Sia's Elastic Heart Has Answers to All of Life's Questions.

Whether we admit it or not, we turn to pop culture for escape. And, for answers to questions life and people throw at us. So you cannot even begin to imagine my surprise when I found out how I could directly use the lyrics from Sia's epic breakup anthem Elastic Heart to answer some questions people are bound to ask me. No, really, have a look.

When I don't show up for my best friend's nephew's birthday?

And I wanted it, I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags



Any exit interview question can be answered with:

I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp


If the HR still prods and asks you why exactly you are looking to switch jobs:

I'm like a rubberband until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won't see me fall apart
'Cos I've got an elastic heart



When your old boss/ex/frenemy asks you how you are holding up these days:

You did not break me
I'm still fighting for peace



Client asks you which social media platforms or websites they should consider for a campaign:

Wanted to fight this war without weapons

You Will Never Believe What Happened When Vulture Gave a Shot at Writing Listicles.

It basically schooled Buzzfeed on what Buzzfeed does. I don't think listicles will ever classify as high-brow writing but when done right and with the right intent, they can be pretty good. Case in point: this interactive map Vulture prepared where they handpicked the best jokes over the past 100 years and how they each came to shape modern comedy. Check it out.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQefrBAzHZQ

PS: Trying to pick up some new habits this year and retain the old ones. So, will try and blog every day again now. 

Murphy's Laws for Air Travel.

1. The check-in queue you are in will always move slower than other queues.
2. There will always be a guy who WhatsApps when phones are supposed to be in flight mode... And that guy will always be seated in your aisle.
3. The in-flight screen if it works will always have movies you don't want to watch. I'm talking to you, Madhur Bhandarkar's Calendar Girls.
4. Someone will always cram their luggage in your designated luggage area.
5. That middle aged aunty who will ask you to help with her luggage won't say thanks when you help her.
6. If there's a baby on board, it will cry through the flight.
7. If your baggage arrives late, then it's wont to be misplaced or lost.

Carnival of Rusk.

I like Rusk toasts as much as the next guy. Well, probably a lot less. But that didn't stop me from thinking of this super ludicrous jingle for Rusk toasts.

D' you breathe the name of your saviour in your hour of need,
And taste the healthy flavor for its without 'real' wheat?
Of implication, insinuation and ill will, 'til you cannot lie still,
In all this turmoil, before red cape and foil, come double dip in a glass tea.

Come feed the rain
'cause I'm thirsty for your love dancing underneath the skies of lust
Yeah, feed the rain
'cause without your love my life ain't nothing but this carnival of rusk. (x2)

It obviously takes shape from the underrated band Poets of the Fall's Carnival of Rust. Believe me you, it'd be a good hit on YouTube. No, really, it will.

The Dark Knight Needs to Date Galadriel.

Cause why not? She's always in white. He's always in black. He's a control freak. She sees into the future. They would be like Yin and Yang. But I guess somethings aren't meant to be.

A Song to Remind You to Not Shoot Videos in Portrait Mode.

Blame it on the selfie craze. You use your camera phone in portrait mode a lot more than you use it in landscape mode. Which without the jargon means, you hold your phone vertically to snap more pictures than holding it horizontally. While the vertical portrait mode works great for pictures of individuals, it's just an eyesore for videos. You can't see much of the background, everything is in the frame and it is just ugly. When you play your videos on a larger screen or on YouTube, the video will even feature two black bands on the side.

And I have been guilty of that too. You are used to holding your phone straight instead of holding it horizontally. Heck you get better grip in the portrait mode and you don't have to use both your hands. But the point remains is that if you shoot videos in they are going to look ugly. So to make sure this point just registers in your head, here's a fun song, saying just that.

I Need to Fix My Chatting Game.

I'm not big on having long conversations on WhatsApp. That might also have to do with me not being big on having sensible conversations on WhatsApp.

Also, I'm not good with emojis it seems. 

Putin so Badass.

Is that silk, Barack? 

The Bad Music Video Contest.

You've been in one of those. You play a shitty YouTube video and show it to your colleague and then they try to one-up you by showing an even more terrible video. Turns out my colleague is the queen of crappy YouTube videos. Here's what she unearthed.

A Change of Location Always Helps.

Nearly all late night talk show hosts shoot from their own dedicated studios. Nearly all of them (at least the present crop) do a good job of it. But Conan O'brien goes the extra mile. Whenever a special event comes up, he doesn't just have one of his comedians do a segment from that particular event. This guy actually goes the extra mile and shoots an episode from there. When Cuba and America resumed their trade relations, Conan was the only late night host who went there and shot an entire episode on location in Cuba. And boom - the internet exploded. With just one move, his views and coverage skyrocketed.

