Copyrioter and mobile phones

I need a 'local train mode' on my phone that says to the caller, "the person you are trying to call is standing in a crowded train with no space to even blink. It's extremely annoying to have this phone ringing or vibrating in her bag while surrounded by feminine oafs and gigantic creatures of womanly appearance. So will ye kindly take your morning platter of senseless jabber to some other number or hell ye be cursed and be fried in a cauldron of boiling water till your skin is the color of death. Oh and also...Don't you have any fucking life or what..bothering people early in the morning you disease reminding piece of ugliness in its sickest form."
Yes, I hate mobiles phones. I hate text messages and I hate phone calls. I hate those crazy pests with handsfree, crawling on the streets articulating, laughing and talking with themselves while the insect on the other end has gone to take a piss. I hate you when you sit there on the bus stop and play "snake" on the fancy gadget which is bloody well reflective of 'real you'. And can you get enough of that FM for fuck's desperatest sake??
And when you're sitting alone in Cafe Coffee Day (world's worst coffee shop ever) waiting for that chimp who has accepted how pathetic you are,  you will do random shit on your mobile phone. Oh yeah... and you must have to text somebody too and call up every fucker in the world you have no desire to talk to. But that's what you do when you are waiting for your chimp at a cafe. Because it's better to spare yourself the horror of you. Even Chimp-maters don't want to die young. 
I'd say 'God damn the ugliness that this world has become'. But good for you that I have no beliefs. Worse still, I consider the responsibility is on me now. Never was a no-paying job more fun. In a very endearing foul kind of way.

Ever wondered who came up with the word phony? I can bet on your life, it was me in my previous reincarnation.

p.s. At bus stops, in trains and on platforms, people are reading books written by "writers", not Chetan Bhagat. That's my perfect world and the hell that I'll one day burn you in.

Copyrioter on intellectuals and other such pretensions

As destiny wills, Copyrioter has no escape from the petty pecks of conversation flitting into her sulken life from all corners and sides. Just as might be the case with you too if you attend poetry slams and go about wearing British sarcasm with jute chappals bought off the road. And if you're a man, oh well...we are used to the jazz.
Let me ask you a question...
Did you ever on a humid day, under the influence of temporary insanity induced by the heat, imagine if adolescent fiction could be made to rhyme?
With due regard to the pubic state of your intellect, let me explain. I speak of Poetry Slams.
Poetry slams...what a beautiful thing to say! A contradiction that lights up the intellectual gardens of a cafe or pub every fortnight. Young men, trying-to-be-young men, beautiful women, women all gather and bare open their hearts till our ears refuse to bear the stench.

Now here lies in my inbox (although I would have loved to have it lie on my table), an invitation to one such Poetry Slam. It promises to elevate me from the drudgery of being a kurta-jhola kind toasted on the meager bread of copywriting to the well manicured wine-tasting species.
Copyrioter has no reason to ponder over such offers as the disdain on her left brow will quickly ascertain.

But then there's a pair of stiletto heels in red and black staring at me from the shoe rack, begging me to take the leap.
A lottery ticket is good once every bit.

Client Chronicles

Line that makes me want to go on a murdering spree...
"Let's do something on social media."

Copyrioter and the remains of an adventurous childhood - 1

Dr. Drake and the tiger we shot

As a young boy, Copyrioter's brother, whom we menacinlgy named Dr. Drake, made an unappetizing quote - peace is like a piece of bread which we all are eating. In moments of ridiculous seriousness, I reflect upon such gluttony of our times.
Looking back now, it must have emerged from his personal quest to understand the communist manifesto. Our childhood was fortunately littered with world politics enough to confuse beard with bread. As the Stalin of household, mother would regularly feed us white morsels of breadly delight, in the name of progress earned from democratic rights. Father wore communist principles as if they were written in Punjabi all right. 
Dr. Drake who fancied himself as the accented voice of Imperial majesty suffered from occasional bouts of  scientific enthusiasm to improvise and invent. Various objects and articles in the house emerged from such experiments complaining of utter anarchy. Mother would show all the colours of Stalin at those times. To Dr. Drake's disadvantage, there wasn't anything called children's rights. Not in India, not even in the house of social reforms and bylines.

As Tolstoy, Chekhov and Gorky ruled our household, it was only a matter of time before Copyrioter and Drake began harbouring dreams of scaling the immeasurable heights, of being the voice of beggars, cuckolds, reformers and the middle class. We wanted to be writers; novelists to be precise. But then Copyrioter was sold to idle thoughts from a young age.
So, Dr. Drake took it upon himself to climb the peak. To be the writer of novels.
A difficult forest will make for a beautiful clearing, he fondly determined. So with scissors and notebook, he began. With a cardboard cover cut into shape and few sheets pinned inside, he was well on his way. An original Drake that showed a tribal standing behind a wounded tiger went on to be the cover illustration.
The novel was aptly titled 'The wounded tiger'. 
Dr. Drake seemed to have discovered the secret of life at that early age, as his Novel intriguingly revealed. What's life but a few scribbles, an ill-shaped picture and plenty of snips?
We don't remember much of the story. But stories they say are all the same.

KOPYRIOTER - luck invited, the remaining story

Incident 2

Main characters -Acquaintance's Bf1, Copyrioter, Copyrioter's cheap phone

So it happened that I forgot my phone in the Aqbf1's car. I didn't mean to, it just fell out of the pocket of my tunic. Yeah, that's right, I wear tunics, and that's one more reason for you to stay alive.

