Category Archives: Celebrities

Bourdain – the Light in a Sea of Bullshit

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Every couple of weeks, I’ll dig up the truckload of memories I have from No Reservations or Parts Unknown and revisit my favourite episodes. Last week, I found a gem I didn’t remember watching as a kid. In this episode, Bourdain revisited the iconic New York Brasserie – ‘Les Halles’, where he used to work as the executive chef at one point. This was way before television stardom took him far away from the line. Not entirely satisfied with putting a very out of practice version of himself back in the kitchen for a nightmarish evening shift, he also dragged along Eric Ripert, the owner of Three Michelin starred Le Bernardin (Chef Eric, to put in context is to the world of cooking, what David Bowie is to music or what Jeff Koons is to art) The people in the restaurant were obviously flummoxed by the sight in front of them. I would be too if I walked in a restaurant and was told Eric Ripert personally fired my steak. As both of them struggled with age, Bourdain characteristically looked into the camera and acknowledged two things- 1) Returning to the kitchen was the exact nightmare he had imagined it would be 2) They were shit help. It’s the absolute honesty that everyone who binged on No Reservations or Parts Unknown had come to expect.

 

 

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Left: Chef Eric Ripert

The truth is most food writers don’t know their left butt-cheek from their right. They know they ‘like the taste’ but they have no clue what happens when acid hits meat or to summarise – the actual science behind why dishes taste good or bad. They have no idea what it means to eat a certain dish, the class it has developed from, for example – the millions of people who were so oppressed by the rich before they had no option to use the cheapest cuts to make a dish that’s become iconic over time. They start writing about food because they can afford expensive meals at restaurants others aren’t privileged enough to go to and create an illusion of insight. It’s so easy to befuddle a reader with an above average grasp of a language and no real critical insight. Bourdain to me was the first real deal. He worked and failed and reworked himself silly in kitchens for two decades before he started writing and talking about food. He actually spoke the language of the kitchen. When he went over to a city and broke the food down, he carried himself with the humility. Not once do I remember him acting like the legions of white talk show hosts who make it seem like they’ve tamed and made a region accessible to the west. Over a day of reading about people’s lasting thoughts of him I know that several others like me too wished he’d come and visit their hometowns. He seemed like the kind of a guy who you could feed the misal you eat, without alterations. Someone who wouldn’t say ‘That’s a little spicy for me’ or ‘Ugh. That’s like unhygienic’. One of my favourite lines of his about Indian food was ‘It’s spicy but it won’t kill you’, and he ate just like the rest of us do.

 

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The first article: This piece would go on to change the face of food journalism and make Bourdain’s career – https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1999/04/19/dont-eat-before-reading-this

 

Bourdain’s refusal to keep politics out of a food show is what makes him such a titan. He recognised how inseparable they are. His work was politically charged because he understood what an absolute privilege it is to have a voice that’s heard by millions. His voice was loud and unfaltering whether it came to talking about Gaza, about Kissinger, about Harvey Weinstein and countless issues. Every show, whether it’s Chef’s Table or Ugly Delicious is a direct inspiration from the base he set. Simply talking about loving food can never be enough. Viewers deserve better.

I hated Mumbai when I got here half a decade back. I was staying in a shithole. The only way I realised I’d get myself to embrace the city a little was with food. I’d plan entire days around it. I marked the city out with restaurants I needed to get my ass to. You know the drill – you travel two hours to eat a oil well of a salli boti because three people guarantee it’s ‘the best thing ever’. It’s mostly still an oil well with floating hunks of meat in even when you do eat it but by then you’re so hungry you truly believe it’s amazing.

 

Food kept and keeps me truly happy in Mumbai. I owe everything I know about the city to it because it’s literally the only thing that gave me incentive to see and slowly love the place for what it is. Whether that’s screaming through a line of seventy people to eat the first batch of dosas at Cafe Madras, personally wrestling away servers at Thaker’s to insist you cannot and will not eat more servings of their thali just to keep them satisfied, sitting on the pot for an entire day after overdosing on calamari at Deluxe or having the rude as hell servers at Aaswad break into a rare smile and place a sabudana wada on your table without you asking for it, actually being rendered speechless; overwhelmed after eating at the Bombay Canteen…the warmest moments I’ve had in the past half a decade have been around food. It’s helped me come to terms with enjoying being alone and learning so much about who the people around you are with every single bite you eat. 