Here's him doing a bit straight from Comic Con.




What's the big lesson here? Always go where the action is? Well, yes, if you are a late night TV show host. But most importantly, when you are doing the same thing over and over again, try and change your location. Stuck while writing? Take a walk and watch how the words come to you. Sometimes a little change in the landscape is all you need to actually see things differently.

PS: Bruce Wayne must be hating on Conan so much after this clip. 

That Awkward Moment When Amazon Thinks Its Being Really Generous.

It makes sense to show at the point of payment how much a consumer stands to save and how it makes sense to buy right away. But at times Amazon gets this wrong. The savings they are offering are worth not bragging about.

Stand-ups You Should Know - Tommy Johnagin.

Tommy Johnagin. He is the quintessential guy next door with guy next door problems. Like how he and his girlfriend talk about having a baby in a year or two and then he ends up having a baby anyway. He's got a surprisingly strange and sound take on things. Check out his bit on the second video on how a successful marriage is one where you outlive your partner and then cry over their death. Well, that sounds twisted but it's true. As he points out, the other outcome for their marriage would be a divorce. His delivery is understated and he's really a lot of fun. Sample some of his stuff here.

Your Confidence Should Have Nothing to Do With Your Body.

Ah, Amy Schumer. The second most-talked about female comic talents after Lena Dunham. She is surprisingly frank in her stand-ups. Opening about her brash sexual encounters the way you discuss the cafeteria food with your colleagues. Now she’s going to star in Judd Apatow’s next. What’s more, she even wrote it. Here’s her speech from the Gloria Awards Gala last night. And she speaks about something that’s actually both relevant to both guys and girls. She reveals how being slightly overweight made her doubt her own personality. Not her ability to seem attractive but her own confidence. Although body image and confidence are perceived to be problems that are exclusively female, I’m sure even guys doubt themselves because of their looks. Amy’s message that your looks shouldn't define how confident you feel is one both guys and girls should pay heed to.

*

Here I go, and if it doesn't go well, please just don't blog about it.

Right before I left for college, I was running my high school. Feel it. I knew where to park, I knew where to get the best chicken-cutlet sandwich, I knew which custodians had pot. People knew me. They liked me. I was an athlete and a good friend. I felt pretty, I felt funny, I felt sane. Then I got to college in Maryland. My school was voted number one ... for the hottest freshman girls inPlayboy that year. And not because of me. All of a sudden, being witty and charismatic didn't mean shit. Day after day, I could feel the confidence drain from my body. I was not what these guys wanted. They wanted thinner, blonder, dumber ... My sassy one-liners were only working on the cafeteria employees, who I was visiting all too frequently, tacking on not the Freshman 15, but the 30, in record-breaking time, which led my mother to make comments over winter break like, "You look healthy!" I was getting no male attention, and I'm embarrassed to say, it was killing me.

But one guy paid me some attention — Matt. Matt was six feet tall, he looked like a grown-up von Trapp child, and he was five years older than me. What?! An older boy, paying attention to me? I must be okay. Uff. I made him laugh in our bio lab, and I could tell a couple times that we had a vibe. He was a super senior, which is a sexy way of saying "should have graduated, but needed an extra year." He barely spoke, which was perfect for all the projecting I had planned for him. We grew up in the same town, and getting attention from him felt like success. When I would see him on campus, my heart would race, and I would smile as he passed. I'd look in the mirror and see all the blood rise to my face. I'd spend time analyzing the interaction, and planning my outfit for the next time I saw him. I wanted him to call. He never called. But then finally, he called.

It was 8 a.m., my dorm room phone rang. "Amy, wassup? It's Matt. Come over." Holy shit! This is it, I thought. He woke up thinking about me! He realized we're meant to start a life together! Let's just stop all this pretending that we weren't free just to love one another! I wondered, would we raise our kids in the town we both grew up in, or has he taken a liking to Baltimore? I don't care. I'll settle wherever he's most comfortable. Will he want to raise our kids Jewish? Who cares? I shaved my legs in the sink, I splashed some water under my armpits, and my randomly assigned Albanian roommate stared at me from under her sheets as I rushed around our shitty dorm room. I ran right over to his place, ready for our day together. What would we do? It's still early enough, maybe we're going fishing? Or maybe his mom's in town, and he wanted me to join them for breakfast. Knock-knock. Is he going to carry me over the threshold? I bet he's fixing his hair and telling his mom, "Be cool, this may bethe one!" I'll be very sweet with her, but assert myself, so she doesn't think she's completely in charge of all the holiday dinners we're going to plan together. I'll call her by her first name, too, so she knows she can't mess with me. "Rita! I'm going to make the green bean casserole this year, and that's that!" Knock-knock. Ring ring. Where is he?

