Daddy Diaries : Mind Un-pooped

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Dear Diary,

There are some things more scarier than L.K. Advani becoming the Prime Minister of India and him dozing off in his swearing-in ceremony. More scarier than him suddenly waking up and saying – Now I can die peacefully – and then doing exactly that. I wonder how our President will react to that. Wait! Who is our President nowadays?

Sorry Dear Diary, I went a bit off track. I was talking about scary things. Right.

Ever since I have seen parents handling their kids, the one thing that has scared me the most is the act of cleansing the child off undesirable and discarded belongings. I have always found the act repulsive and the mere mention of a diaper would give me cold sweat. I really could not understand eager parents who would open the diapers at the drop of a hat to examine the insides, the same way they would examine their child’s report card years later. There are some who do not take the pain and simply sniff the diaper as if they are strolling in the annual flower show in the Mughal Gardens. Then there are some who put their hand underneath the diaper and weigh it to guesstimate its approximate weight and act accordingly. There are times when I have seen parents indulge in incredibly horrifying and nauseating multitasking like eating Rajma Rice with one hand and handling the diaper with another.

I must admit Dear Diary that I have turned my face away with aversion whenever I have seen the act. But as they say – You can run, you can hide but you can’t escape God’s sadism.

When I discussed it with Geet, we hugged and cried with relief because she felt exactly the same but was always afraid to discuss it with me. She told me of one lone incident when she tried to change her nephew’s diaper and then could not eat anything for the rest of the day. There was a soothing calmness in knowing the fact that we were equally hopeless. Dear Diary, you cannot believe the burden it took away from our shoulders.

The fear returned when Anika was born. Geet was too weak to do anything for the first few days and it fell upon me to do the inevitable act that I have dreaded all my life. The moment of truth had arrived. I waited with bated breath for the sound of release. I had no idea how it would sound like or whether there would be a sound at all. And then I heard it. It sounded like a dormant volcano that has come alive. My heart was in my mouth as I opened the diaper with trembling hands. Beads of perspiration were glistening on my forehead. Geet looked at me with an expression that smelled of pity, helplessness and amusement.

Dear Diary, what happened next was so unexpected that I still find it hard to believe. My mind was un-pooped. There was no feeling of revulsion or disgust. I did not choke. In fact I smiled as if I have discovered diamonds in the diaper. I cleaned her, changed her diaper and then closed Geet’s hanging jaw.

I don’t know how it works. How does your mind behave in an entirely different way when it is your own child. I have been fighting this phobia for such a long time but when the time came and things actually happened, my mind behaved as if it was the most natural things to clean butts smeared with refuse with a straight face. I guess, there are a few switches that are turned on after you become a parent.

This, Dear Diary, has been the most fortunate turn of events. And it wasn’t just me. Geet too did not feel a thing. In fact, there are times when we examine everything closely and discuss various factors like colour, graininess and flow before using the wipes. There have been times when Anika has done a ‘Balam Pichkari’ on my clothes and I have laughed at that too.

I have done it 230 times till now. Yes, I have been counting. It is an achievement dammit. I have also realized the fact that diapers are so expensive. I keep telling Anika to use them judiciously and she has been a nice girl.

Dear Diary,

Time is flying. She is a month old now. Geet and I are already discussing investments for her. Oh wait! There she goes again. Oh! That sound is so amazing. Etna has erupted.

Time to go.

[image from here]

How to survive a pregnant wife

A wise man once said that pregnancy brings out the animal in a woman. I don’t exactly remember who said that but I think it was me. It is also said that pregnancy is the most wonderful period for a woman but whoever said that must have been Justin Bieber. You can mildly compare a pregnant woman with a werewolf. Bring out that full moon of empathy/sympathy/apathy and you might be mauled in unimaginable ways. Those nine months are a litmus tests of patience for not only a lady but her husband as well.  Especially the husband. His situation is similar to a walk on burning coals. But let me not put the whole nine months in a single bracket because there are blissful times as well, like seeing your wife turn into Pamela Anderson.

First Trimester (first 3 months) – The vomit generator

After the initial euphoria of witnessing two red lines on the pregnancy test kit dies, the arduous journey begins. Your wife will turn into a recycling machine. Anything that goes inside her will come out in mashed form. Sometimes food and medicine will come out in exactly the same form as they went inside. So don’t be surprised if you see a crisp samosa lying in your wash basin one fine morning.

Husbands should try to avoid making any remarks in this duration if they do not want to be karate chopped. Here are a few sample conversations you should never make while your wife is producing hot dimsums.

Husband – I know what you are going through.

Wife – Do you now?!? *Dimsum 1* Believe me you have no *Dimsum 2* bloody idea so stop pretending *Dimsum 3*. Go away before I *Dimsum 4* kill you.

Husband – *does the mistake of patting her wife’s back while she is hovering over the washbasin*

Wife – Don’t touch me, you sex maniac. This is all your fault. You have had your fun. Now sit back and enjoy the next nine months.

Husband – This will be soon over. Every pregnant woman goes through this. You will be Ok.

*Big fuc*ing mistake*

The guy ends up with a broken neck.

The best approach during the first three months will be to hug her cautiously when you think she will not split you into two. Such occasions will be rare but they will be there.

Second Trimester (months 4-6) – Pamela Anderson

Your wife will start looking like those clandestine celebrities in this duration. The tummy will start showing in the 5th or 6th month but it will not be prominent in comparison to her other *ahem*. If you are one of those few unlucky souls, she will carry her first trimester problems in this trimester also. Most women don’t. You should be prepared for some extra shopping as it will appear that the last time your wife shopped was when she was in kindergarten. Nothing will fit her. Her bra size will horrify her. She will buy extra large everything with immense sadness.

During this trimester, the husband should be credit card ready. One tiny sound of rebellion and he might be flying out of Pantaloons. He will be reminded that this photoshop-ish distortion of the wife’s anatomy is all his mistake and now he has to ‘pay’ for it. It will not matter when the husband tries to reason that he is delirious with joy at the photoshop-ish enlargements.

Third Trimester (months 7-9) – The planet

By the ninth month, your wife would have turned into a planet. She would eat as if an asteroid is going to hit Earth tomorrow and vaporize all the ice-cream shops. Do not be alarmed because there is a baby inside her who needs all that nutrition.

The wife might find it uncomfortable to sleep. There will be instances when she will complain that the baby kicks all the times.

