Adventures in Real India: Visiting the Wagah Border

Ever since Dear Leader Rahul Gandhi said something about there being two India’s, I’ve always been wondered about the second India. Was he talking metaphysically? Was he going all Philip K Dick on us and talking about an India which exists in a parallel universe, where the grass is green and even the boys are pretty? Nobody had answers to these questions. So, to solve this huge mystery, I put on my cap, stuffed a few clothes into a backpack, got into the car and started driving to an unknown destination. (Not really. I don’t wear caps, my trip was pre-planned and I took a plane. And had to pay for extra luggage. But, hey, the truth doesn’t always sound romantic).

So there I was, in the heart of Real India, (I don’t really know what is really the heart of Real India. Only Generalissimo Gandhi knows that. But this is usually how one begins such pieces, so bear with me.), Amritsar. I hadn’t been to Punjab before. but coming from Delhi, I thought I could handle Punjab. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Punjab. Butter chicken, bhangra music and Harbhajan Singh. What else is there to know? But no, there is so much more to Punjab. There is also Butter Nan, Meethi Lassi and Harbhajan Mann. I was accompanied on the trip by a Mallu friend from Bangalore. Who, for the record, couldn’t stop complaining. You know how those Madrasis are. (Yes, yes, we get it. Everyone in North India is rude and doesn’t understand rules and regulations. Pfft! Rules and regulations are for people who cannot beat other people up and buy their way out of jail!). I guess this is why the Aryans must have driven all the Madrasis down South in ancient times. Because of the constant whining! Sheesh!

Anyway, what’s with the food in Amritsar? I had lunch one day and wasn’t hungry for the next whole week. I thought Italian food was heavy, but it’s got nothing on Amritsari food. Seriously, if there is a solution to world hunger, I’m pretty sure it lies in Amritsar.

While I was in Amritsar, I was also scheduled to go to the Wagah Border. I wasn’t particularly interested in going there because patriotism bores me. If I wanted to hear people lose their shit over a worthless cause, I’d watch a match featuring the Indian cricket team. I said I would go, but only if we could get the good seats. Not the nosebleed seats with the rest of them. I was ready to embrace real India and everything, provided I didn’t have to come into contact with it’s inhabitants. I didn’t want to try too many things at the same time, like a small town resident visiting a mall in a big city for the first time.

However, my socialist Madrasi friend was feeling let down. Since he is a unpretentious prick man of the people, he wanted to sit among the nosebleed seats. (Abeyaar, what do they feed you down South? Do they grate the communist manifesto into your dosas? Leave the communism to the Bengalis. That’s all they’ve got anyway. The thing is, if we can’t use money to decide the importance of people, the whole world will be thrown into chaos!)

So we get ready and head towards the border. The drive is a good one. The scenery was decent, but I was expecting something more Yash Rajesque. The government should look into that. Well, even though it could not hold up to the production values of a Yash Raj movie, I was quite enjoying the scenery. Until my driver/handler (Oh yes! I had a handler. SUCK ON THAT, POOR PEOPLE!) told me that some of it was Pakistan. Now I am as tolerant as the next person, but suddenly the grass on the Pakistani side started looking evil and gave off bad vibes. Like it wanted to assassinate me or something. Typical!

When we reached our destination, we were allowed to take our car a kilometre or two closer to the border than the riffraff general public (Obligatory #LikeABoss). But I had to still make the supreme patriotic sacrifice and had to walk a little. Whilst we entered through the VVIP entrance, we found out that our seats had already been taken up. Apparently, some asshole minister showed up with extra members of his asshole contingent. Can you believe how entitled these people are? They think they can just waltz in with their power and government contacts and expect to be given special treatment. What kind of a sociopath does that?

To the delight of my pinko commie friend, we were then led to the semi-nosebleed section. I tried to protest, but the loud music drowned out  everything I said, just like when the sage old family senior at a Punjabi wedding tries to convince all the dancing members of the groom’s party to stop dancing and come inside the wedding hall and is drowned out by the sound of the band. Finally, the Yash Raj fantasy was coming true! People were dancing, without any reason whatsoever! However, the dancing was like an episode of Glee, if Glee were choreographed by a blind guy with no legs who is also mute and cannot move his hands.

 

For a moment, I was lost in the fanfare. About three hundred people who didn’t know each other were “dancing” next to each other, while another ten thousand other were singing along. We sat there looking at people doing what can only be described as moving their bodies in a weird fashion, while they played every bollywood song even remotely related to patriotism. I think they use the same set of songs at concerts for NRI’s. It seemed strange for someone like me to see all these people, most of whom don’t know each other (I’m assuming. Unless of course, they were all part of a small punjabi wedding party), enjoying the moment together. It was like their differences didn’t exist and just being at the same place at the same time was enough reason to bond. This usually only happens during college fests in Delhi or at an Osho commune.