Finally, the door opens. It's Matt, but not really. He's there, but not really. His face is kind of distorted, and his eyes seem like he can't focus on me. He's actually trying to see me from the side, like a shark. "Hey!" he yells, too loud, and gives me a hug, too hard. He's fucking wasted. I'm not the first person he thought of that morning. I'm the last person he called that night. I wonder, how many girls didn't answer before he got to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. But I was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired, despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us on campus together, holding hands, proving, "Look! I am lovable! And this cool older guy likes me!" I can't be the troll doll I'm afraid I've become.

He put on some music, and we got in bed. As that sexy maneuver where the guy pushes you on the bed, you know, like, "I'm taking the wheel on this one. Now I'm going to blow your mind," which is almost never followed up with anything. He smelled like skunk microwaved with cheeseburgers, which I planned on finding and eating in the bathroom, as soon as he was asleep. We tried kissing. His 9 a.m. shadow was scratching my face — I knew it'd look like I had fruit-punch mouth for days after. His alcohol-swollen mouth, I felt like I was being tongued by someone who had just been given Novocain. I felt faceless, and nameless. I was just a warm body, and I was freezing cold. His fingers poked inside me like they had lost their keys in there. And then came the sex, and I use that word very loosely. His penis was so soft, it felt like one of those de-stress things that slips from your hand? So he was pushing aggressively into my thigh, and during this failed penetration, I looked around the room to try and distract myself or God willing, disassociate. What's on the wall? A Scarfaceposter, of course. Mandatory. Anything else? That's it? This Irish-Catholic son of bank teller who played JV soccer and did Mathletes feels the most connection with a Cuban refugee drug lord. The place looked like it was decorated by an overeager set designer who took the note "temporary and without substance" too far.

He started to go down on me. That's ambitious, I think. Is it still considered getting head if the guy falls asleep every three seconds and moves his tongue like an elderly person eating their last oatmeal? Chelsea? Is it? Yes? It is. I want to scream for myself, "Get out of here, Amy. You are beautiful, you are smart, and worth more than this. This is not where you stay." I feel like Fantine and Cosette and every fucking sad French woman from Les Miz. And whoever that cat was who sang "Memories," what was that musical? Suze Orman just goes, "Cats." The only wetness between my legs is from his drool, because he's now sleeping and snoring into me. I sigh, I hear my own heartbreak, I fight back my own tears, and then I notice a change in the music. Is this just a bagpipe solo? I shake him awake. "Matt, what is this? The Braveheart soundtrack? Can you put something else on, please?" He wakes up grumpily, falls to the floor, and crawls. I look at his exposed butt crack, a dark, unkempt abyss that I was falling into. I felt paralyzed. His asshole is a canyon, and this was my 127 Hours. I might chew my arm off.

I could feel I was losing myself to this girl in this bed. He stood up and put a new CD on. "Darling, you send me, I know you send me, honest, you do ..." I'm thinking, "What is this?" He crawled back into bed, and tried to mash at this point his third ball into my vagina. On his fourth thrust, he gave up and fell asleep on my breast. His head was heavy and his breath was so sour, I had to turn my head so my eyes didn't water. But they were watering anyway, because of this song. Who is this? This is so beautiful. I've never heard these songs before. They're gutting me. The score attached to our morning couldn't have been more off. His sloppy, tentative lovemaking was certainly not in the spirit of William Wallace. And now the most beautiful love songs I've ever heard play out as this man-boy laid in my arms, after diminishing me to a last-minute booty call. I listened to the songs and I cried. I was looking down at myself from the ceiling fan. What happened to this girl? How did she get here? I felt the fan on my skin and I went, "Oh, wait! I am this girl! We got to get me out of here!" I became my own fairy godmother. I waited until the last perfect note floated out, and escaped from under him and out the door. I never heard from Matt again, but felt only grateful for being introduced to my new self, a girl who got her value from within her. I'm also grateful to Matt for introducing me to my love Sam Cooke, who I'm still with today.

