The Disgruntled Mob

Not there… The other hole...

2012-02-23T17:29:00.006+05:30

When they’re not busy fighting the trials and travails of having an enlarged prostate and/or stealing from us, the people who run this nation like to spend some time reminding us of the relevance they have in our lives.

Usually it’s something benign. “I was streaming that porn and so I didn’t actually have it on my phone and INDIA NEEDS FASTER INTERNETZ LOL” or “Oh this money? Well, my ancestors were all oppressed and I’m taking it to increase their pride in our caste/religion/pony breeding club”. Of course, sometimes they’ll take it a step further and tell us who to hate.

Now don’t get me wrong… I’m all for a little unmitigated hate without reason or justification. All you have to do is say “Salman Khan superstar” and I’ll get an enraged stick-figure mob to eat the entirety of all the Pizza in your locality, come over to your place and offer to treat you to lunch. JUST to watch you dissolve into a puddle of tears.
However, I do tend to have a problem with the fact that the reason for why we should hate a lot of things is usually no different from “This is wrong because we don’t do this. We don’t do this because this is wrong”.

A prime example of this is homosexuality. Let me not mince words here. This is an entire group of people who are “going to destroy society as we know it” because... um… well… THEY’RE USING THE WRONG HOLES.

One, this is an issue of individual liberty. If the Government allows itself to decide what consenting adults do without affecting anyone else, where does it stop?

And Two, this has been made an issue of morality. What has been left out is whose fucking morality it is that we're talking about.
Is it a) the morality of some religion that we must respect because of “religious freedom”? That being the case I’d like to petition that everyone in India wear sequins on Saturdays because otherwise, our true lord the Flying Spaghetti Monster can’t see us properly owing to his divine Myopia.

Perhaps this is a more mainstream religion. One that ensures people who don’t conform to certain rules are hated and ostracized. More so, made to hate their own selves. Yeah. That morality. Got'cha.

Or is it b) the morality of the public at large? This would make more sense because laws have are defined by what people feel is right. For example, it is no longer legal to ensure a woman’s undying love in return for 10 cows and one wooden cart. I’ve checked. (Bitch)
But even in this case, those in power are woefully out of touch with the realities that surround us today. People are not dying, starving or unhappy because certain men know more than one use for glitter. They’re dying because someone is too friggin’ incompetent to do their job.

History is witness to the fact that whenever someone has had to justify something vile and despicable, he or she has done it in the name of morality. That this clause is invoked whenever some old dude who hasn't gotten laid in sometime suddenly decides he doesn't like how other people are trying to be happy.

The question that needs to be asked then, is simply this… is someone threatening national security, beating up helpless people and completely without a sense of right and wrong because they like someone with the same genitals?

Of course, since all rants worth their vitriol are incomplete without atleast one Godwin:
“We want to burn out all the recent immoral developments in literature, in the theater, and in the press - in short, we want to burn out the poison of immorality which has entered into our whole life and culture as a result of liberal excess during the past ... (few) years.” – Adolf Hitler.

In conclusion, when the Home Ministry talks about protecting society, they should first think about not letting us die in terror strikes instead of declaring a profound jealousy for the happiness of certain people who have awesome taste in clothing.
And that people who hide behind words like “culture” and “morality” to justify their bigotry and ignorance should be slapped across the face with a large rubber dildo.

Ask Not for Whom the Bell Tolls...

2012-01-23T09:39:00.009+05:30

It's that time of the year again. The time when people who have way too much Gucci in their wardrobe meet in a little place called Jaipur. They discuss the wretchedness of the human condition using words containing too many syllables in books containing characters with too many daddy issues.

Made conspicuous by his absence from this left wing paradise is Salman Rushdie. If you're unaware, this is one person who's had considerably more luck with members of the opposite sex than you or I (This is to be expected because I haven't been to the gym lately and you... well, you're reading this). He's also written an angry book or two.

What is especially important about the absence said person of alopecic fame is the reason behind it. Were we so lucky that he would be spotted buying a special scalp shine formula and refuse to blind people by stepping out in public again.
Unfortunately, the reason is far more serious; and speaks much more vehemently of the world we live in. A world that speaks only of intolerance and mindless hate. Where criticism is heresy and heresy is death. And the difference between liberators and oppressors is only one of time.
Basically it's the 1500s all over again, but with more bandwidth and much better treatment for head lice.

However, addressing the etiopathogenesis of all of humanity's miscellaneous vices is beyond the scope of this post.
What I do want to talk about is just how fucked we all are; specifically by way of putting faith in the institutions that govern us.

Disenfranchisement
Maybe you know the word; or maybe you didn't have a massive crush on your English teacher and never saw the need to. I digress. The concept is relatively straightforward... Disenfranchisement is the devaluation of a vote; for any reason.
It may be specific, as is the case with certain countries not allowing people convicted of serious crimes to be part of the electoral process, or more general, as is usually the case when your favourite flavour of liberator/dictator takes over and suspends elections as well as the soap opera you were currently crying over.

A much more applicable corollary of this is disenfranchisement by numbers. When India gained independence, her population stood at ~350 million, give or take a few miscalculated periods. Currently, there are about 1.2 billion of us. And while this sounds great for any circumstance involving hand-to-hand combat with the enemy; take a look at what it does to our Democratic structure:

There were 530 something representatives in the Lok Sabha at the time of independence. There are 545 representatives in the Lok Sabha right now. What this means that one of them is now responsible for representing 2.2 million of us up from 660 thousand.

Now I assuming you're a relatively “normal” kind of person. The operative definition of “normal” being that you like a certain kind of food, have porn stored in places with imaginative names like 'New Folder' and that you have an average of 13 differences of opinion with your fellow man per day.

Therefore, all other factors remaining constant, this means that your opinion, however profound and relevant, retains about a third of the importance of what it did when the structure of Parliament was envisioned.

And here's the kicker... all other factors didn't remain constant. While you were adding more and more stuff to New Folder, people on the other end of the socio-economic spectrum were punching out babies while the Rocky soundtrack was playing in the background.