Do not try this at home –  

Husband – It will be soon over darling.

Wife – Yeah? What do you know? Have you ever tried pushing a baby out of you? OH GOD! I AM GOING TO DIE! 

Husband – Oh! Come on! It is not as if you are the first woman to….. *Was not able to complete the sentence because of a kick in the balls*

It will be during this trimester that there will be times when the husband and wife will be freaked out by the fact that another human being is growing inside the wife. It might sound like those alien movies but watching the baby play football as your wife’s tummy heaves like a turbulent ocean will not help. This might sound absurd but try talking to the baby. Make a paper boat and keep it on your wife’s tummy while making ridiculous storm sounds.

The D-Day

It gets worse once the labour pain starts. It is like a full moon night and the husband is under immense danger of being flung out of the window of the hospital building. Husbands should be prepared for all the groaning curses flung at them and take them sportingly. Sentences like –

–          This is all your fault you pathetic bastard. God will never forgive you.

–         Wait till this thing gets out of me! I will put you in the washing machine.

–         Don’t ever think that you will make me go through this again. I will snap your neck at the mere mention.

A husband might be alarmed that his wife has been possessed and needs an exorcist more than a mid-wife but that is not the case. Try to dab away the sweat from your wife’s brow when you think she will not dig her nails in your hand. Be quick about it.

Once the baby is delivered your wife will be back to normal except that now she has turned into Mother Dairy and will be dripping milk all over the house. The husband might feel isolated at this point of time as the Dairy will be open 24X7 for the baby. Try not to sulk. 

Surviving a newborn will be covered in another post.

p.s. Pregnancy is a beautiful time. A couple goes through myriad emotions during those nine months. They forget all the pain when they notice the child moving in the tummy, when they try to figure out the head and the arms in the ultrasound report, when they do shopping for the baby before the grand arrival. If the post has given you any negative concerns, then that is purely your pessimistic imagination.

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[image from here]

A chat with the Seducers

They have been entertaining us for years. You cannot imagine Bollywood without their gyrations. In this nation where an average Indian struggles for a meal, they are like a shining beacon in cold nights giving equal respite to the underprivileged and the privileged. Why would I like to chat with them, you may ask? It is to know their secret formula, to know what makes them thrust, to know what inspires them to do jiggle their assets.

It was an honor to be connected to the Seven Sexy Seducers on WeChat and talk to them. Now won’t it be best if I share with you our chat history? That will give you enough fodder as to why I was jumping with joy when I got this opportunity.

Oh! But before that, let me introduce them to you.

The Chat

Me : Hello Ladies. This is history in the making.

Mehbooba : History? Are you trying to insult me by telling me that I am old now?

Chikni Chameli : LOL

Me : No! I meant this is history in the making because all of you are here chatting together.

Mehbooba : Ah! And Chikni Chameli, show some respect. I have done more dance numbers than the number of clothes you are wearing.

Badmaash Babli : ROLF! Mehbooba, like seriously! Do you live in a cave? Chances are that Chikni Chameli is hardly wearing anything.

Ku Ku Ku : Mehboobaji, girls nowadays do not wear skin colored clothes like in your times. They aren’t hypocrites and of course they do not have any respect.

Me : Ladies! Really, this is a most interesting cat fight but can we just chat? Can all of you share your thoughts about what drove you to do all those dance numbers?

Mehbooba, Laila, Badnaam Munni, Halkat Jawani, Chikni Chameli, Badmaash Babli, Ku Ku Ku : The love of Art.

Me : Wow! 5 minutes into the chat and I have tears in my eyes. What else? You all know that the men in our country love you to bits. Movies make crores because of you. Your item numbers are the first ones to be aired to generate enough testosterone to make families come and watch the movie. So what else makes you gyrate in addition to love of art?

Laila : *blush blush*

Halkat Jawani : Why are you blushing? The last item number you did was in 1980.

Ku Ku Ku : RESPECT ladies!

Chikni Chameli : Is it because you are soon going to join their ranks? LOL!

*This was not going the way I wanted it to*

Me : Ladies, can we get back to the question?

Laila : I did it for fame too. There. I said it. We all do it for fame. We love it when men fall over each other to touch us and our bodyguards fling them in random directions. It is addictive.

Badmaash Babli : See, the basic fact is that a majority of the people are sexually starved and we capitalize on it. There is no harm in it. The whole world capitalizes on things that can be capitalized upon.

Mehbooba : I never thought about it that way. I loved dancing.

Badnaam Munni : I think the whole concept has evolved over the years. The dynamics and the stakes have changed. Heroines never did item numbers earlier. Now we do not need someone like Mehbooba. I think it started changing during the time of Laila.

Me : But the item number is not about dancing anymore, isn’t it?

Ku Ku Ku : No it is not. It is more about profits now. It is about gathering as much people as you can to recover your production costs. It is more about moving parts of your body in unimaginable ways to arouse men.

Me : And all of you know that?

Halkat Jawani : Of course we know that! Who do you think we are? Paris Hilton?

Me : Ok. Forget about all the statistics but is it exciting to know that lakhs of men lust after you? That given a chance, they will pounce on you?

Laila : Sweetheart, a man who has to pounce on you will pounce on you, irrespective of the item number. The world is abundant with pouncers. 

Me : But given the fact that an average Indian male is sexually oppressed and consider all women not related to him as objects, don’t you think that you are fanning the fires here?

Badmash Babli : Look, it is a simple demand and supply phenomenon. Stop watching movies with item numbers and Bollywood will stop making them. We are just riding on the tide.

Me : What about morality?

Halkat Jawani, Chikni Chameli : Fu*k morality.

Mehbooba : Jesus!

Badnaam Munni : LOL! Let who is without sin cast the first stone.

Chikni Chameli : Cigarettes cause cancer but we still manufacture them. Alcohol is injurious to health. Why do we manufacture guns and bombs? Why do prostitutes exist? Darling, you are talking about morality in a world that has buried it long ago.

Laila : Do you really think our society will turn Mother Teresa if item numbers are banned?

Me : I believe that they are a part of the problem. And I don’t believe morality is dead. There are people who still swear by it and are fighting for its existence. It is a matter of talking sides. It is a matter of convincing yourself that there are things more important than money. 

Chikli Chameli, Ku Ku Ku : Ha!