Now I feel strong and beautiful. I walk proudly down the streets of Manhattan. The people I love, love me. I make the funniest people in the country laugh, and they are my friends. I am a great friend and an even better sister. I have fought my way through harsh criticism and death threats for speaking my mind. I am alive, like the strong women in this room before me. I am a hot-blooded fighter and I am fearless. But I did morning radio last week, and a DJ asked, "Have you gained weight? You seem chunkier to me. You should strike while the iron is hot, Amy." And it's all gone. In an instant, it's all stripped away. I wrote an article for Men's Health and was so proud, until I saw instead of using my photo, they used one of a 16-year-old model wearing a clown nose, to show that she's hilarious. But those are my words. What about who I am, and what I have to say? I can be reduced to that lost college freshman so quickly sometimes, I want to quit. Not performing, but being a woman altogether. I want to throw my hands in the air, after reading a mean Twitter comment, and say, "All right! You got it. You figured me out. I'm not pretty. I'm not thin. I do not deserve to use my voice. I'll start wearing a burqa and start waiting tables at a pancake house. All my self-worth is based on what you can see." But then I think, Fuck that. I am not laying in that freshman year bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say. I say if I'm beautiful. I say if I'm strong. You will not determine my story — I will. I will speak and share and fuck and love and I will never apologize to the frightened millions who resent that they never had it in them to do it. I stand here and I am amazing, for you. Not because of you. I am not who I sleep with. I am not my weight. I am not my mother. I am myself. And I am all of you, and I thank you.

Speech excerpted from Vulture.com

Listening to The Proclaimers' I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) Doesn't Make You Want to Walk More.

As you know this blog is all about helping you make intelligent choices. Whether it's the apps you have on your mobile or the site where you buy your books from. And my persistent dedication towards ensuring my readers make the best of choices sees me use my body as a guinea pig.

My recent experiment combined my passion for walking and behavioural effects of music. And since it's rather annoying to write this blog as if it's a psychology paper, I'd just come to the point. For an entire day, I decided to listen to the Scottish band Proclaimers' hit number 'I'm gonna be (500) miles' to see if I walk more that day. If you remember the song, it's about a lover proclaiming his love for his partner by saying he'd gladly walk a 500 miles, all just to fall at his beloved's door. Deep stuff. You know the song. It's the one that would always play on loop in Marshall's car in How I Met Your Mother. And like the cast in the series, I had to agree, the song has immense repeat value.



So for all day I listened to it. I even used state-of-the-art measuring equipment (Read Google Fit - the bug-filled pedometer app from Google). Then I went about my day as usual. And you would never guess what happened next. I actually ended up walking much less on that day. In fact, on other days (31st March and 2nd April) when I was listening to the music I listened to usually I walked more. Which proves that your motivation to walk isn't at all influenced by the music you listen to.

We back everything with numbers.

PS: Unless you listen to Eye of the Tiger. Must try that someday.

Stand-ups You Should Know - Aparna Nancherla.

If Mitch Hedberg was born as an Indian woman, he'd be a lot like Aparna Nancherla. I spotted her first on Twitter and loved her silly, thoughtful non sequiturs. I even went ahead and friended her on Facebook for kicks. And she was gracious enough to add me and every time I log in on Facebook now, I am laughing my heart out. Like Hedberg, she has this nonchalant passive delivery, except the punchlines are crafted with razor precision. More than often she says things, which take you by complete surprise. Case in point - the opening to her stand-up act 'I'm surprised that I'm a comedian too. Don't worry, we will get through together.'

And here's her New York moment that could have happened in any big city.

Louis CK Is Asking You to Switch Off Your Damn Mobile.

Dammit! I sound like a pariah. I think watching the World Cup final without Team India made me just idle around Twitter a little too much. And I feel guilty about it. Anyway now is a time as good as any to share this funny Louis CK clip.

It's classic CK. In that it's about comedy. It's about his razor-sharp observational skills. And about...raising children. It's extremely inspiring to see how much he borrows from his own life. He's a single father of two, and I've reason to believe his kids don't have cell phones. He talks about how kids who spend more time on mobiles are less adept at being empathetic. And then they miss out on the essence of being in the present. Of being able to focus and be alive to the possibility of now without being distracted by the stupid drone on your cellphone.

I think in a few years, we won't do things without broadcasting about it on the internet. But until then, I want you to spend a little more time online and watch this.

Also, Louis CK is coming to town. His first Indian tour was just announced. Can't wait to see the greatest standup acts of our time in person.

What Happens When You Look Up Your Name on Urban Dictionary.

Sometimes the World Says the Kindest Things. Maybe not the world but at least the world wide web. I was on Urban Dictionary today doing... frankly does anyone ever reach Urban Dictionary with a solid agenda? 