Let's take your example. You, lean mean sex machine that you were in the 1950s, had 2 kids. They had 2 kids each in turn. Assuming everyone survived the 1970s and those horrible hairstyles, this gives you a total of 6 people of direct descent.
Now how about someone who had just one more kid per generation? This gives a total of 12 people of direct descent. Yes, exactly double. With just one more child.
You, my friend, with you excellent genes and awesome taste in vintage rock, have been outbred. Rather badly too. Have you been taking all those vitamins your doctor recommended? Maybe you need more well aerated underwear.

Of course, this doesn't even begin to describe other real world scenarios. Like the fact that you can't be bothered to participate in the process of government because:

You don't have the time
New Folder is increasing in size every day.
“The system is corrupt, I must stay away.”
New Folder!

This is why you can't get the government to care less about your opinion about an issue. You don't own a major corporation. You can't get people squatting on train tracks for purposes other than intestinal emancipation. Or perhaps, even allege that your “religious sentiments” got hurt.
The truth is, you just don't matter mathematically.

Democracy? Lolwut?
I think it's adorable how all those idealistic people sit down with Arnab Goswami and try to advertise the inherent superiority of Democracy, tell the world that it's the other guy's fault 400 million people in the country are hungry and depending upon the extent of their delusions, try to complete a sentence every now and then.

But are we really, truly choosing a representative Government? Hell, is there even any real choice?

Think about it. The general elections are about a year or so away. Who do you want to vote for? You choices are a. The Gandhi fiefdom, b. The Saffron genocide party or c. The Mayawati theocracy.
This is an a especially tough one considering you may have some remnant memory of the times we've tried the first two; and that you're scared shitless like me anytime someone mentions the phrase “Mayawati's foreign policy”.

Maybe you'd like to vote for Anna et al. Possibly the Left. Or maybe you want to come off the pixie dust and try to understand the fact that these suggestions are here just to make sure I wasn't 'Arnab-ed' (yes, this is a real verb).
Yours could be the only vote in the country, and you'd still fuck it up royally for the rest of us. Congratulations.

So, as things stand, none of these factions will listen to you unless you represent a significant vote bank. And you really can't go to another guy, because, well, there really isn't another guy.

Of course, you could get into the system and change it from the inside. Since it worked metaphorically in Die Hard 2, it can work in real life. But then, this won't happen. Scroll up and you'll see why.
We're screwed. Every single one of us. The educated electorate because nobody will listen to it, and the unkempt masses because a vote is just a piece of paper to someone who hasn't had a meal in 24 hours.

What will we do about it? I haven't the slightest idea. This when I'm usually very good at letting Twitter hashtags form my opinion for me. As you realize, this doesn't bode well.

Purely hypothetical...

2011-12-05T18:33:00.002+05:30

So I ran into ‘her’.
And like all women who’ve ever worn that particular pronoun in the history of written literature… I almost wished I hadn’t.
And like every time I’ve “almost” wished I hadn’t… Well, there’s a story here too.

There she is… sitting across the table not five feet away. Less than three strides for the average disciple. Two if you’re as tall as me.
There are people talking. Every now and then she smiles; and it feels another ripple has passed over the surface of eternity. And as much as I think they messed up the darn punch line, it seems I can’t help but smile too. I wish they get the next one right... I do so hate it when she stops with that smile.

My heart craves what is only the caress of her gaze, but I now look away. I’m much too afraid she’ll catch me staring. Leaving me too embarrassed ever to be able to tell her that now that I had found her, I knew everything was going to be alright.
The sun would rise again tomorrow. The dang sunflowers would point in just the right direction. And that maybe, just maybe, one day as the sunlight would be streaming in through half open windows, I’d brush aside the stray hair that crept onto her face and wake her up with a kiss on her cheek that half spelt “I love you” and half “I love how you yawn”.

She glances my way once, as if to thank me for my words. I keep looking away. Seems I have not the mind to accept such thanks. I only gave her what was hers in the first place. And then she smiles again. It begins in her eyes, like all smiles worth telling someone about.
Seems they were working on their punch lines, after all.

I think about getting up and talking to her. It can’t be that difficult. In spite of what they say, it is a good sign if your legs turn to jelly and your mind turns to pudding. If she understands me the right way (and there is no other way), she’ll know she herself is my poetry made manifest. The “ba-ba-black-sheep” that I’ll end up doing such a spirited rendition of can probably just be written off to... creative differences.

I hesitate. I would need something to start a conversation with. Women have not been known to take kindly to opening lines about the annual sugar production of Cuba.

Perhaps something to do with how she embodies that which is beauty… serenity one could spend a lifetime trying to describe and yet words would not suffice.
No. Too long.
Perhaps a simple “Hi” would do. Maybe that’s all that is needed to open doors.
No. Too simplistic.
Maybe I simply recite the alphabet in my baritone. Let pheromones and good intentions take care of the rest.
No. Too clichéd.

So, well, I simply walk up to her and say…

…and we haven’t stopped talking since.
(Most of it about things like the coffee output of Brazil. Told you Cuba doesn't work).

Eff one...

2011-10-31T13:58:00.011+05:30

I’m a big fan of the sport. I have this 2002 Michael Schumacher – World Champion jacket that I’ll probably start wearing again in the next 15-20 years to my kids’ parent teacher conferences.
So it goes without saying that I was nigh excited yesterday. I shaved against the grain, put on the requisite 2 coats of aftershave (‘Harassment’ by Calvin Klein) as well as enough deodorant to tide over my natural pheromonal advantage. Cloth selection was done using a scientific algorithm known among laypersons as ‘The 80s are coming back’.

● The getting there
If you can get past the traffic jams and the cruel irony of the fact that you’re going to see what people do on empty roads, it’s pretty grand. Everything’s real slick and well labelled. There’re signboards with celebrities and famous people pointing the way. There’s also a few with Siddharth Mallya on them.
The UP police seemed to be pointing somewhere other than the sky and at each other. I understand some goats had to be sacrificed over copper bowls for this to happen.

