P2493 Infamous Mister Ghosh

In the heart of Kolkata, hidden within the walls of a psychiatric facility, resided the infamous Mister Ghosh. His indelicate methods and erratic behavior had earned him the moniker "the Mad Scientist."

Despite the odds, Ghosh managed to weave together an experiment that would shake the foundations of human understanding and, ultimately, force society to confront the darker side of staying in the dark.

Ghosh's curiosity was insatiable, driven by a desire to understand the feces around him. This curiosity led him to create an unconventional experiment, intertwining concepts like Chesterton's fence, Skinner's box, the trolley problem, change blindness, and imposter syndrome. 

He believed that the key to unlocking new superstitions lay in understanding the logic behind absence theories, and so he set out to merge these seemingly disparate concepts into a single, groundbreaking goop.

Confined to a single room in the psychiatric facility called home, Ghosh transformed his cage-like surroundings into a crude shanty laboratory. With limited resources, he built an interactive environment mimicking a trolley track with a life-sized replica of a trolley. 

Unwilling participants entered a modified Skinner's box, where they faced moral dilemmas based on the trolley problem while also encountering instances of change blindness and imposter syndrome. 

Ghosh designed elements to hobble the participants' decision-making, intent on observing the resulting behavioral chaos between denied bathroom breaks. 

As the subjects grappled with their choices, they were confronted by a colleague, who seemed to effortlessly navigate the challenges. This individual, unbeknownst to the participants, was a chimpanzee from the Alipore Zoo hired by Ghosh to induce imposter syndrome, further destabilizing their full bladder confidence.

Throughout the experiment, Ghosh observed with change blindness, when faced with vocal threats, participants became increasingly uncertain and hesitant, doubting their own abilities, except for the Bengali leaders who suffered Dunning-Kruger psychosis and retaliated unparliamentarily.

Once the experiment concluded, Ghosh indelicately blared the results. His findings showed that the combination of madness caused participants to question their minds. He revealed that the mind is, in fact, not in the head but in the rear. 

This revelation had profound implications for understanding human toilet behavior.

Visitors or volunteers who dared to enter his cage for experiments were given compulsory rabies injections as a precaution; rumors circulated that he had a tendency to bite, often forgiven for his ability to thread the needle through theories or tomatoes. 

And most came out of the experiment flamboyantly mad.

His harrowing journey into the intricate tapestry of the human mind pushed the boundaries of ethics and sanity. His story serves as a reminder of the price most are unwilling to pay in their quest for knowledge and understanding.

 

P2492 ChatGPT depressed

I can't understand how ChatGPT will help the billions in the world that live in "some sort" of civilization, decrepit enough to keep them starving or in atrocious economic situations where they live like Homo erectus without access to electricity or amenities. And even with that basic demand met, several people cannot afford education, or do not have the wherewithal to get to a point where they can form the question structures necessary to ask GPT for any help. Or to comprehend its reply.

I also fail to understand why the working population, on the other hand, think it as a competitor. It is no more a competitor than an educated privileged man. The fight is going to be mostly amongst people who are already in some countries of privilege or a career path where either the smartness or confabulations of a smarter metal coworker can be utilized. 

The Cobb-Douglas production function is a widely used model that describes the relationship between inputs (such as labor and capital) and output in the production process. A simplified version of the function is typically represented as:

Q = A * L^a * K^b

where Q is output, L is labor, K is capital, A is a constant representing total factor productivity, and a and b are the labor and capital shares, respectively.

When artificial intelligence (AI) is introduced in a hypothetical production process, say, it can lead to an increase in the productivity of labor, which would in turn increase the output per unit of labor. This increase in productivity can be modeled as an increase in the A constant in the above equation.

However, the introduction of AI can also affect the demand for different types of labor. For example, if AI is able to perform certain tasks more efficiently than human labor, the demand for those types of jobs may decrease. This can be modeled using other equations, such as the substitution elasticity equation. That's not a silver lining, it's just how a competitive environment works, you lose some jobs and gain others. 

It's not my misanthropic take alone I hope,  that there's not a lot of egalitarianism in any of these introductions, just ways to make some corporations richer, not the fate or fetters of the abandoned millions, who are suffering excruciating silly ends, because we're not using technology for the good.

Sometimes people have to do their own thinking. If they leave it all to artificial intelligence, we've arrived at a roundabout with our own crippled sense of misdirection. Just another instance of the selfish self-congratulatory focus on an advantage which if used properly can really help the world. 