Suddenly, they played Jai Ho and my bubble burst. Of course this song got the most applause. Of course even the white people jumped in to dance with the natives. Apparently, along with the cellular network, even irony did not exist here because nobody else seemed bothered that the song of a British movie got the biggest pop at the India-Pakistan border. I could imagine the G4 freedom fighters, Gandhi, Nehru, Patel & Bose looking down from freedom fighter heaven, shaking their head and going “We did all that for these assholes?”

Anyway, unbeknownst to me, the ceremony was about to get even more ridiculous. The dancing was followed by shouting. The MC of the event made it clear that we could only shout positive slogans, as part of the new confidence building measures. But that didn’t stop him from pointing us to VIOLENTLY VOMIT OUR SLOGANS in the general direction of Pakistan.

I only briefly looked at the Pakistani side, but it had a look of sadness and despair. Kind of like a metaphor for the whole country. The men and women were sitting separately. When their MC was encouraging them to VIOLENTLY VOMIT SLOGANS in the general direction of India, he didn’t sound like he believed those slogans himself.  It was really transparent that they were written by a quixotic Pakistani government bureaucrat who was serving in the army during the 1971 war. And really, those slogans were even sadder than the whole atmosphere in that place. That’s because during partition, all the best slogans representing the independence movement were taken by India. Wow, whoever our lawyer was during that time, he was one crafty sumbitch! Not only did we get the best of everything, we stuck them with Balochistan! I bet the hardest part must have been trying to make them believe that we actually wanted to keep the Frontier provinces. Jinnah was such a n00b! Governor General Smoking Skull got pwned by Prime Minister Horny McEdwinaPants!

Before all the shouting commences, they play the battle cry theme song from the Mahabharatha teevee program (I’m guessing Daft Punk wasn’t available?), because nothing signifies futile battles like the Mahabharatha. So first, the crowd shouts, then some of the soldiers pull a Shankar Mahadevan and shout the word “OH” for a really long time without taking a breather. Then the crowd applauds them and shouts some more slogans. Then some of the soldiers march towards the gate, while making their feet walk like an Egyptian. Which the crowd applauds and this continues for a while.

All the shouting and applauding presents us with really strange moments.. Like there was this group berating those of us who were mute spectators to the festivities for our lack of patriotism. They were obviously from Bombay. Then there was this group which kept shouting Inquialab Zindabad. Because, really why the fuck not? It’s been sixty three years since the British left, but, whatever, JUST IN CASE THEY LEFT SOMEONE BEHIND! Better safe than sorry!

Then, after what it seems like forever, they take down the flag, and fold it in the prim and propah gay military technique and take it to for safekeeping in the flag(?) house until it’s put back up on the flag pole again at daybreak.

And then everybody gets up to go. But first, only the white people are allowed to leave. That rule must be there to remind everybody how it must have been like before the country got independence. I almost shouted “SIMON GO BACK!”.

Damn, patriotism can be so infectious!

What’s Hot: Your guide to a festive weekend!

Did you miss valentines day because you were working and your asshole boss would not let you take the day off and even made you work late? Or is that what you told your partner even though you could have easily taken the day off and when you said “late” you meant you were canoodling with you office sexytime partner? Well, in case you want to make it up or even if you didn’t screw up a made up hallmark holiday and want a weekend out on the town, we are here to help you! We go everywhere and taste everything so that you don’t have to! So here are the most happening events taking place this weekend. Enjoy!

Books

Talk about intellectual stimulation! On Friday, in preparation for World Cup 2011, Roli Books presents a special coffee table book,1983: A Circle Jerk, a pictorial essay of the most glorious day of Indian cricket which did not involve either Sachin Tendulkar or beating Pakistan. The book is the brainchild of India’s only world cup winning captain, Kapil Dev. He has also chosen the title, written the foreword and selected the pictures that were included in this historic book! The MC for the event is another member of the historic team, Kirti Azad. We are glad that both of them took time out from their busy schedule appearing on various news channels to attend this event. Unfortunately, no other members of the historic team will be at the release ceremony as they had something better to do and/or are dead. After the book release, a few select guests will be taken to a small concert hall where international superstar Bryan Adams will perform along with world famous music composer, Biddu.

Movies

This week is all about politics!