 

Bourdain is the solitary reason why I want to write and document food and he’s the sole reason why I will not do it. I won’t offer my expertise on a subject till I know it inside out. I refuse to be a part of a culture that encourages experts who have no idea what goes into the creation of a product. I

Over the past year we’ve seen so many of our idols fall prey to their own problematic behavior. I feel no remorse for them. Fuck Louis CK, fuck Woody Allen, fuck Mario Batali and Morgan Freeman and every other person we’ve admired at one point. They don’t deserve pity or sympathy. Their work in my opinion deserves to whither. Which is what makes this particular loss hard. In Bourdain, we lose an a man who checked his privilege, corrected his faults with time and stood for what was right. His legacy stands beyond food. I don’t believe in an afterlife but for once, I really wish I did. The world would have come to stand-still to make sure to ensure he had a perfect final meal in the afterlife before moving on.

I always think of the film Ratatouille when it comes to anything about food. It was such a strange alchemy, the way Remy the rat and Anton the critic complete each other. I think of Anton’s speech at the end all the time, it’s a beautiful examination of the job of criticism (In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and theirselves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.)

 

In Bourdain, we find the yin and yang of both, Remy and Anton – creator and critic. It’s going to be incredibly hard to find a replacement and in an unexplainable way, I hope we never do.

 

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THE RULES THAT ARE OKAY TO BREAK (IF YOUR DADDY’S NET WORTH IS 12.5 BILLION FUCKING DOLLARS)

Ananya Birla (my favourite musician ever wrote a beautiful article about her struggles. I noticed the editors left out a few minor changes in their last round so I did them for her) Her original link is at the bottom.

 

elderly parent

I never really felt like I fitted in at school. That’s mostly because any school available for my education was smaller than my dog Poofy’s Monte-Carlo holiday kennel.  I wrote the words ‘misfit’, and even ‘failure’ in my diary, because I knew they’d come in handy to throw at random at Miss Malini’s salivating PR team once I buy my social media following in the future.  I didn’t comfortably fit into certain boxes or categories, because knowing that my Puhpas’s company’s net worth of forty-five billion dollars in 2015 would usually send any of my commoner friends into a coronary breakdown and because breaking the rules is a luxury I can buy from the change left in my pilates track pants, understanding my privilege and not harping on about how ‘I’ve worked hard’ never really made sense to me.

But as I’ve grown up I found that being a Forbes frequenter have served me well. I always felt compelled to shake things up, to take the road less travelled, you know – because I can reach there in my private Jet giving Ramu Kaka (my personal pilot) a three minute notice. And I believe a lot of entrepreneurs go through the same thing because it’s amazing being  tone deaf and blind; saying absolutely whatever comes to the tip of my mind. 

I would never advocate being reckless, but I think it’s time we acknowledge that there is power and value in strategically swimming against the tide, especially when you understand I AM THE TIDE (Please recite this in the same Leviathanish way Vader does when he says ‘I am your father’) Breaking the “rules” (who wrote those, anyway? lulz conglomerates like daddy’s) is sometimes the most productive thing you can do for manifesting your vision because you will fail magnificently and will need to sell your O+ blood so you can afford instant noodles, whilst I will glide through the air with the same clinical efficiency as a peregrine falcon in a dive bomb) 

Here, I decided to share the rules I broke and why you should think about breaking them too (though this can be summed up with a single ‘Cuz I can afford to, bitch’)

 “Never work with friends or family” – because your family and friends are also poor. 

 What do you want from those who work with you in accomplishing your goals: loyalty, honest communication and shared passions? DO YOU HAVE A BILLION DOLLARS THO? NO?!?!? SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SLAVE AWAY YOU EEKIE COMMONER. Ugh. 