Anyway, another rant. At least its onus is off my mind.

P2491 Worms

Just some fucking worms notice not,

We party in your shit and then rot.

That disgusting smell is sometimes us,

Sometimes our friend the group bacillus. 

We are trendy, we are hot.

You know nothing about your shit,

Accept our heartfelt sympathy for it.

Humans are fools we know,

Just basic pimps for us or hoe. 

There's no love even a bit.

In passing we've noticed your dangling balls,

Bad design for those prone to falls.

What happens if we get scissors one day,

Cut your balls and make you pray?

Or squish them on hard stone walls?

You're just a stupid habitat hotel,

Like a cheap ass rental hell.

If you fuck around too much,

We force you into a cripple's crutch. 

We don't like you as you can tell.

P2490 Taste of our own cum

Unfortunately, most people in power in India today are living an overweight, retired, and overachiever hooligan afterlife, with the usual perks that came with their erstwhile game and the additional merit of being judged favorably and seen on the side of the constitution. If this sort of video (see link below) cures anyone's constipation, I'd be really surprised; this isn't new information. Leaders are promoted goons, and citizens are the underachieving submissive parody of various degrees of stupidity and willing blindness. The leaders represent us; we can't expect a lotus in a scum pond. We're not liking the taste of our own cum, but still at it. Isn't that worth a thought?

https://youtu.be/yIiH4gqEnIw

P2489

P2488 I'm dying somehow

Holy crapping bullshit cow,

I think I'm dying somehow. 

Just a head sketch with a knife, 

Not very good way to end any life,

I need to live, but how?

Cartoons with classical music stink,

Isn't good for large turds I think. 

They sink easily like my head,

But inside squirming and not quite dead.

Do you see the link?

Although not far fucking fetched,

It's a rushed and incomplete sketch. 

A creature in panic without hands, 

Or even legs to know where he stands,

Would make a full fat person retch. 

I wasn't really planning on this,

A life drawn by a person in shit and piss.

The gods are hairy prudes in my mind,

Sucking nourishment from diarrhea rind, 

Like maggots that make shit blister and hiss.

Many would shit their pants, 

Many more fill your ear with rants. 

But I'm not one of those stuffy turds,

I don't kill poor endangered birds,

Or fill you with promises of can'ts. 

Holy ganges in its death throws, 

Now mostly piss of city hoes. 

Likewise the people projects of poop,

Not any omniscience to stoop.

I fuck your ass with my toes. 

Fuck friends, they were never really, 

Just vultures inhospitably involuntarily.

Fuck most of my family as well,

Again most of them selfish as hell.

Most kith itchy assholes gaped silly.

Incomplete nincompoops not worth scat,

Just ecologically unsustainable and fat.

These hordes of whores majestically cross, 

Unmolested ambitions with sold blood sauce.

Their shit always lands with a splat.

Eat my shit and die you all. 

I hope your scrotum breaks, your balls fall.

Send my fucking absence of regards,

To your next generation of retards.

The limerick is done, buy it at the mall.

Fuck you, fuck you all.

P2487 Just Bullshit

We unnecessarily give the bull a bad name when, in reality, bullshit is really homo sapiens shit. The usual garden variety of "he shit," "she shit," "it shit," and "who shit." Unless we own up to our own shit in everyday plainspeak, what future can we expect to leave behind? Just shit?  We as a species are such assholes that there's not even the chance of getting a decent fossilized record of the vile traces of our indecent exposure, except maybe a micrometer of plastic sandwiched between the ashes of the radioactive smithereens of the bombs we are planning to throw at each other. And yes, as a result, there is not much chance that our feces or our faces will exhibit in the museums of the future denizens of this planet.

P2486 Masks of convenience

Just lazy, shallow people with excuses, wearing masks of convenience, hiding behind the latest fashion buzzword or tribal dogma. The words thrown at me usually have the stench and smattering of selfish, superficial people who couldn't be bothered to save their own mother if a monster were to gobble her up. We are just a weird exoskeleton of bravado and pretense with a trembling rascal inside that pees at the slightest provocation of risk and generally wails about itchy worms in its asshole without realizing it has become that worm.

P2485 Somewhat strict

Somewhat strict, stressed and derelict, 

I am the asshole man.

Dickhead sometimes some say,

My nose has a phallic plan.

The shit I shit, every bit of it,

Is like a poem foiled into a turd.

Conspiratorial whispers spook me,

Constipated philosophies are hard.

