Sitting late in an advertising agency makes you do all kinds of things. Of which the most frequent activity is also the most futile. Thinking crap. Stuff that gets you frowns and glares in your boss' room, but virtual laughs on such blogging forums
Stuff that only feeds your ego and creativity, but is of no actual use to any living form. Servicing included.
So one such thought occured to me while holding a brief, while I was wearing one. There are many a common things between the two briefs.
Firstly, let me, for the benefit of those who are not from the world of advertising, explain what a brief is. It is a useless piece of paper handed over to the creatives by the servicing as a document that contains vital information for making an ad. But it is actually a quick and easy way for the servicing guys to feel as if they are part of the team and are actually making a contribution. That piece of paper is then generally used as a cover for wrapping chewing gums that have lost their taste or to make paper planes. Sadly, the thoughts never take off.
Coming back to the topic, these two briefs ( I am guessing we all know what the other brief is. Hint: its not a synonym for short, but quite close to shorts) have a lot in common. So here is a juxtaposition( please visit http://www.dictionay.com/) analysis of the two.
Firstly, one is full of loopholes, and the other just has holes. The loopholes get us in a lot of trouble and as for the holes, we just have to get us in. In either cases, we are left with no choice.
While one brief is supposed to throw light on important parts of making an ad, the other makes sure the important parts stay in dark. Unless you choose otherwise. I shall stay clear of the details regarding this one. Children below 18 have access to net these days.
Both have many forms. Pay a visit to my workstation and come to closet, and i shall show you enough specimens of both.
And lastly, you need to look past one to get done with your JOB. Similarly you have to do away with one to...well I'll just BLOW past this one!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Closest one
Everytime I wanted to update my blog, some kind of problem would always creep up. From lack of thoughts, laziness, lack of thoughts, work to lack of thoughts, you name it.
All these roadblocks clearly pointed to just one person. The one closest to me. To whom I dedicate this post.
This person has been with me through thick and thin, despite my constant efforts to ward him off . He has always taken me for a ride and made sure it wasn't smooth at all.
Whenever I was unable to park my car right before an important meeting, he was there. Sat nicely in the cars occupying all the empty spots.
Every time the guy in front of me in the line got the last ticket for the last show, it would turn out to be him. And along with the last ticket for the last show, he would also have the last laugh.
He opens my fly before a big date. He leaves an earring that doesn't belong to the girl I am driving with, in my car, on the dashboard and makes sure I go over a pothole.
He turns green into red when I am running late for office. Something that leaves me red and green. Red for the fury and green with envy at my lack of power to undo the things he is capable of doing.
It's because of him I walk with my head turned sideways. As I am forever looking behind my shoulder. Only to find him walking beside me, as always.
He hates me I guess, but I don't. And why should I? I am constantly in his mind. He is always there for me, although I don't want him to, but that's another thing. He teaches me not be happy all the time, for I shall not enjoy happiness if it gets too much. He makes sure he is always stocked up with sorrow, so that he can shove it up my ass. Maybe that's his way of making it disappear.
This one is for you, murphy!
All these roadblocks clearly pointed to just one person. The one closest to me. To whom I dedicate this post.
This person has been with me through thick and thin, despite my constant efforts to ward him off . He has always taken me for a ride and made sure it wasn't smooth at all.
Whenever I was unable to park my car right before an important meeting, he was there. Sat nicely in the cars occupying all the empty spots.
Every time the guy in front of me in the line got the last ticket for the last show, it would turn out to be him. And along with the last ticket for the last show, he would also have the last laugh.
He opens my fly before a big date. He leaves an earring that doesn't belong to the girl I am driving with, in my car, on the dashboard and makes sure I go over a pothole.
He turns green into red when I am running late for office. Something that leaves me red and green. Red for the fury and green with envy at my lack of power to undo the things he is capable of doing.
It's because of him I walk with my head turned sideways. As I am forever looking behind my shoulder. Only to find him walking beside me, as always.
He hates me I guess, but I don't. And why should I? I am constantly in his mind. He is always there for me, although I don't want him to, but that's another thing. He teaches me not be happy all the time, for I shall not enjoy happiness if it gets too much. He makes sure he is always stocked up with sorrow, so that he can shove it up my ass. Maybe that's his way of making it disappear.
This one is for you, murphy!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Delhi Dilemma
It doesn’t happen very often, but whenever I am faced with the question, “so where are you from”, I am a little dumbfounded. I don’t know why, but I want to avoid this question. Not because I am ashamed of the place I belong to, but to put it simply, I am not sure where I belong.
Born to a Punjabi father and a Gujrati mother, I am somewhere in between. So that must mean, geographically I am from Madhya Pradesh, but generally speaking I belong nowhere. I am at home whether I am in Gujarat or Punjab, but at the same time equally lost.
Maybe I belong to a different breed called - the Delhite. We delhite’s have nothing to call our own. Put more brutally, we are like parasites sucking on the city as a host. Our territory begins in Rohini and ends with the M.G. road. We cling on to nothing but our forefathers’ long left land long and long forgotten culture. So, what is it that we delhite’s represent culturally? What do we stand for?
To a girl, a delhite stands for a lecherous creature that has no respect for women on the streets. To a south Indian we are those superior bastards who look down upon everything that is a shade darker. To a mumbaikar we are more like competition. To a Bengali we are inhabitants of a state that has no soul, no history.
But to a regular normal punju-gujju boy who now proudly wears the tag of a delhite, we are a bunch of misfits who are basically misunderstood. We have a false image that always sticks like a shadow behind us.
There is a reason a Bengali director makes movies only about Delhi. There is a reason Delhi is called Dil walon ki dilli. There is a reason that even without anything to call our own, we are attributed a lot of things.
As a song puts it perfectly – Yeh dilli hai mere yaar, bus ishq mohobbat pyaar. That’s all we stand for, that’s all we want to be known for. Nothing else.
In the end, this is for a friend who almost puked at the mention of a delhite.
Born to a Punjabi father and a Gujrati mother, I am somewhere in between. So that must mean, geographically I am from Madhya Pradesh, but generally speaking I belong nowhere. I am at home whether I am in Gujarat or Punjab, but at the same time equally lost.
Maybe I belong to a different breed called - the Delhite. We delhite’s have nothing to call our own. Put more brutally, we are like parasites sucking on the city as a host. Our territory begins in Rohini and ends with the M.G. road. We cling on to nothing but our forefathers’ long left land long and long forgotten culture. So, what is it that we delhite’s represent culturally? What do we stand for?
To a girl, a delhite stands for a lecherous creature that has no respect for women on the streets. To a south Indian we are those superior bastards who look down upon everything that is a shade darker. To a mumbaikar we are more like competition. To a Bengali we are inhabitants of a state that has no soul, no history.
But to a regular normal punju-gujju boy who now proudly wears the tag of a delhite, we are a bunch of misfits who are basically misunderstood. We have a false image that always sticks like a shadow behind us.
There is a reason a Bengali director makes movies only about Delhi. There is a reason Delhi is called Dil walon ki dilli. There is a reason that even without anything to call our own, we are attributed a lot of things.
As a song puts it perfectly – Yeh dilli hai mere yaar, bus ishq mohobbat pyaar. That’s all we stand for, that’s all we want to be known for. Nothing else.
In the end, this is for a friend who almost puked at the mention of a delhite.
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