 I’ve found that the candidness, dedication, and the shared passions I have with my closest crew of friends has made them ideal colleagues. I understand that all of them are lying scumbag yes-men because if anyone had heard the travesty of a first song I produced (which I hear they regularly use now in both Guantanamo Bay and ISIS as a persuasive torture technique), they would have threatened me with harakiri before letting me publish it.   They get me, they get what I’m trying to create (lol) – mostly a parody of what would happen if baboons hit random keys on a piano if they’re starved for a week. When one of us succeeds (me) – we all succeed (also me). When it comes to my music, I need to be comfortable enough to expose myself creatively, to be ‘vulnerable’- a term I have heard of in the movie Love Actually and always wanted to experience but was shocked when Harrods said they don’t sell it wholesale.  The trust I have with my friends (and the eight digits that sing a Opera-esque melody when I swipe my black platinum debit card) make them the ideal people to help with my musical career. I forget sometimes that my name brought me to open for Coldplay whilst musicians who have sold their spleens to fund one final trip to Mood Indigo hoping they’d get noticed watched in utter shock, willing to blind themselves with a pitchfork than seeing Devraj Sanyal hiccup his way through calling me a musician online. 

 “Follow the crowd, don’t fight the current trends”

 When I had the idea for Svatantra, the public in India didn’t think very much of the microfinance industry. Microfinance means loaning small amounts of money at fair and affordable rates so rural women with little to spare can grow their businesses. But there were a lot of organisations around going by the name of ‘microfinance‘, who loaned money at extortionate rates. That tainted the industry’s reputationBut I believed in the potential benefits of microfinance – when it’s done RIGHT. Though I am doing fantastic work here, I feel like I forget hundreds of entrepreneurs who have had similar ideas have been asked to brand their backsides with a ‘I will say yes to every clause save sucking dick’ to get a measly round of funding allocated in return for a gigantic chunk of the business and one of horcruxes they had to make to get through it.

 When it comes to any business, you’re playing the long game. I come up with these gems of utterly obvious advice watching Suits and reruns of The Wire in my jacuzzi made from the remains of the Lighthouse of Alexandria (purana wala, haan) Five years on, Svatantra is thriving and so are many of the women who benefited from our approach to microfinance. Our customers speak for themselves, and their success is shifting the way people view microfinance. (TBH, Svatantra is pretty cool and it has helped a ton of women, so credit where it’s due well done AB. I’d never want to belittle her efforts with mental health or micro financing female entrepreneurs . She’s done amazing work there. Let’s move on to stuff I don’t feel bad taking a dig at)

 Don’t dream too big” – Teri aukat thodi hi hai.

I was obsessed with music ever since I was young. But even when I was at college, performing regularly and writing my own material, I was still scared to tell other people that this was what I wanted to do with my life because they would have rightly fallen on their knees and begged me to leave the guitar at Furtados. It’s so important to realise that life is short and in order to be happy we must do what we’re really passionate about, especially when I, unlike y’all can afford to resurrect Jimi Hendrix for a remedial tutorial in how to tune a guitar. My dream is to be the first Indian artist to break into the commercial international music arena. Has it been done before? No. Does that mean it’s impossible to buy? Certainly not! Do you know what is possible in a paltry four million dollars? I’ll tell you. I can host my OWN FUCKING NH7 and NOT RELY ON A COMEDY COLLECTIVE TO LAUNCH FUTURE HEADLINING ACTS VIA YOUTUBE. BTW ON A SIDE NOTE HONESTLY, HOW MANY TIMES WILL RAGHU DIXIT DANCE TO LOKADA KADAJI BEFORE THE PUNE CROWD GETS BORED.

When I decided to set up Svatantra, I was just 17 and people told me I was dreaming., because that’s an age when normal people hallucinate into oblivion looking at the EMI’s on college loans. 

 Only you know if you have the fortitude and inner resources (See how I played this card) to withstand failure or criticism. In my case my AMEX card acts like a ‘protego’ like shield so I have never experienced either. I hear several Muslims went to Haj specially to beg the prophet, peace be upon him to never have me produce a song again.  That’s when I unleashed ‘Meant to Be’ – the song that made the Gallagher brothers unite and Key and Peele split.

