How to make a viral Video ft. Rakhi Sawant

I’m such a Rakhi fan, I couldn’t resist but to have her on my blog. Who better to learn from when it comes to going viral on the Internet. When I finally contacted her after a ton of networking, RS’ response was simple. ‘This is chitting,I don’t know you and I will not help you‘. Rakhi-low key-dissed-me. But given just how much I’m in awe of her several talents, it only made sense to go ahead with the idea. Because I’m sitting alone in my room watching Netflix while my cat licks my toes. Clearly, I’m best suited to teach you a thing or two about being popular…Let’s go. 
1. Have no clue

If you’re going to know anything about what you’re making a video about, you might as well stop. Abort mission effect immediately. How are you going to be taken seriously if you don’t sound clueless and retarded? You need to sound awkward, ill informed, out of place. Add some random pauses in the camera, maybe even open your eyes wide at regular intervals. Stare into the abyss, spasm occasionally. Just don’t come across normal or sane. Pinch yourself every time you state a fact. Or just cut the footage. God forbid you actually know what you’re talking about. The horror. 

  

2. Don’t make any sense 

At no price are you allowed to make any kind of sense. Dumb yourself down. Rakhi will attest my words. Mispronounce words, speak illogical. Never ever are you allowed to construct a meaningful sentence. You should come across confused. Maybe just call out the government randomly or recount a personal narrative when it doesn’t seem relevant. If we haven’t established it earlier, relevance and link are not your friends. Steer clear the minute you feel like you’re being relatable or you think people can understand you. That is not the right way to go. 

  
3. Tears galore 

Okay so let’s be honest. You shouldn’t even want to make a viral video if you can’t cry on cue. You’re better off with your normal job or education. You aren’t cut out for the tedious lifestyle of a viral vlogger. If you’ve seen bae’s recent press conference you know just how comfortable she’s shedding ‘aasu‘ on camera. What helps me is always having a sad personal memory that would help me get in touch with my emotional facet. (If nothing helps, think about what you’re doing with your life aspiring to make a viral video. Your low ambitions should be enough to bring about a tear or two.)

  

4. ‘Quote’ cases

Step 4 is of utmost importance. This doesn’t need much explanation. You have to be witty, sassy and funny. If there’s one thing Queen Rakhi has taught us, it’s always bring your ‘A’ Quote game. You could use the following spurts of gold provided to us by RS as inspiration: 

– Jo Bhagwan Nahi deta, woh doctor deta hai.

– Sabne chitting ki hai.

– Is you make joke of me? 

– Jinka naam Google pe Nahi Hota, main unki baat Nahi karti. Next please.

The more nonsensical and bizarre, the better. You want your viewers to be disgusted, disappointed and plain sad. 

  
5. Show ‘CLAVAGE’

Cleavage is so 2009. Clavage is the real deal. Minions, please notify the Oxford Dictionary the change in pronunciation of the word. How will you go viral if you don’t show skin? Whether you’re a guy or a girl, skin show is a must, okay? Because who cares if you say something smart, solve a global problem, build a machine to reduce pollution, only your ‘clavage’ matters. You should listen to all the low life mongrels who tell you to strip to be popular because there is no other way. 

  
I hope I’ve persuaded you enough to go viral. All you need is lack of mental faculty and to own a video camera. The latter is optional. The former, not so much. 

  

Who’s the Fairest of them All?

The preparations had come to a halt. Everybody was dressed in vibrant traditional attire. Fresh peonies were neatly arranged in a vase on the centre table. Piping hot snacks were being dished out straight from the fryer. Some of the toddlers tried sneaking the oil-dripping Pakoras, only to be silently reprimanded by their mothers, with enlarged eyes and a swift nay nod of their heads. 
Yes, arranged marriage proposals in India are a big deal. As big as it gets. Anisha was dressed in a beige kurti and red chudidaar. The light embroidery on the edges softened the silhouette, adding ethereality to her feminine stature. She sat in front of the mirror, while she applied Kajal under her eyes. She could never match the intensity on both the eyes. Was she the only one? She hunted for her coral lip gloss. She’d wanted to go for something bolder, but her mother felt it might intimidate the boy. 

