Do Good, Do Well

Redemption sells. It sells like whores on a dock. Not the most fitting comparison to make, one might argue. But, come 2010, post dumping most of the earth , water, air , and even the proximal end of space with the debris of human incompetence, this is what most MNCs and conglomerates have come to realize.With carbon dioxide levels soaring at 390 ppm, the Tsunamis and the Katrinas, till recently existent only in Nostradamus' lore, ripping through the very real fabric of decayed civilizations, the most commonplace fauna adorning the illustrious list of endangered species everyday, and almost 7 billion famished bellies to account for, I guess its finally time to resurrect Gaia, or at least allow her some dying grace. Not that we're complaining. Everyone deserves a shot at redemption. Even whores on a dock.

"Cause Marketing" is the new corporate mantra, a brand new paradigm of strategic innovation, where most corporate big shots have already begun locking horns, and many more are infallibly following suit. Aircel is hellbent on saving tigers, Pantaloons wants to rescue the girl child from the clutches of a predominantly male biased culture, the Tata Tea ads wreak mockery at our comfortably ignorant bliss and implore us to take a stand against corruption, and of course, what an !dea it truly is Sirjee, to save paper by alternatively using electronic writing means. Attending to our immense back-log of environmental and civic duties has become so in, it's fast emerging as the moral fibre of the next decade.

Though, here in India, the notion has been suddenly inflicted upon us by almost the entire corporate sector rather recently, with an over-enthusiastic fuerza bruta reminiscent of an intrinsically Indian monologue made famous by Popeye, "I'll do anything that you do!!", the concept has humbly floated through the marketing world for almost ever, steadily gaining roar and stature, initially in the West, and now, even the Orient. The term 'Cause Related Marketing' was coined by American Express as way back as in 1983, the year they launched the Statue of Liberty Restoration Project, wherein 1 cent was donated for every card transaction, and a dollar for every new application, at the same time backing the initiative with a 4 million $ advertising campaign. During a short period of 3 months, the project not only raised funds in excess of US$ 1.7 million, but also increased American Express card usage by 27% and new card applications by an impressive 45%. That's 4 well spent millions!! Since then hordes of business houses have caught on to this revolutionary idea of integrating business strategies with a relevant cause to create a more socially aware entrepreneurial consciousness aimed at guiding their companies through a progressively dismal future, devoid of any resources and plagued by catastrophes we have only begun facing. Sinners of yore, saints of the morrow.

In India, though ravenous profiteering and sometimes even thievery have, more often than not, been alternated by huge donations at the Khatushyamji temple in Sikar, Rajasthan, and other such sanctums of the Lord where, presumably, a pious prayer can obliterate all sins of a wretch, these supposedly philanthropic gestures essentially come under trivial charity, and serve little purpose except elevating one's moral esteem and facilitating diminutive income tax benefits. Charity has always been a more individual effort in India, serving no corporate cause or gain to the benefactor's company. Given, small but appreciable efforts such as the Tata Salt-CRY association for children have existed for a while now, but they have never been so vociferously advertised nor been so blatantly pushed into our living rooms, up until now.

The reason behind this sudden outburst of social awareness is simple enough. The Indian market, yet again, finds itself saturated. All housing loans offer the same rates, the phone companies offer the same tariffs, and, even all the biscuits taste the same. So, change being the only constant, the market finds itself on the brink of yet another rediscovery. But what extra do you offer to a consumer, when all the products and services in the market, irrespective of brand, commit to the same level of his satisfaction, both utility wise and monetarily? The answer is simple. The common man loves to be self righteous. You cater to his moral quotient. The 90s was the decade of globalisation. We just passed the decade of privatisation. And now, we're at the brink of another monumental shift in business conduction. This, people, is the decade of moralisation.

As I said before, not that we're complaining. Its about time.

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The Ballad Of The Forlorn

"Dard Nasha hai is madira ka,

Vigat smritiyan saki hain,

Pida me anand jise ho,

Aye meri madhushala..."

