Reading the Hindu is nostalgic. Too. Often there are phrases and mellow puns—the kind we filled composition books with before we knew irony paired well with an F91W and flannel. Saddened to see them (The Hindu) miss an opportunity to whip out ‘consider the lobster’ for an article on the Swiss mandating stunning them (the lobsters) before boiling them (the stunned lobsters) alive. Maybe their style book doesn’t say ‘what would a 12-year-old you title it?’ in exactly the same words. It is nice (on the verge—not quite—of thirty) to have the morning newspaper put you in canvas shoes whitened with government-issue-toothpaste.

Brands ought to be their own advertisement with the work they do. When a client comes in with a marketing budget (or a request for us to sit with their marketing team) I see red flags. Uttering ‘Social Media Strategy’ before we get into why they think they need to exist, it is a local committee meeting of the communists, sans the confidence. Stretched out on frames allover our city I see people who don’t believe enough; not enough in what they do, not enough in the intelligence of others.

I don’t enjoy looking at the billboards anymore. (Used to be the only people smiling at me were the billboard models. I was in Gurgaon and there all that honking timed my heartbeats.) The good ones (tolerable typography, proper punctuation, oldstyle numerals where they ought to be) are sandwiched among the fairly insecure. The gaudy ones are everywhere. The good ones give way to the absurd too soon. I don’t even enjoy the window-seat on my commute that much anymore.