● The place
Massive is an understatement. The track could have its own pincode, timezone and ‘Yo’
Mayawati so fat’ joke. That said, you can actually hear the cars from the parking. I can’t hope to explain how loud they are from 40 feet away. Imagine an airplane engine talking down to an incompetent daughter in law.
You can actually go on quoting Marcus Aurelius to people around you. They'll nod and agree. I can tell you this doesn't happen very often otherwise.

● The seating
Spending 36K on a ticket is something I don’t see myself doing unless they include an option to be fed peeled grapes and having your teeth flossed gently by comely women. But I digress.
From where I sat, I saw, in increasing order of visibility:
1. The TV Screen
Was about a 100 feet away. Imagine watching a movie through an out of focus sniper scope with someone playing loud Himmesh music in the background.
2. The Cars
Turns out you can’t tell Sebastian Vettel from Mark Webber without the help of the big pointy arrow in the sky. All you can do is make “Here’s a Red Bull car again. OMG they’re so fast. Must be drinking… Red Bull!” jokes to the person next to you. And hope they don’t carry sharp things.
3. The Butt
If your BMI exceeds 35, you wear tight clothing to a public gathering and you insist on standing up everytime a car passes in front of you (very often), please know that the people behind you are left incapable of seeing… anything. The shade helps a bit. Maybe.

● The people
Maybe I was just unlucky here. But a randomly polled sample of the people in my immediate vicinity revealed:
1. Irritating Douchebags
And I quote, “My daddy has 3 BM-dabloos. I crashed one the other day. LOL”. If someone says this loudly and their friends insist on laughing and making congratulatory hand gestures afterwards, you’re entitled by law to stab you slowly with everything that comes in a geometry box. Even the eraser.
2. 5-10 year olds
There aren’t too many sounds that can drown out an F1 engine going full tilt. Not even the benign pomposity of a Marcus Aurelius quote. So you’ll understand me when I say this… “That's one loud failure of contraception”.
3. The Floozies
Pretty young things. Present in much greater preponderance around said douches. I would elaborate, but that’s another rant for another day. Bring beer and Sprite. We’ll talk. Yes, I know she broke your heart.

● The race
Turns out, with all the above going on simultaneously, you can’t understand much. What also doesn’t help is the insatiable need to get on Twitter during said race and retweet people with pretty DPs. I’m told this is an evolutionary thing.
Herr Derr some white dude won.
There were some accidents. I guess the drivers finally realized they were driving in Noida.
Also, “lap dances” is clearly misleading advertising.

Am I going next year? I don’t know. The security people looked a little perturbed by my repeated “So what happens if something goes wrong? Do you hit F1?” questions. I don't think they're prepared enough. Plus, it helps if you know what's happening without having to look into the neighboring pretty girl's blackberry.
If you weren't there, you didn't miss much. If you were and you enjoyed it, well, go easy on the anti depressants.

I understand your experience may have been better. You may have gotten laid, sold your Metallica tickets on Twitter and/or your daddy might own 3 BM-dabloos. Let me know. I burn voices of reason for warmth.

Bhaiyya... Palika Bazaar ka kitna?

2011-09-14T15:12:00.002+05:30

You will excuse me if this comes across as coarse, crude or even unintelligible. As is usual caveman practice, I carved out the rough draft on a stone tablet with a blunt animal bone. And my fellow cave dwellers kept on distracting me with something about “fire”. New age nonsense.

So well, let’s set the record straight.
I’m a Delhi ‘Boy’. And I’m not a rapist. Or an oppressor of women. I can drive pretty well, and yes, I do appreciate my Rajma Chawal… preferably with sweetened curd. But I’m weird like that.

Whenever I talk to someone south of the Vindhyas (This is a stretch… I don’t even know where the damn mountains are on a map), I’m expected to conform to stuff “we people do in the North”. From what I’m given to understand, there’s apparently a large conspiracy afoot to find people ugly, make fun of their cultural/religious leanings and drive my SUV over people on pavements.
And you know, I resent this. Most of all because I can’t afford an SUV right now.

But I also resent this because I grew up with the idea of a consolidated, united India. For the most part, I took that “all Indians are my brothers and sisters” nonsense a little too seriously and ended up being pretty awkward whenever I was asked out for coffee. But that’s not the point.
I’ve never thought that the people of any part of this nation would behave any differently just because they were from that part of the nation. So to be labeled a “Pig” because I know a higher number of Vickys and Rockys than the national average is somewhat unfair.
Yes, I will grant you that Delhi per se doesn’t seem to have a stellar track record of safety as far as women are concerned… But assholes are assholes. Blaming “mindsets” might be the right way to go only insofar as you don’t start blaming entire geographical areas and start writing about it on your Stereotypewriters.
As far as oppression of women goes… is it bad? Yes. It’s pathetic and it takes a coward to make someone who loves you go through with something like that. But is it a sole patent pending trademark of us in the North? No. And just so you know, my ex oppressed me more than what is allowed by most UN charters. Most of my jokes these days are as a result of that trauma.

Be that as it may, would you at least pay heed to what little difference of preference that is “allowed”? I’m allowed to dislike South Indian food. Or North Indian food. Or those stupid Dhoklas those Gujjus keep churning out by the kiloton. (LOLJK, I would probably drive a 4 door sedan over people on pavements for a decent Masala Dosa).
Anyway, would any of this make me a racist? No.

Would judging someone based on the color of their skin make me one? Yes. Do I think Fairness cream advertisements (or demographic specific matrimony sites) display a stupid bias? Yes. But seriously, do I think this way (or not think this way) because I’m from Delhi? Nope. It’s common friggin’ sense.
So if I find a way to bring down the Tamilmatrimony.com servers, it’s because I think it’s a fundamentally bad idea. And not because I want to facilitate the eventual invasion and takeover of the South by thinning down the population over there.

And yes, my English sucks. I can barely read or write. I forward a lot of text messages where “the” is abbreviated to “d”. Hell, most of my tweets are stolen Rajnikanth jokes. Again, I ask you, does this make me truly horrible as a person?

