Why homosexuality should be encouraged in India

image from here

When the Supreme court acts like a Khap and bans homosexuality in a country like India, it is indeed a dark day especially when allowing it would have done wonders for the country. Decriminalization of homosexuality would have turned us into better humans over the coming decades but by making it a criminal offence, all we are doing is being consistently thick-headed. 

This criminalization bit basically means that two consenting adult men or women cannot indulge in ding-dong inside their own house behind close doors. Strange and insane as it may sound, from now onwards they will always be haunted by images of God wiggling his finger at them reminding them of the ‘natural order’ of things. They will also be haunted by Baba Ramdev trying to seduce them into their ashram so that he could cure them by teaching them how to tie themselves in a knot. And this happened after giving four years of hope to those consenting adults that they would be treated like ‘normal’ human beings.

I am disappointed majorly because this was such a golden chance for India to set a few things in order. Take the example of population control. Now we all know that two men or two women cannot produce a baby because of chromosomal complications. That would be like Rakhi Sawant spelling Czechoslovakia correctly. This decriminalization would have helped India to solve this problem of babies popping out of every nook and corner of the country. We would have slowed down this production line of wailing babies for a while.

Another major change would have been lesser dowry deaths. The LGBT community does not believe in arranged marriages and matrimonial websites could not have possibly exploited this aspect of our society. We usually burn around 8000 brides every year which would have considerably reduced. We would have also reduced cases of marital rapes, which by the way, are completely legal at the moment as per the natural order.

Consider female feticide as well. Parents might not kill their daughters when they would realize that after attaining adulthood, their daughters might leave with another woman. There would be no need to save money for their dowry and marriage for the rest of your life. In fact parents would have encouraged it (at least in case of women) and we would have seen ‘Become lesbian in 10 days’ posters on the rear windows of autos. 

“Hello Mrs. Chadha! Where is your daughter nowadays?” asked Mrs. Ahloowalia.

“She got married to her lesbian lover,” Mrs. Chadha replied with pride. 

“Really! How lucky! Our daughter turned out to be one of those silly normal ones. My husband spent his entire pension and savings on her marriage.”

“Pity! We are going on a Euro tour next month. But your son did turn out all right, no? He is gay, right?”

“Yeah, and thank god for that!” said Mrs. Ahloowalia. 

“What about the family tree?”

“Oh fuck trees! They are adopting!” Mrs. Ahloowalia beamed. 

We would have also seen a rise in the number of adoptions happening in our country. Usually same-sex couples end up adopting children to complete their family. This would have taken the burden off the conscience of parents who leave their children in garbage bins. Of course, our ultra complex adoption laws would have to be amended. They anyway need an amendment at present because by the time a couple is able to finish the formalities of adopting a 6 months old child, he/she is already 18.

Maybe decriminalization followed by making same-sex marriage legal would have made us more tolerant to people who are different from what we consider normal. It would have opened doors for other kind of kindness too. For example, we would have stopped looking down upon all the Chinese from the Eastern states of India or the people who work in our houses or collect garbage for us or who pull the rickshaw or who live under the flyovers or who are not married or who are differently-abled or who are raped. One kind of acceptance would have opened doors for another kind.

Another good thing that would have come out if it is that the country would have shown a middle finger to all the people who are the mouthpiece of Gods. It is strange how God has nothing better to do other than frothing via the mouth of his fan club dying to set the world straight. All around the world, the countries that have moved away from conservative religious zombies and madmen and have kicked them in the ass are the ones where people have a much better living standard. This was our chance to be progressive. And we supremely fucked up.

It does not matter if we hurl a hundred rockets towards Mars or set up an Indian colony on that planet. As long as we poke our nose in the affairs of two consenting adults and do not give them freedom of choice, all those scientific advancements don’t mean a thing. As long as we do not open our minds to the fact that it is every one’s right to be happy irrespective or their orientations, gender, caste or religion – we are still very much where our ancestors were. On the trees.

