This is such bull

Wow. ways in which I’d spend an off day. Everyday for almost the last year has been an off day for me. I used to convince myself that I’m fun employed. But the F has been managing to give me another F back. In the light of these events, I’d like to reverse the topic and make today’s post an opposite day.

Yes! I’m an artist and I, like a dumbass, majored in History of Art and and I’d really like a 9-5, or 10-6 or even a 5-1 job at this time. Hurrah to the mental satisfaction you get when you do what you love. But what happens when that love begins to get saturated and so many people just love the same thing you love? You find new ways of making love and staying in love. Given the current place I’m in, which is a bad one. Let us just leave all that aside and let me take you through how much I’d enjoy a day of work right about this time.

It will not be still for anyone’s sake. Let’s assume it is a 10-6 job. I’d wake up at 5AM.

Hang myself on that pull up bar and pump out 10 solid ones.

Go for a nice short fast run.

Stretch out and do my favorite home workout that helps me keep my sanity in the days of joblessness.

Ice cold shower baby!

Milk, egg and sprouted beans for breakfast packed in between two sliced of bread.

Prepare lunch. Today, I shall make some rice and lentils.

Grind out my vegetable juice for a mid office snack.

Pack a few slices and some jam along with lunch for another snack.

Wipe the cycle clean, check the pedals and pedal away to work.

Reach office, change clothes after showing off my butt and legs to that cute chick at work.

Talk to my boss. Find targets, hydrate and get to work like maniac.

Drink vegetable juice. Flip the finger to a colleague for making fun of you for not joining for a smoke break.

Get to work.


Stretch out calf muscle.

Yummmmm. Lunch!


More work. Wait I’m all done? I need to talk to boss again. Let me walk by that cute chick while I’m at it and give her the head nod.

Yay, I have some more work to do. Belt it out, listen to free music. Charge my phone.

Work day almost done. Time for that second snack.


Flip the finger to another colleague for the smoking thing again.

Cute chick comes over and asks for help. She’s playing with her hair. I’m so in there bro!

Brrrring 6PM. Time to leave. Get changed,



Get the cycle out, nod to the pretty chick again and pedal off.

Reach home in record time.

Hot water bath!

Stretch out legs again.

Watch a documentary on the internet

Respond to The Daily Post

Eat some chicken I’ve made for the entire week with a little rice

Go to sleep. Admire biceps while I push my hands under the pillow.

Think of cute chick at work. Wonder if she’s single…

Fall asleep like a baby. Well, babies don’t just fall asleep. Rocks do! Feel asleep like a rock.

This whole thing is just a matter of perspective and huge amounts of imagination skills for the non-existent.

Sparkling or Still


From the garden city of Bangalore, Krishna Balboa

About 12 years ago, when I was a kid and was travelling to school by bus, I had a long way to go and no direct buses to get me there. I would change buses at a weirdly pleasant neighborhood.

A tea shop where there are puppies and old men for friends. A tiny shop that cannot be categorized as any specific kind of a shop, selling sweets, to fresh juice, to cigarettes, to stationery, to condoms. Yes, this is where I first saw a condom packet. Seeing a condom itself would take some more years. The bus stand I had to wait at was indefinitely under construction and was never a concern to anyone. Everyone using the vicinity regularly, knew which slab of stone was loose and shaky and needed to be dodged. Everyone else was a source of sadistic entertainment.

For me to get out of my first bus and get to my second bus stop there is a distance of about 200-400 meters that I need to walk depending on where I was able to jump off the moving bus. I practiced jumping off buses like it was a talent that I needed to hone for the future like my life would depend on it.

All this has been a routine of mine for some time now with variations depending on when I need to be at school. There is also another person in this story with a routine and his routine is what matters to us.

I have never really seen his face fully. Will I be able to recognize him if I saw him in other clothes? I do not think so. He always wore grey cotton sweat pants, a matching sweat shirt and a checkered towel wrapped around his neck, covering his face and head and just leaving his face open enough for him to see where he is going and to breathe well. What was he doing all the time I saw him? He was always running, pacing himself depending on the terrain. He always had a consistent sweat pattern on his clothes. I never saw him pant for breath or look exhausted. He went like his life depended on it.

