Bohemian Wanderer: September 2010

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Drawing Conclusions - Hard Cell

Drawing Conclusions is a weekly comic strip that appears in The New Indian Express - Zeitgeist edition

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Some car stickers are there merely for one reason.To stick it to the person driving behind.
Whenever I see a car with a PRESS sticker on its back window I get the urge to go and press it.
Seriously, why do these press-people have it anyway? And that too on the back.
One could reason that they're rushing to cover a history-changing, earth shattering event and need the others to make way for them but then wouldn't they have to have that at the front, like ambulances do?
But then again I've always thought the ambulance sticker was redundant given that they already have the siren.
Ooh! Siren.White van.Wait let me check the sticker to confirm.Oh gee,it's an Ambulance...Yeahh! free flowing traffic!
Doctor stickers are cool.Especially since the one on mine makes a traffic cop think twice before stopping me.Doctors always have a free-pass.It's a rule.

Coming back to the press cars my only theory is that they're stickin' it to the rest of us driving behind.
Ooh look, its a press car.Must be an important chap.Lucky sod.Must know all the page 3 models! I wish I'd studied journalism.Dammit!
You don't see the rest of us using stickers do you? Aren't we as important? Engineer...architect...businessman...actor...musician...author...cartoonist...inheritor.
I'd like to see every car have these 'occupation' stickers.
Just so I know what type of crowd I'm rolling with.And to stick it to the others behind,who're stuck with suckier jobs.

The stickers get sillier.
'Mom's Gift'. So yesteryear-cute.Guys, please.Enough.
No, 'Brother's gift' is even worse.
Not only are these guys freeloading but here they are telling the whole world about it.
What if the car in question is an Esteem.
*Insert self esteem pun here*
The spiritual ones go for 'God's gift'.I'm a believer.Where do I pick up my Toyota?

'If you're reading this, you're too close'.
Sure,you've come across those.
What the morons fail to understand is that most people come close to actually read the damn thing.
If I'm reading this, maybe just maybe, you're driving too damn slow.
In a similar vein...'Don't kiss me'.
Have you seen that one? What are the chances that there's a frigid woman in there who feeds the same line to her husband every night?!

Another popular sticker is the one that looks like a football's broken through the glass.That is something I never quite understand.
When your neighborhood kid puts a ball through your car window all hell breaks loose but you don't mind paying for a ridiculous sticker depicting exactly that.
It's like buying a t-shirt with a picture of a hole in it as opposed to wearing a torn one.
Why waste money when you can get it done for free?

Another sticker that pisses me off is 'baby on board'.Maybe somebody oughta drive by with a 'Pedophile on board' or 'Kidnapper on board' sticker just to get even.
I'm surprised I still haven't seen a 'Babe on board' sticker yet...aka the 'Guess who's getting lucky tonight?! Not you!' sticker.
Whenever I see those family planning slogan stickers on trucks I visualise a hot babe in a car with stickers that say 'We two, hours two' with 'Horny ok' thrown in for extra fun.
Wait.That sounds more apt for a hooker's car.

Loved one's name stickers are often the preferred choice for auto drivers.It's mostly a couple of female names.
I always wonder if that's his wife and his daughter that's mentioned or if there's more to it.
Today I saw one that the woman in question wouldnt quite have been amused with:'Thamizharse'.
Either the sticker maker was goofing off or that auto driver is one kinky mutha.I'd like to think it was unintentional.Makes it funnier.Like the menu on most of the local food joints.Which reminds me...Ever spotted the name 'Fukuto' on the end-credits of 'Frasier'?
That's one name that'd ensure that people around would never be short of a snappy comeback!
Oh yeah? Well, Fukuto!