Money in the blouse and other stories

images from here

The Toofani Couple

A few days back I had an early morning live implementation. As my cab driver played Need for Speed on the roads of Delhi at 5.30 in the morning, I kept an eye on his nitro consumption which basically means that I was wide awake ensuring that he does not squash me in the rear of a truck. Suddenly, a car overtook us near Hyatt. I noticed that it had two toofani couples in it. Now the couple at the rear seat opened their respective windows, pushed their sorry head and torso outside and planted their butts on the windows. They then went ahead and smoked the same cigarette, passing it to each other from the top of the car.  The eyes of my cab driver went wide while I studied them with mild amusement. I was more worried about my cab ramming into their car and the driver flying out to join them. They smoked the whole cigarette and went inside like the neck of a scared turtle. I narrated the whole incident to my team at office and one of them remarked – What’s so toofani in that? It would have been toofani if they would have exchanged the cigarette from the bottom of the car.

I guess I am getting old.

Another not so lucky Toofani couple

The same week, while returning home enduring my rickety office bus, I saw an accident on the highway. A motorbike was racing in the wrong direction (Yes! On the highway!) and rammed into an Audi. People actually stopped their cars and came out to help (Surprise!). The woman and the bike ended up between the front and rear wheels while the man was dragged to safety. Now they were not able to pull out the women because the Audi went over her. So they tried to get the Audi off the woman by picking it up. I hope she survived but the chances are slim. This happened a day before Diwali.

I wondered if I could show this whole sequence to the Toofani couple in the earlier story, would they still think what they did was cool? Would they care more for their life?

Money in the blouse

Why on earth do people keep their money in their undergarments? The other day, I squeezed myself in a shared auto, which is basically a metal entity used to carry 10-15 people crammed in a space for 6. Sitting in a shared auto will be the closest you would come to understand the feelings of Jews jostling for space in a gas chamber. So, while I shrunk my butt to adjust in the pitiable space provided to me, I saw an elderly aunty ji sitting opposite me, staring in infinity. As the auto traversed the potholed roads, the aunty ji suddenly realised that her stop was near and thrust her hand inside her blouse. After my initial shock subsided, I realized that she was not trying to seduce me but frantically searching for her purse. She fumbled her right breast first but could not place the purse. Then she took out her left  hand and in went the right one to disturb her left asset. While all this was happening, I was obviously not looking at her but I could comprehend what was happening from the corner of my eye. Finally, she was able to find her purse that was hidden in some remote corner and the trauma ended.

I have also seen men putting hands in their underwear to take out money. Please someone tell me what is so irresistible about rubbing cash on your private parts?

Exercise in Patience

I have realized that writing a book is an exercise in patience. When you are doing research, you are impatient to start writing. When you are writing, you are impatiently waiting for the day when it will finish. When you finish, you are impatiently sending it to publishers. Then you wait very very impatiently for the publishers to respond. After a positive response, you patiently twiddle your fingers and wait for the book to hit the market. So, it you are a very impatient person, try not to write a book unless you have some sort of a mental asylum fetish.

By the way, I have started writing my second book. But now there is a kid in the equation, so it will be a while before I finish it. Deep breaths. Patience.

Mars and Traffic signals

There is a very busy traffic intersection on the highway near my home. Since the last two years for which I have been here, I have hardly seen the signal working on this intersection. Although people living in the country of Uttar Pradesh don’t believe in traffic signals and treat them the same way we treat a stray cow and beggars, I still believe that some day we will find people capable enough to mend the said signal. I know that there is some extremely complicated machinery inside it but I am sure that since we have sent a rocket to Mars now, we will be able to find people suitable to handle the neglected signal. Maybe we can consult a few top scientists at ISRO?

I usually do not write random posts but I had to share the ‘money in the blouse’ story and since I do not want to come across as a pervert, I added four intellectual stories to the post.