Well, there he was. A smouldering patch of head graying behind the tinted glasses of his fiery red car. A door snapped shut and Copyrioter was inside.
That's where it all threatened to begin. He had an obnoxious pelt of a stare and I was like a road stoned to death. He looked at me with my phone in his hand. "There has never been a phone so cheap, and I am a man with a credit card. ", he seemed to say. I overdrew a smile from my copywriter's account.

It became imperative that I measure the size of his thumb. Such matters require an analysis of kinds. Size matters as matters the dime. Treading on the more sizeable grounds of physical appearance, he seemed to measure right.
And then came the moment, like they always come. Moments when your eyes suddenly get paranoid about looking anywhere and you end up making a few intelligent remarks about the unhygienic bhurji wala while staring at the roadside shitteries strategically placed in your range of sight.

And yet all roads lead to nowhere, as the Copyrioter says.
At the very moment precisely created to build heavens, the fancy gadget in his hand broke into music reflecting the picture of a young girl in its face. A daughter whose name began with a K. Well, I was born with the fear of K-serial killers and he seemed to earn his fondue that way.
But this was taking the matters too far.

Perhaps another day.


p.s. Just in case you're wondering..."he said he was unhappily married at a young age, and was headed for divorce." Like they always say.

KOPYRIOTER - luck invited

There's been some kind of a mistake. I have had to go through a lot of rough times lately... which includes being kicked out of my apartment, sheltering in the house of distant acquaintance, getting caught up between fighting boyfriends of a two timer, subjected to attention by married men, being forced to meet k-serial producers and crucified on the altar of their divine humor.

Let's try to recap a few moments here:

Incident 1

Acquaintance's boyfriend no. 2, "Hey who's this?"

Copyrioter, refusing to acknowledge his presence, fiddles with her iPod.

Acquaintance, looking visibly upset, immediately responds, "That's Sandee's best friend, Copyrioter. Right, Copyrioter?"

(Copyrioter to herself, 'Wrong. My name is Copyrioter and I am God's favourite brand of pesticide. Is that insect your boyfriend?)

Acquaintance's bf2, "Hey, that's great! So, you're a writer, huh?"

(Copyrioter to herself, 'Yeah, now will you place your head at my feet so I can bless you with the sole of my shoes)

Acquaintance bf2, "So, we're actually from the same industry.You know **********, he's my brother!"

Copyrioter shakes her head.

"Arrey the music composer...long hair"

Apology now faking itself on Copyrioter's face.

" Anyways, we are a family and I run his studio-------------------------- We are even venturing into production now.---------------------------- I have lived in Mumbai all my life, I know everything that goes around in this city. ----------------------------------------------------- I started working right after my school because why to waste time?------------------"

[*fill in the blanks with "boring shit"]

Copyrioter cuts in, "Is that yesterday's leftover beer you're having? Isn't it warm since you have no fridge here."

Acquintance's bf2: "That's OK, dude! Warm beer gives a better high!"

Copyrioter to herself, " Yeah right, and so does the heel of my shoes. Goodnight, rich man."




Incident 2

Main characters -Acquaintance's Bf1, Copyrioter, Copyrioter's cheap phone


So it happened that I forgot my phone in the Aqbf1's car. I didn't mean to, it just fell out of the pocket of my tunic. Yeah, that's right, I wear loony Tunics, and that's one more reason for you to stay alive.

Well, about Aqbf1....Nice guy, cool car.
And then, there were signs........



(To be continued :-P)


p.s. you can submit your own version of what ensued... could be interesting and might save me the trouble too.
On a different note, my brother has a friend who has an interesting servant. This fellow is gay, possessive of his master and extremely fond of speaking in English too. And to say nothing of the name - Golu.
That for CR sums up 'interesting'.
Golu asks CR's brother, " Bhaiyya yeh dude ka matlab kya hota hai?"
CR's brother: Chhichhora

Copyrioter is proud of her brother.

Cannes Lions and other animals - I

I am one of those typical ad-folks who subscribe to Cannes bulletin and check out all the reference material, then nod their head and exclaim, "Crazy bastards!", followed by "How do they come up with such ideas, man!"

My sorry-state of advertising life is frequently uplifted by e-mailers and updates from Cannes Lions 2009, one of which arrived a few days back. So, this one goes to say how "now you have the chance of telling 'why are you coming to Cannes this year?' "
Well, of all the people I know, there are a few imaginary ones who will be going and I say, "what an opportunity for them man!" (As a reward, their comments may be later digitally smuggled to all the neurotic advertising lives across the planet in the form of an e-mailer besides making them feel very very important. And of course, shit-writers like Copyrioter will finally have a reason to post on their blog, so..there you go!)

One brilliant brain from somewhere wrote, "I will be at Cannes this year to remind myself that advertising is about creativity and not marketing."

That guy is also going to Cannes Lions 2009.

Coming Back To Trite

It’s been a long time. Must have been quite long as I had to read a few of my older posts to recall the style of writing that I pretend to have.
So, there’s been some sort of power shift here, at the place where I work. It was quite a firestarter actually. I would say the whole thing was kind of a Hollywood blockbuster; precisely the kind where Spiderman waves the American flag and a loser saves the world from aliens. On a more comprehensible note, what happened was eerer theusdkfd gkfgdlsigedf;lgdf dflkgdlfkg dk. Yes, I have ETHICS. I am not giving such information on a blog!! I may be walking around with a foot in soup, but I sure have got ethics. That doesn't really pay one well, but charity for self is not a bad idea either.

Anyways, no one has ever denied me my power to sleep on the desk so far; so what do I have to worry about!! Which by the way should get the bells ringing for me actually…
But then I like Pink too.

They say, all's well that bends well; And I don't.