/w geeks ever do in their entire swathe of 24 hours. My profession necessitates I think round the clock, address real world problems, and solve them successfully. Every application my s/w counterpart writes a program for, has only a handful of algorithms that ring right in the binary scheme of things. The solution is a given and the codes they write are well, already defined. I write programs too. I write them for real people, mapping the entire spectrum of human emotions, which if laid in a straight line, would encircle our planet a zillion times and more.

It’s easy writing a program for a car accessory that needs to beep if something other than a perfect fit of a key is shoved into its arse. But it’s definitely not easy writing an ad for a vodka that is pink in colour, costs over 3 grand, can be drunk neat, targets the ‘muaaaaaaah daaaaaaaahling’ crowd, and goes by the name of Pinky! It’s easy writing code for an investment bank whose coffers once filled will spew out the exact amount figure that’s crammed in, right down to the last dime. But hallelujah, it ain’t easy understanding why people would shop in a Stella McCartney shop, or buy a Gucci bag (try asking Paris Hilton why she likes sporting Gucci bags. Even with all that drivel in her head, she’ll probably come up with umpteen number of reasons why the bag’s gonna make her go “wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!”). It’s probably easy writing a program for the electronic Rolex inside the hallowed turfs of Wimbledon. Every time Freddie hits an ace and his pleasantly plump girl smiles beatifically at him, the camera also pans on the Rolex and the time it screams with pin point precision. But try writing an ad for a Tommy watch and understand the sea of ‘Should I, shouldn’t I?’ thoughts a consumer goes through before he makes the purchase, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.

I’m not saying all techno geeks are dumb. I’m only saying that my thinking and involvement with my gray cells to offer communication solutions to brands is greater than what my friends with fancy job titles and pay packages do. Money’s gonna come with time. And hopefully, so will fame and flashbulbs. And that’s when I’ll look at you, you cheek pinching dumb aunty, and say, “Fuck You”. Till then, you can do all the googlee-wooglee-wosh you want to guys with big pay checks and uninteresting lives. My time’s gonna come; not to get pinched, instead to give you the finger.

Labels: bigger brains maketh a complete man

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 7:07 AM 25 comments

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

When LOVE = Valentine’s Day

I had to debate like a zillion times in my head whether to write this blog piece or not. I mean, I’m only 23 and after you’ve read it, you’re all probably gonna think that I’m 30 in the head or something. But all this hoopla around Mutalik and his cronies playing Secret Santa on Feb 14th and screaming “Surprise!!” to clueless lovers, was very, bherry stifling to say the least.

Do I believe in love? I wouldn’t have been in a relationship this long if I didn’t believe in it’s sheer magic. But do I believe in Valentine’s Day? I don’t know. I’ve always been skeptical about one-day-celebratory-exhibitionisms. It’s one thing to walk down Brigade Road with the love of your life locked in your arms. Quite another, to match steps with each other on the same pavement come Valentine’s. It’s like everybody expects you to walk down Brigade’s or hang out at Forum with your valentine on that designated day. More like you are doing it to pander others’ egos and conform to their diction of love.

If love truly is timeless, then why do we have to time our fuzzy hormones to clock-struck-12-on-feb-14th perfection, every year? Being in love is never hep. It is joyous, almost always. Fulfilling at nearly all times, to say the least. But what makes it so special is the fact that, no matter how old your relationship is, it will never cease to make you smile with unbridled happiness. Being in love shouldn’t just make you glow outwardly, instead it should make you feel happy and weak kneed, from inside. Where Mutalik and his dicks lost the plot is telling people what to and what not to do. Outraged people made up their minds that they would do everything Mutalik told them not to do. So it was more an act of ‘see-dickhead-I’m-walking-on-brigade’s-with-my-girl-wrapped-in-my-arms’ than ‘baby-you-complete-me’.

I loathe Mutalik from the innards of my core. Any man who dictates how love should be expressed should be gunned down at point blank range. But that still doesn’t convince me about all the euphoria and brouhaha surrounding Valentine’s Day. Maybe I’m just old fashioned. Or maybe, I’m just not high on Feb 14th as people in love ought to be. Either which ways, I still stand by the fact that love is magical without Valentine’s halo around Cupid telling all arrow struck couples, “Today is THE day lover boy. Go get some!”. For me, everyday has to be Valentine’s Day, just to make sure that my girl and me are ‘doing fine, together’.