Guardian Angels – Book Review

A few days back I was surprised to find a mail from Rohit Gore asking me if I would be interested in reviewing his latest novel. I had no idea how to react. I do not read much of Indian authors because of Chetan-o-phobia. I know I am generalizing here and that is why I read Anita Desai’s ‘The village by the sea’ and ‘Fire on the mountain’ and loved both the books. I also read ‘The blue bedspread’ by Raj Kamal Jha and heaved a sigh of relief that there are authors who can help me get over my phobia.

As soon as I got Rohit’s mail, I checked the reviews of his book on Flipkart and Goodreads. The reviews were majorly positive and so I decided to give it a go. There were reasons that were trying to pull me the other way but I will come to them later.

The book was a surprise. On the surface it looks like a regular story of rich boy meets poor girl and the clashes and the sparks that follow but it is a much deeper study of their relationship. Aditya Mehta and Radha Deodhar meet accidentally when they are in school. Radha saves Adi that day and thus begins their turbulent and absorbing journey. The book takes us through their relationship for the next two decades. Aditya is a son of very wealthy businessman and lives in a 40-story mansion (sounds very familiar?) while Radha is the daughter of a middle class man with strong principles and does not have a very good opinion about the Mehta empire headed by Adi’s parents.

I found the book very engrossing. In fact it is one of the books where I did not notice the passage of time. It is fast paced and there is no stagnation in any part of it. Not only Adi and Radha’s characters but the characters of their parents, Heena, Vedant and Sudha Bapat are also well etched. The set up is believable and well-defined. There is something very grounded about the book. You relate to the upheavals and the life turning events the protagonists go through.

Having said that I was not able to comprehend Aditya’s parents. They are sensible, believe in charity and still live in a 40-story monstrosity. But then we have a real life example of that, don’t we? Also, I was a bit surprised when Radha’s mother insist that she goes to Scotland on a holiday with Adi. I have doubts that this could happen in an Indian middle class family.

Coming back to the reasons that were pulling me the other way. I did not like the blurb at the back. It seemed like a desperate attempt by the publication house to sell it by portraying it as a run-of-the-mill love story which it is not. It has layers, it is deep and it is much more than a college romance. I would have second thoughts about buying the book after reading it. I am not a fan of the cover either. And so, I am glad that Rohit sent me a copy.

Overall, an engaging book and worth reading. I hope someone makes it into a movie. It will be a Bollywood movie I would love to watch if there are no item numbers in it.

Rating – 4/5

Four legs good

I like pigs. I really do. The place where I lived earlier used to be lush and green with wide spaces some twenty five years back. Then because of our brilliant government policies, more and more people from small cities and villages started pouring in Delhi and some very interesting unregulated and illegal colonies sprouted like wild mushrooms all around my home. It did not take long for the place to turn into a ghetto where you could not drive without your car bumping into a buffalo. And then there were the pigs. Their sudden appearance gave a new dimension to the colony in addition to naked children rolling on the roads and men bathing in full public view. Monsoons made the pigs delirious with joy and they sang duets with frogs. What a joy it was to hear the two species go oink-oink and trrrr-trrrr in quick succession while one swathed in rain water (Thanks to the eternally clogged drainage system in Delhi) and the other jumped over them. I felt close to nature.

And did I mention how much I like cows and buffaloes? I find them very well behaved in Delhi. They NEVER sit in the middle of the roads and promptly move away from your car the moment you honk. The cows in Chennai or for that matter in Haryana are a bit rustic and very fearless. They sit right in the middle of the roads even if there are huge trucks rumbling towards them. Also, the city cows make me feel proud of our nation. I have seen foreigners going ooooh and aaaah the moment they spot a cow and then frantically fumble their bags for the camera. I once saw a caucasian woman set up her tripod stand on one side of a busy road to take pictures of two cows lolling while they chew their personal cuds. My chest swells with pride every time I think about the incident. And did I tell you about a foolish, old man whose corpse was taken off a cow’s horn in my locality? I am sure he must have been harassing her for free milk.