-Dr Harivanshrai Bacchan

In the murky hours of a moonless night, have you ever heard that night blinded sparrow, trapped in your attic, let out a sleepless bone shattering tweet, an ominous sound with a razor like quality that cuts through your peaceful sense of being, and in a wide-awake trance, sends you plummeting down an abyss that grows narrower with every fleeting memory and pleads insanity with every glimpse of the past?

In a cloudy autumn twilight, when the night is as omnipresent as the day, and the occult strands of dying sun rays reflect back into you, have you ever noticed a crippled tree shed a dying leaf that flutters into oblivion with the distinct precision of a puppeteer's surgical touch?

This Valentine's, did all you notice were the eccentric heartbeats of plastic-doll couples suffering from dreamy eyed myopia and dilated breaths, and longed for the silken touch of a warm hand or the gentle brush of a supple lip against yours?

I'm an IITian, and i know that the above questions are so notoriously imminent for my desperately lonely brethren, that most of you reading would answer in the affirmative. Don't worry guys; just a professional hazard!!

Actually, what i'm trying to get at is that if your answer is a yes (which it is, else you wouldn't have read this far!!), then you're in love already. Congrats guys!!

On face value, this seems like a bizarrely inaccurate and ridiculous theory to propose, and i should be apologising to the Shiv Sena and the Bajrang Dal for this morally criminal act of falsely convicting India's best, and famously celibate kind of this four letter sin. But i won't. Instead, to satiate any irked feathers, and prove my innocence, let me endeavour to pose an argument in my favour.

Life was never created without purpose. When Earth had after billions of years of incubation, finally gained radioactive and thermal stability, it was time to reverse the process. Destruction was a necessary chapter in the completion of this inevitably just co(s)mic cycle. But, the forces soon realised that this was taking more time than expected. So, the course of history was changed and soon, organic bulldozers, in the garb of life forms came into being. After a few million years of natural selection, nature finally picked the tool that could rape it best: Man. The advantage he had over other contenders was that he could desire more than he would ever need, and could go to infinite lengths in fear of failing to achieve his bidding. Thus, we were created in the spitting image of the devil himself, and since then, we've embarked on a vandalising journey fuelled by desires and fears.

Man's life is not defined by what he has, but what he does not. It's the voids that fill the gaps in our existence. When a child is born, his life is a velvety nothingness of his mother's womb. It's the fear of the unknown that drives him towards knowledge. From this perspective, its not surprising to note that a child learns the most in the first couple of years of his life. That's when he is scared the most. Fear of falling behind makes him run. Fear of a growling stomach gives him teeth. Fear of failure manifests itself in his first competitive wrath during hide-n-seek. The acidic desire for recognition burns through his veins during school. Life is based on a predefined sequential matrix of fears brooding in the oblivions of our voids, and the desire to fill those voids with whatever trash that comes our way first.

Even the first complex the human mind faces, between ages 3-5, is born out of a void: the phallic void. The Oedipus complex and its female counterpart, the Electra complex, are derived from an insecurity where the child desires to "possess the parent of the opposite sex and eliminate the parent of the same sex". Surprisingly, this is also the age most people believe that a conscious mind conceptualises the seeds of love and hatred. Love and hatred, ladies and gentlemen, in their most infantile and blatant forms!

Love: the fear of being lonely. As he grows older, the adolescent soon discovers that, being a social entity, his biggest fear is solitude. In his frantic want for company, ignited by the ripping hormonal reactions in his body, two new desires blossom: love and lust, two not very different concepts, except that the former caters to his psychological needs and the latter to physical needs. However, from an absolute perspective, they are both voids. Two plunging voids that, more often than not, determine the course of our lives, and on which the very sustainabilty of the human race finds its foundation.

If you ask me, the phrase "fallen in love" is quite accurate, though repeatedly used fallaciously. Falling in love is a hopeless romantic's term for succumbing to your most poignant desire, and getting sucked into that void of lonliness where dwell the demons of seclusion and desertion, feasting on your masochistic revelry of the obnoxiously sweet pain of longing that you suffer. You dont fall in love after you find someone, but way before. Actually, as soon as you find someone, that's when the break-up starts!!