Me : All right ladies, lets not be so serious. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Mehbooba, tell us what you think about the new girls?

Mehbooba : Too bold for my taste. And I do not understand the concept of wiggling bosoms. I think it was Ku Ku Ku who started it and now everyone is giving the twins a roller-coaster ride.

Laila : Exactly. If we line all the ladies up against the Great Wall of China and let loose the tremors, the wall will have a gaping hole in minutes. Why is everyone doing that?

Chikni Chameli : Laila, now really! You have subjected people to enough horizontal wiggling in your songs.

Badnaam Munni : I guess people like it. And lets not talk about morality again.

Me : It is a two way road. I think a society where actresses fall over each other to do an item number says a lot about the society as well but there has to be a sense of responsibility in the industry too. Actresses are not machines on a production line that have to manufacture a product that they are designed for. It is not a simple demand and supply. We are humans with brains.

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Do as the Romans do

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Going abroad is not a distant dream anymore. In fact, come summers and the Indian streets seem deserted (if you do not consider dogs and beggars) as most of us are ‘holidaying’ abroad. Europe, South East Asia, Amrika – you name the place and you will find Indians sitting in Indian restaurants, sucking a chicken leg with a noise loud enough to shatter the lens of the Hubble.

Indians going abroad is a welcome change when the roads back home seem a bit cleaner in their absence which in turn give some relief to the sweepers. It also gives me some sort of sadistic pleasure. The tourist destinations that boast of their superior infrastructure are tested to their limits. For how long can we curb the urge to throw that stained tissue on the road? For how long can we restrain ourselves from leaving a mark on the country in the form on a single straight stain on a wall that runs down to form a puddle? There are times when we would like to spit on the spotless roads, when we would like to honk the hired convertible to glory. No wonder Indians breathe a spit of relief the moment they land in their beloved motherland and throw the slurped paper plate of Dahi Bhalle on the road with tears in their eyes. They are doing a national service, they are helping the sweepers to retain their jobs and put food into the mouth of their army of kids.

Monalisa DeshpandeWhat I find a bit disturbing is the way nationals of other countries behave in the presence of an Indian dipped in his culture.  Taking an example – We love to put Champakali, Chameli and Coconut oil in our hair. It is a recipe for our lush hair that has been passed through generations. Then why do we see people wrinkle their nose all around us when we go abroad? Don’t they get the exotic aroma rising from our head? Now we already smell of spices because of the kind of heaped-in-spices and swathed-in-oils food we eat since childhood. Add to that a dash of Champakali on our head and we turn into walking aphrodisiacs. Is the wrinkling because of the fact that we at times forget to use deodorants and smell like a dead rat? But how can that be when the oil and spices are so overpowering to make a person lose his consciousness in ecstasy? Beats me.

We Indians are very colorful people. Ask a foreigner who has been to India and the first thing he will tell you is that he thinks the whole country has gone gay (which actually seems to be a very good idea considering our amoeba like growth). We love our colors so much that we carry them unabashedly to foreign lands. Even when foreigners all around us start wearing sunglasses indoors to save their eyes from the razor-sharp colors or when they hide their faces in the beer mugs because of the sight of the momma made jumper we are wearing, we fail to get the subtle hints. And why should we? What is the harm in adding some colors to their boring grey, blue and black life?

To curb our habit of staring is another monumental task while we are abroad. If anything remotely Caucasian walks by, our jaw hangs dangerously. It is difficult to make a foreigner understand that we stare at anything. It is our way of admiring the beauty of nature. We also point fingers and giggle. It is harmless of course.

Patience is the name of the seventh moon of Jupiter. That is why when we are subjected to the word while in queues in foreign lands, we respond with bewilderment. Why can’t they make a separate line for ladies, senior citizens, children, people in orange clothes, people in whites and people with two legs? How can everyone have so much time on their hand? Don’t they have a daily soap to catch, a maid to manage, a child to batter and a match to watch?

Should we do as the Romans do or should we splash our superior culture all over the world and teach them a thing or two? Why not turn the question the other way around? What do we expect from a person visiting our country? Don’t we expect them to litter the roads, spit till they end up with salivary deficiency, eat and drink food sprinkled with fumes from the roadside stalls and bring out taser guns the moment they see four men walking towards them? So if we would like tourists to be a part of our culture and enjoy their stay here, then why can’t we reciprocate in a similar manner? In the same way that we are all proud of our culture where people leave soiled diapers in Taj Mahal, people from other countries will be proud of their shiny roads and non-aphrodisiacal surrounding and would like us to respect that.

We know its their loss that they miss this chance to bask in our refined and better cultural glory during our stay in their country but we can leave them to their miseries. If we can adjust 7 people (dog included) on a motorbike, we can do this. Don’t you think?

[image from 1, 2]

The Kiss of Freedom

This story begins when I was a bachelor. I had just landed in cold Manchester and almost lost my hand to the winters. Thankfully, I had a glove layered with a dead animal’s fur which saved me that day. I reached the row house where I was supposed to dwell and one of my very vivid memories of that first day is of a directionless drizzle of snow and one of my roommates asking me – “Have you ever kissed your wife in a public place?”

I reminded him that I wasn’t married. I thought he was missing his wife who left UK a few days back and these were his hormones that were talking.

“Oh you must! It is a great feeling!” he chirruped.

I rushed to the bathroom before my head could bang itself on the wall.

I had never before seen men and women entwine on roads and exchange the secretions from their salivary glands. I had never seen couples holding hands like two lost kids in a jungle. In India, the man is always walking two steps ahead of his meek wife. In UK, there was an opposite unabashed display of affection. Couples kissed at bus-stations before they departed to work, they kissed inside buses before they went their way, they kissed in the evening when they met on a bus-station, they kissed while shopping, while eating, while roaming, while watching a movie. The only place I was comfortable watching couples kiss was in a cinema hall. After all I had spent an entire movie figuring out the location of a guy’s head while watching a movie in India.

This world was overtly sugary for me. Why do they have to hold hands all the time? A month after landing in UK, I went to Scotland. One of my friends took his pregnant wife with him even after the doctor disapproved because he had already paid for the tickets. Then on top of it, both of them sat at the front seat and had a glorious view of the Highlands as we went in search of the Loch Ness monster. The wife got dizzy and smeared the front of the bus with her lunch. Amidst shocked looks, the tour operator scrubbed the mashed vegetable sandwich from the floor and politely asked the couple to exchange seats with a newly wed Spanish couple sitting 6 seats behind. As the Spanish couple settled in the front seat, their lips locked like two opposite poles of the magnet. I could see their lips from the gap between their seats and it was a very pleasant ride after that. I don’t remember much of the Highlands post the exchange of seats.