‘You don’t want to scare him off, do you?”

Honestly, she didn’t see the fuss. The pandemonium surrounding her didn’t convey sense to her. The pretence, the artifice was almost off putting. She carried on. 

After half an hour she was ready. Everything seemed perfect but understated. Subservient. If only her eyes sparkled. 

“Anu are you ready, they’ll be here any minute”

Muthachi walked in, her stance expressing just how overloaded she was with duties. But Anisha got along with her grandmother. Like she did with no one else. She looked at her.

“Do you not want to do this, Anu?”

“I do but I don’t know what to expect. There are just so many things I haven’t considered Muthachi. I just got a new job, what if they ask me to quit? What if they don’t like me? I’m really worried and everybody…  everybody taking so much tension isn’t really helping”.

“Beta, look. You’re just meeting him today. You can ask him whatever you want to, get to know him. It is your decision”. 

Anisha eased up. This must be as stressful for him as it was for her. She’ll ask him a few questions, get to know him and take it from there. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a resounding door bell. She stayed in her room. She had to wait for them to summon her.

“Please come in, no don’t bother. Leave your shoes on! Did you find our house easily?”

Mr Murthy was a puny man, with a fuzzy moustache and a short nose. He let in the guests, saying all the right things. His enthusiasm could be sensed from a mile. 

They sat down. Small talk commenced and everybody took turns to speak. Forced laughter ensued. 

“Where is Anisha, we’ve been excited to see her!”

She was called. 

As she entered with a tray of cookies, the potential groom’s family shared glances at each other. They weren’t subtle. As Anisha took a seat, he introduced himself. 

His name was Harish Shetty. He was tall. Quite tall. He had hazel eyes, a crew cut for a haircut and beautiful cocoa complexion. She was attracted to him. 

Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Murthy couldn’t help but notice the grim faces.

“Is there a problem Mr Shetty?”

“I don’t know how I should tell you this… But we were expecting her to be fairer. The pictures didn’t make her seem so… Dark“. 

Mrs Shetty interjected. “I mean it shouldn’t be a problem, there are a lot of treatments and fairness creams, we see advertisements on TV”. 

Anisha’s face was flushed. She looked at Harish. Surely, he would say something. 

“She should have applied some cream since childhood, uncle ji’

The tension could be cut with a knife. 

“Please have these biscuits, they’re freshly baked”. Dadi was an angel. 
“Okay we will never force you to see a guy, is that fine?”

“No it’s not. You wanted me to marry someone like this”.

“It’s done, we don’t have to see him again”.

“He should thank God I won’t see him again, I’d put a hammer through his head”. 

She took a deep breath. 

“At least I can keep my job”. 
Over the next two years, Anisha had gotten over the disturbing experience, but a little part of her always remembered how it had made her feel. How those people had made her feel. It had hit her confidence. Her personality was shaken. But the one thing that kept her head above the water was her job. She’d worked tirelessly to reach the position she had. She was now Vice President of the Human Resources department. Her salary had compounded and so had her reputation. She’d been particularly busy, given that it was recruiting season. She had a list of interviews to be conducted, and her assistant who usually conducted those was on leave. Again. There was a wedding every three weeks in the family. 

“Anisha, they’re ready for you, can I ask the first gentlemen to come in?”

“Yes please, send Shukla ji with a glass of water and my iPad too”
“Hi. Have a seat”. She extended her hand to shake his. He had graduated from the IIM at Indore a year ago. 

“How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great. Though, I’m a little disappointed with the reduction of lending rates and I think the stock of inflation was inaccurate and the marginal cut in the rates doesn’t affect the common man as it does industrialists”. 

“What do you eat for breakfast”, Anisha asked with a smirk. 

“Almonds. Oh actually the prices of almonds over the past three years have been following a certain pattern…”

Forty five minutes hence, Anisha had died a little on the inside. 

“Thanks for coming”
“How was it Ani?’