Then there are the dogs. Not the pet ones, but the ones who play with kids on the street and bite anyone they fancy. I like them too. Every day before going to office, I religiously put chapattis dabbed in milk at the foot of a lamp-post near my house for the dogs of my street. I like the way my wife jumps and runs when 7-8 dogs try to appreciate her new saree by circling her as she catwalks. I cannot imagine my life without stray dogs. They are such an integral part of every Indian city.

Monkeys hanging from trees around my house always turn me philosophical and make me wonder why nature mutated us from them. Was it a joke? There is a society near my house that has humans and monkeys living in harmony. If you visit that society, you will find one monkey sitting on each car. The people living there have finally bought a few langurs to keep the monkeys at bay. Can you imagine how fortunate the children living in that society are to live in such proximity to their ancestors?

And what should I say about the horses, camels and elephants? I still remember (very fondly) an incident which happened while travelling in my office bus. I was deeply immersed in a novel when I suddenly sensed a giant eye peering through the window to see what I was reading. It was an elephant who was standing next to the bus, waiting patiently for the traffic signal to turn green. That day I almost tasted my heart. Sitting on a camel for a ride and straining my spinal cord always remind me how fragile my life is. And I like their extra long eyelashes and the way their jaw moves when they chew. They remind me of Tinu Anand.

Pigeons are another set of fascinating creatures found in abundance in Delhi. Whenever I go to my mum-in-law’s house, I am greeted by mounds of pigeon shit in her balcony. Her AC cannot be operated because it is filled with straws as numerous pigeons have tried to make their nest on top of it. If you leave any of the doors open by mistake, don’t be surprised by the flapping of wings in your bedroom. And the moaning sounds they make in the morning never fails to turn me on. It is the sexiest alarm anyone can dream of.

Living amongst all these amazing species is an experience which you can only enjoy in India. They are mostly harmless if you enjoy them from a distance. But there is another specie that is deadly and extremely dangerous to live with. Humans. In a dark street, you might have more faith in a gang of five dogs but not in a gang of five men. You might allow your child to feed the pigeons but cannot leave him with a portly, old uncle in the park. You might allow your child to take an elephant ride but can you be sure about the driver who takes the child to school?

Yes, I like pigs. Even if they swathe in mud, are dirty, carry germs and litter the road, I know that they are just animals. Trustworthy. Innocent. Living their life without poking their nose in anyone’s business. No ego hassles. They do not know how to use guns or how to throw acid. They do not understand the meaning of countries, terrorists and caste.

Funny how not being intelligent can be such a boon. I wish we were still animals. Life would have been so much simpler.

p.s. I haven’t mentioned cats, squirrels, cockroaches, lizards, sparrows, crows, donkeys, goats, politicians and so many other animals because this post was getting extra long.

[images from 1,2,3,4]

My USA is here

We all know of the utter disdain with which the oldies refer to the new generation as – oh! Those aping west types. They cleverly forget those decades of their own affinity towards the bell bottoms, Elvis hairstyles and humongous shirt collars that resembled this fish –

Yes, we do try to be the west (which basically means USA to us) by talking in that funny fake accent and looking at them for approvals for everything from Modi to Oscars, but we do not believe that you have to ‘ape’ them to turn this country into USA. Now as our government officials prefer changing names of cities to swatting flies, consider a hypothetical situation where the name of our beloved motherland is changed to USA. Now the ‘A’ in this new USA can stand for a lot many things.

For example –

We can be the United States of Amoeba. Look at the rapid rate at which the states are multiplying. From 26 in my school days, we are now at 29. Or is it 30? And then in a very Draupadi-ish style, we share the capitals too. Chandigarh is being bedded by Haryana and Punjab since ages and now Hyderabad has joined the ranks. We have divided this whole whale of a state in two and it is impossible to find a city to create a new capital? The A for Amoeba can also symbolize the way humans divide in this country although the mode is far from asexual. Coming to think of it, we would have preferred it to be asexual. Then the girls and boys would have held hands and played ring-a-ring-a-roses without their parents fretting about the slaughter of cultural values.