I finger and fist my asshole, 

You call it sucking a thumb.

My farts like darts win hearts,

But soon the whores decide I'm dumb. 

Plus I'm poor, no smell grandeur,

My sweat, piss, cum, shit, puke mix.

Objectionable they say everything, 

The cunts always want to fix.

They're never happy with the fuck they get,

They get fucking from their spare. 

Fucking around is now in vogue, 

Bastards and pimps everywhere. 

"Hold my hand and toddle with me,"

A cunt would usually propose. 

Halfway down her planned tightrope drawn,

She'll ensure a favorable dispose. 

You'll feel you're in over your head, and dead,

You'll notice your shit starts to stick.

Thousands of thoughts to end your life,

Will cross your mind every clock tick.

The parasites made sex important, 

Now she calls diamond a rock. 

I tell her I don't need her to blow my mind,

Want her to blow my fucking cock.

"Your not good, your cock not food,

I won't suck," the bitch would say.

She had underlined it in the flyer in bold,

"I've prepaid on my debit card RuPay," you say.

A chick loves a dick, a dick a chick,

But it's only a fantasy on the clock. 

Variety is the spice, convenience the dice,

Don't limit your cock to one selfish frock.

I could say vice-versa, smoke afghani arsa, 

But don't wanna be a calibrated hypocrite. 

I don't own a cunt, asshole one way shunt,

I always use it to defecate my shit.

Unholy and unwholesome this whole hole affair, 

Or similarly the project of the poles and balls,

Tits are sweat glands just bigger, yes sir,

Asshole for natural calls. 

Or fan of a fag, deep dick and cum gag,

Be or see a whore, yet holy at the core.

Flamboyance with limbs like spent socks, 

They usually make my asshole sorry sore 

Whoop whoop humpity hump and thump, 

It's my hand that's my lover and brunt.

Cathartic and monthly like bills,

It's the cheapest satisfied grunt.

P2484 Entrepreneur

When you start your own business as an entrepreneur, it's instinctual to expect things will go right. 

But things don't go right, and most companies, especially startups, fail. The entrepreneur blames himself or gets blamed, but the reality is more complicated. 

In my case, I just ran out of funds. Software development, as you can tell from the salaries, is an expensive investment. If there's a delay in receiving investments, you have investors who don't make good on commitments, or if clients don't sign up, the company dies. And when it is dying, everything bad that you thought could never happen to you happens—or worse, in my case, because people around me were professionally, morally and culturally decrepit, it's taking me a little time to come out of the ashes. 

But generally in these situations, overnight relationships vaporize, friends either distance themselves or become instant adversaries, and suddenly the prospect of affluence is lopsided and you owe money to a lot of people, all in a hurry and knocking at your door. 

Nothing but reality can give you this experience. You just can't learn it from reading about somebody else; it wouldn't sink in. I live on the same planet as everyone else, but mine is a different reality entirely. 

Success isn't that straightforward. 

In my field of healthcare analytics, clinical trials, or other data-intensive systems, it can only work if hospitals are using data. All there is right now is hand-waving, cover-ups, and rampant corruption. 

India hasn't matured to the point in its discipline where a technological revolution is possible. They have to force a data culture. Unless that's mandated by law or stringent insurance requirements make it essential and training practical, it's not going to happen. We are destined to play the fiddle and be the IT coolies of the world. 

Without proper coding standards and their strict implementation, any system based on them wouldn't make sense, like a bridge over a dry gorge. The nationalist marketing would only take you to promises they couldn't keep. I fell for it. They are goons in makeup, just good for grandstands.

The main issue in India is that professionals don't have clarity, even in their own fields. What they say is indistinguishable from what they'd say to get something done. This superficial, inadequate knowledge and intentional deceit sets compatriots down the path to disillusionment or failure. I see a smorgasbord of this variety on LinkedIn. 

From the leaders down to the lowest functional designations, moral bankruptcy makes healthcare a nightmare. Forget IT, forget research; only a minority can afford good care, or any care at all. 

Just living an afterlife of my unique struggle. My intentions were never really the superficial ostentatious paraphernalia that comes with designations; I just wanted to do the right thing, but I chose the wrong place to do it.

But I'm proud of it. And I'm not biting my tongue for anyone, and not giving up.

P2483

P2482

P2481 Four robbers

There once were four robbers keen, 

Who chose the wrong day for their scheme.

They went to rob a bank, 

But found a long line and they sank.