Happy Valentine's day!!

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JONNY....NO ORKUTTING!!!

Ok... So evidently, decoding my blog has become quite a tedious task for mankind.
Fine. Making truce with this fact i have decided to write out a story this time around
hope you enjoy it....


JONNY....NO ORKUTTING!!

“Me & Mah Roomie”, click->transfer->upload->caption. As VEB typed, he had a sly smile stuck between his canines. An unconquered & self satisfied one.”So what’s your name? You from? Late on the first day, huh? Way to go dude!” & many more khow-ur-roomie FAQs. Well, I caught hold of a few of them, mustered all my broken English, and managed to say,
TAKE 1 “urrr….helooo” (Whoa! I said something…gr8!!).VEB’s expectant glow slowly fell to the floor in a series of installments, like pellets falling off a goat’s derrière. His bat-like ears quivered like an antenna to catch every/any syllable I uttered, figures stopped dancing on the keyboard, giving way to an uncomfortably loud silence. Finally he breathed, “Bus itna hi?”(Oh! I did greet him, didn’t that suffice?)
TAKE 2 “Uh……. Hi....Hamara... naam PAWAN hai….I am from Jharsuguda….Hamare yahan se BHU ke liye direct train nahi hai….” Lo! My broken hinglish had answered all his lemme –know-u-well queries. VEB stretched out his hand, still aboard his laptop. I reached out for it, circumspect as a kid from an all boys’ school greeting a girl for the first time. This guy was from another world to me. Someone told me, ‘the first hand you grasp in college usually holds on to you for the rest of your life’. Well said.
“Dude, how many fans do u have?”Another question like an unwrapped present for me. I stopped unloading my rucksack. My mind ran to ceiling fans, from the oriental ones hanging in my house to dadaji’s ancient table fan, still living up to its punch line of “chalta rahe”. Blank face. “Sorry ….I didn’t get u….I mean …I have 3 back home…1 here…..”
”Man….you there on ORKUT, right? Or are you the FACEBOOK types? Lemme tell you, I don’t like the latter “, he said, as he banged his fist on that rickety table, as if belonging to that genre meant anti-INDIAN.
“Err VEB, pardon me….but…I didn’t get a word of your question about fans…?”
”WHAT?” he sounded as if INDIA had lost a winning ODI. As if TSUNAMI had hit us again. As if the sky had fallen and he was Chicken Little. Or, more likely, if I was responsible for all of the above!! “You don’t have fans or is it that you don’t generally surf…for heaven sake don’t say you’re not into ORKUTTING?!” another bouncer from VEB. Man this guy could lambast any geek. Such a heavy word “ORRRKU…”, and he could pronounce it so easily. I appreciated him mentally.
“Well…VEB main ORKUTTING nahi karta…” I answered as if it was an addiction to contraband substance.”Are you nuts dumb ass…you not there on orkut…” VEB quickly went a few pages back, unloaded the cute pic of ours & with a u-have-upset-me face he reverted back to his business of keyboard crunching, & I continued unpacking & cleaning up the messiest room I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
To be away from home means to gulp down unpalatable mess food. Yes, seriously. “MESS FOOD”. Bid a heartfelt adieu to mum’s lip smacking cooking and say hello to pulses diluted below measurable concentration.
Well, I entered the LIMBDI mess to see humungous piles of food strewn on the tables, freshers like me searching for eatables amidst the crap, and old timers hogging down what ever came their way.
I went a few steps to be seated across another freshie, SHAMAK, an amiable chap, I would say. Round face, glistening eyes & polite enough to befriended. We exchanged some pleasantries, then minded our ways, both searching for anything that reminded us of home in that debris of alien cuisine.
Should I ask or not? What if he does not know about it, still suffering from the log-kya-sochenge syndrome.
“Yaar, ye ORKUT kya hai?”I quipped, secret enough not to be overheard by any of my mess co-partners, putting on a completely innocent cum straight face like a teenager who doesn’t understand QUANTUM mech.
SHAMAK stopped gulping down a piece of what I guessed was roti already midway down his throat, and gave me a sly understanding smile. I was getting more than my share of this smile lately, and I hated it more and more every minute.