I’m sure there are plenty of rhetorical questions to be asked still, but as it stands, is ANYTHING grounds for thinking two people are the same?
Why would you paint me and my neighbours in the same brush? The Sharmas won’t hurt a fly. Neither would the Guptas or the Malhotras. But the Varmas three houses down are getting really irritating with their torture of small woodland mammals.

All racism is essentially a bad idea. As are most generalizations. As it stands, I’m getting progressively more tired of telling people that I am, in fact, a North Korean Jailor in an effort to get them to like me better. I wish you’d help me and my kin get rid of this habit. Adopt a Delhi-ite if you have to. But please remember, “My” culture, is in fact, “our” culture.

So… I repeat. I’m a Delhi Boy.
And I’m not any of those things you mentioned.
I do pirate the occasional 720p movie, but that’s about it.

P.s. I’m a vegetarian. Or I would’ve indeed mentioned Chicken in some form or the other. Modulate outrage as necessary.

One step back, two steps forward...

2011-07-26T03:16:00.006+05:30

A friend just broke up with someone she’d been with for 11 years. I don’t mind telling you that’s a significant multiple of the total amount of time I’ve spent with anyone (while suppressing genocidal tendencies or otherwise). Not that the guy was any good, mind you. The first time I met him he started making fun of her in front of me. And he cheated on her. And he was going bald. And I think she always laughed a little too much at the token “I bet he was terrible in bed too” jokes.
Still, when I talked to her last, she was in tears. She’d been that way for the last month.
Of course, it’s not surprising. I mean, 11 years? Most people don’t get 11 good days between them, try as they will. (At this point, kindly insert your condescension about my maturity in relationships into an orifice of your choice)

When I started this, it was going to be about exes. Those people you can invoke in every single prayer; be it to the God you like best (available at leading pantheons everywhere); or the forces of death and destruction that populate the blog of a 13 year old these days.

However, in doing my research (Facebook quizzes), I thought it’d have a little more meaning if I made it about that person who everyone hates and still wants to be. While I know you’d simply love to read a little bit more about Daler Mehendi, I’d like to make this about the person who moves on. Or perhaps, moving on. The sense and maybe the blasphemy of it.

Moving on, not just from the relationships that didn’t work out, but from all those other things too. Things that have made you cry and wish that you hadn’t thrown out that last soft toy. Big things that nobody else seemed to get. And the little things that just added up.

So, between you and me, I know that it must hurt.
I know it must feel like you’ve walked barefoot on gravel for miles on end; leaving behind footprints deep and bloody enough that one knows you must’ve been walking on your toes the entire distance.
I know that sometimes all that remains feasible is to just tell yourself to stop feeling anything at all.
Finally, I know that what hurts more is the question of what “could’ve been”. The question of finding destinations down paths not taken, of paths that now lay broken. (I’ve read your blog. You know what I mean.)

But I also know that underneath all the stifled laughter and the self applied “Cynic” tags, there’s still the idealist of 10, maybe 15 years ago. Someone who just didn’t know any better, and ironically enough, was better off for it.
Someone who was made happy by looking at kids who smiled, who danced when he didn’t know how to, who looked forward to finishing the box of chocolates so that he could buy another one.
In fact, if this someone was anything like me, I’m fairly certain all he wanted was to walk into a garden of Cherry Blossoms and watch shadows get longer.

As it stands, your pain is your own. It always has been. But it doesn’t have to be. Not for much longer.
Reach out if you can. There are always people willing to listen. Sometimes, there’re even people willing to help. If statistics are anything to go by, someone has effed’ up just like you in the past. And that nobody should let Sreesanth bowl.
Make bad jokes. It keeps you on the right side of sane. Plus, it gives the people around you the benefit of the Temporary Insanity plea at their murder trial.
Give someone a hug. I'm sure you know lots of intensely huggable people. The fact that some of them carry pepper spray really shouldn’t stop you.
Most importantly, remind yourself of the people you want to be happy for. And of those who’d rather share cheesecake than see you happy. (I find the latter helped a lot more. But I’ve led something of a sheltered existence)

Whatever you do, just keep in mind that you stand as a warrior. And as this warrior you fight demons. Demons that will not relent. Demons that will bleed a river before they yield an inch.

The warrior thinks of the times of peace. He wishes he didn’t have to fight. He is tempted by the prospect of going back to glowing mornings when the dew has not yet left. Of closing his eyes in the middle of battle to think of Cherry Blossoms shedding in a shower of pink and white. In an autumn of browns and yellows, punctuated by greens.

Yet he knows he must kill, but knows not the weight of the sword he must lift. And as it happens, the sword is heavy. It’s easier to drop than to lift. And the fight is easier to run away from than to actually stay and fight.

It seems that even when the solution is by far, the easiest thing about the whole problem, it’s the sticking to it that remains the most difficult. But then again, it also is the most important thing in the world. The warrior did plant the Cherry blossoms himself.

So lift up the sword and try it on for size. They tell me it was made for you. And they’re usually right, even when they aren’t.

The past is right there in your head. Come back to it when you feel like it (or knock yourself hard enough on your head that you don’t have to). When you do, I recommend you stand at a window and give long meaningful glances to the world outside with a glass of Sprite in your hand. But in the meantime, look at the present.
It wants you to look at it too. And give it a compliment or two. It’s a little insecure like that. But take my word for it, it makes for a great date.

Twittard. No, that’s a word. It really is…

2011-03-28T23:32:00.001+05:30

If you're reading this, chances are you're not one of the 6 people without a Twitter, Facebook or LinkedIn account. Of course, you could also be one of the 100 million or so people with all of these services (plus a regularly updated MySpace page) and belong to a group some people like to call "The virgins". But I find that unnecessarily racist.

In case you don't know what Twitter is, you've probably been living under a rock. Or having sex. I'm going to assume it's the former, being statistically more likely.
But for the purposes of this discussion, I'm going to assume you know what Twitter is, have an account on said service and think using words like Anthropomorphology in a sentence is about the coolest thing since Oscar Wilde.