Whose speech is it anyway?

Mistaken Identity! International Espionage! People who have no idea how to do their job! From the makers of 27 Dresses: The Shivraj Patil Story comes the most awaited comedy of the year, Whose speech is it anyway? The movie opens with a minister of the Indian government reading a wrong speech at an international conference. He then catches the wrong flight and is then kidnapped by pirates, who think he is someone else! Hijinks ensues, and one hilarious misstep after another almost starts world war 3. Starring Paresh Rawal as the minister, Tom Alter as generic white guy who talks in accented hindi and Rajpal Yadav in blackface as an incompetent Somali pirate.

Prime Minister Slow Motion

This political thriller set in contemporary times is about a geriatric politician who is prime minister in name only. He stands by and watches chaos reign all around him. He is happy to rest on his past laurels and all he wants to do is hold on to power long enough so that his rival, the leader of the opposition, is never able to fulfil his ambition of holding the second most powerful office in the country, (the first being the host of Times Newshour).  All this ends when a young, dynamic leader, a scion of the most powerful political family in the country uses his influence to challenge the status quo and then becomes Prime Minister. He then starts solving problems from overpopulation to climate change. He falls in love with a village belle after eating a meal at her house. She is then kidnapped by his political foes, who are aided in this mission by foreign powers. Will the leader be forced to choose between his country and his lover? Will the foreign powers succeed in dividing the country? Starring thespian Dilip Kumar as Prime Minister Major Slow Motion, AK Hangal as the leader of the opposition and the evergreen Dev Anand as the young, dynamic and charismatic leader who saves the day. Katrina Kaif plays his mother. Anushka Sharma plays the village belle he falls in love with. The movie also contains a sultry item number performed by the demure Dolly Bindra.(The makers of this movie insist that none of the characters in this movie are based on anyone in real life. In fact, the story of the movie is a modern interpretation of the err…umm…. Mahabharatha. Yeah, that sounds about right.)

Exhibition

This week, an exhibition of the photographs of budding photographer Sunanda Pushkar, is being held at Lalit Kala Academy. The model for all the pictures is the photographers muse and husband, former Union minister, Shashi Tharoor. The exhibition includes many haunting images like “Shashi Tharoor staring thoughtfully into the future” and “Shashi Tharoor standing next to the parliament building and staring thoughtfully into the future”. There is also a humour section which displays playful images like the one in which Shashi Tharoor pretends blowing a trumpet which is also called Shashi Tharoor. Unfortunately, the controversial image “Shashi Tharoor riding a holy cow” was removed after lawful protest by members of the Hindu Janajaguriti Samiti. Light music and entertainment will be provided by visiting international superstar, Bryan Adams who will be accompanied by the Prince dance group, winners of the first season of India’s Got Talent.

Theatre

The India Habitat Centre has a special treat for all it’s members this weekend. A special performance of the one man show “My Struggle for India”, written & directed by noted playwright and part-time politician Amar Singh. It is a touching story about a man who just wants to do right by his country and is betrayed at every stage of his life by the people closest to him. He loses everything, including his pants, but still keeps carrying on, refusing to ride into the sunset. Starring award winning Hollywood actor Danny DeVito, this touching story will have you crying harder than a small child who just found out that his dad killed Santa Claus!

 

Food

Opening this weekend, in the heart of the capital, is a new fusion restaurant, The Berlusconi Plaza. That’s right! Placed right between the CWG games construction site and Palika Bazar, this new “concept” restaurant is just what the city needed!  You thought Chicken Manchurian was a big fucking deal? Wait till you let your tastebuds satiate on such signature delicacies like Mutter Meatballs and Sag Spaghetti! Come for the great food, stay for the awesome dessert! You can choose between “The Italian Senator”, in which a leggy Italian blonde hooker blows you while you eat your favourite ice cream or “The ND Tiwari”, in which an underage girl-child from Bangladesh feeds you crushed strawberries and cream while another rubs ben-gay all over your aching limbs! On the opening night, dance to appetizing tunes from the 90s, courtesy of guest DJ and international superstar, Bryan Adams.

India & America to continue to make love to each other, despite having insignificant others

While all of you were busy trying to drink away the cold weather (or was that just me), something important was brewing in a land, far, far away.

The White House is to throw a lavish reception for the Chinese leader, Hu Jintao, on Wednesday in an effort to patch up relations after a difficult year dominated by tensions over currency rates, jobs, North Korea and other international issues. President Hu is due in Washington tomorrow for the start of a four-day visit, the highlight of which is to be a state dinner at the White House on Wednesday evening.

