Toothless in Tehran

(This first appeared in the Sunday Guardian)

All eyes were on Tehran this week as it hosted the 16th summit of nations belonging to the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). The NAM summit is the largest collective of tyrants, misogynists, homophobes, racists, scumbags, genocidal maniacs, conmen, busybodies, sociopaths, dirty Harrys and mouth-breathers this side of the Republican National Convention.

After the end of the Second World War, the world was divided into more cliques than a high school in South Bombay. All the jocks from the rich countries banded together in 1949 to form NATO and all the countries which grew up in tough neighbourhoods decided to tolerate each other’s existence to form the Warsaw Pact in 1955. However, outside of the UN, for the countries who didn’t belong to these two groups, there was nowhere to hangout. So in 1961, Nehru, Tito, Naseer, Sukarno and Nkrumah decided to get together and form a club consisting of all Goths, geeks, dorks, pacifists, poets, emo teenagers, mama’s boys, and hippies in the world who – at least on paper pretended not to be aligned to either of the two competing fight clubs – began calling themselves the Non-Aligned Movement.

Now, in 2012, with the cold war only existing in Jason Bourne novels, FPS video games and Vladimir Putin’s worldview, the NAM summit seems to have outlived its usefulness. When it was founded, India was part of all the countries who still needed a support group because of their oppressive colonial past. Nowadays, most heads of states attending the NAM summit oppress their own people and make them suffer atrocities that are equal to or sometimes infinitely worse than what happened when they were occupied by foreign powers. Like the host Iran, where a whole generation has been imprisoned both mentally and physically; where being gay is a crime punishable by public execution. Or Zimbabwean President and Hannibal Lector’s cousin, Robert Mugabe, a man who has jailed/killed/maimed more than half the population of his country and has led it to an economic apocalypse wherein the Zimbabwean Dollar is less valuable than the currency used in ‘Monopoly.’  

India still attends the summit mostly because of its obligation as a founding member and to prove to other countries that we’re totally not in the tank for America, even though in reality we totally are. We like to tout our non-aligned credentials, but we’re not really non-aligned anymore, are we? We’re part of the G20. We’re part of the ‘countries who can have nuclear weapons for some reason while the rest of the world cannot’ club. We pledge billions of dollars for funds to bailout financially irresponsible European countries. We’re like that guy who gets promoted to senior management but still shows up at the bar frequented by all the factory workers to prove to himself that he’s still the working class hero from every Springsteen song even though everybody else at the bar resents his presence.

We’re able to tread this thin line because we avoid taking a stand on important international issues for as long as we can. Most of the time we don’t want to say or do anything because we fear that anything we say or do will be used against us with regards to Kashmir. We can always be counted upon in the international arena to muddle the waters. We didn’t even vote against the falling Gaddafi regime, even though Gaddafi hated us and it was obvious to everyone that he was on his way out. Our stand on Syria is to ask both sides to lay down their weapons and talk. Basically, what we’re saying to all the people in Syria being massacred by their government is to stop defending themselves and try to talk to the guy trying to stamp them into oblivion. Because that always works out so well!

Our foreign policy is like that guy in a ‘modern’ Hindi movie who loves the girl who wears skirts and smokes and believes in casual sex but still ends up marrying the girl who dresses conservatively and knows how to cook because she reminds him of his Mom. The ‘social media outreach’ of our Ministry of External Affairs consists of getting our diplomats to tweet the links to every article they read on the Internet. Most of the time we only hear from the ministry when they hold a press conference to denounce the latest Times Now news report of some Chinese cat breaching the sanctity of the India-China border. And they do it with the smoothness of a battered woman denying spousal abuse “Ha ha, nothing happened. Everything is cool. The black eye? Well, it was nothing. I just slipped and fell into a fist. . . I mean from the stairs. Yeah. I fell from the stairs and broke my eye. What makes you think otherwise?”

But, hey, there’s nothing another fruitless bilateral Singh-Zardari meeting won’t fix!

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!

The India-Pak OMGLOLPalooza!

So I wrote this post when India and Pakistan had started bilateral talks last year, for the first time after so many months! Anyways, this got lost in the ‘drafts’ section, and since both countries are back to talking again (because as they say  538061844791849173583629172491312 time is the charm), this is relevant. So you could read it both ways, as something that happened in the past, or something that will happen in the future. Whatever works for ya, guvnor!

Note: Some dialog may have been changed to reflect recent developments. Also, watch out for the clichés.

***

After three false restarts, India and Pakistan are ready to finally start the dialogue-to-plan-start-of-dialogue. Yes, welcome to Season 4 of So you think you can hold a bilateral dialogue? Even though PM Singh has had a few bilateral meetings with both President Zardari and PM Geelani, everyone's pretending that didn't happen, and this is the first time they're meeting, after thousands of years of sending rude superpokes to each other through facebook.