As a much younger child I had watched Rocky. My father had made me watch it even though I was too young to understand anything that I saw in the movie, all I found amusing was that two people were allowed to beat each other up in public. I think my father had conspired to lay down suppressed memories of a man’s conquests to achieve his desire, so that when I grew up and watched this movie again in desperation, all of it would come back to me and I would lay down my struggles.

This man reminded me of that very same rocky. Grey for grey, the skull cap replaced by a truly suspicious checkered towel. If I managed to wake up early for some reason, I would hear from my friends from the second bus about his location and speed. If I got late which was mostly because I was too lazy to wake up, I would see him chugging along the side of the road when my second bus was reaching its destination. I never found out his full running route, where he started or ended. But I saw him in so many different sections of that part of the city. I saw him for three years doing this, everyday I managed to see him, he was at it. After I left school and did indeed catch Rocky as a grown up to find a way to lay me troubles to rest, I was immediately reminded of the man in grey I saw around Malleshwaram. When I tried narrating this story to someone, I never had a name to refer him by, perhaps his name was Krishna.

Presenting to my memory glands, from the Garden City of India, Krishna Balboa.


Let’s finally meet the mountains

I began making this film with the layman in my mind as its audience. Over time, I have realized that there are no more laymen and laywomen watching movies on the internet or elsewhere. Everyone is a fucking critic, a cinematographer, an editor or god forbid anything other than a fucking director. Even more so, no one wants to be in production. So, I’ve finally made this film for me and the magic of cycling and obviously dedicated to my family. But mostly because it has been hounding me, and for me to be done with it and move on.

Here is the film, whatever it is, this is how it is. And what it is, is a great teacher. One that taught me more of how not to do things than how to do things. I only look at this film as the best piece of practice I’ve had as a broke ass film maker. I’m thankful for every thing that happened in my life until now that has helped make this film the way it is. I also thank everyone in my life, friend, foe, stranger or companion.

I entertain all degrees of feedback but I shall never tolerate any form of mockery!

All the cursing aside, Presenting Meeting Mountains my debut documentary that makes your life a little bit simpler and a lot more serene. Enjoy.

Yes, it is 37 minutes long and no, I don’t think it is too long.



I have been much of a rebel my whole life. But I mostly rebel with courtesy or omission.  two years ago when I had just got out of Art college having majored in History of Art and seemingly underemployed, I chanced upon an opportunity to go to the Himalayan Mountains and help film a mountain biking race. From Bangalore to Himachal is a great journey, one that I took three days by a combination of train and bus, hauling my personal luggage with a lot of warm clothes in a backpack. A tripod and a home made portable aluminium 4ft Jib in another roll of a cotton bed cover and the highlight of the trip, the steel trunk!


The trunk that later on turned to the liquor cabinet/bar table


Customized grip handle with wrapped cloth. Simply because, it is just so damn heavy

The race was a meeting of many minds. There was a team of film makers coming in from Delhi and equipment rental there was so expensive that I had to haul equipment they’d need as well all the way from Bangalore. Hence the money spent on the steel trunk. Once I got there, tasks were assigned, equipment was handed over and I issued a huge word of caution since all the equipment was registered under me and was never all going to be used under my supervision.

I was immediately hit by the fact that everyone else around me was able to have fun and I was the only dud who was climbing the side of a cliff, running around with the jib and its counter weights not to forget, my most loved camera in the world for DSLR film making then, THE CANON 7D trying to get not just usable footage. But footage with that little extra narrative in it, a little bit of environment in it and not just shaky footage of a racers face who zoomed past while I fiddled with focus.

If you have read this far, you know that this is a rant. But, what I did not do then was precisely this. I did not rant. I did my work the best I could and the rebel in me stopped adding my footage into the pool and I did declare that I will make a stand alone film with what I shoot myself. You must understand that by doing this, I am denying myself footage shot by two other teams with a total of four people, one 5D mark II, an ENG style camera and most importantly a GoPro camera. Call me cocky, but I knew that the footage I gather will be enough for me.