We can also be the United States of Aunties. It may represent the nosy aunty brained politicians who recently arm-twisted the RTI act to save their asses. It can also represent those aunties who bully the vegetable vendor into reducing the prices by 36 paise, threaten him with dire consequences if he does not add free extra chilies to her bag and feel proud of their achievement for the rest of the day.

While we are at aunties, allow me to vent a bit gracious reader.

There is this old hag with whom we share our builder floor house. She lives in the ground floor with her husband (who has this permanent expression of shock on his face as if there is a cactus shoved up his ass), her elder son and his wife (the couple fights with the capacity of two Godzillas. The son is completely incoherent and blabbers in an alien language when he is fighting with his wife. Yes, we can hear everything) and her younger son and his wife (recently married, the couple was in a hurry to reproduce. It has just been a year and the couple already has a baby). So, this insufferable woman has a habit of coming up with brilliant ideas to piss everyone off. A few days back, she invited a few homeless local workers to create huts in an empty plot next to ours (a common sight in NCR). The plot is not hers. Her reason? She needs a new maid and she can pick one from the hut. We politely asked her to fu*k off because this is how illegal colonies flourish.

This pathetic excuse of a human being and her gang of similar creatures are also famous for poking their nose in everyone’s affairs. One night, I will don my Batman suite and hang this whole gang upside down from a high-rise.

Feeling unburdened now, we come back to the topic.

We can be the United States of Apathy, because this is what we teach our children. Nothing is more important than you, your family, your dog, your underwear and your money. Not even another human’s life. We are masters in the art. In fact the leftover compassionate people who have not yet converted should be caught and dragged into gas chambers and vaporized, just like those unnecessary Jews who lived a few decades back.

We can be the United States of Applesauce. Appreciating nonsense is one of our greatest achievements. Look at our daily sitcoms, our news channels, our politicians, our reality shows, our movies and our advertisements – everything is loaded with a slapstick sauce, laden with toppings of buffoonery, laced with layers of stereotypes and mixed with a sense of senselessness. Anything ‘normal’ is called ‘art’. We believe that fairness of the skin brings success. And we love it when SRK plays a Madrasi and licks dal off his arm.

We can be the United States of Arnab. Look at the way our own Superman Arnab singlehandedly bring the culprits to justice by his uncontrollable squeaks. Look at the way he ‘demands’ answers that make the most seasoned politicians cringe in their chairs, sweat instantly and beg for forgiveness. We can all roll at his feet and ask him to give his name to the country.

So you see, we really do not have to ape the west to be USA. We have all the right ingredients present right under our nose. All we have to do is to follow our heart, open our eyes and the path will unwrap in front of us. We are already living in USA. All we have to do is choose the right ‘A’.

Do you have any other ideas for what ‘A’ can stand for, O! Reader? I am contemplating starting a petition on change.org to amend the name of our country. Looking forward to your support.

[image from here and here]

Slaughterhouse Country

image from here

I remember a tragic incident from the time when I was in school. There was a narrow two lane bridge on Yamuna close to my house. One fine day, a school bus plunged into the river from that bridge. Reason? The driver lost control because of his rash driving. The children could have been saved if the bridge had a strong concrete railing instead of a feeble iron one, similar to the one used in the balcony of houses. I still remember the face of a mother whose son was never found. The water was too muddy – the divers said. They searched for five days.

Do you know how many children were there in the bus? 120.

One of my British colleagues once made a very interesting observation. He said that we do not treasure life because we believe it is cyclical. We believe that anyone who dies will be reborn and thus don’t care about anyone dying.

Laughable?

