HUH!!! A pimp. This is what Wikipedia has to say about a pimp-
The word “pimp” is of unknown origin; it appeared around 1600 in the English language, already in the modern meaning of “a person who arranges opportunities for sexual intercourse with a prostitute.” In the 18th and 19th centuries, the term was commonly used to refer to informers. A pimp can also mean “a despicable person”.

Of all the micro-definitions above I like ‘a despicable man’ of whatever degree. Also note that a pimp is one who arranges an opportunity for intercourse…Now let me redefine it in a different context below.
These days I watch television, but the only things I watch are Discovery, NatGeo and Animal Planet. And, if by any chance Ian Wright is blabbering on any one of these, my fingers stop fiddling. Once in a while I get into other channels (purely by mistake or some catchy title) just to end up being agonized and changing back to channels memorized by my SkyTV tuner. What is so agonizing? When it comes to creating an opportunity for intercourse, it can be with any thing…anything that induces the pleasure of an intercourse. That can be a plastic doll, inflated for pleasure or a pure intellectual intercourse with words. More incarnations of pleasure; a scientist dabbling with his chemicals and wires that only he understands; a forward player sitting on a football field and strategizing sweet spots at the half line; a radio jockey well aware that half the city is listening to him carefully…all this is intercourse shelled as a metaphor. You can think of a definition for yourself. Every man and woman has one. Going back to television, I tuned to NDTV and found Shobha De fucking around with words (in the presence of pimp), pure pleasure for her and an agony for me; watching her having an extended orgasm. Good for her and NDTV. I simply change the channel. Another news channel…and the same story; pimps all around. I simply go back to my sweet NatGeo. That is for pimps on television who create opportunities for orgasm by getting people to fuck around with an idea, on their shows.

Now on blogs…After my first book did an average performance, not that I expected more and neither do I care, my friends did extend a helping hand. The idea stuck to the benevolent advice, ‘Shubham you should blog more’. Different people had different reason. One of my close friends did explain why it was essential, to create a readership for myself so people look forward to my next book, but I have always been averse to it. I have neither written for a magazine for a while. Reasons to blog grew, and I perfectly understood that I should indeed put some more efforts. With my next book in full swing, I don’t feel like frolicking around, like a jumping jack. But more than that I consider blogging for any reason other than the pure intent of blogging, very very pimpish. Now I guess you understand how that word fits here. If I blog to fuck around with my ideas, which are not here on this script, but with a hidden agenda with what might be coming in future, I am not only assuming a covert strategy, but I am being the middleman to my ends. I have always proclaimed that I do what I want to do, I write what I want to write, irrespective of what others feel about it. My author friends try bartering with me, you clean my ass I will clean yours, you read my book I will read yours. To be polite on their faces I find an excuse, but I wish they could read my face as much as I try reading theirs, ‘I decided to quit after the first few pages, it failed to engage me’.

Now let me bring the script to its climax. Am I not being a pimp myself by blogging? Yes I am, until this point, as long as I haven’t revealed the real reason. Now what can that be; can pimps have an excuse? Perhaps they can with a different reference point. I can call the person hosting Steven Hawking a pimp, or perhaps Jay Leno (though he is my favorite) a pimp, but Steven Hawking might choose not to agree with me. My friend dropped me an email saying that the rankings of my website might fall if I don’t blog, and that’s the only reason you found me walking you from the docks to the red light district. By reading this you not only peeked and copied half an hour in my brain, you became the digital microcosm in the system of internet, paddling through the mighty marshes of google, yahoo, altavista and tons of other conscious-cosms, tickling them with your presence and by loudly announcing that you chose to spend fifteen minutes of 16×60 minutes of your waking hours reading this, over anything else. Welcome to my penthouse.

So far into the making of a pimp; though next time I have to blog, it will be an equally good reason again.