Monday, August 21, 2006


After 4.5 years in Advertising in Pakistan, wading hip-deep in a sea of mediocrity and frustration, things are changing. In a months time I won't be waking up every morning thinking "what the fuck am I doing with my life", nor will I end my days with "where did I put that damn gun?" Or atleast not for the same reasons.

I won't be an Art Director. I won't be a Copy Writer. I won't be ignoring a life-time of training in design and writing to churn out some crap that the client is positive is the greatest ad ever, just because their mediocre IBA/CBM education has ill-prepared them to do anything other than change the diaper on a diarrhetic chimpanzee.

No more lying about projects to friends so that they don't mock me or beat me. No more putting up with the useless and entirely idiotic opinions of a bunch of self-important idiots who have decided that since they are "Brand Managers" their words carry some weight, even though a dyslexic retard with a drinking problem, tourettes syndrome and an epilepsy attack could make a more useful point.

I am ready for frustrations on a whole other level and about a whole new series of issues, but I'm sure I'll be able to sleep better at night because atleast I can say to myself it's for a worthwhile cause.

And that's worth everything in the world to me.

What am I going to do? I'll tell you in a while. It will be something new and challenging and (for me) scary as fuck. But damn if I'm not looking forward to it.
In the meantime you can go to and ogle my artwork or you can trawl through my archives and read some old stand-up material.

Now if you'll excuse, I need to start watching the third season of Entourage. Johnny Drama is my new role model.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006


Last night I stood on my balcony in nothing but my underwear, arms raised upwards as the sky turned electric.

Arteries of light pulsed, freeze-flashing raindrops that looked like tear shaped diamonds.

Rain sizzled on the leaves around me. 

Now that's a proper bloody storm.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006


Yesterday I spent 4 1/2 hours in a traffic jam.

Foru and a half hours of my life that I will never get back. This is how it went:

HOUR 1: Started to get angry. Sat in my car composing articulate rants against the condition of the country to be delivered to President Musharraf if we ever meet.

HOUR 2: Resigned myself to the situation. Still promised to kidney-punch the President if I ever meet him but otherwise just allowed a general malaise to set in.

HOUR 3: Started to worry that maybe I (and the thousand or so other cars that were gridlocked with me) was trapped in a sort of Space-Time Continuum trap. Caused by the collision of two anti-matter quarks in the Quantum Foam, a rupture in the fabric of reality had sucked us all into an infinite loop wherein we would just keep inching forward endlessly, forever trapped in a moebius strip of cruelty. Alternate theory was that the Apocalypse occured somewhere between the time when I left my house and the time I got on the Baloch Colony Flyover, and all of the people in this traffic jam were actually in a sort of hell. Our punishment being to stay in the traffic jam together for the rest of eternity, a situation made all the more cruel by us clinging to the hope that the next time we move we will be able to drive out to our freedom.

HOUR 3.5: Societies start to form. I find myself a member of a group of truck drivers and van drivers. We share cigarettes and laugh, all the while trying to decide who we would eat first when it came time.

HOUR 3.9: Insanity sets in. Fantasy realities in which I can transform my car into a Jump Jet and fly over the traffic jam start to take over. I find I have spent almost ten minutes making jet-engine sounds and pressing imaginary buttons on the ceiling of the car.

HOUR 4: The radio plays "STREETS HAVE NO NAME" by U2. I decide, despite my aethiesm, that God does indeed exist and he is a sadist.

HOUR 4.5: One of the van drivers spots an opening in the barrier that runs alongside us and decides to risk driving through it and over mountains of rock and rubble until he can get to the tarmac on the otherside. We let him go first and after he makes it safely across, follow suit. My axle scrapes the ground and my tires squeal in protest but I have the devil on my mind and Evil Kneivel in my passenger seat. Crest a final hill of pebbles and reach civilization. Drive home at a 120 miles an hour, laughing like a maniac with a burning need to urinate.

All of the above is true.


Don't forget to bookmark

Sunday, August 06, 2006


Behold! The fruits of my labour (as opposed to the fruit-of-my-loins, or even the fruit-of-my-looms): was my site for several years, then around 3 years back I lost the domain in a credit card bungle. Since then I have been happy to blog here for free. Finally bit the bullet and dusted off the old site. Had to relearn html and javascripting and whatnot.

The site is currently just a gallery for my illustration stuff. Soon will migrate my blog over there as well, and also set up space where you can download audio and video of my comedy and whatnot. It'll become alot more comprehensive and will offer alot more as well.

Soon. Soon.

I am thinking of committing to mid-October as time to launch my second Stand-up show. One full hour of new material.