WHAT?

Isn’t that cheating?

How can America make relations with China, behind our backs? Wasn’t it just last November when President Barry America swept us off our feet by uttering those magic words “Permanent Member of the Security Council”. Whenever our other diplomatic initiatives were rebuked by other countries, we took solace in the fact that maybe one day, we would take our rightful place, right next to America, and both of us together would heal the world and make it a better place for you and for me and the entire human race!

Is this why we gave you billions of dollars of our hard earned money, Barry? Is this how you repay us? How can you do that to us, Barry? What about all the nice things you said to us in the backseat of your plush limo? Were those a lie too? Did you think we would never find out? This is a slap in the face of the awesome future we had planned together. How can you do that to us, Barry? HOW CAN YOU SLAP?

Tell us that it’s not true, Barry. Tell us you’re only doing it because you owe China some money.

Prime Minister Manmohan Singh got a state dinner when he came here in 2009 as President Barack Obama's first state guest. Chinese President Hu Jintao is getting one too, but commentators are discussing it as if it was completely unexpected.

This and other comparisons are being drawn between India and China in a triangular relationship with the US, going right up to the White House itself, unsolicited and unprompted. Shortly before Hu arrived on Tuesday, Obama's press secretary Robert Gibbs told reporters not to expect deliverables to match those of the India visit.

See? Barry could never do that to us. His mouth may say Kung Pao Chicken, but in his heart there is only place for Chicken Malai Tikka.

It’s okay with us, Barry. We understand your relationship with China is just fiscal! We can’t always be together. We’re not jealous. In fact, we have a confession to make. It seems like we might have had a short fling with France (it’s how you say “hello” in France), a one night stand with the poor man’s Canada Britain (but that was basically pity sex. We feel bad for the fella. Nobody even asks him out anymore. Even his neighbours ignore him all the time), and we even fondly remember the time when Russia date raped us (Bygones. Can’t blame him, though. He was in Delhi). What we want you to know Barry is that we were thinking about you all the time!

Both of us may stray, Barry, but we know that each of us will come back home! At the end of the day, our relationship is the winner!

That’s what everybody else seems to be thinking too:

Even the think tanks seem a little under-enthused. Though papers are being presented and talks are being hosted, the buzz is missing. "The bottom line is that no one expects dramatic breakthroughs with the Hu visit," said Richard Fontaine of the Centre for New American Security. Though corporate deals worth billions are expected to be announced over the next two days, the high-voltage success of Obama's visit to India in November might have raised the bar for visits of this kind.

"This is a little different from our trip to India. The economic relationship that we have with the Chinese is different on a scale with what we do with India," Gibbs told reporters.

ZOMG! In this relationship, we are the Betty Cooper to America’s Archie Andrews. And China is mean ol’ Veronica Lodge, with all her money and charm and her scandalous short skirts. Archie may take Veronica dancing every Saturday night, but he always spends Sunday afternoon making cookies with Betty. Betty might have to do all the work while Archie just sits there watching teevee, but, still, Betty loves to make cookies. In fact, Betty lives for all those Sundays she can make cookies for Archie. If Betty could spend the rest of her life making cookies for Archie, she would consider it a life well spent.

In fact, we have so much trust in Barry’s love that we even wrote a song* for him:

Barry, can you hear me?
Barry, can you see me?
Barry can you find me in the night?
Barry are you near me?
Barry, can you hear me?
Barry, can you help me not be frightened?
Looking at the skies I seem to see
A million eyes which ones are yours?
Where are you now that yesterday
Has waved goodbye
And closed its doors?
The night is so much darker;
The wind is so much colder;
The world I see is so much bigger
Now that I'm alone.
Barry, please forgive me.
Try to understand me;
Barry, don’t you know I had no choice?
Anything I'm saying
Even though the night is filled with voices?
I remember everything you taught me
Every book I've ever read...
Can all the words in all the books
Help me to face what lies ahead?
The trees are so much taller
And I feel so much smaller;
The moon is twice as lonely
And the stars are half as bright...
Barry, how I love you...
Barry, how I need you.
Barry, how I miss you
Kissing me good night...

No 'Hu' and cry over Chinese Prez visit, US prefers India [HT]
* Original song by Barbra Streisand from the film Yenti [Wikipedia]

Real men don’t write hackey articles*

There comes a time in every country’s existence when a lot of it’s low grade writers try to rehash the whole “where have all the real men” gone meme. This meme has travelled far and wide, has clocked a lot of frequent flier miles visiting almost every country, and has been groped at airports around the world (except Afghanistan of course, because in that country even real men get killed), and has now finally arrived in India.

