Considering how Sartre lived, it is beyond doubt he scribbled each word, that he did, with the seriousness of an impending nuclear catastrophe: a quality that seldom can be associated to words here. I’m, however, unsure  whether seriousness is equitably warranted toward every written word. I sometimes wish words were not considered serious to a point of defeating reason and compassion: like holy texts.

Why is world awash with seriousness for the trivial like Twitter bursts of a peculiar president. Before you elucidate anything said by a powerful man is serious, allow my proposal to examine whether what is said is said with conviction or out of vanity; And whether what is said is considered for it’s impact or it’s redicule worthiness. Can we serve it the variety of attention it deserves: ignored as nuisance.

Not that I’m an expert, but I suspect there exists a limit to how much stuff brains can attend to seriously, for there isn’t much else but food taken seriously by a hungry man. So can someone please publish an app to tell us not what is but to tell us, just as reliably, what is to be taken seriously so we don’t all perish in a matter of centuries.

The post trivial first appeared on honestrooster.



Celebrities get asked this question, or something along similar lines, a lot: which is your most favorite among all the songs you’ve heard, all movies you’ve watched, all books you’ve read and so on. It usually is reciprocated with a cringe inducing reply or, more appropriately, a reaction which is painless to empathize with. But then, empathy is one thing and sympathy entirely another which I have none for the contemptuous and, at times, condescending reply.

Such questions are invariably appraised as those for which replies are sought to determine a preference or taste. It is conceivably the wrong perspective for, of course, there is no such thing as the best song, movie or book of all. It is instead a question asked to learn about loyalty to a particular moment of joy. And loyalty requires passion which in turn is rooted at least partially in irrational. 

A response to this question does not stand in need of recalling, for example, all songs and carefully analyzing merits of each to arrive at the one you’d bestow your personal all time best Grammy to. It requires a mad, unreasonable passion and conviction for how you felt that one time you heard a song and then never to let go of it irrespective of how wonderful many songs you might have heard to since.

Dear celebrities, just give us a mad reply with a mad conviction. Don’t be so bland as to cast off the question as brainless because you insist on using your brain when it’s needed that you use you heart. Show your passion, not your analysis.

The post passion first appeared on honestrooster.


Much was staked on my reply to a question I received several years back: how would you describe the color pink to a blind man? 

As I remember, my first thought was to surmise that time spent here was of no avail for conclusion about my job candidacy had been arrived at before this question was asked. As it turned out, it had, I think, been arrived at. Such suspicion attenuates the scent of opportunity liberating thought in a sense that it is no more constrained by the gravity of stakes. I proceeded then to consider the question solely on its merit.

What a curious question: inviting, through a response, proof for one’s faculties to empathize and tightrope through pretentious, absurd prospects for a reply. Would I even venture into such task or apologies sincerely for lack of imagination and vocabulary. What if it wasn’t the blind person’s curiosity, but my desperation, may be out of love, to share the joy of sight – how would I then set about my predicament.

I frankly don’t know. Yet, I replied “I’d tell pink feels like the scent of a rose”. I didn’t get the job.


Political ideology has hardly ever manifested in as strange a phenomenon as the intolerable obsession with replacement of a nation’s health care policy. An obsession strange not for how life is bequeathed with little regard (which unfortunately is common across nations) but for how the most vulnerable will uniformly suffer irrespective of creed, idealogical affiliation or, ironically as you’ll see, race amid an ensuing unnecessary beaureacratic tussle – A tussle intertwined with undoing a perceived legacy of an individual – An individual disliked undoubtedly in arrears of racial bias.

An iPhone, albiet only a mere material possession, is a curious object of desire which occasions immense joy upon its replacement for a next iteration of its own self. Makes one wonder if it’d be replaced as often and willingly if Siri were to remonstrate like a devoted partner cut loose. Makes one wonder if partners wouldn’t be replaced more often and willingly if they were mute like smartphones. The conclusions here are likely forgone.

Is replacement necessary? Countless cells replaced and a man is still clueless. Countless generations replaced and the world is still ignorant.


If honesty is about not only whether everything said is true, but also whether everything has been said, then how scarcely this blog catalogues my deep fears, vices and guilt borders between ironical and hypocritical in consideration of it’s name: honest-rooster!

There’s good reason for such restraint; after all, it connects to my LinkedIn feed. This kind of dishonesty, I reason therefore, isn’t unique to me. Shouldn’t it instead be the norm? Aren’t you better off resisting your speech rather than be embarrassed across “tens of millions” or “tens” or most likely two readers for an overly-enthusiastic or just plain-stupid thought. Especially when there is no lack of judging eyes. But then humans aren’t alike or, to some, not even same species. Many naturally disagree to this theory of restraint.

I’m endlessly fascinated by celebrities, politicians, acquaintances and friends who think of it as nothing to unresistedly post cryptic, at times blatantly vitriolic,  and often other times supremely narcissistic content – with eager expectation that it is widely liked. To think uncivil immodest conversations are unusual is, I admit, a rather naive view of human nature for it is evident that we, generally speaking as a species, are a bunch of flawed hindquarter cavities. However, it is the vaguely mundane yet universal phenomenon which escape my comprehension – like our irresistible penchant toward selfie!