“You know PAWAN, I have a brother at IITD”, SHAMAK stuffed a bite and continued, “He gave me 3 ‘don’ts’ for college. 1. Drugs 2.Excessive porn (with a wink) 3.ORKUT”, each one counted off neatly on his fingers.”So basically it’s an illicit activity, the addiction of which will doom you”. Some wise guy listening in intently on our conversation quipped, “So did your brother give you a set of ‘dos’ then?”.
“Yeah”, replied S with a grin, “The 3 ‘don’ts’!”
I rhetorically narrated the disgustful incident with VEB & how small town I felt. Moved by my sentiments, SHAMAK, like an elder brother explained the concepts of ORKUT, social networking, connecting with friends, chatting, scraps et al.
Whoa! That’s a lot of potential in a website!!” In fact, reading CHADWICK’s nucleus discovery was less impactful than learning ‘basic-concepts-of-orkutting’ by Mr. SHAMAK. Gleefully I thanked SHAMAK for teaching me the divine knowledge of social networking. He minced words like “get close with friends, closer with the chicks” that hovered in my mind. I briskly strode towards the LIMBDI common room, spotted a PC with broad band connectivity, sought help from peers, finally typed in http://www.orkut.com/ & behold as a tinge of sky blue engulfed the screen, my pulse about to explode, like another JEE result would appear in a matter of seconds.
The screen flashed, monitor glowed in the most shockingly repulsive shade of pink I’d ever seen. But I was no one to comment. I was just a small towner.
ORKUT. ‘Who do you know?’ it claimed, and immediately I began listing to my memory, all my near and dear ones who could grace my prospective friends’ list. Tricky thing, this list is. I’ve always wondered if the people on the list can make a legal claim on my will, if I ever have one!
While ORKUTTING, you always tend to end up chatting up a girl you’ve never met, while totally ignoring people you’ve known all your life. Why not just call it the stranger’s list then? Dunno. But I do know one thing. All these ‘.coms’ fed to us as social networking sites sell nothing but farce. You see, the world as it is, is tedious enough to be handled in real life. So, no one should really bother to mess up his cyber world too. What these portals do sell us, is a fantasy. A society you can build according to your own liking and it’s this fictitious power that is so addictive. Addictive enough to be placed on someone’s ‘do/don’t’ list.
I spent the next hour trying to log on to the damned thing, but the pink logo wouldn’t budge. No Id seemed to be good enough for this letter gobbling monster, and then came on those silly boxes with what looked more like a crow skating on ice, than letters.
People believe IITians are the world’s biggest geeks. Well, congratulations to them, they’re right! But in the defense of my brethren, I’d like to offer that we’re not genetically coded that way. It takes years of toil and patience to achieve this state of nirvana. And, acknowledging this self abusive effort, India reciprocates by marrying us off to the prettiest daughters of the country. I can bet that for at least 50%of the guys here, placements are a secondary allure. One can safely say that the JEE is India’s strictest celibacy oath. Once you’re sworn in, you know you’re not gonna get any wares anytime soon. But as soon as you get out of it, you have the swankiest china waiting for you just beyond the gates. It’s our reward, for becoming the most sexually perverted bunch of the generation! God help India!!
Maybe that was when the first doubts crept into my mind, regarding my abilities as a technocrat. I wasn’t a geek!! I couldn’t make head or tail of this id-password puzzle. It took five over-enthusiastic peers and another thirty minutes of computer gibberish to get me to open my own account. Thank god banks still used paper!!
My own account!! My own world!! My own fantasy.
SHAMAK’s brother was right. Orkut is the cheapest high you can get in college. Within a week, my vital counts were 227(friends), 3546(scraps), 120(communities. “Ha!! Take that VEB!!” I thought to myself, “Far ahead of you in a week!! No wonder I was 68 ranks above you!!”