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A few months into it and I was now used to the sight. I even smiled at times. During Summer, as hundreds of variety of flowers bloomed all over Manchester and covered the city with a beautiful mesh, the sight of couples holding hands and smiling at each other made me seriously rethink my I-shall-die-a-virgin strategy.

That was the time I started talking to Geet.

After I got married, I remembered those words of wisdom told to me on my first day in Manchester. Now was the time to test the theory. I did not want Geet to slap me in public, so the timing had to be perfect. I took her to Paris on our honeymoon. My plan included Eiffel Tower – the hideous iron structure on top of which it was mandatory for the couples to kiss and vow for eternal love for each other.

“Wow! That is one ugly piece of iron,” Geet said the moment we landed at the tower. That was not a very romantic start.

As we ascended the haphazardly put structure in a lift filled with eager tourists (which included an Indian woman telling her 3 year old son that he was very fortunate to visit the tower at such a tender age), I wondered if this was the correct choice. As we reached the top, I realized that it was taller than what I had anticipated and one shove would have landed me in the tranquil Seine.

The top of the Tower greeted us with bellowing winds. It was as if a twister had hit it. People were holding their heads and running helter-skelter. We managed to walk to the other side where the winds were negligible. The scene was out of a poem. There were couples all around us, some of them dreamily looking into each other’s eyes, some of them kissing. I clasped the iron bar in case Geet decide to fling me over. I looked deep into her eyes and kissed her, thus taking to conclusion our first official kiss in a public place.

It tasted of freedom.

During our stay in Manchester, both of us turned into one of those insufferable couple who indulged in public display of affection, who could not walk without holding hands. She used to wait for me at the bus-station and we used to kiss as I got off the bus before we walked to Tesco. She used to walk with me till the main door of our apartment building and we kissed before she watched me walk away to work. We realized for the first time that expressing yourself in a public place wasn’t abnormal as we were always lead to believe. It wasn’t looked down upon. We weren’t looking around like criminals and making sure that no one was watching us before expressing ourselves. It was rejuvenating.

In India, you will be penetrated by a thousand eyes if you show a bit of an affection towards your partner in public places. It somehow attracts all sort of losers. You might be beaten up. We love creating noise over simple acts of affection. In the past couple of years things have changed. I see a lot more couples holding hands in malls and whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears. It is a good change but of course, it is limited to the cities. A lot of us look down upon public display of affection as if it is a disease. But think about it. Don’t you feel instantly warm and affectionate when everyone around you is feeling the same? The very air you breathe changes. You feel good about the world.

The good times ended when we came back to India. Now Geet and I are confined to holding hands in public. I sometimes miss those days of carelessness, those days of fearless freedom, those days of magic, those days when there were no restrictions and I could kiss my wife on a busy road and no one gave a damn.

p.s. Try the Eiffel Tower at night. It is like Cinderella. The fairy godmother of electricity turns it into a beauty without equals.

[all the photographs are taken by me]

Forgotten Heroes – Tuffy and Pigeon

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There were times when Tuffy could not believe that he was sleeping on the road, fighting with stray dogs over tiny morsels of food. He lived in a mansion once, where everyone sang and danced, where he was once made an umpire in a game about which he had no idea (all he knew was that one of the wooden boards had a bit of chicken tikka masala rubbed on it and whenever he picked it up, everyone screamed and pointed at the sky). Those were the good old days.

Pigeon sat on a wire, curiously studying the familiar dog that gnawed at a bone near one of the huge dustbins. Even though he was dirty and his shiny white mane was hardly visible, the pigeon could not whisk away the inkling that the face was too familiar. Pigeon did not have any friends. The fact that he was white gave him delusions of grandeur. This really pissed off the usual grey pigeons and they kept him at bay. As he saw the dog, the pigeon remembered the time when he was a pet and sighed. He missed how Suman rubbed his nipples while singing. Those were the good old days.

HAHKHe flew towards the dog.

“I hope I am not disturbing you Sir but are you Tuffy?” the pigeon asked.

The dog looked up. It was days since anyone has talked to him.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“It is a privilege to meet you sir! I am aware of your heroic deeds and how you helped Prem and Nisha in Hum Aapke Hain Kaun.”

“Wait! Are you Prem and Suman’s pigeon from Maine Pyar Kiya?”

“Yes, Sir. I am,” the pigeon said puffing his chest.

“You were quite heroic yourself. The way you helped Prem and Suman was commendable.”

“Thank you Sir. So what happened? Why are you here?” the pigeon asked. Tuffy sighed.

“Well! I got bored. It wasn’t as if I didn’t like the family but they were getting irritating,” Tuffy said.

“Tell me about it!” the pigeon said rolling his eyes.

“Their house was so bloody big and then everyone was calling my name all the time. I have had enough of running. And then they would sing like 20 songs in a day and made me dance on my hind legs. It wasn’t funny,” Tuffy said.

“I know what you mean. I loved the way Suman held me in her hands and rubbed my crotch but she would throw me in the air like 50 times in a day to send a message to Prem. They lived in the same bloody house!” Pigeon said.

“There was always a crowd in that house. It was as if a whole country was living there. And people will pull my hair, pick me up, toss me around, make me run. By the time I went to sleep at night, my muscles would be burning,” Tuffy said as a tear slip down his cheek.

MPK“I must confess something. I hated my owner. She had this permanent begging expression on her face. And the way she said Prem almost killed me. I wanted to peck out her eyes. And she was a tube light. The poor guy took her to the balcony to have sex with her and she won’t let him. She made him sing and dance till he collapsed of exhaustion,” Pigeon said.

“Nisha and Prem were idiots too. She prepared food for him, wore here fancy pink dress and when they had all the time in the world, they danced! Can you fuc*ing believe that! And her sister who fell off the stairs was another idiot. Why did she have to dance all over the house to get into a room? No one in that stupid family knew how to walk. They even danced before going to the loo. I wonder how they reproduced,” Tuffy said in disgust.

The dam was broken. Old wounds were opening.

“Are you happy now?” Pigeon asked.