Talking about judging eyes – the special selfie made with decided resolve (not accidentally), on a dull mundane hour of a dull mundane day (not on a special occasion), with none others in the frame (not a friend, not a celebrity nor a notable statue) marking the festivity of update-profile-picture is nothing but a face with a slapped-on smile, for the occasion, shamelessly declaring  “look at me; I have nothing to say”. I’m fascinated how we are OK, and frequently delighted, with this degree of nothingness in conversations? 

Come to think of it, how are we OK with using so many words to say nothing – nothing about our fears, vices or guilt? Perhaps I digressed – I meant how is one to not resist honesty and say all that there is to be said with so many judging eyes.

Page fear

Not all writing impacts readers; some do and it is unfortunate that some among them do. To write prose or poetry, one might plausibly argue, is the last remaining art unscathed by Trojan algorithms and codes peddled for adwords and other such click baits.

Little else explains overnight “instagraphers” slapping in a filter on to allegedly “unearthly” sunsets or singing sensations whose talent boils down to mastery over digital synthesizers and auto tune. Neither, incidentally, offer new perspective, a novel story or anything for that matter worthy of consideration or a mild ponder. Yet these works of “art” are evidently admired abundantly; conceivably, for not much else other than what the technology at use has achieved.

Words, in spite of dictionaries and translators, have fortunately not been entirely taken hostage to technologies of creation. The weight of responsibility this fact implies to preserve the page’s sanctity should make any pen tremble in fear. But that isn’t half of the problem.

In a case of the tail wagging the dog, much of words written are affected not by thoughts preceding writing but by reaction to it after. Writing isn’t confined to a book or a webpage consumed by unknown readers. Its scrutiny accompanied by showers of accolades and disapproving denunciation is immediate and prolific (admittedly, the point in made in spite of this blog entirely unaffected by such scrutiny). This sharing and feedback phenomenon would not affect the writer much if the pattern of reaction weren’t discernible. Unfortunately though, the pattern is less complex to decipher than a cooing parrot trained to thank you for a nut and “fuck you” for a fruit.

As a consequence, pages fill up with what readers wants to read rather than what writer has to say which doesn’t do much for its authenticity. And a page that isn’t authentic serves humanity rather well as tree trunk. But then, if that page is a bunch of pixels… well (sigh), there isn’t much else to yammer over here.

The post page fear first appeared on honestrooster.

Idiot box

It’s no wonder “idiot box” is condoned as television’s alleged epithet considering the abominable content it has beamed toward unsuspecting viewers. But is that description veracious? There is reason to believe its not.

For starters, new breed of televisions are christened, ironically as, “smart” TV. So, that amply eliminates any niggling ambiguity about the accused object’s intelligence. That leaves examination of the other party to this idiocy, i.e. the viewer. Allow me to examine how this victim’s viewing habits, so to speak, has evolved.

The Beginning: When human began staring into tunnel vision, which nicely abbreviates as TV, he had no choice but to consume whatever state controlled single channel broadcasting beamed at him. That meant attending to ideological and religious bull dung programming in between handful commercials for a handful of oligarch corporations. It’s the simpler time which is rather tempting to become nostalgic about. Truth however is this period was intellectually debilitating. Probably the Era when television truly deserved to be declared an idiot box.

Middle Ages: After dark ages was the prompt arrival of multi channel private broadcasting which was equally fascinating for its briefly meteoric improvement over state television in programming quality and for its unstoppable and enduring deterioration into shameless voyeur disposing machines. But at least, the viewer had the choice to watch endless commercials in between brief programming about travel to far away lands or about cheating celebrities’ gossip. Invariably, it was the latter that was chosen. Television was no more the idiot box. It had become the idiot’s box.

Sorting Age: Its the YouTube Decade and it is the Television. In its own words “number of users who start at YouTube homepage, similar to the way they might turn on their TV, is up 3x”. With unlimited content, if you thought we’d do reasonably well choosing content, you would be totally and spectacularly wrong. Human race, in all it virtue, has most chosen phenomenally feather-head content such as a boy curse while playing video games and a woman showcase toys meant for 3 year old while pretending herself to be a 6 year old. To think these videos are worse than the innumerable make up tutorials and cats videos says depressingly a lot in itself – about us.

Even worse, if you stake claim to be that lonely viewer choosing to follow nothing but Stanford OCW, try accidentally click, which you will, on a cute cat video and the “smart” TV will offer a million more cats to binge adore on – So much for suggested videos. Because some genius figured choosing isn’t worth spending all our precious time on,  that responsibility has now been delegated to the box (or lets call it tube!). Its the era in which you sure hope that your roommate isn’t a religious fanatic, Ricky Martin fan or just patented pervert, because every “choice” he makes using your IP address will come back to bite your karma on your “home page”.

Television isn’t the idiot box or the idiot’s box anymore. Its the smart box arresting your attention against your will and then asking you “Whose the idiot now? Idiot!”