The organizers agreed and I returned home to find myself in the shittiest job market for a creative who won’t sell out. Not only did I not convert the footage for editing, I deliberately ignored its existence, all 500 odd Gb’s of it shot over the 10 day race and I moved around to fins sustainable sources of income.

Some day it struck me that I might after all be sitting on a gold mine here and began looking at the footage I had. I started piecing it together. I even found a great band to write the music for it, I made its first teaser. I called it Meeting Mountains and then, I lost faith in the people who were throwing me work all this while and I parted ways only to get into more lack of a job. And hence, the film stopped developing again. Then my computer paralyzed itself . Then I felt that it has already been a year, nobody wants to see this film. I won’t make any money out of spending hours looking for shots and piecing them together and never be able to render in anyway because of the computer situation. I don’t have the money to pay for recording the music. I can do the voice over at my house, but the music? And yet again, the film finds itself sitting in a dark corner of my hard drive.

The year of 2014 started with a bang. I was on fire. I ran my first 10K. I started looking incredible, (simply by virtue of not being lazy anymore) felt amazing and yet was still underemployed, but I managed to get my hands on a kick ass new laptop and decided that the first thing I do with it will be to churn out the film! And I did. Entered it in precisely one film festival. Because, still broke.

The experience of filming this event in the mountains has been a giving tree.  I have seen so many sights and met many people and learnt so much more about them. I wrote my first ever documentary, narrated it (I was never meant to be a vocal person) edited it and this is where I even learnt editing and what it can do. Remember, I do not have any film school gyan to begin with. I’m just someone who picked up a camera and shot a few short films before I started doing this full time.

This film is what I am proud of now. Still broke and not having enough money to buy my father a present for his birthday. I decided to launch the film online on his birthday. Tomorrow, Meeting Mountains is going to be online on Youtube and I will be done with this film and I can finally move on.

There have been only a handful of people who have seen this. Even fewer who were able to identify mistakes and provide feedback. I know I might get some 5 views when this film hits the internet. I only care to know that I did even a remotely good job with it. ii simply have butterflies in my stomach. I have been so tunnel visioned with this film that I have forgotten if I have done some of the basics on it. As much as I am excited for the film to be out there. I have that feeling that John Carter has, that he left a light on after he left home.

When you watch this film, all you need to know is that it was made out of random footage from the race with no story or script in mind until after post production began. I have a shitty voice for narration. This is the first time I have done things like editing, sound levels and color correction and that as much as I’d like to hate this film, I love that I’m done with it. For now.




My first love letter


Dearest Angie,

We have been together for almost ten years now. You were my first. I know I wasn’t yours. You know that I love you to paint you myself. Carefully craft you,  white wall tyres. Finger your carburetor forever until you are pleased and I find pleasure in yours. Slow you down for every pothole and speed breaker, so you do not feel rattled. You know that I love you enough to polish you every time I know you are going out some place important. I take pride in you. I show you off. I am proud of every time you have made people check me out. Especially for helping me create that image when we were in college that If I gave a girl a ride on my bike, it is because I deem her worthy enough to sleep with. Every controversy we created back then, every trick up my sleeve and under your seat. You know I loved you more than any of those girls. We had some good times and I promise you greater times ahead.

You also need to know that I hate you. I hate you for all the things you are not. You are not a modern piece of engineering. Your technology is almost 60 years old and you yourself are 34 years old and I am only 27 and I take you for granted because of this. I do not have a professional mechanic take care of you because Your technology is simple. I can do it myself. I sometimes forget to treat you like you still are my first love. Believe me, there are days more than you’d imagine when I eye that hot piece of Austrian or Japanese set of two wheels that the other boys are ripping around in. Sometimes annoyingly so in full motorcycle gear when they’re only going out to get milk from one street away. I have even told myself, I deserve better not this old piece of shit. You give my blisters! On my palms and under my feet when you do not start and I have to keep kicking you like I was possessed. I hate that I have been stuck with you for 10 years now. The only reason I even bought you is because you were the only one I could afford. When all my friends had their dads shell out money to get them scooters, my ego wanted me to buy myself a bike. That is the reason we are stuck together. You are with me because I could only afford to buy you from my first salary. Because I am cheap! But you do not know how much I have spent on parts and don’t even get me started on your drinking problem.