I had taken up the mission of hunting down every single person in college that I’d met, seen, or even heard of. My stats grew exponentially. There were failed attempts, especially among girls. Some of them even went beyond the normal courtesies to reply back with stuff as insulting as “Sorry, I don’t add strangers!!” But my success rate was too high to bother about these minor hiccups. I used every trick in the book from lying in my profile to chatting in my scrapbook to keep improving the stats, and survive in this fame frenzied wonderland.
Wherever mankind sets foot, it leaves behind a trail of cut-throat competition. It’s the only kind of pollution we cause. The rest are just untapped sources of energy.
Owing to my efforts, I had managed to talk to more girls in the college than I could count on my fingers. No mean feat for a small towner!! Orkut was the one place I could ‘not be myself’ and get lost in the confines of infinite possibilities and fantasies.
A month into enjoying the title of ‘Orkut-baba’ (much to VEB’s utter dismay!), I was woken up one morning by a phone call. This was ragging season. During this time if ever a phone vibrates your thumping heart resonates with it at natural frequency. Unfortunately, I sleep like a stone, and usually I don’t really have any recollection of the first words I utter after a nap.
“You fucking son of a bitch!!” someone was shouting into speaker.
“Yeah, hi”, I replied. This was college.
“Hi!! Do you have any idea who you’re talking to behenchod??!! Tera baap bol raha hun!!”
That was when I got into my scared shitless mode, and stuttered, “gggg….good morning sir!!” I glanced wildly at the screen. It was VIKAS, a third year goliath from my branch, chemical. He had ragged me once and when he had towered over me growling, I felt like a Pomeranian pissing under the Eiffel tower. Frankly, my bladder was churning from the wild shakes my insides were going through.
“I’m gonna blow your brains out you scumbag!! You have no idea who you’ve pissed off!! Bohat orkutting karta hai na!! Aj teri ek ek ungli kaat ke tere muh me thusta hun!! ANITA pe chance mar ke tune apna bohat ganda katva liya!! Tonight at 8. My room.”
“Yyyy…yes sir…”
Click. The phone went silent. ‘Doomed’, I thought. Nita was the college bombshell. Or so it was famous.
Beauty has always been a relative term in IITs, and it’s our uncanny ability to adapt that sets us apart from the rest. Dump us with a bunch of eunuchs and we’ll still find you a showstopper!! Boys here always manage to find someone dainty enough to drink their way to depression for.
So, ANITA was the bomb. What I did not know was that VIKAS was her damned shell. When I narrated my plight to VEB, he ogled at me for a few seconds, then hissed “You idiot!! Don’t you know she’s his incest sister?!”
“His what?!”
“Oh, you know. She ties him a rakhi every year, and he screws her in his dreams!! It’s a relationship of mutual benefit. Symbiosis!!”
Gulp. Whoever this relation was benefitting, I knew it wasn’t me. I was dead meat.
If you’ve ever been ragged you know the wait is worse than the blow. After a day of numbing anticipation, I landed up at Vikas’s doorstep, almost comatose. Somewhere in that room, I remember dropping the notion that there was any good in this world, and to this day I’m still looking for it. The man blew me apart in every way possible. Physically, mentally, psychologically. I could give you a detailed description but that would mean confessing to a few acts you’d have thought were humanly impossible, and, consequently, I’ve always denied.
At the end of the session, he told me to delete my blasted orkut account and if he ever saw me again in cyber world, he’d break me like a twig.
I ran all the way back to my hostel, found an unoccupied laptop, logged on to orkut, raised my finger high in order to hit ‘delete’, then froze. Have you ever seen a coke addict throw away even chalk powder? Or a toluene addict use whitener as correcting ink? I couldn’t do it. Orkut was my emancipation.
Instead, I chose to lose myself deep in the oblivions of cyber space. A new identity, a new profile and a little refrain from any mention of my present status, and I’d be ready, ready to be GOD again.
GOD working out of a dingy alley on the internet. Ironic, isn’t it?
Since then, my profile reads ‘JONNY…..NO ORKUTTING’!!!