And since there is no definite name for the summit/meeting/whatevs, we have helpfully named it OMGLOLPalooza, because, why not?

So the stage was set for Nirupama 'I got a fancy new hairdo just for this' Rao, who was representing the Indian government, and Salman 'Made in China' Bashir, who was representing the civilian government of Pakistan, the Pakistani army, Bilawal Bhutto, Pervez Mussharaf's bad-ass moustache, Jeebus, let's just keep it as a TBD.

Anyways, with the rest of the world watching (Not really. The Europeans are busy trying to save their economies while getting their ass kicked in football, the Americans are busy praying, sexting and blaming Obama for their hernia. the people in the continent of Africa are alternatively starving and killing each other, the South Koreans are occupied with playing video games, the Japanese spend their time having sex with female robots, the Australians are planning to spend the summer punching and kicking anyone they can get their hands on, meanwhile Israel and Iran are scheduled to spend the rest of the year trying to cockblock each other. Also, the whole world has seen this movie before and knows how it ends.) both these nuclear 'powers' on the brink of 'war' to finally set aside their differences and finish negotiating the divorce settlement they started negotiating more than six decades ago!

So here is the conversation that happened during their super-secret meeting:

SB: Hi . . .
NR: Oh hai, I can haz Hafiz Sayed?
SB: LOL! No! Strategic Asset FTW!
NR: Sadface
SB: I can haz Cashmere?
NR: R U Crazy?
NR: Can't even handle territory you actually have! Amirite?
SB: True dat! LMAO!
SB: But I can haz Cashmere?
NR: *facepalm*
SB: Is that a yes?
NR: No, no, a thousand times no! From our cold dead hands! Also!
NR: Which reminds me, stop trying to kill us all the time!
SB: Non-state actors, we can't control them, trolls etc. You know the drill . . .
NR: Yeah, pretty much.
NR: Okay, so here are some new dossiers. New evidence against old & new people.
SB: Ummmmm, yeah, sure, we're going to "read" this and take it "seriously".  *snigger*
NR: Umm, yeah. I'm sure about that!
SB: So can we talk about Cashmere, then?
NR: On two conditions. . .
SB: Which are . . . ?
NR: First, stop pronouncing it as "Cashmere", it's a place, not a sweater. K-A-S-H-M-I-R.
NR: Second, are you fucking kidding me?
SB: Fair enough.
NR: Now that we've got that out of the way, what’s with spying through our embassy staff?
SB: Well, I can’t speak for the ISI, because I’m not even allowed near their offices and if they ever see me there they might shoot me . . . but they must be doing that just to piss off Arnab Goswami.
SB: If they wanted real intelligence about your country, they would just ask the Chinese to send it over, in PDF format!
NR: Well, the Chinese are efficient, to say the least.
SB: Yes, yes they are.
SB: Have you seen their phones? They can do anything! Anything! Even talk dirty to my wife, while I watch my favourite TV show, The Secret Adventures of Agent Rana! It’s the #1 show, in Pakistan.
NR: Dude, calm down! And really, that was way serious TMI!
SB: Well, I was promised that we could talk about anything we want . . .
NR: Anyways . . .
SB: Sorry to interrupt, but before I forget . . . . something something Indus Water Treaty
NR: Huh?
SB: Just needed to mention that too!
SB: Which completes my checklist.
SB: Now I can go on teevee and proclaim that all issues important to Pakistan were discussed.
NR: You’re a sneaky basted!
SB: Guilty as charged! LOL!
NR: *rolls eyes*
NR: Okay, now can we get back to talking about terrorism?
SB: Yeah, sure.
SB: We want you to stop terrorizing us . . .
NR: O RLY?
SB: . . . with Mahesh Bhatt movies!
NR: To tell you the truth, he is one of our secret weapons.The other one is Himesh Reshamiya.
NR: Collectively, they are known as the Weapons of Mass Irritation.
SB: I see your Himesh, and raise you an Atif Aslam.
NR: Oh, that’s a good move. A bloody good move.
SB: Want to play a game of Poker?
SB: Whoever wins gets Cashmere!
NR: Jebus Hussien Christ! You’re an idiot!
SB: Well, you’re starting to sound like my wife!
SB: It makes me horny.
NR: I can’t do this right now. I have a headache.
SB: That’s what she says! Hahahaha!
NR: …….
NR: ……..
NR: This meeting is over.
SB: See you again . . . . in a few months time?
NR: *Sigh*. Yeah, I guess.
SB: You bring the food, I’ll bring the wine. *Wink*
NR: *Mumbling to herself* The only thing I’ll be bringing is a frikin pepper spray.
NR: *Exits*