P.S: For those wanting to know how my Valentine’s Day went, we celebrated it on the 15th and not the 14th as the entire world did (Well, we had our reasons you know). We watched Marley and Me, had a real romantic ‘ching ling’ brunch, drove around in the cool evening breeze; and yeah, we did say the three magical words to each other a lot of times.

Labels: cupid's arrows are sharp

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 10:50 PM 6 comments

Monday, February 9, 2009

25 things you didn't know about me!

So you think you know me, right down to my loo habits and the insanely weird quirks i wear proudly on my sleeve? Dig this!

I have to first wear my left shoe/floater/slip on, ALWAYS, before my right foot gets clothed!

I have a horrendously bad memory, so much so that I sometimes don’t even remember the few good lines I write!

I have a thing for long wavy hair (In the opposite sex, that is! Course my girl’s got flowing hair, else I wouldn’t be digging my own grave writing this!).

I have the sweetest tooth possible, like ever known to the whole of mankind. I also have weird cravings for chocolate truffle in the wee hours of the morning!

I make the yummiest Maggi noodles. That incidentally is the only thing I know how to cook!

I don’t know how to swim without a swimming tube!

There hasn’t been a single time I have gotten into a swimming pool and not peed in it!

I can never get a tongue twister wrong, or even so much as stammer in the middle of a real knotty one!

I shaved for the first time when I was in my 10th standard from my father’s razor. I lamely told my mom later on, that I SCRAPED the non existent tufts of hair on my face to ward off pimples!

I can finish any book in one day.

I cannot for the life of me add two 2 digit numbers without help!

I used to pronounce ‘FAUX PAS’ as ‘fox pass’ and not ‘faw pah’, till I was 20.

Stomach this! I once ate a whole cooker of rice in one sitting, single handedly, because my dad was disgruntled about my eating habits.

I have to, HAVE TO, have everything around me CLEAN and ORDERLY. I’m a cleanliness freak and cannot sleep a wink if there’s even a tiny speck of dirt in my loo!

My favourite TV channel till I passed my 12th std, was Cartoon Network!

I have a thing for women in sarees and I used to watch Ekta Kapoor’s serials (muted, with heavy metal playing on the stereo in the background) during my 12th std, only to lech at the saree clad protagonists!

I think formal clothes are anathema. I would never be caught in a starched pin striped suit, much less a tux.

I suffer from vertigo. Heights make me really, really dizzy.

I can never take an injection without fainting. 5 minutes into the injection, and I will surely, ALWAYS faint.

I can never write more than a paragraph by putting pen to paper. I need to have the keyboard on my lap, as I lovingly look at the alphabets on it, and let my fingers weave magic.

I used to be paranoid about the sun on my skin till I was 20. There have been times I have gone to bring milk, as early as 6 in the morning, with unbrushed teeth and wearing sun screen lotion!

I am extremely narcissistic. Even more so about my brain, and partly the reason I’ll murder the person, who even comes close to questioning my intelligence.

I wear the hickies and nail marks on my bodice like a talisman.

I had once peed all over a carom board and had left a huge stain on it as a toddler. The carom board and the stain, much to my chagrin, are still there in our place.

I bunked my 12th std Chemistry Practical exams and went to the Chinnaswamy Stadium to watch Sachin rape England’s happiness. I eventually wrote my final boards only for 90 marks as the practicals I skipped, carried the remaining 10 marks!

Labels: peek-a-boo

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 12:23 AM 12 comments

Saturday, January 17, 2009

My Bucket List

What are the list of things I would like to do before I kick the bucket? Ever since I saw the movie ‘Bucket List’, I have always wondered what my brown list of things are, that I would like to do before I visit heaven. The following is the wild spirited me pandering my inner ‘craving’ self.