The first to get it off ground is none other than India’s #1 non-TOI newspaper, the venerable Hindustan Times.

In this season of celebrating 'manhood' — November 19 has been the International Man's Day for some years now — I wondered why no sociologist is discussing the greatest danger that today's men face: the virtual obliteration of their gender identity.

It’s a good start. The writer establishes from the get-go that this article is going to dedicated to nostalgia about a simpler time when men were allowed to be men, and not these strange mutant creatures they are today, having been brainwashed by the feminist movement and self-help books.

While I watch younger generation of women going for breast implants and thongs, their "laddish" enthusiasm for pornography and striptease, I find increasing numbers of men dyeing or highlighting their hair, getting an earring or getting rid of excess body hair, or simply dressing in typical girly colours — hot pinks, fluorescent greens, purples, yellows and vermilions — sometimes to look like wimps. Frankly, this breed of the effete and narcissistic dandies obsessed with softening everything about themselves tickles me no end.

Exactly. Breast implants are manly! Women want to be “laddish” (whatever that means) and watch pornography, which is strange because the only reason God gave women vaginas was to enable them to provide pleasure to men and not derive any of it for themselves. What’s next? These double-breasted porn watching creatures asking to talk on the phone, or daring to choose their own career or *GASP* deciding not to have children? BLASPHEMY! SACRILEGIOUS! This is a slippery slope!

Anyway, what is up with men getting their hair coloured these days? Didn’t these daisies get the memo? Gender is a very delicate thing. The minute you get your hair coloured, your balls will recede and no one will be able to make out that under all that small amount of streaked hair, lies a masculine lump of a man. In fact, everyone will be so confused that older gentlemen will get up when you enter a room and hold a door open for you while younger men will grope you the minute you cross that door and enter a bus. And if you get your body hair waxed, you will turn into a sappy wimp as various kinds of emotions will start oozing from your skin’s pores. That’s why God gave you body hair, to keep your emotions where they belong. .

Machismo seems to be out of fashion these days. In fact, the idea of the alpha male who is the leader of the pack, eats first, gets his pick of the females (a typical example of which was Frank Sinatra, who headed a bunch of sycophantic drunks rightly known as the Rat Pack, who knocked around his wife Mia Farrow), considered as real tough guy behaviour, is now passé.

Oh, machismo. We miss you so much. Why, when you were in fashion, “seducing” a woman was considered a sport and men employed all kinds of tactics to get some putang pie. So much has changed since then.

Why just reminiscence about the sixties and seventies? Why not go back to the stone age? That was a glorious time to be a man. At that time, men were gruffy, hairy emotionless neanderthals who had the fashion sense of Tarzaan and the wit and charm of the great Khali, and they ate anything they wanted to without even cooking it or washing it in boiled water (or as we call it in India “Chinese food”). Meanwhile, the women stayed home in the cave combing their armpit hair while watching a young Larry King on their slate shaped teevee and sending tweets to each other through large parrots. Wasn’t it such an awesome time?

These sort of articles boil down to the same basic argument: WHY ARE HUMANS EVOLVING?

We must strive to preserve gender roles forever, because it makes it easier to determine whom to discriminate against! 

Now, since this writer made some assumptions and generalisations about other people, I’m going to do the same thing and make assumptions about him.

Dear Hackey HT writer,

Did you have a terrible childhood? Was your father mean and distant? Did he never show you any emotion? Did he always ask your mother to shut her trap hole whenever she was trying to make a point? When you were five and you fell down while playing and bruised yourself and you ran back home crying only to be punished more for “acting like a girl”? Did your father get all his parenting advice from hindi movies?  Are you still waiting for his approval because he wanted you to do something manly like cleaning shark teeth or making hip-hop videos with half-naked ladies and instead you ended up in an effete and pansy career like writing?

Seriously, all you do is sit down and hit the buttons on your typewriter.

How manly is that?

 

A requiem for the alpha male [HT]

(*Except on this blog. Almost everything written here is quite hackey, to say the least)

How Twitter changed my life!

On a fateful night two years ago I have absolutely no recollection of, I joined the “microblogging” site popularly referred to as Twitter. Little did I know that when I filled in that form with my details and clicked on “Create my Account”, my life would be changed forever.