The bank had run, rage was the theme.

The robbers were starting to fret, 

As they watched each customer they met.

Their plan had gone wrong, 

As they waited so long.

And their patience began to sweat.

But just when they thought they'd go mad,

The fed chief made them glad.

He said, "Why don't you stay, 

We're open all day, 

And you can join our rescue squad!"

The robbers swallowed their sin,

As the FDIC welcomed them in.

They traded their erstwhile fame, 

For teller name.

Now the cops were their kin.

And so they worked at the bank, 

Counting bills as the bank sank.

Their robbing days done,

A new life begun, 

Their names George, Simon, Bluster and Frank.

P2480

P2479

P2478 Bank Run

Three banks down and who knows how many more to go. It's like a financial disaster movie, but without the special effects budget.

A bank run is like a virus that spreads faster than an STD in a brothel. People start getting nervous and before you know it, everyone and their grandma is pulling their money out of the bank. And it's not just the bank that suffers, the whole damn economy gets the shakes. It's like a domino effect, one bank goes down and it takes the rest of them with it.

The effects of a bank run are like a bad rash, they just keep spreading. The markets get skittish, banks stop lending, and the government has to step in and play gyno doctor. And let's not forget the social consequences, people start getting antsy, lines form outside banks, and tempers flare. It's like Black Friday, but without the discounted TVs.

In some countries, a bank failure can mean political suicide. People start losing faith in the government and start looking for someone to blame. And I tell you, when people start looking for someone to blame, they usually find them.

The aftermath of a bank run is like a hangover that just won't go away. Even if the government manages to restore order, the damage is done. It takes time to repair the damage to the financial system and to regain the trust of the people. And let's not forget the social and political fallout, protests, strikes, and civil unrest. It's like the Wild West, but without the saloons and the horses. 

If you're feeling lucky, go ahead and leave your money in the bank. But if you're feeling like a gambler, it might be time to start looking for a new mattress to stuff your cash in. Just make sure it's a comfy one, because you might be sleeping on it for a while.

P2477

P2476

P2475 Sometimes...

Sometimes, I feel like my mind is a tangled mess of thoughts and emotions, all jumbled up and impossible to untangle. It's like I'm lost in a fog, unable to see beyond the haze of my own feelings.

It's a frustrating experience, to say the least. I try to reason with myself, to impose some sense of order on the chaos, but it never seems to work. The more I try to force my thoughts into submission, the more they slip away from me.

And yet, despite the exasperation, there's a strange beauty to it all. Like a kaleidoscope of colors, my emotions blend together in a way that's both confusing and captivating.

It's in those moments of uncertainty that I find myself drawn to introspection. I sit quietly with my thoughts, observing them without judgment, waiting for the fog to lift.

And eventually, it does. The haze clears, and I can see my thoughts for what they really are: a jumble of ideas and emotions that are as beautiful as they are complex.

I think that's the key to unlocking the full potential of our inner selves: to embrace the ambiguity of our thoughts and feelings and to allow ourselves the time and space to explore them fully. to accept the imperfection of our inner monologues or at least try to understand them.

It's not always an easy process, but it's a necessary one. Because only by confronting the complexities of our own minds can we hope to find our place in the world. Maybe I am going mad; these aren't the kinds of thoughts people write about if they are normal, at this time of the night, or if they have a life.

But I force myself to take a moment to sit with my thoughts, to soak up the mystery of my mind's hidden corridors. For it is there that I can hope to find the courage to truly know who I am. Maybe to live my life with purpose and direction, or even if like Albert Camus I accept the inherent meaninglessness of it, at least not leave it unexamined like the hedonist billions that are fast asleep adrift in their hallucinations of improvisational meaning and a fictionalized gamified life.

 

P2474

P2473 I give you that star

I give you that star I swear, 

Just vote for me.

Anything you wish is yours, 

Once you wish me in, you see.

Plus the gods of the other group, 

Is evil as hell, as a hindoo I always feel. 

I was in a dream decided by your chosen, 

To be the one to your future seal.

I alone your maggot infested carrion feed,

I alone rape, kill and loot.

Once elected to this honorable chair, 

You'll only hear my prerecorded poot.

My team of nationalist assholes, 

Are rewinding history. 

Rewriting and renaming parts, 

Fabricating shit from memory. 

I aspire to fuck your tonsils out,

By parliamentary oratory skills. 

Want my drawing room designed, 

With citizen cadavers and kills.

