What is Malware? It has got nothing to do with traditional Malayali attire. I know , I know. I was surprised too, but the internet begs to differ. Malware is short for Malicious Software. Ain’t that smart? They combined two words into one, out of which one’s bad, and the other one’s useful. Just like methlab. Depends on the way you look at it. I am in search of a good antivirus program to help protect my computer against malware. When it comes to protection who’s the real champion out there? McAfee? Durex? Kaspersky? Norton? It can’t be Norton.

Butterfly is an ugly name

First of all, it’s associated with food, and that too, butter. I would rather call it a flower fly or a wonder bee or Shazam. Butter? Really dude? Now I am glad they did’t name the dung beetle a shit roller. I still can’t understand how someone can come up with such an elegant name like ‘grasshopper’ and then fuck up the name of one of the most beautiful insects in the world.



I have nothing to do, so might as well throw out a few things that my mother blatantly refuses to believe every time she hears me say

  1. I cooked the greatest meal mankind has ever seen
  2. I don’t have a girlfriend
  3. I was taking a shower when you called
  4. It was the scariest horror movie I’ve ever seen
  5. I am at home
  6. I tried calling you
  7. I know how we are related to the person you are talking about

Swimming in dark waters

Every time I write stuff on here, I am aware that the content of this post is not just visible to bloggers, but to countless other search engines, tech companies, governments and who knows? Maybe even a few tentacle-faced people. This amazing thing we call the internet, is an information abyss. You stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares right back at you. It knows what you know. It can help you decide whether or not you are fit to purchase a house. It can also show you pictures of random dead babies.

Enter Zoom, the video conferencing platform that has taken the world by storm. According to news outlets, their profits are rising at astronomical rates. With rising popularity comes controversy, and Zoom is no exception. I remember reading in the paper that organizations are advising against the use of Zoom due to security concerns. I was reluctant to use Zoom for this very same reason. That was until everyone decided to ignore all the security threats, and push Zoom for work meetings. Fast forward to today. The news paper says Facebook was (once upon a time) fined 5 billion dollars for unauthorized use of user data. There have been legit warnings issued by the Indian Air Force against Xiaomi phones, saying they are a threat to national security. It is common knowledge that the twitter account of the founder of Twitter was hacked.

From what I understand, if there are people out there, determined to hack into your life, they will most likely be able to do it, which means all of us are floating on a cloud of uncertainty. There’s the argument that “you have nothing to be afraid of if you have nothing to hide”, which makes sense to an extent. If you lead a normal life, if you don’t send nudes or blackmail people for a living, you are going to be fine. On the other hand, all private information is at stake.

Seasonal hate

I would like to take a minute to talk about a season that makes me hate life more than life itself. The time of the year when mercury rises, brings a lot of joy to a lot of people around the world. Not to me. Here, in Kolkata, summer has a different meaning. The striking similarity between the words ‘heat’ and ‘hate’ was no matter of coincidence, my friends. Summer means death. You knew it was coming, but every time it arrives I can’t help but ask nature “why do you hate me? why do you rape me through all the pores of my body?”. Life as a whole turns very sticky during the summer. Sweat is no longer confined to arm pits. There’s just a wet animal walking around, looking for an airconditioned space. I know the Earth goes through phases, just like you and me, but if I had any say in the matter, fucking summer needs some work.

Update: A few hours later. it was announced that A Super Cyclonic Storm called AMPHAN will hit Kolkata later in the day.

I used to go around telling people I am depressed, but I stopped doing that once people started asking me, “have you been diagnosed with it?”, because I have not. I have met people suffering from depression, and no offence, but it seems really fucked up. In fact, on the scale of depression, I think I would fall on the lower end called “sad”. Sad, because I don’t have many people I can talk to (or maybe I push away the people with whom I can). Or, as that girl on OkCupid put it so elegantly, “it’s because you’re not getting any action”. Maybe it is. I’ll be honest, having someone, or at least the thought of having someone who genuinely cares about you, is sometimes all it takes to give you a boost in life. My problems are the usual, pitiful shit, but they are problems nonetheless.

  1. No friends, not very good at socializing
  2. Too immature to deal with life
  3. To top it off, I hate my job

Handpicked attributes that lead to the making of a fine mass shooter. I also do nothing to get out of these troubles. I just run away from it, because it’s difficult to deal with. That brings me to Kanan Gill’s comedy special, Yours Sincerely. Throughout the show, he talks about a “friend” who comes to him with his problems. A nagging, incompetent “friend” who’s sad, and just can’t stop yapping about his shitty troubles in life. At the end of the show, he reveals that this “friend” is just someone he made up in the show, to talk about his own depression. I don’t know where I am going with this, so I am going to end it here.

Mathew has returned

Mathew (short, incompetent) used to come into the classroom, throw pieces of chalk at me(bigger, has no ego), and then run away. One day I found myself choking Mathew in the hallway, while all the kids watched with glee. The chalk-attack stopped. Respect was gained.

I am 29 years old. Today, Mathew appeared in my dream. This time, carrying a bottle of old water. How old? It had mosquito larvae jumping around. As he proceeded to spray it onto my face, I could see his and his accomplice’s faces light up with glee, like, it was pure, genuine happiness. After all these years of failing at stand-up comedy, this is what it takes to make people happy. The plan of action was obvious. Pick him up, throw him over the fence. Try to get him to fall on the fence, as it had pieces of glass sticking out of it. But as you know, dreams behave like bipolar people. You can never predict the switch to a nightmare. My legs wouldn’t move.

(Sound of children playing in the background. School bell rings)

My legs wouldn’t move.