Write a bestseller.
Sign autographs.
Appear on ‘We the People’.
Kiss in the rain.
Kiss under the ocean.
Bungee jump with the ocean underneath to kiss my fall.
Become the youngest Creative Director in a fab agency.
Write a movie script and watch it unfold on 70 mm in a theatre packed with other celebrities.
Watch ‘Bride and Prejudice’ in an empty theatre, with only my girl (that incidentally was the first movie we saw as a couple).
Visit a foreign country.
Visit the Seven Wonders of the World.
Rip around an F1 track in an F1 car (a Ferrari).
Own a Porsche Carrera 911.
Learn how to cook and dish out a romantic sumptuous dinner for my girl.
Learn a foreign language.
Learn Tamil (to woo my in-laws!).
Play cricket in the Chinnaswamy Stadium, once; under flood-lights.
Go back-packing across Europe.
Go watch an opera.
Get into a boxing ring for a bloody boxing bout, and break my nose (I'm serious)
Watch Federer beat Nadal in a Wimbledon match (Hon, you listening?!).
Have a killer bodice with rippling muscles and great ab packs.
Own a sports bike.
Go Scuba diving.
Climb a snow capped mountain.
Teach at IIM-B.
Fly in a MIG.
Tour a foreign city from atop a parachute.
Go on a long cruise.
Make an ad that wins at Cannes.
Get a body massage in Thailand.
Smoke the costliest Cuban cigar in a bath-tub, watching Friends.
Own a Blackberry.
Own a Mac.
Judge a beauty pageant.
Act in a movie.
Have my own syndicated column in a recognised paper/magazine.
Win a dance competition (Oh yeah, I can shake a leg or two!).
Learn to play Squash.
Visit the Louvre.
Dress up as Santa for my kids.
Master Logical Reasoning (I have my reasons)
Run in a marathon.
Learn how to swim.
Sleep on the beach, with the lapping waves next to me, and the huge blanket of twinkling stars in the top.
Visit Disney Land.
Get into a brawl with a total stranger and knock the living daylights out of him (only to prove to my girl that I'm not a sissy!).
Visit a chocolate factory (I have a sweeter tooth than most of Roald Dahl's creations)

These are all I could think of, off the top of my head. Will update this list as and when new things catch my fancy. More for me than for anybody else, and to ensure I take this list seriously, everytime one of those things on the list is achieved, I'll change the font of that wish to upper case. So here's to(me seen raising my champagne glass), MY BUCKET LIST...

Labels: if only wishes were horses, then i would be alive

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 1:50 PM 17 comments

Thursday, January 15, 2009

St. Valentine and the art of sexual politics

Gifts are funny things. When you are besotted with a problem as difficult as having to decide on the right gift for a loved one, your arse lets out a low whistle. For people who have no clue on what’s gonna make the recipient go, “Awwwwwwwww, what a great gift baby”; life can be torturous indeed. Valentines makes me shit bricks, as I usually have no clue on what’s going to get me those extra brownie points with my girl. True we share the same love for reading and books. But gifting her the literary version of ‘Gone with the wind’ every single time, will morph dimpled madame into one of those Stephanie Meyers vampires! Some food for thought that, given the fact that I’m the sissy between the both of us! So homing back to the dilemma of gifting, and with St. Valentine’s day inching closer (anyone ever wondered whether and how Valentine and Cupid are related to each other. And if they actually are a part of the same family tree that ate, spake and slept ‘love’!), I’m definitely not shitting what my tum’s been digesting.
I would like to believe that both Archies (the card store) and Valentine had an affair of some sort. You know, the ‘will-help-us-both-professionally-if-we-slept-together’ kinda fling. Let me not even speculate about the gender of Archies as that would open up a whole can of gay worms (‘gay’ as in ‘happy. Duh!) and halve my readership (if there’s any!). Anyways, they both saw the professional rhyme and reason to rip each others clothes off, and do ‘do’ it. They beget ‘Hallmark’ and said that their offspring was more conniving than them, when it came to ripping lovers off their money, come birthdays and anniversaries. Hallmark learnt the con act on his (or is it ‘her’?!) own, and pretty soon had a thriving business of his own. The parents now decided enough is enough and decided to stake their claim to the title of, ‘the world’s biggest loooooooooooove-fraudsters’. They faked orgasms regularly to give people the impression that they were doing it, not just on Feb 14th, but round the year. Lovey-dovey couples went “Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww”, and decided that they had found the right marriage (not in the ‘nuptial’ sense, but in a ‘sexual’ way) to eulogise. One thing led to another, and voila; I FOUND MYSELF IN ARCHIES, LUGGING MY SMIRKING TUSH BEHIND ME, IN SEARCH OF THAT RIGHT VALENTINE'S GIFT.
Last heard, both the con-sters (is that even a word?) were vacationing in the Caribbean. St Valentine with St. Nicholas (our beloved ‘Santa’, who else!), teaching him a trick or two about money-making and marriage (again the ‘sexual’ and not ‘nuptial’ one!). And Archies with George Bush (who’s like right now, wasted away in the Caribbean, moping over the end of his atrocious regime, and wondering how to serenade his dog as humans can’t stand him) to try and get him into bed. Carla Bruni was no muck with the sexual ball was she, as she’s inspired a whole legion of fans to hit on head-of-states and EX-head-of-states, and snowball into limelight. As for poor ole me, I’m still playing out this weird fantasy in my head, as I rummage through Archies' shelves, in search of that PURR-FECT gift. God be with me, in this moment of crisis!
Happy Gifting for the Valentine season, everyone :)

Labels: sexual politics and the rape of gifting ethics

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 2:04 AM 8 comments

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Who wants to be a slumdog millionaire?

