Letter To Cupid, 2012

Statutory Warning: The following post contains words and imagery that some people may deem as inappropriate. I have used the word ‘fuck’ twice and I talk about raising my middle fingers to someone, giving that someone the message to go fornicate with themselves. I have used a photograph of a winged child-thing found dead, face

Bollywood Does it Again

Or, more precisely, Karan Johar does it again. He has taken a cliched plot, soon-to-be washed up actors, ridiculously lame jokes and unoriginal catch-phrases from How I Met Your Mother and dished out two-and-a-half hours of pure and unadulterated crap. He calls this soporific, brain-damaging spiel ‘I Hate Luv Storys’ – a phenomenon that I

I’m Neither Gay Nor Sexually Frustrated!

A long long time ago, Bangalore was known as the clubbers’ paradise. Pubs boasting of imported liquor and clubs boasting of the sexy dance floors and sexier women in skimpy clothes that would promise a lifetime supply of eye-candy. Somewhere along the evolutionary line, things took a turn for the worse and Bangalore became a

Skeletons In My Closet!

I will risk being ridiculed as a cliché when I write this post, but I have to get my fingers moving over the keyboard. I am suffering from a serious bout of writers’ block nowadays. I can’t seem to convince myself that I must write to keep my mind spiraling down into an abyss of