My Experiments With Sadoism

In a way that seems to be circumstantially destined, here I am again, on another wednesday midnight, brushing the cobwebs off  from the manuscripts of the heart's lair. Only this time, there is no moon, only this time, the night's as morbid and moonless as before some bloke had said "Let there be light...".

not that i'm complaining though. I'm not really a moon person. Personally, i believe that the night brings forth infinitely more prospects moonless than when all glittery and romantically candle lit.A sinister lust for all things ominous sends a strange sear through the carnal side of awareness. I, for one, have always wondered if anyone would care at all if one were to roam the streets naked under a sub-zero moonless haze. But let's delve into the obviously repulsive list of my heart's cravings some other time, for we may find enough gunk to fill volumes there. Instead let's drench in the topic at hand.

first of all, let me clear up one point for some already drooling perverts. These musings are not a dig into the fairly ominous shades of masochistic love making, though the psychology involved may be somewhat similar. what I'm talking about is the one basic greed man has lusted over all these years:Power, and the lineage of its abuse.

I'm in second year at college, and ragging is a public offence, incriminable under law, and bhu has a ragging free campus. The only fair response I can permit myself to, is "yeah right!!!". Midway through this ragging "season", I've come to realise one ironically amusing fact. the worst, or rather, most depricating form of ragging is actually practised by those chappies who've never actually had any first hand experience of having been ragged at all!!! Wish I could take names here, but biased by an inherent sense of camaraderie, I choose to refrain from it. These are the people who chose, rather, to take the sidelines and watch, to bathe in how it feels to have complete power over an individual, and to allow themselves  to decay under its lust. Then, at the faintest flicker of an oppurtunity they tend to seize the moment and unravel their most aching desires for control. The sight is so unnaturally irritable sometimes, that its not even funny when it occurs to you that idiot hurling abuses at the whimpering kid in front had actually cried for hours when called a motherfucker for the first time!!! But there is a simple explanation to this....

the loser who got a coke bottle shoved up his arse just has to burn a cigerette hole through the kid's. Only then will his gurgitating ego be satiated. Frankly, if someone oathed to protest understands this fact and is calling for a complete ban on ragging citing the aforementioned breed of perverts as the cause, then i'm all for it. Ban the damn thing once and for all.

But one fact needs to be understood clearly.one cannot incriminate everyone who has ever interacted with a junior, just for the heck of the law. Afterall, we live in a country where some of the constitutional acts were the best p.js ever invented by mankind(try, for example, the marriage and divorce acts)!!! The difference between the good guys and the perverts manifests itself in but one word. And i believe that that one word teaches us more than what the four years put together ever can.Professionalism.The art of being unemotional. The science of knowing when to stop. But this is where the argument crumbles, for this world is void of idealities. There is that twilight zone between night and day.nothing is black or white.its grey that covers most of the map. And here raises its ugly head, Lucifer's lasso, and "come into my parlour" says the spider to the fly....No man can be given absolute unquestionable power over any individual, because the bible got one thing right for sure, "they know not what they do".

Hordes of men, like Hitler and Mugabe, throughout history have proven to us one thing. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The very reason why society was created in the first place was to endow upon man such responsibilities and obligations which would suffice to keep his true potential for horrendous acts under check. A corset woven to refrain our heart's muck from gushing out upon us.  Now don't get me rubbing you the wrong way. i'm all for the cause of liberation and free breathing. But consider a world without any rules or regulations of any kind, ethical, social or religious. Every man a country unto himself. we'd have a world war in every house.

Every code of the system is like a string, sewn through the fabric of society, keeping it intact, preventing us from raping ourselves. A world without strings, however, is chaos. One pluck and the ensemble would fall off like a roman toga, revealing us in all our nakedness. 

