Tag That Friend 😑

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen on social media?


​I was having a good time watching a 90 year old woman talk about Paleolithic cleavers when my phone pinged. And pinged again. And kept pinging as if all it wanted was to replace that godforsaken doll in the next instalment of Anabelle franchise. I picked it up and found my notification toggle flooded with Facebook notifications. Sometimes, technology is more annoying than groin itch. It seemed like my friends had tagged me to a post. Maybe it was related to drawing or something. Or maybe – because I’ve studied commerce for 2 years – GST.

Tag that Friend Who Masturbates 6 times a Day. 

I read from the screen. 

What? 😑
I scrolled down and there I was, among the crowd of people tagged by my friends. It is important to mention here that I have a total of 6 friends. Anyway, there also was this guy I barely know, who I’ve met just twice, and who shamelessly tagged me there as if my Fap counts were displayed every night on CNN IBN. I was kind of pissed off with this guy. More than that, I was pissed off with the post itself and the drastically unemployed, retarded fuck acting as the admin of that page. I thought about his insignificant life, about the time the world would end and he wouldn’t be given a seat in the Ark because he annoyed the hell out of too many people. It felt so good imagining him disappear beneath the cracking earth with a scream I can’t even tell. 

This thing has started to trend these days. It’s become the worst social media epidemic of all time. Every time you log in your news feed is full of posts asking you to tag your friends. Tag that friend who is a dork. Tag that friend who has violet hair. Tag that friend who’d marry Dhinchak Pooja. Tag that friend who’s dead. What the hell.

Recently, I was tagged into this explain GST post as well. I wrote a long essay on GST and tagged all those people who had tagged me. They didn’t even like my post. On one hand, there are people launching hundreds of satellites into the space, on the other, there are dorks whose highest achievement of the day is to tag a friend. This explains why there’s an aggregate IQ deficit in India. Look at Chinese people, you’d never see a Sang-Pung-Ming tagging his friend to such posts, and even if there’s a Sang-Pung-Ming doing so he’d be a Manipuri guy. 

This country needs a serious reform. This country needs to get rid of dumb people. These are the same people who’d spend all day tagging people and then go on to blame the education system, the government and Ekta Kapoor for their miserable life. It just gets on my nerves. This country right now needs an Adolf Hitler more than anything. There’s an urgent necessity for an ethnic cleansing, the ethnic group being the assholes who should not have a Facebook account. 

It’s not just about tagging people, a whole community of educated morons has popped up on social media. These people have rigid opinions with no knowledge to back with. These people take sides and believe that the existence of people on the other side is as fruitless as a pest. If you praise something Modi did, you’re a Bhakt. If you praise Shashi Tharoor, you’re corrupt and maybe you had a part in commonwealth scams. If you admire Manish Shishodia’s works for Delhi, you’re just a retard. And you can’t switch sides. No, sir, never. If you do you’re a whore. If you’ve liked an SRK movie, don’t you dare to praise Bajrangi Bhaijan. If you’re a Kohli fan, get the fuck out of Dhoni camp. These communities keep on clashing on Facebook for no reason. Dhoni and Kohli don’t even give a monkey’s twat about you guys. 

Then they’ll read a stupid blog fuelling their own prejudices and write a verbose blog about Why Gandhi was a Real Villain or Why Men are Real Dicks in Society and How Posting the Photo Of Cleavage on Instagram Empowers Women.  I’m graduating in History hons, people, and you’re a fucking KIITian. I am closer to Gandhi than you are. My entire semesters are dedicated to doing elaborate researches on these personalities. Last semester, I had a whole paper on Ambedkar. So I know if these people were villains or not, because I have spent six months browsing through hundreds of sources to understand them, and not just one random hate post which intensified my personal qualms and so I wrote a post to seek attention where I should have just drawn a pencil sketch of a screw or something instead. 

Then, the extremists. Fuck them as well. Fuck Arnub Goswami. Fuck Arundhati Roy. Fuck Ajay Gautam. Fuck Owaisi. Ugghhh. There are so many people I want to send to Hong Kong on a one way flight. 

I hate social media. I loathe people who tag me. And I dont masturbate 6 times a day. If you really wanted to know. 

Terms of Endearment 

When somebody calls you cute, and you’re not… 😑

For the last few days, a girl has been addressing me as ‘cute boy’. This would have been a great news but I don’t like being called cute, because 1. I’m not a four year old chubby 2. Neither do I look like one, and so 3. It sounds sarcastic. Almost humiliating. As if I am someone she would like to adopt if she had money.