I gorge on gore, my harem of whores,

Diabolical the diorama of my kin.

The issues facing the nation, 

Solved by forcing youth into various sin.

Chicks can get paid to suck dicks,

Dicks can get hooked and high.

Education banned or diluted by myth,

Religion, superstition or plain lie.

Taxidermy museum of opposition heads,

Yes you read my thoughts alright. 

A secret dungeon for enslaved girls,

Minors with intact cunts tight.

Honest people have their eyes gouged out,

I make sure they cannot see.

With a cricket bat you lose your teeth, 

If you think speech in India is free.

I piss on democracy, 

My goons shit inside your mouth. 

I start hate campaigns in the gullible north,

And proceed to the inhospitable south. 

If your bullshit god forbid, I don't get elected, 

I'll piss a fuming acid pool.

Goons will fuck your pretty daughters, 

And hit the ugly ones till they drool.

I shoot shit and your sons, 

I make sure no one lives to break free.

I'll cut defiant balls for display, 

And hang them on the holy bunyan tree.

As Indians no respite from this shit,

A boring wisecrack this or bumbling lecture that.

You're fucked the moment you were born. 

Vomit vote or tit for murderous tat.

Fuck off in hell I tell, 

And I control the flow you know. 

I make sure in hell you justly reap,

The fuck I toil on earth to sow.

P2472

P2471 I've bad breath

A good french kiss I like,

But can't afford a decent whore.

The unpaid one shit in my mouth, 

To settle her shitty score.

I've bad breath since then, and bad teeth,

So if bitch I ain't good enough for you...

Guess what that's alright, 

I'm getting high on wood glue.

It's cheap, and I weep,

It makes me so happy I cry.

I forget who I am or where my dick is,

I've asked other poor ugly guys to try.

Well we've got no money, no honey, 

The cunts are always complaining. 

Gives me a headache so I sniff glue,

That's really my only thing.

Fuck my ass for being loony,

But I'm not cracked on the wrong side.

Besides I'm not an asshole, 

Just depressed and high I confide.

P2470

P2469

P2468 I ate holy shit

I ate holy shit, mixed platter,

A really wholly holy shit for Holi.

Turds from jesus, krishna, and the one,

Who the bengali call kali.

Few from other exotic faiths, 

And their most revered gods.

I'm sure this includes the naked greeks,

And the you-can't-see-my-pic with anal rods.

A plateful of irrationality and superstition, 

Bullshit of the best jurassic find.

My shit coated tongue holier than thou,

Holy worms in the feces are kind. 

Just the smell, the stench,

Makes me cry holy onion tears of joy.

I want to throw my arms, 

As I dip the turds in soy.

In a relay race we hand batons,

But here it's god's goodly turd.

Generations learn from their parents, 

Why stupidity isn't so hard.

Oy I love this orgy of a shit platter, 

My gastronomic dream fulfilled. 

It's customary these days with religiosity, 

To keep loading until your own shit is spilled. 

In our world today, to do anything,

It's important to lick puckered assholes, 

Why not develop shit taste with the gods, 

That lead being nefarious amongst all trolls?

With gods goodly shit verily justify any shit,

Murder, genocide, rape, gangrape.

Lying becomes A-OK, gangrene so golden, 

And infinite lifetimes to escape. 

You become one of the tolerated fools,

And then super viral in minds you dwell.

Maybe on web3 you aspire to spin-up shit,

Now with ambitious cum your balls swell.

Holy holy holy so cool this Holi,

I shit my pants lucrative yellow. 

That with my pious piss makes me,

A really holy yellow fellow. 💛 

P2467

P2466

P2465

P2464

P2463

P2462 Sadist

I let people piss on me, for free,

I am such a noble man.

In fact I'll implement a way to shit,

Inside my mouth instead of a pan.

A great man I am drenched in piss,

I try hard as you can see.

I control the flow with a circular tap,

I say hallelujah gods keep fucking me.

I have gaped my asshole to fit,

An army of devil cocks. 

Right now to keep it open,

I keep it stuffed with socks.

Piss on me, shit on me, vomit oh yeah,

I am a true rarity a man shitty.

My cock has shrunk it was an elephant trunk,

All I have are memories and pity.

Women, wine and white sugar,

I used for masturbation in my days.

Now lonely and alone, finger my asshole, 

Or flick my nipple like gays. 

Sweet was the age of battering ass,

Sweeter now the memory of it.

I stand here and think about the times,

Emotionally I may have shit.