Slumdog Millionaire is an awesooooooooooooome movie. It’s been such a long time since I saw a really good Hinglish movie. And today night, between 11 and 1, I was witness to the sheer magic of this movie. The story as the name is suggestive, traces the life of this kid who’s born in a slum and ends up becoming a millionaire. The storytelling is so rich and so brilliant, that it leaves the viewer spellbound. Probably THE best Hinglish movie I’ve seen, like ever. Danny Boyle’s direction is brilliant. Rahman’s music and background score is goosebump-inducing. Dev Patel as the protagonist and his two younger parts are outstanding and simply, simply superb. Irrfan Khan and Anil Kapoor do justice to their roles.

The verdict: This movie’s beyond ratings. It’s a once-in-a-decade kinda Indian movie. Watch it, compulsorily.

P.S. the golden globe awards are gonna start in a few hours. I’m feverishly hoping Slumdog Millionaire wins in all the nominated categories, including the best movie.

Labels: euphoria, goosebumps, magic

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 11:46 AM 16 comments

Saturday, January 3, 2009

miss you grandpa ...

my grandpa used to maintain a diary, where he's poured out his heart and much more, for nearly half a century. from 1959 to 2008, every single day of his was chronicled in that diary. the people he met, the things they said, the things he saw, everything that he even remotely felt 'connected' to, went into that diary. August 2008 was his last entry as he got sick after that. a couple of weeks back, just before x'mas, my grandpa passed away. he was 75.

i was brought straight to my grandparents home from the hospital i was born in. i was brought up by my grandparents and i learnt to babble and crawl around, under their loving eyes. both my parents are bankers by profession, and it followed that my share of being doted on came from my maternal grandparents. my parents used to visit me every weekend, whilst i learnt my first alphabets and numbers from my 'ajji' and 'thatha'. my grandad was an incredible man. he was the only person in living memory who could talk about paris hilton and the vedas in the same breath. he taught me my first prayers. he opened up the fascinating world of 'books and reading' for me, when i was still a little bundle. he made me who i am, and for that, i'll always be grateful to him. he gave me a very rich childhood, a childhood filled with love, books, music and laughter. and that, i shall always count as my most cherished blessing, ever. he had chronologically filed all my articles that were published in the newspapers, meticulously, with a mention of the date and publication that it had appeared in. he had mentioned my birth on 4th may 1985, in his diary fondly as, "A baby boy was born today to my daughter. my first grandchild". he named me. he filled my existence with 'life' and taught me the need to yearn for a happy and zestful life. i don't think i'll even miss my parents more, than him.

there's this other hilarious entry that dates back to 1973, when my mom was in school. i guess she had lost her fountain pen that eventful day in school. his entry reads, "vasantha lost her fountain pen in school today. very CARELESS."! right from my first babble to my first crush, everything's been documented by grandpa in his diary. when they went to the US in 2000, he actually stayed up during the whole 22 hour flight from b'lore to new york, recording the cities they were flying over and the exact time then (both IST and the respective city's time). his memoir on his trip to the USA is both rich and exhaustive. every mention of an Indian restaurant they ate in, in the US, is followed with a review on the kind of gourmet that was dished out, and (believe this!) it's address mapped out to the exact longitude and latitude. one can feel him revel in the white house and general assembly experiences, as can one feel the rush he felt aboard the maid-of-the-mist when that boat went neath the niagara. his authority on art was phenomenal as he's talked passionately about a renoir painting displayed in the MET (metropolitan museum of art). i didn't know it took only 10 mins to fly from italy to vienna till i read his diary, as his diary reads, "5.20 a.m (IST) Italy. 5.30 a.m (IST) vienna".

he was the most knowledgeable man i ever knew, and i only hope i live my my life at least half as meaningfully and happily as him. i miss you grandpa.

Labels: it hurts when you lose the people you love ...

posted by Mister Avant Garde @ 2:14 AM 7 comments

About Me

Name: Mister Avant Garde
Home: Bangalore, Karnataka, India
About Me: Have just started making money... Done studying (gosh, and to believe, i started this sojourn when i was all of three)... That's a lot of time i have spent cooped up within a classroom... Shucks, no wonder my DNA reeks of chalk powder!
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