Before I joined twitter, I was just like you. I foolishly thought that I had my life all figured out, thanks to the secret of life revealed to me in the book, The Secret. If all I had to do to make things happen was to WISH for them, I could do that all day long. So I quit my job and spent my days wishing for things. When after a few months nothing happened, I began to question my worldview. One particularly tough night, after spending hours wishing for a measly glass of Rum & Coke, I realized that the Universe wasn’t really listening to me. It was probably spending it’s time paying attention to some malnutritioned African kid and serving him MY rum & Coke. It dawned on me that the universe was a socialist with a bleeding heart and an NPR tote bag!

So it was up to me to look after myself. I bought a bootleg copy of The Fountainhead (free markets FTW!), and spent the next month reading it (have you seen the size of that damn book?).One day, the ghost of Ayn Rand appeared in my dreams and asked me to sign up for twitter. The ghost also asked me to lend it some money, because apparently, the shops in hell are a little expensive, being monopolistic enterprises and all. I realized that Ayn was testing me and refused to lend her ghost any money. In fact, I told Ayn’s ghost the same thing Ayn would tell a bearded 90 year old man who just lost his life savings in the stock market, “Get a job, whiskers!”.

Now, unbeknownst to me, Twitter was a treasure trove of wordly knowledge. It had the wisdom of Socrates, the catchiness of Confucius, the gimmickry of Yoda and the cultural relevance of Lady Gaga. So when my life changed for the better, I thought I had to share the secret with the rest of the world, as all enlightened beings are supposed to.

Here’s a gist of all the knowledge I was able to amass:

1. The art of listening: The first thing that surprised me about twitter was that in order for people to pretend to care about what I have to say, I had to accord them the same courtesy. Being a blowhard IRL (i.e. In Real Life for all you n00bs out there!), this was hard for me to understand at first. Did other people expect me to listen to them? Why would I listen to anyone when I already know what they want to say, based on how they look? Is this what being social was all about? I know that now, because of twitter. Another thing I learnt was that all I have to do to make people feel “special” is to feign interest in what they’re saying! Who’da thunk it?

2. The art of letting go: On twitter, once you write a tweet, you need to let it go.Though, be warned, It’s not that easy. In the beginning, when you see the vowels from your tweets being plucked out as harshly as a catholic priest plucks the virginity of a choir boy, all you would want to do is physically punch the culprit. You tire of the constant need to bang your head against the wall when you see someone appending a word to your tweet and totally changing it’s context. You also learn to not care about the dozens of people who will simply copy your tweets and tweet them as their own. Once you put something out there, it isn’t yours anymore. So let it go. Set it in the wild. And, if it loves you as much as you love it, it will come back to you in the form of a text message.

3. The art of sounding exotic: Thanks to twitter, I was able to learn how I can get people from other countries to pay attention to mundane events in my life like waking up or raindrops. All you have to do is romanticize everything, sprinkle a bit of melancholy, and voila before you can say “Jai Ho”, you have thousands of followers! For example, my room isn’t filthy, it’s “proof that I live a full life because each millimetre of dust contains millions of memories!” (Sadly, that doesn’t work on my Mom!). Similarly, politicians aren’t just corrupt, they “feed off the carcasses of hungry children, remaining oblivious to their plight, all the while trying to fill their insatiable greed and rotund bellies”. 

4. What women want: Earlier, all my knowledge about woman was gathered from the Mel Gibson movie, What Women Want. However, since recent events have revealed that Mel Gibson clearly has no idea about women (at least not the type of women I would like to attract), I had to turn to a new source of wisdom. And I found him on twitter. My new personal love guru, Chetan Bhagat, has made me see the light with his constant tips & tricks on how to impress women. It has not worked until now, and I have ten restraining orders against me. However, I’m pretty sure I’ll find the one one of these days. If the woman on twitter are any indication, I am almost certain that woman in general think more about sex than men. That’s because statistically,  if you’re a woman and you’re on twitter, you probably spend most of your time spewing more innuendo than an 80s British sitcom. Although, my guru tells me that the women on twitter aren’t the ones you take home to your parents. I wonder what he means by that?

5. How to support a cause: Before twitter, I was always in a flux whenever I wanted to do something for the world at large. You know, give back to the world and all that jazz. Now, whenever I hear about a cause that I think I can support, I always add a ribbon to my twitter profile picture (or as the cool kids call them, a twibbon!). Joining a facebook group is so 2007! In fact, thanks to twitter, I got Barack Obama elected as President, brought real democracy to Iran and helped cure breast cancer. That pretty much concludes my quota of “good deeds” for the rest of the decade. Santa better bring me loads of stuff this christmas!