I've been on Twitter for sometime now. I mostly see it as an extension of a traumatic period in my life that left me wanting a little more support than was offered by way of overdosing myself on Sprite; or tying up people in the basement and telling them jokes.
And by way of having been there, I've realized a few things. You may agree with some of these. You may want to blow me for the others. You may hate the spacepod that brought me safely to this planet for the remaining. Please remember that I hold veto rights to whichever option you may choose.

Now, the people on Twitter. I find it safe to summarily categorize them into the following on the basis of their most predominant characteristic.
Keep in mind that categories may easily overlap, and then call after a week calling it a mistake because they were drunk.

The Pricey Fucks
You know these people from their inflated follower count and their Photoshopped DPs. While most people will simply wonder why someone who's discussing their morning transit and the color of their evening poo has roughly a bajillion people willing to listen, you'll take it a step further.
You will @ to everything they say. But they won't reply. You will retweet the bejeezus out of them. But they won't follow. You'll offer to show up to clean their garage. They'll tell you the city takes good care of the bridge under which they live.
The Emo Bastards
I feel it is my utmost duty to remind these people of the following:
1. She/He didn't care.
2. You're so confused about who you are because you're gay.
3. I know there's a hole in your soul somewhere, but there are other orifices that need your attention too.
4. Most people have access to the Self help material you're plagiarizing off. And the remainder have access to HD porn.
The Wise Asses
The people who dare ask you the eternal question… "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be consistently funny, harbor self-critical tendencies AND low self esteem all at once?" And in case your answer is "No", you're quite naturally expected to go back to tweeting about the song you're listening to. Because people really do give a fuck. No really. Have one. Yes, here's a good fuck.
You will be reviled if you fail to consider Favstar an alternate God/deity. You will be pricked with chopsticks if you're in the news for whatever reason. And may God have mercy on you should you ever become a trending topic.
And oh, Boobs is a funny word. You can't go wrong with boobs.
The Bulbs
You know these virile gentlemen as the guys who ask for your pics. You company for coffee. And wonder out aloud how "Your so beautyful" (sic). ALSO THE HUMAN PSYCHE CONDITION HAS FORETOLD THE COMING OF THE… (crap) Writer's blok has happened.
The Mutual Admiration Society
You mostly see these exalted members of #TeamFucktard and #TeamJackass on tweets detailing 34 people on a Friday. Fun Fun Fun Fun it is. And unless you're a. b. or d. above, you have to wonder how you're going to send across your firstborn so you can get into one of them tweets. No. I don't get your 18 consecutive Tamil/Bong/Punjabi/Mumbaiya/Australian/Uninhabited-Pacific-Atoll references or your frolicking with your friends on a mountaintop with koala bears and unicorn poop.

So that's it. And this had better get me some followers. You think I'm doing this for the science? Really?
There really are more people out there, I guess, but I sleep well not having met them yet. Also, Boobs!

When geeks attack...

2010-09-08T21:08:00.003+05:30

Women like it romantic and the like. Apparently it causes their amygdales and limbic systems to cook their frontal cortices in pungent hormonal soup. Simple enough. However, it seems that throughout the course of history I've had to explain the propositions to women after I've made the propositions to said women. True stories:

Scenario 1
She has a four letter name. I convert that to ASCII (the capital), I convert those 8 digits to Binary, I convert that Binary to a 'how many ones and zeroes' number. I further convert that number to hex. This leaves me with 9B7623BBA8F5733E. And a very befuddled young woman who didn't talk to me for the rest of class. The lilac smelling page I wrote this on notwithstanding.

Scenario 2
She likes Shakespeare. Cleopatra to be specific. Or so I can derive from her facebook profile. So I send this to her:
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale;
Her infinite variety, other women cloy.
-Signed, Salad Days."

And while I understand this sounds like a glorified 'Wanna make frandship?' request, why do people lie about liking Shakespeare?
She hasn't replied yet. But I assume that's due to the vernacular of having called her an old woman.

Scenario 3
I walk up to a girl in the library. Simple enough. Sample the following conversation.

Me: I know you don't like me. But do you like me?
She: Huh?
Me: Stop being dumb. You understand what I mean.
She: How am I supposed to like you? As a friend, or...
Me: You're such a tubelight.
She: (desperately) Do you like Mahatma Gandhi? Here's a nice autobiography.
Me: I get the point (wench).

Scenario 4
I'm proud of this one. Doesn't reek of dysfunction. So I says to her, "You're a vision in red. Poetry has been written for much less." "Really?" "Yes."
Cue burly boyfriend with huge mobile phone. Burly boyfriend says hi. I wish someone would let loose rabid attack dogs. I'd point out that his phone is using ye olde Android 1.6, but I stop... there are women present, after all.

Sigh. Where are the sexy cryptologists and single language experts in LBD's? Life's not fair.

Humanity’s Greatest…

2010-08-22T18:25:00.016+05:30

Humanity is da shit™. Once we got off the trees, it was only a matter of time before we made our baboon ancestry's butts turn red with jealous rage. In fact, any monkey still up on the trees may officially consider his n00bish ass pwned, forever.

Speaking of which, I guess we should come up with a "wat does dis button do?" list of our greatest achievements. Something to tell the kids after the nukes wipe out 95% of the population and the rest turn to cannibal zombies.
And it goes without saying that any such list should totally have the following on it.

Chhole Bhature

There can be only one. Maybe none.

Are you friggin' kidding me? God made man, gave him the recipe to Chhole Bhature and then he made woman. Somebody had to do the cooking.
You put an "order of increasing importance" test on this and lo behold, man is useless as usual and chhole bhature are a close second to the divine power of the woman with the frying pan. All hail the woman with the frying pan.

Internet Porn

Truth is defense for libel.

