Ramblings of a delusional dumbass

  The act of smoking (or smoking up) is a sacred ritual. Dating back to ye ‘ol times of yore, it involved an old man, probably senile, and definitely hairy on the wrong side of the head, transforming crushed dried leaves and herbs into a portable-apparition device by the simple act of lighting it up and inhaling the white fumes. Puff-puff-pass was probably a thing back then too, definitely. Air, fire and earth – the holy trinity of existential liberation in just the right proportion seems to free your mind and soul [1] . When in actuality, it chokes your lungs and wreaks havoc on… well, pretty much every other part of your body. But goddamn does it feel so good to breathe in that toxic smoke. Maybe that’s why the first drag of the dirty nicotine stick every morning feels so special. That DNA-altering carcinogenic smoke tickles something so primordial, it wakes up the dormant gene that once resided in the (organic) tar-filled lungs of your great 250 -grandfather [2] . Like a nea...

    It’s a 11 pm on 11/11. I am supposed to be writing something important. To try and convince a client why the use of AI is okay for the brand. Instead, I’m penning my second blog post for the day. Probably my shadow self (Jung dodappa FTW) making up for all the othla times I’ve manifested this year. Anyway, back to the point. Or straying away from it further. Wheeee…   Peter Pan Syndrome.   According to ChatGPT, Dr. Dan Kiley, who popularized the term in his 1983 book The Peter Pan Syndrome: Men Who Have Never Grown Up, defined it as a condition where adults exhibit emotional immaturity and avoid typical adult roles such as career, financial management, and stable relationships.   Well, nigga, does it feel good to hop jobs every 18 months with a matcha (or whatever fruity fucking drink is in vogue that season) in hand ignoring the double text from your situationship?   I honestly threw up a little writing that sentence. It was proba...

  “There’s a point at 7,000 rpm, where everything fades. The machine becomes weightless. Just disappears. All that’s left is a body, moving through space and time.” - Ford v. Ferrari (2019) Lowda. At 7k rmp, in second gear on a 250cc mill, doing some 70 kmph, when the rev-limiter is crying its tits off, you’re effectively doing an Italian tune-up-pro-max on the go like a bloody moron. And when the brake pads are 70% shot, “like a bloody fuckin moron”. Definitely not safe. Especially on one of the “few” goddamn, pothole-free roads in the bloody city of Bangalore (thanks daddy Kempe Gowda).   There comes a point in every man’s life when he chooses between protecting his sanity or letting it all go and embracing the chaos of life. When he stops making sense of what’s happening around him and instead contribute to the entropy. Anarchist’s cookbook ftw! Maybe this is how mid-life crisis looks like. Or meant to look like. A desire to break free from the shackles of… wel...

  Set against the backdrop of a caste-ridden society, Bharatipura delves into the idealism of Jagannatha, a man whose philosophy is as well-intentioned as it is misguided. Having recently returned from England, he attempts to apply Western models of social justice to his village's deeply entrenched caste system. He is aware of the struggles of communities like the Black population in the West and wants to initiate similar change for the Holeyaru, the community of manual scavengers. Jagannatha's efforts are futile because he fails to grasp how social movements gain momentum. While he aims to lead a strong agitation, he discovers he is a lone crusader. The novel expertly highlights how the injustice of the caste system has been internalized by both the upper castes and the Dalits, with neither group showing a true willingness to change. His well-intentioned initiatives fail because the very people he seeks to uplift are not prepared to embrace his cause. This resistance is rooted...

If you are in any managerial position (thanks to promotions) and this is the first time you’re hearing of the Peter Principle, then you are already a lost cause.  Close this tab and go back to scrolling Instagram reels. Bye-bye. According to Wikipedia (remember that old relic, before ChatGPT became the de facto encyclopedia? Remember encyclopedia? Never mind). According to Wikipedia, the Peter Principle “observes that people in a hierarchy tend to rise to 'a level of respective incompetence’”, which means your promotions are based on how good you are at your current role. You continue to rise the rungs of corporate till you reach a position where you, and you will, suck at your job. At some point in your career, you will end up rotting away at a level you are least competent at; some place where you barely scrape by, unsure of where you’re faltering because the barometer for quality is hidden behind a thick veil of your own incompetence. Hence, the burnout.  And the desperate ...

A favourite childhood memory of mine is me coming home from school to a mound of steaming rice topped with a ladle of thick pappu (boiled mashed green gram) and a generous helping of homemade ghee surrounded by a moat of tangy chinta charu (tamarind rasam).  It was my first tryst with nostalgia. The first bite would transport me back to simpler times when the school days and my trousers were both half in measure. I’ve always maintained that my ammi, my late grandmother, invented the dish. One of the most unfortunate outcomes of her passing was the loss of the recipe. You might think I’m being inconsiderate, but the dish is to die for. And my mother’s version just doesn’t taste like what ammi used to make. I’d been on the hunt for this elusive dish for years. I’ve scrounged around the annals of the internet long enough to know that it isn’t familiar, let alone popular. So, I took it upon myself to recreate the dish, from memory.  It took me years to perfect it. The pappu was ea...