I am too  much of a coward to tell you these things when we have our heart to hearts out on the highway or when you just wont start at the side of it. Because I know these things will upset you and I cannot deal with your wrath afterwards. I might have to walk or worse push your old ass home. That is why I choose to write these things to you and I forbid you from reacting in any form other than writing. Take advantage of being literate for a Day and write back to me how you feel about this and about me and please be done with it. Please do not behave like all the other women who are trained to ferment and argument and deploy it like a strategic strike of daisy cutter.




By heart

By Heart

“Yankee doodle went to town,
riding on his pony…

Stuck a feather in his cap
and called it Macaroni.

Yankee doodle doodle doo, Yankee doodle dandy
All the feathers in his cap were made of sugar candy.”

This is the original short version that I was taught in kindergarten. One drunken night on my way home. A friend who lived near me and was dropping me failed to remember the rhyme from his childhood. He claimed that he was never taught this one, implying that I was way too old to know it in the first place. On the ride home, we made up an obscene version of the rhyme to help him remember for the next time. To date, when I reach certain points of the route home, I remember the drunken night and the verse we were trying to drill into our heads at those points of the route.

Even while typing the poem down now, I was only able to recollect the obscene version better than the original.

For people who can get sensitive to obscenity and gory sexual innuendos. Please do not read further on to the obscene version.

“Yankee doodle went to town…
riding on his pony.

He stuck a finger up its ass
and called it dry humping…

Yankee doodle doodle doo, Yankee doodle dandy
All the fingers on his hands were covered in shit from the horsey”


Copywriter’s notes

Ever wondered what the chemical composition of salt is? No. You never wondered. Because it was the first one (ok, second. we learnt H2O first) that was taught to us in school before chemical compositions started getting weird and breaking bad complicated. It is EQUAL PARTS of sodium chloride, NaCl. Yes, we wondered at first why is sodium abbreviated as Na when neither of the letter are present in its spelling.

But that is not it. Unless you went on to learn chemical engineering or just a lot of chemistry, to you, salt is still sodium and chlorine! What was on the notes of this copywriter when he started writing this ad?

Did it read,

‘sodium is bad for health
diabetes, lung cancer, oh wait that is cigarette, ah what the hell.
It is mostly BP etc etc…
deduct sodium reduce sodium in client product.
Low sodium salt.
This is the pitch that will fetch me an ad.
Can I go EUREKA for this? Of course I can, I will.

Did the copywriter really forget the fact that if you reduce the sodium content in salt without reducing the chlorine content, it doesn’t remain salt anymore? Let us say, to compensate, you reduce chlorine as well. It still wont be salt if you do not have both chlorine and sodium in equal parts!

Fine, let us agree that they add some other components to even things out. Tell us about it. Because most of us still are people who believe that salt is just Sodium Chloride!

Some people just do not understand the power of the internet.

Notes from the Necropsy is a collection of observations derived while I satisfy my dark desire to dissect the alleged creative process of popular media. 


Isn’t It Ironic?

For the last time, irony is not coincidence!

Inspirational Geek

I’ve had such a positive response to my previous TED-Ed post that I’m going to use another set of their resources with something I stumbled onto recently.  This time on irony.

When most people think of irony typically one thing comes to mind.  Alanis Morissette and her 1995 hit Ironic.

But is “ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife”, or “rain on your wedding day” actually ironic?  No.  Unnecessary or unfortunate perhaps, but definitely not ironic.

A lot of people struggle with identifying or using irony correctly, myself included, but here are some great examples of the three most common types of irony.

The easiest to understand is situational irony.  In this case, something is ironic if, and only if, it is the exact opposite of what you would expect.

You’re watching a film and you, as the audience, know something that one…

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