HAHK2“Hell yeah!” Tuffy answered licking the bone he was holding in his paws, “Of course, I miss Nisha at times.”

“Why is that?” Pigeon asked in surprise.

“Nisha had a habit of touching me at inappropriate places.”

“Really? Suman also had that habit. She would run her hands all over me as if I was a Kashmiri shawl. Since I never had a girlfriend, this was the closest I came to having sex.”

“I don’t know. I was always aroused by Nisha. Once she wore a backless purple blouse and swayed her hips like melons tumbling off a cart. Heaven!”

“Oh! That was classic. Vagaries of the civilized world.”

“Tell me pigeon. Did you actually push that villain off the cliff?”

“I have never talked about this. Well no, I was not trying to kill him. I was trying to kill Prem. When Suman was thrown out of Prem’s house by his father, I had no idea that he would come after her. Oh! How I wanted to put my beak in his nose and pull out his brains when I saw him in the village. Even though I hated Suman’s shrivelled face, the physical pleasures she gave me were too much to sacrifice. I thought that if Prem died, she will be mine. But Alas, that idiot villain could not understand my intention. I was just trying to help him pull Prem down and he thought I was attacking him,” pigeon said with a sad expression.

“I would like to confess something too. When Nisha gave me that letter to give to Prem, I thought that giving it to his elder brother will create a ruckus and he will still marry her and make her life hell. And then she will be mine. She will always turn to me for comfort. But the fool made her marry Prem. I cried buckets that day,” Tuffy said.

As Tuffy and Pigeon were busy being nostalgic, no one noticed a tigress coming from behind. Before Pigeon could spread his wings, she landed her paw on his tail and closed her mouth over his head.

“NOoooo,” Tuffy shouted and jumped at the tigress. He did not see a blurred movement of her paw that slashed against his jaw, flinging him at a wall on his right. Tuffy slid down the wall like a dead fly.

Within seconds, the tigress was licking her claws as a few feathers slid off her mouth.

“Pathetic animals! I can’t believe someone took them as pets. Look at me! Now I am a majestic animal worthy of being a hero. I am elated that Himmatwala took me in. He is kinda sexy too. I love licking his shaved cheek,” the Tigress said fluttering her eyelashes. She then moaned and walked away to find Himmatwala.

The thought of another lick of the shaved cheek was too much to bear.

Himmatwala-New-Poster

[Images from – 1,2,3,4, 5]

10 Commandments of driving in the country of Uttar Pradesh

crocodileThe prosperous and vibrant country of Uttar Pradesh holds a special place in my heart. I am now officially a resident of this high on testosterone land. In such a short span of time, the Gun Ka Achaar, the poems of Ma Behen, the misty winters of cold shoulders and the daredevils on the pot-holed race tracks have taken my heart away.

The citizens of this country are a class apart. They work tirelessly towards bringing to life what the rest of the Indians consider unachievable. There are times when I have tears of happiness in my eyes while driving as I see everyone following the following 10 commandments of driving in this amazing country with such seriousness.

Thou Shalt driveth as in America

The citizens of this great nation realized long back that the fastest way to develop the country is to flip the way they drive. Driving in the wrong lane is not taboo here. In fact you will be amazed by the vehicles running in the wrong lanes. It gives you an instantaneous feeling that you are in America. It is a sign of progress. In fact any tourist who visits Uttar Pradesh immediately gets comfortable seeing the roads here after jumping from their hotel windows.

day-dream-while-driving-funny-quotesThou shalt smirketh at the followers of the substandard rules

Now smirking and making fun of people who try to apply the rules followed in India is considered a privileged activity in the country of Uttar Pradesh. Outsiders are advised not to take it negatively. You really have to understand the emotion of the citizens behind this act. Try to drive in the wrong lane for a resounding acceptance. In fact, educated and well placed Delhiites who buy posh flats in NCR here end up following the American rules of driving. It is a matter of pride.

Thou shalt honketh for brotherly prodding

The enthusiasm with which the citizens of this great nation drive might drive an outsider crazy. The honking is like a symphony that reaches a rhythmic crescendo especially near traffic signals. Try listening to Beethoven’s 5th symphony while driving here and that might be the closet you will get to achieving nirvana. Honking is nothing more than brotherly prodding. It is a way to tell you that a bullet is always faster than the speed of your car.

Thou shalt achieveth orgasm jumping signals

The adventurous zeal with which the citizens here drive is commendable. It keeps the heart healthy as it keeps pumping at the rate of 150 bpm. It is a fantastic alternative to exercising in our busy lives. So, the next time you see UP-ites stopping at a signal not because it has turned red but because they are going to die otherwise, try to understand the smart logic behind it. Almost everyone (except a few sissies) in this great nation has a habit of jumping signals. Multiple jumps lead to multiple orgasms.

sign board 2Thou shalt haveth no fear of traffic cops

The traffic cops are a non-existent entity in this great country. After living here for a while, it is evident to me that the country really don’t need them. The citizens take great care of each other in all sort of road related issues. There is so much caring and sharing that people have rods, bats, fists, honks and swearwords ready in case of an emergency. On exceptional occasions, even if there is a traffic cop standing next to the lamp-post remotely trying to streamline the traffic, he is royally ignored. He is similar to the lamp-post, only less useful.

Thou shalt enjoyeth pot-holed racing tracks

No matter how badly damaged the road is, the citizens of this great nation never take it to heart. Mostly, the speed of their cars is so high that they fly over the potholes. The act is therapeutic in nature. The constant flights and occasional jolts rejuvenate the body. Also, the mind remains in an alert state when so many cars are racing in the same direction. It is very similar to a computer game where rickshaws, cows and pedestrians are added to attain higher difficulty levels. Sometimes potholes are filled with sand and a few days later you might see a plant sprout out in the middle of the road.

Thou shalt decorateth the roads in red

Where else in the world will you see such ardor in the citizen of a nation where they can achieve the frightening feat of opening the door of a moving vehicle to spit on the road? In fact the citizens are so hell-bent on decorating the roads and give the nation a colorful appearance that at any point of time, you can see multiple doors opening on a road and paan flying out. It is almost like a synchronized performance of children sitting in a stadium with colorful placards.

