Come On Baby, Light My Fire

Thank heavens, I have given up smoking again! God, I feel fine. Homicidal maybe, but still fine. I am a different man ever since I quit smoking. Yes, I am now irritable, moody, depressed, rude, and nervous! Giving up smoking is very easy: I do it once every month. See, it has already been 2 hours since I quit smoking, and I’m already writing like a mass murderer.

A girl I was seeing seriously objected to my smoking. I had to quit, she insisted. So I did quit. I quit seeing her. After all, she was a lot less capable of lighting my fire than a cigarette. That was a terrible pun, I must admit!

Good food, good sex and good sleep: to these three basic needs of sanity, man has added nothing in the past five thousand years apart from the good smoke. They threaten me with lung cancer, and still I smoke. If they'd only threaten me with hard work, I might quit smoking for longer than the couple of hours every day I manage. I insist that the cigarette helps me lose weight too: one lung at a time.

Fame is a Fickle Thing

There are people who are born to fame. Peope would have known about Abhishek Bachchan even if he had been as much of an actor as Kishen Kumar. Though Abhishek and the others might crib about the enormous pressures of living up to daddy's shoes, inherited fame is pretty cool. You have it made, all you got to do is try not to mess it up.

Raj Kapoor's three sons were all born to fame. Though only one of them ultimately remained famous, I suspect it is more to do with their names. If you call your favourite son Dabboo, the son will try his earnest best to make a Dabba out of his life. If you call another son Chimpoo, the idiot will try to be a chimpanzee all his life. But if you call him Chin-two, all he needs to fear is having a double chin. Which is all right, as that family seems to develop multiple chins even without the benefit of weird names.

And then there are those who achieve fame. Chief among this kind are the ones like Paris Hilton. You know, those who are famous simply for being famous. I actually went two years reading about Paris Hilton's escapades trying to figure out why she is so famous, till I learnt to my chagrin that her sole claim to fame is simply that she is famous!

The Sleeping Ugly

I suddenly woke up with a really bad headache. It's the third week of the month: too early for next month's salary to come in, too late for last month's meagre alms to continue to last.

Was it a hangover? I must have consumed too many Red Bulls last night in a fatally doomed effort to be energetic enough to attend work today. I think I should have listened to Kapil Paaji and stuck to Boost!

Actually, I really should just stop trying to sleep in office. I call it office and not workplace, because I don't really work here. I just pretend to work, just like they pretend to pay me.

The good part is that it's almost 12 o clock, only an hour to go for lunch...and lunch is FREE here at office.