Gone are the dark days of waiting for your cable operator to find some VHS tape with the appropriate inappropriate behavior and broadcast it late at night. Billions of roubles have gone into making the internet so that geeks can finally relate to something in the range of vaguely feminine. And yes, it has been a resounding success.
The only problem remains in inventing/discovering porn for women. I imagine it might have something to do with handsome men shopping at Central Market. All night long. Just the way they like it. Yeah.
I should really write something about the many things I've learnt from porn soon.

Cable TV

Doordarshan broadcast of 1998 Sharjah final. Sachin on strike.

I remember the days when you had to have 3 people around to watch Doordarshan successfully. One to rotate the antenna, the second to see how the reception was changing on the TV and the third to relay the "Ho Gaya" chants between them.
Cable TV, of course, changed all that. Instead of watching crap on just 2 TV channels, we now watched crap on about a 100. And then there were the added benefits of the Cable-walle-bhaiya's VHS tape collection.

The Mobile Phone
She can now choose to ignore your calls from environments as varied as the jungles of South Najafgarh to the deserts of East Jaunpur. From her loo to the local zoo – and it doesn't even have to be different places. It doesn't matter where she is, she can always always ignore your calls. Now that's TECHNOLOGY.
Of course, if you hear heavy breathing on the other end, please remember that the phone is a one handed device and consult (2) above.

Fashion

If Duke Nukem were alive, he'd die and turn
over in his grave.

No other animal in the friggin' kingdom has to pay this much to look this ugly. And then it changes and the ugly people look uglier because the ugliest ugly people have decided that another kind of ugliness is the right kind of ugly for this season and the (ugh) "ugla" one.
Of course, this advancement also includes modern economic theory and political theory, but you have to read between the lines, doofuck.

There we go. Human civilization in a nutshell. Enough of the education. Now go search for some porn.

Gullible Jackasses…

2010-08-19T22:17:00.003+05:30

We're a bunch of gullible jackasses; capable of unfailingly and unflinchingly believing anything at all. I could sit here all day giving you the logic behind such an alarmist line of thought; but that'd defeat the purpose.

So, here come the examples.

Feng Shui (Chinese for "overpaid carpenter")
After years of intense analysis in focus groups comprising half of people with Feng shui approved homes and half of jungle dwelling cannibalistic populations, experts have concluded that:
"The first group is generally happier, has a higher survival rate after divorce and does not contribute to the extinction of rhinos."
Of course, your agreement will be more willing when you discover the ancient architect covenant about always incorporating Feng shui into restrooms everywhere. A little pressure on 'your end', and negative energies go bye bye.
If it's on TV…
If you're on the wrong end of the 'Peepli live' spectrum (bloody brilliant movie btw), you're probably aware of the intense unyielding need to buy one each of a Nazar Suraksha Yantra®, a Shiv Shakti Kavach™ or a Shani Dev approved Doom-bhagao-wolfenstein-lao armour.
I on the other hand am haughty enough to shake my head in disbelief that such commercials are made, let alone aired on a 24 hour marathon run when they just can't talk about "Naga baba mein ghusa bhoot". Bring back Naga Baba.
Also, who in the history of FUCK dresses like that to cry in front of random relatives? Don't those females have work to do in the kitchen?
Cinema
She's not that Savitri-type thingie. She may look like it with the adequate amount of makeup and the inadequate amount of saree, but she isn't. What she is, however, is a repository of sexually transmitted infection. Something you won't be getting off her. Not in a million years. Yes, I understand those may not be tears of happiness.
Also, a revolver carries "6" bullets. We do not fuck with the law of conservation of mass-energy.
Don't look now…
But you're too good for him/her. More so because he/she is probably cheating on you anyway. Possibly with the STD actress. And you're not getting any of that. Loser.
You say your love is true? Read the title of the post. You're in the right place. And you're welcome. Send me interesting porn links.

There's just so much more to lampoon here. My only qualm is your Attention deficit disorder (compounded by my staunch refusal to use attractive images on this page). So I'm going to stop.
Jackass.

Taking over the world…

2010-08-18T22:56:00.004+05:30

Unlike quite a few males my age who grew up watching "Kyunki" soaps (hereby referred to as the "emasculated"), I was weaned on Pinky and the Brain.

This left me with those warm fuzzy feelings and ambitions of world domination and the like. Unfulfilled, but insidious. Like constipation. Only higher.
Just the kind of thing you might want to discuss at a parent teacher meeting before melting the teacher with evil super lasers, btw. But I went to one of those schools not rich enough to afford an MMS caper and therefore, with erratic power supply.
Well, with erratic power supply, anyway.

Even so, I've given taking over the world a lot of thought. It's a relatively simply process if you can find the right underwater layer, slinky women in catsuits to hang at your arm and a really evil last name like Kalmadi.

So here goes… and remember, if someone manages to succeed using this, I want Finland.

Religion
It helps if you're the only thing in range which can get someone to God. Promise 72 or so virgins and watch as your ratings soar. It helps to get a celebrity endorsement by way of a Messiah. I personally recommend Sofia Lauren. But she's an old hag now. Sigh.
The Death Star
If you're one of the six people who don't know what this is, my condolences on having a real life. Real easy method too. Just blow up a planet or two. Just make sure you don't hire one of them cheapo contractors. They leave open vents everywhere.
Foundations
Set two up at the opposite ends of the globe. Watch as millennia of anarchy is prevented when civilization falls because Sonam Kapoor learns to act. And as unlikely as that might seem, it pays to have a backup plan.
Monopoly
Make something everyone wants and nobody has. And while you're at it, think beyond engineering the perfect woman, you sick perv. I had this idea in mind about something I'd call the iPhone. Apple beat me to it, and truth be told I just don't trust the future of the world in Steve Jobs' hands.
Global Viral Attack
Last ditch effort. And keep in mind you'll probably be stopped by Captain Vyom. Or some other gay idiot in tights.

So there you go. World domination made real easy. I'm sure there are other ways. Ask George Dubya Bush. But I doubt you'll ever be the head of a nation as gullible. Much less this one. And we're all pretty intelligent people here in the 3^rd world.
Finally I raise a toast to the emasculated. Why? Because it didn't seem mocking bird enough to mention them just once. So there. In yer face, you sissy pussies.

