The Cynic

When you begin work on a painting, you set out on a long difficult journey to the end. Begin by thinking, sketching out on the canvas a rough figure of what you want. It’s an easy task, you've barely begun—you can always erase, redraw, alter, or even start over. Then comes the time for colours. And while there are hundreds and thousands of them to choose from, there are just a few, at times just one, that will be a perfect fit. Choices are tough to make—some may be right, others may go horribly wrong. Yet there’s no choice but to choose. After long toil and much sweat, you come up with the final piece. Some paintings will inspire. They’ll be so beautiful that they’ll leave a mark in your heart and mind for ages to come. Some will be soothing, others will make you smile. And then there will be those that will make you feel simply wasted. Pictures that will only speak to you of your incompetence and inability to make the right choices. Surprisingly, sometimes these may be the p

It’s almost as if Navratras have arrived early. Coupled with a fresh new season of Roadies. Because look around, and all you see are men fasting, or men cursing (oh and short fat women dancing at Rajghat, but then that’s probably just the Navratra fever) There are frail white-dhoti clad men, and hairy half-naked saffron-clad men, and sly, crafty looking IAS officers on fasts—we’re really running for variety here. When these men aren’t fasting, they’re busy calling the high-ups cheats or liars and gathering public applause and adoration for their impeccable use of cuss words. We’re fasting, we’re swearing, we’re lathi charging, we’re holding press conferences every second hour and we’re hurling chappals in every second press conference. Oh and we’re a country of really, really mature people. No, seriously! Whatever has unfurled over the past few weeks since April 5 th is frankly no golden medal on our ‘2020 mein Superpower banenge ji ’ perception of ourselves. We’re currently at