Agenda man

This cartoon appeared first on Cricinfo

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Road hash

LPG cylinder transport trucks. Number One on my list of road paranoias.
I have enough trouble switching on the tubelight in the kitchen when I hit the fridge for a late night snack(all thanks to a certain Kamal-Shankar movie).
Imagine then, my plight when waiting at a traffic signal, inches away from a truck carrying a hundred potential fireballs.
Fireballs are fun in video games and when viewed from afar.
But to be at the center of one is not something I really look forward to.
And if those weren't enough, they have economy sized versions too.
Those industrial type gas cylinders that are transported on small, open three-wheeler carriages that always have them pointing in the wrong direction.If the lid was ever to accidentally pop off one, guess who's first in line waiting to be pile-driven beyond recognition?

I suppose the second spot has to go to garbage trucks.Especially those of the the slimy variety.The garbage movers union has somehow synchronized their transport timings to match mine and everyday I find myself at the aforementioned signal next to a filth factory leaking slime, barely inches away from my feet.A good test for my lung's retention capabilities while I wait, frozen in fear.
An entire germ colony waiting to invade me.
Two words.Debilitating disease.
Not a nice way to go.

Third spot.Women drivers.'nuff said.
Oh wait.Share-auto drivers too.It's a tie.

I fear hitchers.Especially after the urban legend about some syringe-poking hitchers started doing the rounds.Why can't they randomly poke those rash, share-auto drivers instead? Why pick on us kindred souls that are willing to give a lift?
I always dread the moment someone walks up and asks for a lift.Even if it's someone from the same building I work in.
I'm too polite to say no and I'm even worse at making up a false excuse.
I'm marginally better at ignoring,though.So I try to avoid eye and ear contact.
It's one of the few soft skills I possess.
I suppose the exception to the rule would be if that hot chick from HR ever thumbed a ride.But then, chances are I'd probably get a flat-tyre and balance would be restored to the universe.

I have pedestrian-dead-ringer syndrome.
I often try to match a random face on the road with someone I know.
Especially if it's someone that's moved abroad.And when I do spot a lookalike, a bizarre thought immediately kicks in.
What if that person didn't really move away?
What if that person was just lying so as to avoid me on a long term basis.
What if it's one big conspiracy and everyone's in on it.
Would someone go to such great lengths of deception?
Like a celebrity faking his own death. hmm...
I've been on the other end of that fence once.
It's quite a relief when the person in the bus who has been staring at you for a long time finally comes to you to confirm his doubts and you mentally replace his tag from potential-psycho-stalker to man-in-need-of-corrective-lenses.
This one time it happened, that person refused to believe me.
No you're mistaken.I am not him.
Really? You're not him? Are you sure?
Yes.
Then what is your name?
And I thought I was weird.
I always find it hard to give a stranger my name.What if that person happens to be one of those identity theft hackers? Or even worse, what if he looks me up and decides to stalk me?
But however hard I try I just cannot bring myself to lie and I blurt it out.Which is ironic given the fact that I have five other names I could use.

There are however a few joys the road does offer.
Newly paved roads and empty roads, for instance.And bridges.
Crossing a bridge always gives me a high.
Even if it's just the Adyar and Koturpuram bridges.Which I cross daily.In 20 seconds, without inhaling.My bridge over terrible waters.
I suppose its the feeling of moving above water(?!) that creates the temporary euphoria.
Which reminds me of a recurring nightmare I used to have where I speed beyond control and my bike flies off the edge.
I always wake up before I hit the muck.
Fantasising about flying bikes is something I do often during traffic jams.
I fantasize that my bike has secret flying capabilities.And that these features get enabled only during traffic jams.
So that I can glide over the poor wretched suckers beneath that have to sweat it out.Just so that I can see the look of awe and envy on their faces.
I'm weird that way.

'Drawing Conclusions' is a weekly comic strip that is published in The New Indian Express - Zeitgeist edition

Slot fixing

Danny buoy

This cartoon appeared first on Cricinfo

I suppose Dan the Man, is the only cricketer that no one hates.