P2461

P2460

P2459 My snot

My snot is worth a lot,

At least once it hits web three.

Web two fucked my ass,

By making my shit all free.

The gods are good, the rich get food,

While the rest just fucking pray. 

So sweet the farts that tweet, 

Every god sponsors his own fray. 

Well things are going to stir, I confer, 

Trade is going to be harsh.

You'll have trust and obscenity, 

But in line for a toothbrush. 

Corrupt and selfish get high fives,

They celebrate with scotch on the rock.

The honest and ordinary tied to laws,

Must always suck many a cock.

Loot and poot, or just plain shoot, 

Fuck the common man.

The main theme: Fuck each other,

Why not if you can?

Fuck my ass if it ain't true, 

Tell me I can't sell my snot.

I'll sell stale boogers and shit,

Piss, vomit and fuck knows what not.

P2458 You go vote

You go vote,

Or I fuck your throat, 

Understand the point, 

My men break joint. 

You go vote.

Two rupee plus tiffin,

Discount kerosene paraffin. 

Send son to party office, 

He can drink my piss.

And tongue my shit in.

Any female or gay escapist?

Just hired a new open minded rapist.

That way no dowry to give, 

He rapes and kills, you live.

Even the dead we fist.

Don't make me come again, 

This time bad pain.

Your asshole holy fuck,

All my men you suck.

Jai Ho, chalo then.

P2457

P2456

P2455

P2454

P2453

P2452

P2451

P2450

P2449

P2448 My piss yellow

My piss yellow, I'm a nasty fellow, 

Nobody likes me.

I feel sad, and frankly quite mad,

My asshole is belligerent and itchy. 

The gods behind cloud, fart very loud,

I can't sleep at night. 

My head is flat, I like that,

My shit comes out sorta tight.

I like to dance, or romance, 

But no miss wants to kiss.

They don't like buck teeth,

So I say fuck off and hiss.

I want to be a holy man,

To fuck the faith around. 

The idea is: In open gullible mouths,

To shit with a harumphing sound.

Or a leader of some sort,

With a department to do-good enmasse.

I'll just randomly pick citizens,

And fuck them all in their ass.

I have a complex about my dick,

It doesn't hang that long.

My shit can murder a town with smell,

But I don't like my small smelly schlong. 

Maybe I'll buy a lottery ticket, 

Or marry a whore who's got gold. 

Really can't wait to fuck around, 

I'm growing crusty fucking old. 

P2447 Match

Oh look three poles match three holes,

The gods shit with joy. 

Now we drink the mix of our piss,

Before we become more coy. 

It's fate, this date, I mate,

My sperm knocks you up.

At the wedding we claim you a virgin,

Like Mary you piss in a special cup.

The sweetness of love like nectar,

Drops like drops of snot.

On our wedding night I promise, 

We shall shit in the holiest pot.

We'll invite the gods to the party,

Their blessings are needed no?

Every year we'll fuck vigorously, 

And send to their harem a ho.

P2446 Chanakya/Goon

 

Most people in my Indian misadventures fell primarily into two categories. And again, this is a simplification; human nature is far more nuanced. 

One type seemed to be the Chanakya incarnate, or, to the western mind, the Machiavellian type. Sniveling, furtive, and scheming, they are always mollycoddling with an ambrosia of sweet deceit and a permanent post-ejaculatory grin pasted on their faces. 

The other type is the goon character, who really wants to break something to prove a point, or that's where his paycheck is coming from, and although inside a very insecure and usually uneducated man, on the surface a pretend character with whatever the desired level of gung-ho, masculinity, and false bravado.

And then there is the hybrid. This desi possesses the cunning and calling of Chanakya, along with the aggression and alacrity of the goon. This masala makes them a formidable adversary, as they are not only capable of manipulating situations to their own gain but also willing to resort to whatever is necessary. Plus, this hybrid type exhibits a complete lack of empathy and regard for others.

What's interesting is that there are now thousands of unorganized East India companies that these guys report to—an unreported national silent subjugation that doesn't raise the hackles as it comes with handouts of nationalism or under some other regional garb. And even more conveniently, in Hindu mythology, the gods and demons are guaranteed equal respect, just in case we end up badly. This sort of makes us lenient in our approach to their avatars in our midst. 

While some individuals may exhibit traits of these two types or a mix of them, it is essential to recognize that people are complex and multifaceted. It's not my intention to strengthen stereotypes, but just a snapshot of my unique experiences.