“I’d rather swim with paper cuts on my face than talk to him. Raveena, send the next one in and make sure he isn’t a robot“. 
As the next gentleman walked in, she recognised the face. She recognised the height. The broad shoulders. The hair was slightly longer. It was Harish Shetty. It all came back rushing to her. Her palms were sweating. She couldn’t manage to speak. She took a deep breath. He was browsing through his résumé when he walked in. 

“Have a seat”.

“Anisha, right! Hey! How have you been?”

“It’s Miss Murthy. I’ve been good, thanks. How are you?”

“I’ve been good too. I just want to apologise for the whole thing, that happened you know”.

“Oh don’t be. It was no one’s fault”. 

“Yes, so should we go on?”

“Yes, so tell me. How many fairness creams have you used since childhood?”. 

He was about to answer it when he realized what was happening. He froze. Squinting his eyes, he responded.

“I don’t understand… I thought you were over me”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You turned me off the second time you opened your mouth to speak.. Also, don’t stop looking for jobs“. 
I honestly don’t know how that turned out. This is something that I feel very strongly about. Skin shaming is brutal. If there’s anyone who tells you that being dark, fair, olive or tanned is abnormal, inferior or wrong, you shouldn’t want anything to do with them. 

You can get in touch with me here:

Email- akashkumarexistence@gmail.com

Instagram- @akashkumarexistence

Twitter- @AkashKExistence

You can check out my last part of Collab Fest with a the brilliant Tanishq here: https://akashakumar.wordpress.com/2015/11/25/boggled-bloggers-w-tanishq-quraishi/

Prières pour Paris

I remember three years ago, my college asked us to pick a foreign language we’d be learning over the next two semesters. I’d almost immediately zeroed in on French. My decision was prompted by the illustrious history of the country, its architectural magnificence and above all, the spirit of its people. If there was any way I, staying 7000 kilometres away, could get closer to France, I would. 

 On the eve of Friday, the 13th of November, the streets of Paris spewed blood uncontrollably, strewed with uncountable corpses, testimony to the insatiable hunger of the perpetrators, who’d brought the most beautiful city in the world to its knees. The blood on the streets of Paris was no different than that in Beirut a day ago, in Gaza the year around, in Mumbai 7 years ago or, in Madrid 11 years ago. Crumbling along with it, was our false sense of security. No one is safe.

 By the time I finish writing and editing this, everyone will be aware of the details. Every reaction, every quote, every tweet. There will be a lot of generalised statements that will be thrown in the fray. I’m not one to judge other people, but stereotyping an entire community based on what was done by a few deranged fanatics is only narrow minded. It’s only admissible to feel outraged. If you’ve been following my social media, you know I’m just as outraged as the next person. But it’s important to not direct this outrage towards other innocent people who’ve had nothing to do with the cause.

 About three summers ago, as a part of an online ‘Student Exchange Program’, I had the privilege of interacting with students from HEC, Paris. It was during this interaction that they explained to us how they celebrated Christmas, the subjects they studied and how they would get frantic calls from their parents if they were late by a minute past their curfew. That was the first time I’d realised we all are, irrespective of their colour, location, eye colour, sex and religion, the same. 

 There have been people complaining of the lack of attention that the Gaza, Syrian or Peshawar situations received. Fact of the matter is Yes, a European country will always receive more coverage than any other. But that doesn’t mean our prayers aren’t with all those people around the world who are at the will of terrorists. If I my there had been greater media coverage, more people would know. 

 I’ve only experienced one terrorist attack in my life- 26/11. While I was at home all the while, I’ve never felt as vulnerable. Every half-cracked sound would betray my senses. I felt like the comforting world I’d surrounded myself with, no longer existed. Being confined to my house, living in the constant fear of giving up on my life made it one of the darkest weeks of my life. That’s why I’m praying for Paris, Gaza, Peshawar, Ethiopia, Mumbai so on and so forth. 

 I’m praying for the newly wed, who lost her husband. For the mother who’d just seen her son take his first few steps. For man who doesn’t know what to do with the ring. For the girl who’d just graduated and wanted to become a lawyer. But I know what will eventually come through is the spirit that made me fall in love with its country. Prières pour Paris.

I know this wasn’t what you were expecting from a Collab Fest, but it felt almost disrespectful to talk about an International tragedy such as this. I will be back with something funny soon. 