Bots are beginning to respond really positively to my work, my last song went platinum in India via the hard work put in by teenagers employed by clickfarms in Tuvalu and we had loads of radio plays and streams from around the world (other farms in Mozambique, Djibouti, Mauritius, etc). 

When you begin writing a song it can be intimidating, just you and a blank page and in my case absolutely not the slightest mirage of talent. But amazing producers across the world stepped forward to work with me (I wonder why sometimes, it baffles me), from Atlanta to Oslo, and now I have four songs coming out early next year that…let me just say if you found my last two songs bad – this lot is going to make those bad boys look like Gimme Shelter and Yellow Submarine.

“Work day and night. Your vision should completely consume you.” 

Now see you guys, I have a brunch reservation waiting for me at the new Noma and Rene Redzepi’s going to personally feed me hand fished molluscs covered with truffle oil. Work hard and all okay? Love you bye xoxo

This guest post was edited for posterity by Sumedh Natu and is an article of satire)

 

Here’s the original – http://www.mscareergirl.com/2018/01/01/the-rules-that-its-okay-to-break/

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How Zakir Khan makes you feel ‘ARREY TUM BHI BHAI?!?!  LOLWAMAX MAI BHI!!!”

          I’ve been watching live stand-up comedy for close to a decade now. It’s a performing art form that’s particularly close to me, and has helped me get through some of my darkest times in the past few years. I make it a point to attend at least one show a week, whether that’s an open mic, a curated show or a special. Earlier this week, I went to watch Zakir Khan trying out an hour of new material at the Cuckoo Club in Bandra. It was the first time I saw him perform, save the bits he’s uploaded on youtube. I have to admit, I have never experienced anything like it. The way he packages nostalgia into elaborately detailed hyper-visual stories is miles above anything else in the scene right now. As a fair viewer – it must be said that he’s incredibly sexist and owes a certain responsibility to his audience towards how he treats women in his stand up special.

 

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          There’s no better way of discovering a stand up comedian than on stage. No online clip, no Netflix special can cut it. I felt this way the first time I went for a first stand up gig (Pre AIB Tanmay Bhat and a guitar playing very politically incorrect Daniel Fernandes in Pune) and I continue to feel this way even today. The feeling of being a personal subject of the flow of comedy at that moment, whether that’s for five minutes or an hour is an experience in itself. That’s the part you miss online. The bits you experience on youtube are a comedian’s best bits, honed and perfected over years of doing them. By the time he or she puts these up, they’re kinda ready to trash them from their set. There’s a lot of nuance in selecting the right shot for the right punchline, closing up when there’s a need for intimacy and cutting to a wide when the viewer needs to sit back and enjoy the set up to a joke. You don’t realise it, but you’re being manipulated without even realising it. If you’ve been watching live comedy since 2012, you’ve had a chance to see every single comedian who has hit a certain amount of online fame today absolutely unaccountable to the public at some point, very unabashed and with no fear of public backlash – which is where you realistically come to know what they’re all about, whom they punch and what they truly find funny.

 

       

         For most of the bits online at the moment, I’ve had a chance to see them live in the entirety of the set in which they feature . For a few, I even helped record them. That gives me a very different understanding as a member of a live audience about the context and background the comedian comes from. It also makes me very aware about the larger point they are trying to make. By rule, I stay away from an online clip if I haven’t seen the comedian perform live before. Since the circuit is so small (fewer than a hundred actually making decent money off it), the odds that I can catch any comedian  I want perform at a venue within a radius of ten kilometers from my house in Mumbai are insurmountably high. You could walk in the Cuckoo Club in on a random Monday open mic and see Biswa Kalyan Rath, Kanan Gill, Kaneez Surka, Kenny Sebastian and Rahul Subramaniam all try material on the same lineup without much ado about it. The point I’m making is that as of November 2017, access to live stand up comedy as an audience member is super easy, if you know where to go. It’s the only reason why I refused to watch ‘Haq se Single’ when it released on Amazon. I wanted to see Zakir perform first.