So anyway, just to bug a colleague, I looked up her name. I knew her name would fetch a response since she shares it with Aishwarya Rai. For my readers from USA and South Korea, she was the annoying but beautiful Indian actress from Pink Panther 2. The movie which you must have possibly seen while battling insomnia or on an airplane.

After we guffawed a bit, she suggested we look up my name and then this shows up.

Zoom in to see what I really stand for. More or less.

So as per Urban Dictionary, I'm smart. Check. I'm emotional?! But I've been stoic since late 90s. So that's wrong. Let's move on to the part about wearing my heart on my sleeve. The last time I fell for someone England used to be good at their national sport. Scared of rejection? I work in advertising and I still maintain, us copywriters get paid for rewriting, not writing.

Loves crazy women? Well, it's not that  sort of a blog. Jack of all trades, eh? Finally, some due credit. I suck at football and cricket. Let's not even talk about my violin or piano playing skills but I think I could catch up later in life.

I'm reserved. I was shy as a kid. Still am. It's gotten me a bad rep. People mistake it for being snobbish. I also have to admit to the writer's fact that I'm an acquired taste.  Yet, I tip my hat to the writer on Urban Dictionary, Mr. or Miss RockkYourBody with 2 ks. You did get a lot of things right. Do I know you? Ping me. Instagram me. I want you to edit and make corrections. 

It's Better To Arrive Before Time.

Int. Corner Office. One of  India's Top 5 Agencies

Distorted sounds. Dropped lines. Greetings and guffaws from old acquaintances. Cynical young copywriter feels like all conference calls, this one too will go south.

On the other end is the regional marketing head of one of the biggest brands in the world. He's briefing all the agency partners on how to leverage their global sponsorship at the FIFA World Cup.

The cynical young copywriter smiles. This is IT. Real time responses. Dedicated apps. Separate fan-based ecosystems. On-ground integration. In-store promos. Games. And then he catches the marketing head's voice. 

The budget for digital is a little above his CTC. He's slowly accepted the fact that digital campaign budgets will always be what, 1/10th of the main marketing budgets. But this? This is the last straw.

His boss' boss is on the call with him. He's taken aback but not as surprised as the young lad .

The marketing head explains that India is still an emerging market for the sport. We are betting big on the IPL. Don't forget that there's the Cricket World Cup next year.

The boss' boss agrees. 

They start talking numbers. 

'So, what do you think is possible?'

Ever to wait his turn, he weighs in. Suggests something cheap, effective with good ROI for the client and a shining badge for his portfolio.

The client likes it. The boss' boss beams. The price is bought into question.

The boss' boss throws a number.

The client renegs.

The boss' boss and the client go way back. They both know the agency isn't out to suck his coffers dry.

The client keeps trying to find some slack. The boss' boss won't budge either. The client says, 'It's not really a big deal for us. We'd rather have you focus on the bigger events.'

The copywriter adds with some reluctance, 'But sir, that's the point. No other Indian brand has the leverage you will. No other brand will ever have any association with soccer. You will be the first to have it and eventually own it. Standard Chartered has Mumbai Marathon. This, if we use it right could be our Mumbai Marathon. Any other brand could later try to outspend us but we'll win by virtue of foresight. Indians will migrate to soccer. They have already started and when they do, they'll remember us. Anything we do here is not a marketing expenditure, it's an investment.'

The distortion and the noise on the line is so much that the client mistakes him for the boss' boss. 'I thought you weren't keen on this dude.'

The boss' boss butts in again. The conversation fizzles. Another agency steps in. One which would bite the bullet and settle for the bargain. And no one in India remembers that the food brand was a global sponsor at the World Cup.

The said food brand and soccer never form a strong association.

The cynical young copywriter shrugs and thinks to himself, 'To sit on a goldmine and not know it. To own the soccer field before other brands take a run at it. To, ah, no wonder, I am this cynical.'

The next day the boss' boss receives an email.

The subject line reads: 'Cricket World Cup Ideas for big food brand.'

Maybe he is far less cynical than he thinks. 

I'm the Man Who Spams the Spammers.

They say you push a man too hard and you've no idea what he'll be capable of. I guess nothing of that sort happens with me. Now that brands have started to spam me on WhatsApp and HangOut, I've resorted to reasoning with them. And in some exceptional cases bargaining with them.

My Friends Have a Very Meek Notion of Irony.

I say some stuff about Candy Crush Saga and how everyone's hooked on it.

A few minutes later I get this.