Screw Pollyanna and pass me my wine

I have always been really fascinated and intrigued by people who have the ability to only look at the bright side of life. They are weird and nice and most days I love to hang out with them. They are always so virtuous about tackling every problem head on and saying stuff like, "Things can only get better from here, darling.", that sometimes you almost end up buying it.

I happened to run into two of them, when I went to check out the whole buzz about the Notting hill carnival. At the carnival, there were these two women outside a church, trying to get people to embrace Christianity. I had no idea why they stopped me, but then I realized that a sober Indian girl in the middle of gothic atheists and intoxicated punch-drunk hooligans was probably their best bet. 

Now, I am not big on religion and spirituality. I might say a little prayer once in a while, but most days when I am in trouble I don't believe in reaching out to the supreme power. I just reach for my alcohol reserves. Works instantaneously every single time (at least temporarily).

I was not buying into anything that they were saying, because personally I don't think religion has ever done anything good for humanity. Maybe its because, in my country religious flip flopping is only used by a bunch of vile politicians to confuse the living daylights out of a mob's moral compass; but since I felt really bad about the way some people just walked off, ignoring them, I talked to them anyway. 

They asked me, if there was one thing I could ask for right now, what would it be? And in no time I blurted out, "Just a Job". Being the 21st century Pollyanna's , they were all like, "Oh yeah, of course you'll find one. I am going to say a prayer for you just now." So, when one of them asked for my digits, I didn't have the heart to say no. But I wasn't prepared for what was next.

They called me at 11:30 PM to preach, when I had literally drugged-drank myself to sleep because I was having the worst week ever. Thanks to a book crit at Wieden and Kennedy coupled with the general depression of living in a city like London, thousands of kilometers away from home.

Right then. So much positivity at 11:30 in the night, when most of us are still surprised that we have made it through the day without slashing our wrists, or somebody's else's? Did you just eat an entire bakery's monthly supply of white chocolate custard jelly cronuts and then wash it down with a litre of your favourite sweetened carbonated soft drink? Are you delusional? Do you hear voices in your head? Are you on MDMA? 

I understand where you are coming from, because some days I can be all about the, "lets solve all of our major life's problems by smiling in a cute dysfunctional manner or by putting toothpaste on our zits"; but for fucks sake, I am not trying to get out of a speeding ticket here. 

This is real life. This is that moment when you suddenly realise that that after 16 years of mind numbing education sustained by mooching off your parents bank accounts; you and that sandwich guy at subway are essentially the same person. 

This is the moment when it hits you that education is just in fact a puffed up white lie your parents told you, (yeah yeah, just the kind you want to be paid for, in advertising). You may now call it the Easter bunny or 'thefairydidit' , for all they care. And no, it cannot get you a job, unless of course your big American dream was to be an immigrant cab driver all your life or if scrubbing the dishes clean did wonders for your perishing self esteem. 

And you come lunging at me with this false optimism about life, wanting me to believe that all this positivity of yours is going to help me turn it around. Realistically speaking, Iraq had more chances of winning the war against America than I have of turning into a goddess magnet who can attract everything she wants, simply with the power of her beautiful mind, which in all honestly I seem to have lost already.

Also, what the fuck is up with that damn overused overrated Paulo Coelho quote. “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” Balls. If life worked like that, it would never rain in London, you'd never run out of Nutella at midnight, your hair would always be perfectly blow dried in curls that look neither too stiff, nor too soft and all you'd need to do to get laid would be to walk into your nearest McDonalds and go, "One cunnilingus please". 

So, unless your positivity can buy me a job in advertising or oil fields in Saudi Arabia, please keep it out of my face. Because sometimes a woman just needs her five minutes of cynical misanthropy. Why won't you just let her have it dammit!

Divya/ whatever is the opposite of Pollyanna

THE CUNT- Part 2

Just in case you were disappointed by The cunt- part 1, because it was not cunty enough. Let the watching begin.

A pharmaceutical company somewhere in Bombay: "That's right Ladies. Screw Kegel exercises and vaginoplasties, because it is now possible to re-tighten your saggy debauched vaginas with this over the counter cream called 18-again (Yaay, you bad madonnas!).

All you need to do is rub this gold dust, down there, in sweet, gentle circular motions and Voila, all your sins shall be forgiven, you shall be revirginised, you shall become Immortal! Amaranthine!

Now go home and suck on a big dick.

First thoughts: Sorry what? Cum, Come again?

Second thoughts: This ad is obviously a great demonstration of Indian culture or as some Delhi women may call it " just another day in the city". Lets get a woman in a saree and make her jive to Latin music, because that happens to be the epitome of promiscuity in India; in case you had not guessed it already from the reaction of the father in law whose eyeballs may shoot of his sockets any second. Yes! Just like his projectile tea vomit. (Relax grandpa, this is not Marilyn Monroe singing Happy birthday Mr President.)

On a more serious note though, someone really needs to warn the lady that she is being shot on a mobile phone by her brother in law while she is too busy pulling those Kamasutra moves on her husband. He may use it for pocket billiards later when he is bored. But that's okay. A family that shares together stays together.

Other thoughts: What happens if his penis enlargement cream rubs against my vaginal tightening cream? Oh-oh.

And what happens if I am also using this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoKcYIhGzAE) vaginal whitening cream along with the vaginal tightening cream . Is that safe? Will I get STD? Will I get pregnant? Will I still be a virgin? Will boys want to marry me? Can I sit on a seesaw?

Thoughtless.

Divya.

Nope, I'm not gonna hire you. Yep, I know you know better.

Bad news for those thinking that advertising industry has something to do with art and/or common good: advertising IS all fun & games. One might occasionally get a chance to work on a charity(and that is, frankly, quite boring), but mostly, it's just dancing cereal boxes and famous landmarks made out of chocolate/toilet paper/insert a product.

Advertising is the world of childish adults with a bloated sense of entitlement playing god, thinking that someone actually cares about the choice of font or size of a pack shot. You know what would happen if one day all the advertising magically disappeared? Nothing. Nobody would give a rat's ass. Actually, one might argue that the world would be a much better place without adverts. Needless to say how watching TV would become a bazillion times more enjoyable.

People outside the advertising world might not think about all this, but if you work in the industry and after reading this you feel offended and want to punch me in the face, then well, congratulations my friend, you're in denial.

I, myself, happen to be an adult with a bloated sense of entitlement, wanting to work in advertising. But, unfortunately for me, I also happen to have a vagina, which is a huge disadvantage unless you want to be 85% of all the shoppers in the world. Obviously, there is a chunky portion of mostly WASP males, buying Ferraris and yachts and boob job gift cards, but guess who shops for loo rolls and Richmond sausages for them? Correct. Their mums and wives and sisters, mostly(but not necessarily) with vaginas. So, wouldn't it be brutally logical to assume that someone somewhere in the world would actually consider including women in the decision making process that later results in horrible adverts made for FMCGs? Nope. Turns out, WASP males are only good at everything else, but sharing their toys. Because, you know, responsibilities of an ad man are too tough for a fragile female body. Men and only men are allowed to patronizingly assume what's gonna sell most tampons and low fat yogurt. It's a boys only playground. Period(ha). 

And yeah, we all know that 'someone' who is a woman and works in advertising, but exception proves the rule. Even they, we were told, "tend to choose to leave at around 25". Choice. Nice to have it, huh? Good to know you're enjoying it bitch, it's been almost a fucking century since we've given it to you. 

P.S. Fun Fact: did you know what ad men lovingly like to call an old style ad of their own creation, with two women in it? 

Two cunts in the kitchen.

Yep.

You have a nice day too.


Ana