Corns vs. Corn Flakes.....

like my dear friend tazz, i too am bound to agree that, well, i have been a trifle late in joining this bandwagon of expressionists hellbent on gettin their 15 minutes.it seems that bloke andy warhol was onto something, eh?

i guess i've arrived at more than my share of being fashionablly late, so much so that the first bloggers might well be resting in dried graves by now.but no matter my dears, no matter.if its meant to happen, it will. so here we are, this moonlit wednesday midnight, writing off the memoirs of one of the many fictitious characters that is yours truly.

now, as i commence, i'm going to deal wid one of the very few things i consider my area of expertise....people.not a very streamlined topic, i agree, but i assure you every array of this juggernautical matrix that is society is just as perplexingly hilarious as the other.consider, for example, the legend of the metrosexual man, and the oft recounted tales of his gruesome confrontations with another modern day myth, the herculean machosexual man.if you ask me, the only kind of man i'd prefer to be is good old neanderthal.back then all you had to do was churn out the loudest "ugh!!!" n you had the babe of the tribe sweating in her loins.today you need wintergreen oil for that...but that comes at a later stage.for now let's call it the fun part, though i assure you, it is almost as much fun as amateur wrestling, owing to the vastly imaginative pornography that is on display today.i think those guys might just have hit upon a modern day variant of meditative yoga!

but more on that later. let us for now attend to the misadventure that is the word itself, the measure of whose majestic proportions may only truly occur to us by its own pronounciation.compared to this stratum of the pie, the fun part may truly be that! when this god thingy supposedly created man, he must have been one proud bloke, what with the powers of deduction and decision and all those sorts of things that he'd thrown into the batter, like sugar, spice and everything nice.but what must really have sweetened the professor's cookie would have been the the results emanating from the accidental addition of chemical x to the concoction, in this case, love. now, by jove, when i say accidental, i do mean it! why else would a smart chappy like him hand over those intricate wisdoms of compassion and togetherness to a circus of semi intelligent beings whose most basic instinct yet remains 'me, my and myself'? the very notion of the flawlesness of this creator dude finds itself at one smug singularity in but one question. why, dear lord, couldn't you get us right? but what's done is done.let's not blame the bloke too much for such trifles. overall, we might say, he made a pretty neat job of it all.

then, a few millenia of millenia later there came such abominable entities as archies and and guccies . now it turned out these guys had extracted this mysterious chemical x from some unsuspecting guinea pigs and through shrewd market research managed to deduce that this stuff was more addictive than coke, and also legally saleable thanks to thomas jefferson professing every man's right to the pursuit of happiness in the american declaration of independence...people just couldn't have enough it.and thus, love found its way not only onto the card shelves and apparel aisles of your next door mall, but also quite ingeniously disguised in practically every saleable commodity on the planet.everyone's selling a bit of love. whenceforth was created a grevious rift in the otherwise atomic brotherhood that is the maleness of our species.now don't get me wrong, darwin wasn't off his rockers.when it comes to the question of mate and entity, man has been like any other primate. survival of the fittest has always been nature's ultimately prevailing law.but blossoming amongst all that competition was a fragrant essence of camraderie that once enveloped the silly creature that is homo erectus and kept his slightly parasitic instincts at bay.this has however been lost to the sordid odour of ridiculously expensive eu de parfums or the steroid infested stench of perspiration.

now the thing is man's basic nature hasn't really changed from the good old days when tails were quite in fashion and kids were scolded for cutting their nails.being a social being, he has always needed love.his fascination with it has however taken entirely new meanings, almost flirting with the edges of eccentricity sometimes even flirting with the justification of his phyllic nomenclature of homo(sexually) erect-us!!cupid's commercial viability has ensured that almost every nickel and dime of our sorry existence is spent in the quest for this utterly fascinating dope .it seems all our lives we endeavour to own something we do not want with money we do not have for people we do not need.