6. Feeding your insanity: Whatever mental illness you suffer from, twitter can act as an enabler. If you are a masochist, you can follow “celebrities” on twitter and their banality will help mangle all your senses. This is even more painful than lying on a bed of nails. If you suffer from low self esteem, you can follow people who have poor language skills and a really delusional sense of self, which helps you feel a little bit saner about yourself. However, don’t feel that sane, you’re on twitter after all. I mean that as a good thing. In this Jersey Shore-ified world, being insane is a one-way ticket to popularity. Remember, all the insane people have the most followers.

7. Creating lazy content – Not only do the people on twitter like reading whatever’s on twitter. they are also really eager to read other people’s analysis about twitter. Even though almost every post/article on twitter says the same thing, people still like to read them and then retweet them, because this way they can pretend to laugh at themselves. Another reason why twitter posts are popular is because a post on twitter is the easiest thing to write. Start the post by making fun of a public figure you revile, throw in a few references to people tweeting about the food they eat, add some banal celebrities and rephrase what everyone else has said before along with some jokes. End the whole thing by adding a few meta references (because it’s important for the world to know that you can laugh at yourself too!) and your twitter post is ready.

Jairam Ramesh takes a brave stand against fictional wizards!

Jairam Ramesh, the UPA’s most forthright comedian and India’s #1 collector of wigs designed by Susan Boyle , has finally come out against a crazy, cultish breed of human beings who believe in boy wizards and magic wands!

No, I’m not talking about the RSS, silly!

It’s fans of Harry Potter!

India's environment minister, Jairam Ramesh, who suggested Harry Potter may be at least partly responsible for the decline of the country's owl population. "Following Harry Potter, there seems to be a strange fascination even among the urban middle classes for presenting their children with owls," he reportedly said.

Finally, someone brave enough to stand up to those irritating and demanding human beings commonly referred to as “kids”.Toupee Gandhi will not stand by while all those helpless parents, terrorized by fear, yield to the demands of their powerful and cruel children.

Jairam always knew this would happen. How, you ask? Well, Jairam always knows. It’s among his many gifts. He’s psychic like that! They don’t call him Captain Haircut for nothing!

The report by the wildlife group Traffic, also cited the dark arts of magic as being responsible for the owls' decline but did not blame Harry Potter, instead suggesting that a number of owls were being killed, trapped and traded for traditional rituals."While the exact number of owls traded each year in the countrywide is unknown, it certainly runs into thousands... There are anecdotal reports of owls becoming rare throughout India due to loss of suitable habitat, especially old-growth forests," it said.

Ha! Screw you, “Traffic”! What do you know? You’re just a bunch of people doing comprehensive research on a particular subject. You don’t know what Jairam Ramesh knows. Not only does Jairam Ramesh think outside the box, he’s so far away from the box that the box appears as a dot to him. After all, he is, what Malcom Gladwell calls, an outlier.

"Shaman or black magic practitioners, prescribe the use of owls and their body parts such as skull, feathers, ear tufts, claws, heart, liver, kidney, blood, eyes, fat, beak, tears, eggshells, meat and bones for ceremonial rituals." The report, which is supported by WWF India and the International Union for the Conservation of Nature, says that half of India's 30 species of owl can be found on sale in markets.

You better stop teaching black magic to little kids, Harry. Or Jairam Ramesh will take all the owls in the world and hide them in his hair. Why? Because he can.

 

The Hedwig effect: Harry Potter blamed for endangering owls [The Independent]

(via IyerDeepak)

BREAKING: Arundhati Roy arrested by fashion police!

After appearing at a public event a couple of days ago, noted writer and regular user of Dabur Amla Hair Oil, Arundhati Roy, was arrested in the evening today for crimes against fashion. She has been taken into stylist custody. Tomorrow morning, she will appear before a panel headed by Justice Tim Gunn which will decide on further action to be taken. Her sentence might include watching the movie The Devil Wears Prada everyday for the next year and a free lifetime subscription to Vogue magazine.

An insider who refused to publically give his name as he wasn’t appropriately dressed said that Ms. Roy has been repeatedly warned against committing such heinous offences like wearing a cocktail dress to a morning event and buying off the rack.

Noted designer Manish Malhotra termed her outfit at the public event as a ”seditious felony against couture”. “She acts as if the rules of fashion do not apply to her”, he continued.

Sources in the ministry of fashion told us that in a report submitted by LIFW agents assigned to spy on her it was revealed that she gets her hair done from the same barber as Jairam Ramesh.

Sagarika Ghose, CNN-IBN journalist and the second person ever to be given the title Nightingale of India, wondered on twitter “Why has Arundhati not yet understood that Jimmy Choo is an integral part of the modern Indian woman’s wardrobe?”