          I had observed Zakir’s mushroom cloudesque rise the moment his bits in the middle of an AIB show went viral online. I had regularly seen other comedians tweet or mention him in a very different light, stressing particularly about the power of his storytelling. I had seen a number of women online call him out for thriving on sexist material, as well as reducing women to stereotypes at his level of fame. Zakir, as I observed seemed to be the only comedian I could think of who had cut through every class barrier online. As far as say an AIB goes – and I feel they’re a household name now, I’ve routinely heard the older generation tear them apart with the same eagerness brazen millennials will go out to defend them. I’ve had conversations about Zakir Khan with relatives whom I know can’t type on a computer for crying out loud to auto rickshaw drivers who get a familiar glint in their eye when you mention a punchline of his. They all adore him. He’s Zakir Bhai.

          I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting much out of a trial show. I’ve seen seasoned comedians tank the shit out of the room while trying out new material and it’s fair – jokes need time to perfect, they need timing to land right and no matter how famous you are, the first enthusiastic five minutes of applause when someone familiar lands up on stage is the only leeway you get even if you have a few millions hits to your credit on youtube. After that, you’re out on your own. In fact, with fame rises expectation. Your familiarity can help you to a point where you don’t have to waste time to give the audience an essence of who you are. Which is why I wasn’t particularly surprised when Zakir walked on stage to thunderous applause – it’s expected. The audience, predominantly male, desperately trying to snapchat his arrival on stage wasn’t shy in revealing how star struck they were. His first sound – ‘Accha’ got a huge laugh. Make no mistake, he knows how famous he is. His crowd work was minimal, besides giving the entire lot a minute’s time to finish snapchatting him.

          To me, the utter familiarity with which Zakir opens is a huge part of his act, because unlike so many performers he doesn’t bother trying to let the audience know how pleased he is to perform for them. It’s almost like meeting an old best friend after half a decade, because he leaves no room for formality. You could make eye contact with him for a split second and as a member of the audience feel like you’ve known him for years. Because you have. Because you’ve had a friend exactly like Zakir at some point in your life. A friend who you chill with for the sheer joy of spending time with him and listening to his stories. A friend whose stories you never know whether to believe but lord, are they entertaining as well.

          In 2016, I had made a video during my stint at BuzzFeed India called ‘Your childhood in 100 seconds’ We used a top down camera set up to play out a day in school, hoping a collection of memorabilia unique to Indian millennials would trigger enough relatability for a string of shares. The video had gone bombastically viral. It was shared over a hundred-thousand times and got us an aggregate viewing of over eight million views on Facebook in a day. Other BuzzFeed offices copied the format to similar success, with French, German, Australian versions of the same video clocking millions of hits. Nostalgia on the internet is one of the strongest ways of getting people together. An overdose of it can work terribly, but limit the frequency and you’re guaranteed a level of relatability unlike anything else. It’s a way of filtering out only the happiest memories people associate with their childhoods and coming of age years and presenting it to them in a format that compels them to think about simpler times.

 

          Zakir’s entire act is an surge of nostalgia. Through the hour and fifteen minutes he performed, I don’t recollect a single bit/story which was about the incredulity of his life today. Even the few sentences he happened to chance about the present was a detailed description of his inability to fit in the social class his comedy has elevated him into. Tearing into the obsession of non-muslims frequenting Mohammad Ali road during Id, he mentioned  ‘I’m done with it. I hate that area. What you find exotic, is my childhood!’ 

          Zakir painted an incredibly visual picture of how small his town was, and how retrospectively large his house was. Every description of his father revolved around him being engrossed in the act of newspaper reading somewhere in the background, his face covered, his words few. His hierarchical breakdown of his family, which puts his father beyond the realm of friendship and his mother as an absolute equal is incredibly endearing.  His eight years in Delhi, he insisted were like what Yashoda was to Krishna, instrumental in shaping him into who he is today almost like a foster parent who honed him. He moved on to testing whether he considers himself an equal to his father today, a stream of thought I felt was very poignant, testing the actual fabric of household relationships in India. 