Mera Bharat Mahan…

2010-08-15T08:42:00.003+05:30

Independence day. Some go as far as to prefix "happy" to it. Deluded idiots.

I'm something of an optimist. I will compliment your cooking. I will find your kids beautiful and I will suppress the epileptic attacks your paintings will give me.
However, this day, I find my cup runneth over.

Are we really independent? Look around. The gora people who ruled us have been replaced by some bhoora people who do the exact same thing. "Exaggeration", you will allege wildly. "Unpatriotic", some of you will lament. "Political Conspiracy", the rest will blunder. But fear not, vile countrymen… Here's how it is. For the goras that were and the bhooras that are:

Similar modus operandi.
Claiming it's for our own bleeding good. And then doing whatever the hell it is that they're going to do anyway.
No real choice of government.
As it was, you either liked the goras or were dragged in open grounds by steroidally enhanced horses. These days, you can vote for whoever you like. (That's either the Congress or the other Racist communal bastards who won't be happy without another dark age). Chances are coalition politics will make a puree of all ideologies and encourage the path of least resistance. Which, incidentally, is point 3.
Corruption.
Try getting yourself anything you're entitled to be getting without having to pay someone. If you can, please leave your locality in the comments. I'm moving there.
My history is a little weak, but I do remember all those fucking rajas and ranis allying themselves with the devil just so that they could get their "royal" due. Honor is on sale. If you have the money to buy it, of course.
The people suffer
That part is self explanatory. Look at how unhappy you are. I would stay here and calm you down, but I have to go encourage the next revolution.
The government looks the other way when those it needs do whatever the hell it is that they want to. It nigh encourages them as long as the benefit is there.

There you go. 63 years of "independence". Not for the weak of heart.

I can’t stand intolerance…

2010-08-03T02:51:00.033+05:30

Cronulla Race Riots

The Australians are a somewhat racist people. If it weren't for the convenient separation of their junkyard from us, I'd recommend we attack them in hand to hand combat; and beat them black, blue and purple. Then we'll see what they think of our color.

But that is only half the story. I belong to a country where millennia old racist practices are encouraged blatantly and new ones are manufactured with every general election. Having said that, I'm tempted to stop the people just waiting for my cue to jump into the water off the Eastern Ghats and swim down under to beat up the racist fuckaroos.

Think about it, we in modern India follow just about every possible means to discriminate against those quite not like us; and then blatantly dismiss it as an offshoot of the "chalta hai" cancer. What is further problematic is that we're quite content to create and sustain categories upon categories of "us".

At the risk of having an incomplete list, here's how "we" show everyone how it's done:

List from the Shaadi.com Index page. Notice the length.

Ever looked at the Newspaper on a Sunday? There's something called the Matrimonial Classifieds in there.This is a piece of paper that decides the mating future of men and women across the country who've only recently come out of their larval forms. It is also the single most openly racist document in publication since Hitler published the Third Reich To-do list.
In the spirit of true love, there's someone for everyone… But oh, please meet certain criteria of religion, caste, color, language and maybe even culinary preference. Only serious candidates need apply. Idiots.
Oh… and while you're at it, go and look at any religion and caste specific matrimonial site. If we're going to be bigots, there's no point in being technologically illiterate about it.

Ponds White Beauty. Not for the faint of heart.
When you're done watching porn and illegally downloaded movies on your computer, go watch TV too. And tell me what you see when you come across an advertisement for 'White beauty'. Apparently the only thing that we won't do in the name of skin color is to beat people up. But I guess the Australian public acquired the rights to that sometime back. The filthy affinity we have for fair skin is just that, filthy.

DALIT PRIDE!!! Probably not for the 220 million
people in the nation who don't have
enough money for one meal a day.
Politics as we know it today is a cesspool for the worse we have to offer. All anyone ever has to do is pick up a cause, however stupid or exclusionist, and not stop crying oneself hoarse over it. And remember, it's no holds barred as long as you can get enough votes in the next election.
As things stand right now, the main opposition in parliament is a party of mofo bigots who'll condone mass murder as long as it gets them votes. Whole elections are won over telling starving people that apparently caste is the only thing responsible for their lot in life. And what if you need an education? I'm sorry, but you're too high born. Off to a private university of your choice.

Narendra Milosevic Modi. Fucking with the right to life since 2001.

Female Infanticide. I know of no expletive that rises in magnitude to describe the galactic assholes who'd even consider doing something of the sort. And those who would do something like this should be plain and simple shot. Through the genitalia first, if possible. I would seriously consider violating medical ethics and the sanctity of said person's unbroken arms if we should ever meet.
Unfortunately, that would mean my breaking the arms of most people in North India. Don't get me wrong though... I would still do it.

When you think about it, we're quite the racist pigs ourselves, aren't we? I guess that explains why we keep on fighting ourselves.

Oh yeah, Mera Bharat Mahan.
FTW.

They simply look better…

2010-08-02T07:54:00.007+05:30

You're an ugly little fuck, aren't you? Chances are, your mother was lying when she recklessly blurted out she "could" love your face. And that one would tend to run out of euphemisms in any conversation involving your 'unconventional' good looks and excluding blasphemous profanity.

But if anything, the universe has a profound sense of fairness. I'm sure the powers that be gave you that winning personality and biting sense of humour while screwing you in the posterior in every other department. In that case, why so serious, jack?

Could it be that you may have realized that the world does indeed revolve around the good looking Gigafucks around you? That as and when it comes to the propagation of the species (and all the benefits that entails), the people chosen would most likely be them over you. That too by any jury including not only the average innocent bystander; but also your own mother. (see above)
Let's work with that for now. In fact, break up the mob, put down the Molotovs and the pitchfork, and we'll talk.

Get used to the basic idea that someone better looking than you at your relatively average plane of existence will get the bigger better deal every single time. And those who haven't gotten it yet are looking for it.
Think about all those girlfriends/boyfriends falling into the "one who got away" category.
Lets face it, how many lines do you remember from that beautiful sonnet about her intoxicating wit or his bleeding loyalty? That compared to every interstellar fuck who knows how she walks in beauty like the night.