Sign boardThou shalt useth traffic signboards for personal use

Since the country has such compassionate citizens, it is not surprising that the traffic sign boards are used for the benefit of the common citizens and politicians. So, you can see a ‘BOYS PG’ poster right over a ‘NO PARKING’ sign board. There might be a colorful mega posters of politicians draped on overhead sign-boards on highways. It is heart warming to see people using government resources for the benefit of all.

Thou shalt stopth anywhere you fancy

The citizens of this amazing nation do not believe in parking areas. Outsiders might be surprised by cars parked at unimaginable angles and in no parking zones but it exhibits the adjusting nature of the citizens. There are auto-rikshaws parked at busy intersections while their drivers pull helpless pedestrians inside. They even pull in men watering the walls midway in the act of donation. These acts (the pulling ones) restore my faith in mankind.

Thou shalt be fearless

Of course, despite all the brotherly love the citizens shower at each other, there are terrible accidents almost every day on the roads. It is a very common sight here to see weirdly crushed vehicles. Over the years, the citizens have developed a heart of steel and carry on abiding to the 10 commandments with the zeal of a warrior. They are the true heroes of the nation of Uttar Pradesh.

And in the end, I promise to follow the 10 commandments with all my heart.

I am proud to be a part of the brainless brotherhood.

driving quotes

My other posts on the same topic that might interest you –

A country called Uttar Pradesh

Traffic control gadgets for the ASIRW (Average Stupid Indian Road Warrior)

[Images from 1,2,3,4]

10 Disadvantages of being a Male

tired man

It is not easy being a man. Today when India is hit by a tsunami of Feminism, the men stand at crossroads. Should we jump in too and let go the flood of tears we have been holding since decades? We too have problems with the way the world and nature treats us. It is just that we bear our burdens in silence.

Here are the 10 biggest disadvantages of being a male.

No homemaking

There are times when we don’t feel like slogging. There are times when we are tired of wiping our boss’s spit from our face when he has finished shouting. We have to carry on the mundane task of being a cash machine. We are not even allowed to think about the alternative of letting our wives take that responsibility. How we wish to puff those pillows, dust those expensive showpiece, make dinner, raise our kids and be a perfect homemaker, but all those are distant dreams.

The Tennis Ball

Do you realize the kind of pressure we undergo when Momma and Mate pull us from both the ends? We are not allowed to sit and watch the tennis match between the two ladies because we are that ball. That ball, which is smacked violently and repeatedly in this never-ending match. We are supposed to take sides. Our eardrums hurt.

Road runner

There is always a war on the roads in India. A woman driver is given space and respect because everyone in her vicinity thinks that they will die otherwise. Men on the other hand have to jostle for each and every inch of a road amidst roaring honks and glaring swearwords. We are all Gladiators ready to beat the daylights out of each other.

Probably a rapist/child molester

We are at the end of our tethers trying to duck every woman and child out of our way. A slight brush of our hand on a woman’s skirt and we might be under a hailstorm of sandals. We might talk to a child with a smile and we might end up being pasted to the road by the his father’s SUV. Do you know how straining living like this is? We are a human bomb walking on needles. Of course there is the other end of the spectrum too, but they are more animals than men.

rugby-concussion-demotivational-posShares. Stocks. Bonds. Budget.

Men are supposed to act smart. Even if we believe that shares are sung in a Mushaira and Bonds is the name given to all the girls who bonded with James Bond, we are supposed to act like Harshad Mehta. We should follow the rise and fall of the stock market like a Bollywood actress’s bosoms in a dance number. The latest budget should be on our tips if we want some respect.

Under a lens. Always.

Ever since we open our eyes, we are under constant scrutiny. Our parents burden us with all their unfulfilled dreams as if we are a cargo ship. Then we spend the rest of our lives dodging our wives as they suspiciously go through our shirts for a whiff of an affair, our bosses as they take a smelly dump on our career and our children who start treating us as losers the moment they develop sex organs. When we are old, the nurse treats us as an unwanted cockroach that she is too scared to crush under her feet. Ditto for our children.

Sports Journal

Even though the only sport we are good at is the in-the-night-no-control types, we are supposed to have passionate knowledge about a sport, preferably cricket. God forbid if we confess that we are not interested in it or do not remember the color of the underwear Sachin wore in an unforgettable 1993 series, we will be immediately shunned like a woman carrying an illegitimate child. Knowing about Soccer, Baseball and Rugby is an added advantage. It is not easy to be a walking encyclopedia on sports when all you really like is burgers and breasts.

The rise and fall of Junior

The problem with junior is that it is like an alien entity attached between our legs. Like the Ring of the dark Lord, it has a will of its own. It sometimes rises with the Sun and refuses to subside. It refuses to rise and shine when it is actually required to because of performance issues. It rises at the most inappropriate of places and thus has to be covered up with whatever props we can muster – a book, a lost puppy, a bowl snatched from a beggar. Compare this to women – they might be aroused even in a funeral and not a single soul will know. They could be walking on the street, sitting in a bus or sleeping in a room full of guests and no one will ever point at a hill between their legs and laugh. Oh! The pleasure of that freedom!

Facade

Since childhood we are brainwashed into being a real man who don’t cry, who does not take but give emotional support and who can break a jaw at the drop of a hat. Basically we should be robotic providers who do not go beyond a Hmmm when our children run towards us screaming that they have been selected in IIT. It is taxing. We feel desperately like crying at times, we sometimes wish we could treat our children as friends, sit with our wives and pour our heart out but we can’t. We feel unmanly with the mere thought of it. Instead we get drunk and scream swearwords at strangers on roads.

Dispensable. Always.

jack-and-rose-fit-on-wooden-door

Yes! She could have saved him!

What boils our blood is that whenever a tragedy strikes or there is a war, we are the ones who are left to die. Women and children are the first ones to be saved. If time and situation permits, men are given a thought. Remember when the Titanic sank? Men were left on that sinking shit while women and children sat on lifeboats and saw the show. Rose had a whole goddamn wooden plank! Why are we always so dispensable? Just because we are in excess and selectively chosen over girls to live does not mean we don’t have a life and can be treated like a street dog.

So you see, it isn’t all that rosy for us men too. The world has been subjugating us in its own way. Nature have had it’s revenge too as we can’t even have pleasure at our own convenience. We are living in unbreakable molds like a Mummy and there is no escape.

[image from 1,2,3]

The day Gods were Arnab-ised

arnabgoswami

Arnab looks at the camera and gives a triumphant smile. He feels like the king of the world. 