(Except perhaps his jealous teammates)

Drawing Conclusions - Girlfrant

Drawing Conclusions is a weekly comic strip that appears in the New Indian Express - Zeitgeist edition

Banal retentive

This cartoon appeared first on Cricinfo

Freeze Frame - Loan Ranger

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Do check out www.clapsandboos.com

Sock the talk

Think about it...socks are like those couples who date/marry for the wrong reasons.
They think they've got a lot in common.
But they never last.They never stick it out.
They're fine the first couple of washes.
Then wham, that's it.
One walks out on the other,often unannounced.Never to be seen again.
(For the sake of being realistic I think we can all safely agree that's the female of the species)

Maybe the male sock wasn't sensitive to her needs.
Maybe she thought he was having an affair with another sock.
Or maybe they were too much alike to have any semblance of excitement together.
Two brown socks spending all day covering sweaty feet inside a leather shoe.
The only respite being a whirl in the washing machine now and then and drying outside in the hot sun.But where's the fun in that?
She got bored.She left.It happens.

And there you are, stuck with the single sock.
You don't have the heart to throw the poor sucker out because somewhere deep down you still believe the missing sock will turn up someday.
Sure.Hope is a good thing.

And in the meantime the poor sock will have to suffer the ignominy of being the only single sock in your cupboard while all the other pairs around seem happy and content.And there's no hope of finding another mate.
We as humans have evolved to a stage where even adultery is not that big of a deal but wearing mismatching socks is frowned upon like its some sort of a horrible crime.
And you've been conditioned to believe that it is.
Then there's the ridicule part of it.
What sort of fragile ego gets hurt by people making fun of one's stinking socks?
If someone wears a hideous blue shirt-green jeans combo its a fashion statement.
But brown sock paired with navy blue sock? Major league faux pas.
I guess we're all racists when it comes to sock coupling.Though shalt not mix differently colored socks.

A few months pass.More breakups ensue.And slowly my cupboard starts turning into a singles bar for socks.
They're all hanging about there...literally.
Some loyal ones waiting for a reconciliation, some frustrated ones hoping I'd just throw caution to the wind and mix pairs.
I never give in to the pressure though.
Even if I have only a minute to hit the road, and I'm still fumbling around for a pair, I never mix pairs.
And somehow,always at the very last possible second, a pair pokes its way out from under the black trousers in the farthest corner of the cupboard.

When you sit down and think about it, you realise that sock makers really are the sadists of the garment industry.
Why can't I buy seven pairs of the same set of socks? Seven.plain.brown.socks.
Is that too much to ask?
That way even if socks go missing I'd always have a substitute.
But NOoooo.
Sock makers never make more than one pair of a kind.
Cardinal rule.
If they did they'd go out of business pretty quickly.
Even if they do make pairs of a similar color they make it a point to add a small weird pattern on the fabric to differentiate them.
Or if at all they do make two exactly similar pairs I'm sure they distribute each in the farthest corners of the country so that there's no way a buyer gets a backup.

Sometimes, long after the episode, the elusive sock does turn up.Such instances are rare.Very rare.
In some cases you find them at the back of your cupboard while cleaning it, behind an innocuous old T-shirt that was forced into retirement a decade ago.
Or sometimes they turn up in another family member's cupboard where they've remained all this while, mingling with the wrong crowd.
At first you feel a small spark of joy.Like spotting an old flame after ages.
But then you start having second thoughts about the reconciliation.
You haven't used that sock for a long time.You've moved on to new socks...new shoes.
The old socks don't match the shoe anymore.
And even if they do, it brings about an odd sort of unease.
Like there was some alchemist-ian message there that you couldn't quite grasp.
And you start finding excuses.
You reason that the elastics worn out anyway.Or maybe there's a hole in it.
And so you finally bring yourself to throw the pair out.Closure.

I can relate to that single sock.
Which explains why I'm talking about it on a saturday night.
And if you are reading this now,chances are so will you.

(Seinfeld aficionados: You can probably look at this one to be about the sock that didn't get away)
(Wise guys: No.White socks aren't an option)