Perhaps you'll realize the mitigating value of a blinding set of 32 when you understand that you yourself are just as prone to the marketing assault of beauty over substance. Why else would you ask your girlfriend/boyfriend to lose that extra kg? Or go 'awww' over photos of kittens?

You, Quasimodo, are living in some else's world. And you're humping it all wrong.

Oh… and since I know you only look at the pictures…
To put things in perspective, I'd (still) sleep with her.

You could care less…

2010-08-01T20:00:00.011+05:30

I think you're a good person. But then, I also believe in romantic love and the cinematic comeback of Chunkey Pandey. Clearly, I'm an optimist.

However, I also think you're seriously fucked up in the head.
Look in the mirror. You're hurt, badly so. You've entertained thoughts of carpet bombing his/her neighbourhood. He/She has found someone so wonderful that they're shiny. You're that close to crying. Why?
Maybe it's because of some strange sense of belonging to a relationship that you were "firm-titanium-rod-in-appropriate-orifice"ed out of. Or perhaps it's because you're convinced that the one sided perverted feelings you're having will mean the end of your world should they go unreturned.

While I'm that close to telling you to buy an inflatable partner and spend that rest of your undignified life in windy bliss; I feel I owe you something out of some misbegotten sense of kinship. Something apart from the aforementioned firm titanium rod. So how about this…

Nobody holds more power over you than someone who cares less about the relationship™ you're in. I'm going to hope you're not the idiot you look like and atleast know that you're with such a person. And in case you don't… here's a symptom list for you:

You believe you're a nice person
You're really far too nice to tell him/her/it when you feel you've been wronged. Historically, God hath made nice people so that the assholes/dicks/bitches at the top of the food chain would have someone to feed off of. I recommend you get rid of your insipid conscience and go kick some cute puppies somewhere. For once, stand up for yourself in your Viagra deprived existence.
You cry
There are only two real reasons to cry. Onions and Skynet launching nukes. In the absence of such, the third reason is that you hate yourself. As in deeply despise.
Take a moment to be quiet. And listen.
Do you hear that? That's the silence of 6 billion people not caring about your idiotic tears. Or the reason behind them.
You _always_ call back first after a fight
If somehow you're not personally responsible for the financial security of Airtel or can be made to agree with (1) above with a little alcohol, take a MotherFrocking hint and stop doing it.
You like Twilight, Krishi Darshan and/or reruns of Kyunki...
Self explanatory.
You have no problem expressing your feelings
I believe the scientific term for a member of your species is "namby pamby". Nobody cares about what you feel. And if you're going about on your merry gay horse telling people about it, I don't think you do either. Go to your neighbourhood pirated software shop and get some self respect, you stud you...
You're willing to forgive considering how he/she must be feeling at such a difficult time
What are you? Mother Teresa with a hangover? Don't expect an apology and don't wait for one. But persecute with passive-aggressive tactics until you do get one. No point not being mature about this.
But don't for the love of God be understanding about anything until asked to be. I'd quote Ivan Pavlov and the hungry dog but I know you to be intelligent.

Moral of the story… if you find yourself repeatedly committing these common place errors usually confused with finding happiness in love, please take a closer look at the gigantic hole that used to be your soul. I want you to be happy. More so when you realize that you don't have to be tortured anymore.

You...

2010-08-01T14:33:00.000+05:30

Always remember, it’s your fucking fault. It’s your fault that you’re fat, that you’re poor, that you consistently underachieve and that you pick relationships where getting hurt is the norm. And any self help book that’s telling you otherwise is selling lies. It’s your fault that you’re buying those lies, you fuck.

But I won’t blame you totally. You’re not entirely without hope. You hope that things will improve soon and that it’ll stop hurting out of some sense of cosmic fairness, nice fuck that you are. Thing is, the capacity of the human mind to sustain torture consistently befuddles me.
Convincing yourself time and again that somehow things will improve beyond what they are when all you’re doing is the same thing over and over again is tantamount to criminal insanity. Entropy is something that’ll always screw you over. Get that into your pansy little head, (again) you ginormofuck.

Find that hard to palate? How about we make this about the noblest, nicest, warmest and fuzziest reason of all… Vengeance. You do want to drive into your ex’s birthday party in a Maserati with an oversexed Russian model for a twinkie, don’t you? Or gift him/her a laser guided bomb beacon and watch the fun explode as you watch from your sniper scope. Or whatever else turns you on, you sick pervert.

You, O mighty king of the duffers, are the only person in the clusterfuck that is the cosmos who’s ever going to look out for you. Write that down on your forehead in reverse and look into a mirror if it’s too difficult to remember. But do yourself a favour and get a life. It’s worth it, (as always) you enormofuck.

The Shiv Sena, milked...

2010-07-29T23:11:00.001+05:30

The Shiv Sena and its spinoffs

are the biggest clusterfuck organizations in the history of clusterfuck organizations. This being an illustrious list comprising of Airtel, the Third Reich and the three people who like Twilight.

I believe the classical term used for these asinine impotent jerks is vile hate mongerers. And they hate simply everything. Take your pick... Valentine's Day, the rest of India, the English language, non Marathi lyrics, freedom of speech, Cab drivers who've gotten less than an A- in Marathi grammar, even friggin' pink underwear.

And today, they feel fit to enrage our sympathies against ...yes... 'Milk powder' by spilling thousands of liters of milk on the street. This in a world where there are about a billion people dying of chronic hunger. This in a country where 50% of the population will never see outside the darkness of the poverty line.

It's at times like these that I get sad about the unavailability of shooting squads as well as their gentle application to such situations. India can certainly do with a few fucks less. I request the cosmic powers of indifference to let it be these fucks.

Those suitably outraged for reasons apart from copyright infringement may get their asses here for professionally incompetent reporting.

Or here for Shiv Sena recruitment criteria, and here for the science behind an average Shiv Sena member.