Arnab: Ladies and gentlemen! This is a Times Wow exclusive. Nowhere in this world, and I repeat, NOWHERE IN THIS WORLD, have you seen a debate of such a scale. Today we will talk to Gods of three religions. Yes, you heard it right ladies and gentlemen. * A pause and he stares at the screen for 3 seconds* You heard it right. Let’s call them God A, B and C. We will not be disclosing the religion they represent, neither will we be disclosing their faces. Please welcome the three Gods.

Three blank screens appear next to Arnab with God A, B and C written below them.

Arnab: “Welcome everyone to the show. Let’s start with the most important question haunting mankind. Let’s end the hide-and-seek game today. LET’S SETTLE THIS NOW AND HERE!!!! Where are all of you? Why are you not helping us? God A?”

God A: Because we are not supposed to! Unless and until a calamity of a monstrous scale happens that threatens the end… 

Arnab: OH MY GOD! You are telling me that there have been no calamities of a monstrous scale? Let me remind you sir. No! Let me remind you! 900 people died in the Mumbai riots in 1993, more than a 1000 people died in the Gujrat roits….

God B: Arnab, he meant on the scale of lakhs, crores. When there is a danger of extinction of mankind, we might appear. Until then…

Arnab: *giving a Dilip Kumar expression* Might appear? Might? MigHT? MIGHT? WE HUMANS HERE ARE COMSUMING VICKS AT AN ALARMING RATE BECAUSE WE ARE GETTING HOARSE CALLING YOU FOR HELP AND YOU MIGHT APPEAR? WE ARE PUTTING LAKHS AND LAKHS OF MONEY AT YOUR FEET WHEN MILLIONS ARE STARVING AND YOU ‘MIGHT’ APPEAR?

God C: Arnab, we cannot undo what humans have done. It is your fate. We gave you brains, didn’t we?

Arnab: *Pointing at God C with a Nirupa Roy look* YOU SIR ARE THE WORST OF THE WHOLE BUNCH! Your people are killing other people since hundred of years and you are eating popcorn and watching the show! Can you sleep at night? Can you look into the mir…..

God C: Why are you blaming me, God B’s people have been destroying one nation after another since decades. What about him? Why don’t you….

God B: Hold on! My people have always fought righteous wars! They have always fought for the love of America humanity. You cannot….

God A: Hrrrrruumph! Give me a break! Both of you should have at least appeared once in a while and made things right. Look at me. I have already appeared 9 times. All you guys do is sit on your ass and….

Arnab: SILENCE! Silence! All three of you are guilty! All three of you! And stop playing your politics here. THIS IS MY SHOW! I AM THE GOD HERE! So, don’t you guys dare to fling fingers at each other. The only finger that flings on this show is MINE! God A, tell me something. Your people are goondas. They beat girls who drink. They beat couples who celebrate Valentines day. Tell me, don’t they serve drinks in heaven when you have cultural programs where apsaras dance? Don’t you have Kamdev in your cabinet?

God A: I never said any of these things are wrong.

Arnab: But YOU NEVER DID ANYTHING TO STOP IT!

God A: What do you want? I can’t bloody come every time on Earth when someone has a flat tyre to help him.

Arnab: OH MY GOD! You are comparing hooliganism and murders to flat tyres? OH MY GOD!

God A: *rolling his eyes* It was just an expression!

Arnab: Let me tell all three of you today – YOU GUYS ARE GOOD FOR NOTHING. *Inserting a sad Anupam Kher expression* I feel like an orphan today. An orphan! And I say this on the behalf of the whole humanity. ALL OF US ARE ORPHANS! WE ARE ON OUR OWN! OH MY GOD!

God B: You really don’t have to be such a drama queen. Let us speak. You have to understand that this is not how it….

Arnab: DRAMA QUEEN? YOU ARE CALLING ME A DRAMA QUEEN? YOU THREE ARE THE BIGGEST DRAMA QUEENS I HAVE EVER SEEN! Sir, let me tell you that you guys exist because of us. If we want, we can shun you all and live on our own. Tell me how it happens then. I would like to listen. Let’s finish this now and here. Today is the day. Today is JUDGEMENT DAY!

God C: Our task was to create the world. We cannot solve your problems. We can only show you the path. It is up to you to walk on it.

Arnab: So, the three of you agree that you cannot help us?

God A,B,C: Yes.

Arnab: OH MY GOD!

*another 3 second pause and then he looks at the camera*

Arnab: Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have seen incompetence at the highest level. Forget politicians. Forget the World Wars. This is the reality exclusively on Times Wow – that we are alone. We have to fight this battle of saving humanity on our own. That OUR GODS ARE NOT GOING TO SAVE US! I WILL NEVER BOW MY HEAD IN FRONT OF ANY GOD FROM NOW ONWARDS!

God A: *yawning* Arnab, why don’t you become the god for humans? You have all the characteristics. *God B and C nod in unison and pass a smile*

Arnab: STOP YOUR SARCASTIC HANKY PANKY! YOUR ROSE TINTED IMAGE HAS BEEN SHATTERED TODAY. HUMANS NOW KNOW WHAT YOU ALL STAND FOR. *looks at the camera* THIS TIMES WOW EXCLUSIVE WILL BE ETCHED IN THE MEMORY OF MANKIND TILL ETERNITY.

God C : *telepathically talks to God A and B* His face is going red. His lungs will be on the table anytime.

God A,B : *telepathically* Don’t make us laugh you idiot! He has already done enough to portray us in a bad light.

God C : *telepathically* You appear as a blank screen, you fool! And you really think people care?

God B : *telepathically* Of course not. That is one reason I haven’t turned him into Rakhi Sawant yet.

God A: *telepathically* Shall we leave?

God C: *telepathically* Oh for God sake! Yes!

*Meanwhile Arnab is still rambling*

Arnab: I AM ASHAMED OF ALL THREE OF YOU!! ASHAMED!! Do you have anything else to say before we end this show?

*Silence*

Arnab: God A, God B, God C?

*Silence*

Arnab: OH MY GOD!

Indian Idle

Indian Idle“Hello everyone! I am Nitin Haddkari and you are watching a very special episode of Celebrity Indian Idle! Please welcome our judges for tonight’s show. Our first judge is our very own number 2, Mr. Raul Gandhi…..” 