Instagram: @akaaaashk

Twitter: @AkashKExistence

Sleazy Sterotypes

So I was watching this Indian movie called “Chennai Express” and I was guided to an epiphany. And it wasn’t because of Deepika Padukone. Okay, not only because of Deepika Padukone. I thought to myself, how long before we start making movies which actually make some sense?! I have to admit, there have been some intelligent movies that have been made in the past five years, but dismally, we’re still not there. That prompted me to do a list of some things I think Indian movies should stop showing . Like, banish them forever.
Here we go:
1. Save me the horror
Portrayal of Gay Stereotypes
Wow where do I begin. Not every gay man has a death-obsession with bright pink and talks with a slight bend of his hand. Snip it.

2. Aiyyo
Racist jokes
Not all South Indians keep saying “Aiyyo” at the drop of a hat. Not every East Indian is a tea stall owner. Not every Gujarati thinks about garba every two and a half seconds. It’s disrespectful and regressive.

3. Diya Bujh Gaya
Vulnerable portrayal of women
For once, can’t the heroine be kicking butt and doing dhishum-dhishum to the bad guys while the hero lights a diya in the temple as strong breeze caresses his forehead?

4. No G(r)and Masti
Tacky Adult comedies
Yes I know we owe this genre to our overrated Hollywood. (Sorry America, someone had to say it). But at least they know how to do it proper. For how long can we ogle at jiggling assets and laugh at double meaning slapstick jokes. (Fellow men, please think with your brains, nothing else).

5. Baby doll Badnaam Hui
Item Songs
Even if I wasn’t against coordinated dance performances which come across fake and tedious, I’d still say item songs are a waste. If they take the story further, fine. But what if the movie doesn’t have a story in the first place? When they’re used as a medium to sell the movie to us masses, you have to stop and think. Majority of our population can operate a mobile or computer and can watch Katrina Kaif dance in bare minimums if they want to, at home.

Having said that, credit is due. Our movies have grown in a magnanimous manner and owe their success to virgin talent that is tapping into a spectrum of concepts, genres and screenplays. For an industry that is barely 100 years old, and was industrialised 16 years ago, we’ve done well. If we disregard our rivalry (or supposed rivalry) with Hollywood and aim at meaningful cinema, not only will we create a loyal fan base locally, but also a global connect.

Solace

While she sat at the safer edge of the window sill, all those suppressed memories came gushing back. The troubled childhood, where the only friends she had were characters from the books she read. Gradually, those characters seemed to reduce to mere caricatures.
The scars on her wrist were testimony to her bearings. She remembered the first time she’d hurt herself, she had worn full-sleeves for the whole week. Before she knew it, she’d stopped caring. Not just about opinions, but about herself too. Her swelling waistline had been the subject of many-a-joke in the school corridors. She’d deduced that her contemporaries were Satan’s kindred spirits. They had shaken her confidence, or whatever little that was left of it. She thrusted closer.
She felt she was surrounded by pretty girls who seemed to have walked out of a Vogue photo shoot. She had come to peace with the fact that she wasn’t going to look anything like that any time soon. Her bare feet were slapping the cold breeze now.
Her mind wandered off to the day she opened her Facebook to see a picture of herself. The kind of picture most girls wouldn’t want to see of themselves on half a dozen social networking sites. This called for a move closer. She was so panic-stricken that she ended up going to school in smeared eye makeup. “She could have at least worn Bobbi Brown” was what Bitchy Betty had to say.
A tear streamed down her chubby cheeks, carrying along with it some of her eyeliner. It still wasn’t Bobbi Brown. She didn’t care. Thighs moving closer to the edge. Now the dangerous end.
Her grades seemed to be moving in an inverse relationship to her waistline. #Throwback to the day she told her mother she wanted to visit a counsellor, that she was tired. She didn’t want to be consumed any more. The bullying had led her to the depths of despair and the inability to discern. “I’m not taking you anywhere, you’ll get over the fad sooner than later”. As curtly as those words were said, they confused her. Perturbed her. Disoriented her.

That final plunge simplified everything.