As I type these letters from my dirt-covered keyboard (did you know that keyboards are among the dirtiest places in a household, next only to the toilet?), I am not sure whether I want to write this post at all. It’s a late hour of night, 12:08 am to be precise and I am, as usual, almost asleep. However, I do have an odd liking towards sleep-writing (is there a specific word for it – like somnamgraphism?) after a friend of mine jokingly mentioned to me that all my posts that were written while I felt sleepy were particularly interesting. He could actually be true. When you are sleepy, or drunk or may be about to die, your mind is perhaps uncluttered. It’s heavy, but it’s clear too. Thoughts that deeply belong to you and sit somewhere inside some dark alley of your intricate neural network suddenly come out in the open when you are semi-conscious. Inhibition drops like a loose trouser (okay, bad comparison, agreed. I blame it on my state of mind) and your true self shows.
One of my engineering friends who could hardly utter a word in English during his campus placement interview spoke in absolutely fluent English that night when he got sufficiently drunk. He drank for not making it through. I am digressing. The topic is something else. The Lux thing.
Give me a second. I am coming back to my senses.
Rarely you do come across ads that sweeps you off your feet. In a grotesquely negative sense, that is. Or scrwes up your senses really badly. You wonder who, after eating what, under what circumstances and under whose supervision created that ad. Lux Cozi is one such thing.
Why does someone buy an under-shirt? To get lucky? “Apna luck pehenke chalo” goes the tagline. Wow! Out of every other possibility in the world, all they could think of is “Luck” as a selling proposition for an under-shirt? The product has a series of ad-films featuring Sunny Deol, the greatest dancer of modern times and a plump kid who goes as a sidekick to apna son of the original dog-blood-drinker (kutte, main tera khoon pee jaunga, remember?). The ads too are as innovative as a senile government officer waiting for retirement.
I want to write more. I am usually so turned off after watching the Lux Cozi ad that if you slip a pen and a pencil (or more aptly a computer keyboard) through my fingers, I could go on writing. But now is not a good time. It has been a long time since I last watched the TV commercial of Lux Cozi and my eyes have already started a mutiny against my brains. I will probably come back to this post later and edit it, once I chance upon a fresh telecast.
For now, apna Lux pehnke so lo!