The death of romance on Indian television

 

The other day I was aimlessly teevee surfing, trying to watch something watchable on Indian teevee (yeah. my bad!), which I tend to do from time to time, being the eternal optimist I am. I didn't succeed in that, as usual, but I did realize something which gave me the sads.

A sort of epiphany, if I may say so.

They finally killed romance at it's last remaining place of residence.

Television.

During the early 90's, when everyone was still innocent (because the internet was not that widespread and the only way to learn about sex was to read one of the 200 printed copies of  a Shobha De book) and the only supercouple on teevee was Ram & Sita (they were like Bella & Edward from Twilight, except with less brooding and no sex), the leading protagonist from the epic Ramayana (it was just like Avatar, except instead of an American company, the good guys were fighting a really smart evil king. And the leader of the good guys was an actual real life AVATAR! In fact, he was probably the first Avatar ever!!).

So this ancient supercouple were the ideal representation of love on the small screen.  However, their love took an ugly turn (which was very Alec Baldwin/Kim Bassinger-esque) and Sita ended up visiting her aunt in the earth's core, forever. (That's how the used to break up in ancient times. None of the modern 'I hope we can be friends' crap. Once you were done, boy, were you fucking done!).

Apparently, melodrama was all the rage back then!

The next supercouple which caught the nation's eye was from a cartoon show. Even though the show was for little children, it caught the adults fancy. That was because it contained the cutest couple on Indian television ever, Bagheera & Baloo.

Yes, that's right.

Though they weren't a conventional couple, and their love was the love that dare not speak it's name, (homophobia was all the rage back then) those of us in the know nodded our head and played along.

On Sunday morning, whenever that really irritating song came on, the whole family sat together and saw Bagheera and Baloo bring up their adopted retarded human child, whose name was Mowgli. In fact, if it wasn’t for them, Mowgli would have grown up to be an animal!

They bickered, fought over all the little things like household expenditures and in-laws, however, just like every other teevee couple, they made up.

Awww, love, thy name is Bagheera & Baloo!

Then, in the aughts, came the supercouple to beat all the other supercouples.

The greatest one of them all.

Mihir and Tulsi.

Indian teevee’s Bragelina!

They had 1,000,0000,00000,0000000,0000000,000000 kids, of both the legitimate and the illegitimate variety, magically born without them ever “bumping uglies”. They stayed together through so many ups and downs, aided in their adventures by one lonely woman who was probably as old as the earth itself.

Both Mihir & Tulsi loved each other so much that they came back from the dead, a couple of times, just to be with each other again. In fact, both of them voluntarily kept changing their appearance so as to keep the romance alive!. Say what you will about them but, boy, that's called commitment.

Now, even thought those two are not on teevee anymore, sometimes, when the night sky is clear, one can see them floating in space, along with their favourite old woman, because their saga is endless, just like a Manmohan Singh speech .

That was the past.

And this is the present.

'I just want to grab once' is the new 'Honey, your eyes are so beautiful'

Just like everything else, the most unreal thing on the teevee, "Reality Television", has ruined romance!

All everyone wants to do in these shows is fuck each other & get famous! Nobody wants to do the hard work of developing an actual talent. Even if they want to sleep their way to the top, they should do it discreetly, like in they used to do in olden times!

I don't know about you, but I'd rather believe that some woman lived for a thousand years rather than some misogynist who looks like Himesh Reyshamia and Shakti Kapoor had a love-child will get two, intelligent woman to get "intimate" with him. Although, girlfriend, if you end up with that guy, you’re really not that intelligent!

There was a time when people actually cared for the pretention of romance. In fact, some families were so modern that they let both their children speak to each other before they arranged their marriage!

And from that we went to this?

What has the world come to? A person can't even cheat on his significant other. Isn't that what they are there for? Why can't they find out about each other’s ventures outside their relationship in twenty years, when the illegitimate child comes to take his share of the money, like other normal people?

This began when all of us started watching Ally McBeal and took relationship advise from the cast of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.! 

We took something so beautiful like forcibly living together with each other even though the love died long ago and all you’re doing now is keeping up appearances and we turned it into something so ugly! 

This is going to be our generation’s teevee legacy. A bunch of illiterate people shouting the f-word at each other, completely out of context.

We helped kill something which gave hope to millions of suppressed kids that maybe one day they might actually have a chance to be happy before they grew up and their cynicism took over.

For that, we need to hang our heads in shame.

Just like the old guy wearing a wig young woman in the scene below.