We have been telling stories ever since we were in the caves and there were no words. You won’t run out of things to write about, so relax.
– A lazy writer who tells himself stories but seldom writes one
To tame the bitch called life, there are many ways that you as a stuck up and fucked up individual can take. Mine is to attend events and get entertainment in my life. Consider it a doze of youthfulness that is necessary every week and sometimes twice or thrice a week. Keeping that regularity in my mind and also making my mental clarity and sanity an urgent priority, I went to an event, three weeks back. It was a Bloggers Meet but people from various shitholes had shown their faces there. They would have been really good people in their hearts but I just didn’t like the majority of them. A dude seemed like he just walked from his gym to the venue. His popped up veins had more blood in them than what I have during an erection. He had more mass in his body than the amount of food I consume in a week’s time. One of his ears was pierced and a sugar mommy of sorts was clutching to his log resembling arm. Don’t forget that I was in a bloggers meet. Maybe he wanted to have a quickie in the bathroom along with his overly decorated human of affection. Looking at them and listening to them talk, it was very easy to conclude that this couple had not read anything ever since their high school got over. Forget writing a blog altogether. But I am not here to be a bitch about shallow human beings who click selfies in public spaces. I said this to myself when that beefy motherfucker was pouting and flickering his eyes while his bill-paying boy-toy loving lady clicked a selfie in landscape frame. To hell with self-obsession. But this is not all. There was more repulsive stuff in Santa’s backpack of unwanted mysteries.
A sexy girl was sitting in front of me. She turned around to ask what I did. This was good enough of an ice breaker to get me in the excitement mode and I made a very impressive first impression using an elevator pitch and blah blah blah. What do you do? PR, she said. I wasn’t expecting to hear that and as soon as that sleazy term came out of her mouth, I was done. Just done. All the sensations below my belt were gone. The mountains of desire collapsed to piles of poop. She told me how she is directly in touch with the editors of magazines that I didn’t know the name of. They were related to entrepreneur stuff and were completely out of my league both in terms of curiosity and understanding. Then she told me how she personally communicates with YouTube celebs and social media influencers to deal with brand endorsements. I hate it when people throw names in front of me to show their status and they hate me when I don’t know who the fuck were they bragging about in the first place. When this happens, the person in front of me loses their respect in my eyes while I still remain awesome in my own bubble of self-perception. This girl went one step ahead of name dropping. She showed me the phone number of Sejal who has 500K followers and is very famous on YouTube but I didn’t know who was that influencer. Later on, when the PR girl felt I was thinking about her in very high regard, she gave me her card. That’s because networking is the only thing that matters in a business. A recent graduate with more ambition in her heart than what her low IQ brain can successfully deliver, she was a waste of her parents’ two-decade-old act of copulation. Keeping that aside, I’ll tell you something.
20-year-old chaps who talk about their plans to open up an online customized footwear brand, having them sit in front of guys like me who jack off before sleeping, it is a sight in its own. The former wants to make it big in life while the latter has given up all hope. What would happen if you try to install Windows 10 in Pentium 4? It will crash. Same happened with us. After her claims of being a well-connected individual got over, she lectured me on how to prototype a startup idea and wrapped up the conversation by telling me to stay in touch. When she searched me on WhatsApp, she could not find me. I don’t use texting apps because they kill productivity but you can email me. That’s professionalism for you, bitch. And as far as entrepreneurship is concerned, looking forward to your brand launch after AB testing and pilot run. The moment I said this, the look on her face went from I am so very bloody smart to Maybe I’m not. It reminded me of a quote. Don’t teach your father how to fuck.
All during this time when I was busy in finding creative ways to shatter another ego, a guy came with a paper bag and gave it to me. It was a free gift from the organizers and had one crappy book in it along with a fancy pen and a brochure of the hosting party. That book was crappy for a number of reasons and I would only and only read it if you held a loaded gun over my head. In some more minutes, the event got started when the chief guests came in and a pretty faced girl began with the introductory formalities. It is always surprising to see how ugly and fat and bald old men like themselves to be introduced by tall and slender and busty women. Within two minutes of starting her speech, the girl used the terms Amalgamation, Seasoned Entrepreneur and Felicitate. That was it. I had to leave that place as soon as possible because my radar had detected a system breach by a jargon and vocabulary junkie. Then a chubby short man took the mic and started talking about a book which made me realize that it was actually his book that everyone in the event including me had received as a free gift. It got confirmed that the book was truly crappy because the writer was sitting two chairs next to me ever since I had arrived at the venue. The event was running one hour late and I was at least talking to the PR girl during this time but that writer was simply sitting there. Just sitting. Full-blown idle sitting and staring at the empty stage. A useless person he was and so was his book. If I were him, I would have never written such bullshit work of useless art and even if out of narcissism I wrote one, I wouldn’t have shown my face to the world after that. No wonder he was wearing a black coat and black shiny shoes to save his ass and grace and esteem and was trying to overcompensate for his Insides by having the Outsides. After he left the stage, more people came up one by one to speak in fancy codes and motivate the crowd for reasons unknown to me. They wanted to bring social transformation or some shit like that. One man told that bloggers are the Harbingers of Change. I didn’t know what he meant but that was the line after hearing which I packed my bag and stood up because it woke me up from sleep. Didn’t I tell you that the AC temperature in the hall was ideal for a nap? After that scary terminology went in my ears, my eyes opened and I looked around. Four pairs of people were clicking selfies. Losers. Women who looked like the daily visitors of beauty parlours and pedicure centres were moving their lips with their eyes jumping and wrists limping. A sight way worse than selfies. Harbingers of Change my ass.
As soon as I got out, I lit one cigarette and pondered over what had happened in the previous three hours. Three pages worth of material was found. The college-going me would have been hugely mesmerized by this sort of meet but now I have plenty of books to read and I can always rub one out and go to sleep. One more drag. Who the hell is Sejal and what do I do with her 500K followers? Fuck name dropping. Exhale. The last thing I heard inside was a guy saying, Content is King. One more drag. I had my content but what’s king about it? Nothing. It is what it is and that is content. Or material, as I call it. Exhale. I took out the PR girl’s card and threw it in the dustbin. One more drag. The exhale after that emptied my lungs as well as decluttered my top floor.
Arpit Chhikara 