Well, like girls prefer beautiful to lovely, sweet, or pretty, I prefer more soul-pleasing terms of endearment like Hulk, Captain Barbossa, or Big Fuckin Knight 007. I like the compliments to be at least elegant if not true. 

Rajas girlfriend used to call him Jaaaaaaaaaan. With 10 a’s in the middle. Maybe the repetition of the letter ‘a’ here somehow signifies something, which I have failed to figure out in my glorious, three-year long career of a silent observer. He too referred to her as Jaaaaan, with only 5 a’s though. For Americans who read my blog, Jaan translates into life. After the breakup, he changed ‘Jaaaaan‘ to ‘Slut‘ in his contact list and finally erased the number three months later.

Boys often call their girlfriends ‘princess‘, which they themselves know is not true. If she was really a princess, she wouldn’t have been fooling around with a horse, unless her preferences were bestial. Some resort to calling their baes Baby. Babu, Bachcha and Shona can be placed respectively at the lowest levels of this hierarchy. I don’t know if people in a relationship really go retard after a while, but calling your partner Baby only underscores your pedophilic instincts, if you’re planning to have sex with him. 

I have a nice name. My mother cosulted 16 priests before finalizing my name. It was a lot of work but she believed keeping an auspicious name was the primary duty of a parent. So yeah, I like being referred to by my own name, most of the time. If somebody’s complimenting me for my looks, they’re either flirting or being sarcastic. Or maybe they really see the world in a unique way.

The next time she sent me a text, I asked her to stop calling me cute. 

“Okay, sweetie. “She replied. 

I almost blocked her. 

Election Fever

I mean that’s like a nightmare – locking hand with half a hundred sweaty, dirty, rough hands, which have probably been used for itching crotches and picking noses and wiping sweat and whatnot, every single day.

Hullo Everyone!

This is election time in DU. Last few weeks have been quite disturbing ones, as the fever spread like fire, scathing every homo sapien sapien in the campus. These weeks have witnessed dirty politics, ear-defeaning noises, formidable campaigning, ruthless backstabbing, and intense cajoling and luring. The effort contestants have put in is really commendable, however, the troubles we, the common men, have to undergo are nowhere discussed.

First, Stop The Handshaking. To tell you the truth, I’m really sick of shaking fifty male hands per day. I mean that’s like a nightmare – locking hand with half a hundred sweaty, dirty, rough hands, which have probably been used for itching crotches and picking noses and wiping sweat and whatnot, every single day. Had they been girls’ hands, I’d have considered the up-side, but God, no girl ever shakes hands with me! Not even the ugliest hag! And once upon a time, there used to be a girl who’d hold my hand as we strolled along the empty, lit up streets. I mean look at the pathetic demotion!

Two, stop folding hands and reciting names all the time for fuck’s sake. These party people, I tell you, are endlessly annoying. Every time they see a first-year student, they catch him and try to drill their names, their ballot numbers, and the desired posts in his head. It’s worthless – because it’s boring. I mean remembering people’s ballot numbers is so boring that I would rather stare at a screensaver all day. Not even Vogue models with ballot numbers tattooed on their cleavages could encourage me to memorise those. I’d suggest start interacting with juniors like normal human beings, not some vote-hungry-sluts.

Three, come up with real and different issues. There are limited issues, and nobody talks about promoting chess. There  isn’t a single reason for me to participate in voting process. Everybody talks about fests and parking and stuffs I don’t care about. Actually, one of the best reasons for me to continue higher studies was that you get free WiFi in college. It’s been a month and I’m still sitting on the first bench at 9:30 searching for the goddamn free wifi signal. I hate politicians who don’t talk about free wifi.

Fourth, where are the hot girls!!!!??? I really thought college would be like an Emran Hashmi movie. Hot chics wearing ultra-short skirts, large scale makeouts in the library, bosomy teachers, however, all I see is two dimensional bodies dragging themselves through life. Why don’t you do something about it?

Okay, I think you really can’t do anything about the fourth one. But anyway, stop harassing us with your irritating acts. It gets on my nerves when a hot girl walks up to me, smiles innocently, and just when I begin to wonder if clouds have suddenly turned pink, asks me to vote for Tipu Sultan, ballot number 420, MCBC.