“What does Raul know about dance?” Mrs. Shukla who was sitting in the crowd whispered to her neighbour.

“Does it matter? What do Sajid Khan, Karan Johar and Mithun Chakraborty know about dance?” Mrs. Taneja replied.

“And why is Haddkari even hosting this show?” Mrs. Shukla asked.

“What else is there to do now? Besides, his hairy legs are turning me on,” Mrs. Taneja replied.

“Ummm. Me too.” 

“….Our second judge for tonight is Asaram Beg-u, who has taken out time from his busy schedule to be on this show. We had to beg for his presence because that is what he likes to see people do……”

“Christ!” Mrs. Shukla gasped.

“……….Our third judge is my driver Mansukhiya. Mansukhiya has been a loyal servant of our family from the last 20 years and is the CEO of one of my companies. So let’s have a round of applause for our judges and let’s begin the show!!”

The judges take their seats. Raul and Asaram Beg-u have quite a tussle for the centre seat but then Raul points at Rob-us Wadra sitting in the audience. Beg-u mumbles somethings like ‘bloody national calamity’ and sits on one of the side seats. Mansukhiya sits on the floor before Haddkari comes and yanks his arm and say something like ‘Are you Chu*iya?’ and pushes him on one of the seat. 

“Our first contestant is the very gorgeous Sonak-chi Sinha! She has done some amazing award-winning work last year in movies like Rowdy Rathore, Joker, Dabangg 2 and Son of Sardar! Please welcome!” Haddkari announces.

sonakshi_sinha_in_red_saree-1600x900All 130 kg of Sonak-chi Sinha enters the stage in a bright red sari. The song Po-Po-Po-Po-Po fills the auditorium and Sonak-chi gargles to the tune. The audience cheer her loudly. Shatru-gun Sinha is in tears to see his baby girl do him proud.

“That was a perfect performance! Judges what do you have to say to this?” Haddkari asks the judges as Sonak-chi stands next to him chewing her finger.

“I loved it! Sonak-chi, your performance reminded me of our scams. The gargle step is so much like the way we have gargled the citizens of the nation and spit them out. Outstanding!” Raul beamed.

“It was a beautiful performance. Sonak-chi, will you come to my camp and dance with me?” Asaram ji asked shyly.

“Rubbish performance! Ye koi dance hai (Is this dance)?” Mansukhiya mumbled. There is a collective gasp and everyone stares at him. Haddkari throws his mike at him.

“Saale harami! Nikal bahar! Bahar nikal! (Bloody illegitimate! Get out! Out get!)” Haddkari screams as he drags Mansukhiya out. Sonak-chi is bawling by now.

“Khamosh!” Shatru-gun Sinha screams from the audience podium which makes Sonak-chi instantly stop and shudder.

“Sorry ladies and gentlemen! Mansukhiya will be replaced by Kanta Ben who is my maid and the Chairman of one of my companies,” Haddkari announces. Kanta Ben comes and sits next to Raul. She smells of phenyl which makes Raul dizzy. He looks at Asaram Beg-u and is alarmed by a cockroach stumbling out of his beard.

“Our next contestant is our very own silencer MaunMohan Singh!” Haddkari announces.

MaunMohan Singh enters the stage and waves at the audience. He then proceeds to stand in the exact middle of the stage and stares at the audience for two minutes. He then looks at Haddkari and says – done. Raul is in tears by now.

“What a wonderfully poignant performance! Judges what do you have to say?”

“This was by far your best performance MaunMohan Ji. I am short of words,” Raul says wiping off his tears using Kanta Ben’s pallu. He almost faints in the process.

“You remind me so much of all those silent movies I have watched as a child. You have revived my old memories,” Asaram says wiping a sole tear with his beard.

“Aigo! Mast performance! After all, you have been practicing from the last 9 years.” Kanta Ben says.

ramdev“It seems MaunMohan ji have won the heart of our judges! Our next performance is a belly dance by the one and only Baba Rum-de! Please welcome!”

Baba Rum-de enters the stage and performs a unique belly dance called Kapalbhati where he flips alternate coins on his belly. He then makes the coins jump in air as the dance becomes fierce and his belly quivers alarmingly. One of the coin lands in Asaram’s beard and kills the cockroach residing there.

“That was one sexy performance Babaji. Lets ask the…..,” Haddkari said.

“You killed him! You bloody killer! You killed Abhimanyu!” Asaram was up on his seat before Haddkari could complete his sentence.

“Who in seven hells is Abhimanyu?” Raul asked.

“The cockroack,” Asaram said sobbing.

“Why did he name his pet cockroach Abhimanyu?” Mrs. Shukla whispered.

“Maybe it was his beard. The poor thing might have been lost in that chakravyuh for years,” Mrs. Taneja whispered back.

“What do you have to say Raul ji?” HaddKari asked.

“I loved it. It was very arousing,” Raul replied.

“Oh! You haven’t seen arousing yet *wink wink*. Kanta Ben?” HaddKari said.

“Mast! Mast! What a stomach! Jusht like the utensils after I clean them”

“Thank you Rum-de ji. It was an honour watching you dance. Our next participant is the sexy, the seductive, the pole-bearer Sunny le-nahi. Please welcome!”

SharonStone-GadkariA pole is fitted in the center of the stage and Sunny enters wrapped in a plastic sheet. The pole dance starts amidst wide eyes and rising trousers. Haddkari crosses his legs like Sharon Stone. Mrs. Shukla sighs and faints. Beg-u hides his face with his beard. Kanta Ben whispers deva-re-deva and covers Raul’s eyes with her pallu. He thrashes desperately for fresh air but chokes and faints. During the dance, the plastic sheet covering Sunny gets entangled in a nail on the pole and comes free. Kanta Ben faints too. Sunny keeps dancing. Haddkari is on all five begging for mercy. Rob-us Wadra whistles and fires shots in air from his expensive gun. The audience thrust their children under the seats. Bachelors are busy making video of the once-in-a-lifetime event. Married men stare at the ground as their wives study them intensely. Suddenly the programme goes off air.

There is an uproar on Twitter and internet about the way the programme turned vulgar in the end. A committee is organised. It is found that PoleMeBaby, the company that provided the pole used in Sunny’s performance is at fault as all this happened because of the nail. The licence of the company is cancelled.

And, of course, Sunny le-nahi wins the first prize of Celebrity Indian Idle. 

[images from 1,2,3,4]