          It’s the sheer visual picture Zakir builds when he narrates a story that gets the audience so involved with what he’s saying. Every line is like a cinematic breakdown. He changes the point of view you’re seeing things from in your own head without realising it. There isn’t a single line in the middle of one of his bits that doesn’t involve a visual cue, that doesn’t allow you to stray away from the picture he wants you to build. Which is extremely important, because the stories are stories that have happened to all of us so it’s not they’re new or haven’t been talked about. He changes his tone for every single character he talks about, gives them props to say something more about them. The antagonist of one of the stories in which he gets into a physical fight is a boy from his class who chews tobacco. His voice never changes through his set. Zakir voices him with his mouth full of red liquid, always making sure he spits on stage before his character takes a clean, articulate tone.

          Zakir’s narration – I guarantee you if he told you the same story sitting in a car during a roadtrip or over drinks in a bar or in a flight as a stranger he wouldn’t have to change or edit a single word. That I feel is the utter genius of his storytelling. Which is that it doesn’t matter how many people are in front of him. The version of the story he tells wouldn’t have to change. He can narrate the exact same incident in the exact same way to a friend in the morning and a stadium and the evening to the exact same reaction of helpless laughter. His storytelling will disarm you no matter who you are and will generate a physical reaction of laughter if you’ve lived in India for a considerable amount of time (I’m making the generalisation here that you speak Hindi)

          Is he sexist? Yes. There’s no doubt about it. There’s a liberty he takes with reducing women to stereotypes that I personally feel shouldn’t be done in 2017. It’s a very thin, grey line, but it could be argued that Zakir making fun of women is more a joke on the differences of class between him and the women he routinely makes fun of, or a joke on never finding oneself worthy enough to be loved. To a large part, I think he gets away with it because he also calls men out for their naivety and general lack of intelligence in speaking to/about women as fellow human beings.  It’s easy for me as a male writer to say that -’It’s fine if he does it. He doesn’t mean it’ but I hope that with time, we get to see a more layered version of the mimicry or jest he subjects his female characters to if he continues doing it. I watched his online special ‘Haq Se Single’ after watching him live and I feel like there’s a huge change in the thought behind his storytelling in what I chanced to see in person. The jokes are more subtle, the complexity of ideas he spoke about (Family hierarchy, casual racism, fitting in a new city, male rivalry in schools) befits his rise to superstardom in the past two years. Not once did he use his ‘Sakth Launda’ tag to evoke laughter. It’ll be insane to see him dissect his present, away from happy place his nostalgic past seems to come across as as he moves on to newer realms in comedy.

 

          The depth of emotion I felt when his set was over is what compels me to write this. I have never been made to feel euphoria, sadness, anger, jealousy and nostalgia; all packaged in a blanket of helpless laughter the way I did immediately post his set. The reaction from the entire audience to what I could clearly tell was a very average show by his standards was nuts. There were people in tears, people who were still repeating punchlines and people who were still mouthing songs Zakir referenced and called back to through his set as they were walking out of the Cuckoo Club where he performed. At times he abandoned comedy altogether, turning into a motivational speaker for minutes at a time all to rapt attention from everyone listening.

 

          There will be a time when Zakir Khan  (and I’m willing to bet a large amount of money on this even if you tell me all the odds are against me) will achieve the same level of jewelled stardom someone like a Shahrukh Khan or a Sachin Tendulkar do/did in India. It may take time, it may take a decade but it will happen. There will be a day where he may have to bend, like several artists have in the past to accommodate the tastes of the common man of India; where his material will no longer be what he wants to perform but the common man wants to hear. Till then, if he’s performing around you and you want to experience what it’s like to be in the audience of the first rock star of modern Indian stand up comedy, catch him whenever you get a chance, while you still can. You should, at least once – experience what it’s like to just be there…amazed.

 

 

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PS: Sorry for the headline, Srishti. But yours was too good not to use.

 

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ARNAB GOSWAMI’S SILENCE

Hey guys,

A lot of people followed the blog a couple of years back and I haven’t been that regular writing anymore. I’ve been meaning to write to the few of you who’d wait for posts just explaining what I’m doing, but I haven’t and I apologise for that. I’ll be doing that very soon. I have however, taken my articles to video and I’ve been trying to create a Nerdwriter1, Every Frame A Painting, Crashcourse format here in India that’ll benefit our content. This is the pilot of that effort.

I hope you guys like it. Your feedback is ever welcome.

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