But look around you. 4,97,686 road accidents were reported in 2011. 1,42,484 people died in road accidents in 2011 [link]. The statistics are easily available. A lot of us know about them. Still we see people incessantly breaking traffic rules. I have seen school buses jump traffic lights and ply in the wrong direction.

I remember a particular flyover that was constructed in Delhi. It was faulty with a very dangerous curve. It took the sacrifice of 8 human lives on that stretch before the administration woke up. Yes, DDA waited for 8 people to die before they installed safety measures.

How many pilots have died in the faulty MIG airplane crashes? Of the 872 MiG series fighter aircraft purchased by the government till 1980, a total of 482 planes have crashed till now, killing 171 pilots and 39 civilians [link]. Well, we have 390 more airplanes to go.

What happened in Uttarakhand was a mass murder of the first degree. More than 10000 people massacred in cold blood. Warnings were ignored and there was no disaster management plan in place, hotels made on soft riverbed crashed into the river, food didn’t reach the needy on time even though the whole country chipped in to provide supplies.

There are so many buildings that are deemed unfit in case of an earthquake but people still live in them, work in them.

There are buses and trains that run over capacity as people hang dangerously from the doors. They don’t have an option. They have to go to work, put food on the table. I knew a boy who fell off a train, went into coma and died after 10 days. He was in college.

We leave rape victims to die helplessly on the roads. It has taken the sacrifice of thousands of acid attack victims for the rulers to wake up and do something about it. [link][link2]

In 2010, 8391 dowry death cases were reported across India. It means that a bride was burned every 90 minutes [link]

It is estimated that more than 10 million female foetuses have been illegally aborted in India. That is 6 million less than the number of people who died in World War I. In 2011, 15,000 Indian women were bought and sold as brides in areas where foeticide has led to a lack of women. [link]

India contributes 25 percent of the world’s child deaths [link].

Grains rot and never reach the needy. 21 million tonnes of wheat is wasted every year. [link] That is equivalent to the wheat production of whole of Australia.

2,56,913 farmers have committed suicide since 1995. Maharashtra posts a dismal picture with over 50,000 farmers killing themselves. [link]

Don’t even try to count the number of riot victims. [link] Religion in this country is like a woman who was tied-up and hidden in a cowshed and was raped by a different man every night.

What is it if not an utter disregard of human life? What is it if not a country that has turned into a slaughterhouse?

No, I do not find the cyclical life argument laughable anymore. What makes us think that even a single life lost is Ok? It is not just a number. It is a dead human being. Who could have been saved.

And then I wonder if it has something to do with abundance of life? We deem life worthless because it is available in excess in our country? What is another man dead when we have crores of them?

Or is it the fact that we are never taught compassion. An outsider is not the same as your family. We have a shield firmly placed in front of our feelings when it comes to anyone who is not of our own blood. And I have seen this feeling grow over the last decade. We are more self-centered, more suspicious, more inhuman.

And of course, there is money to be made. We believe in compensations after tragedies. We believe in forming committees to probe deaths when we could have averted them in the first place. Committees about which the dead don’t care and neither the living after a while.

Some of us believe in repenting. Yes, we tend to do that after an accident. An accident that could have never happened.

Sometimes I wonder if we deserve each other. The politicians and citizens. Many of us have blood on our hands. We have wrapped our dead unborn daughters in newspaper and thrown them in dustbins, haven’t we? We have allowed our children to sit in a bus filled with 120 souls instead of objecting.

Yes, this slaughterhouse is a joint venture and a successful one. It is said that when the battle of Mahabharat ended, the soil in Kurukshetra was thick with blood. It is still red if you dig it a bit. But we don’t have to do it anymore. Just look at your hands. It will be invisible at first but you will see the red stains if you concentrate.

A handful of us who can still maintain our sanity have to believe that there is always hope. What else can be there after so much bloodshed?

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.

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.

Do as the Romans do

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.

What 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]

Its time I answer some questions

I have been mercilessly tagged and awarded in the last one year. Ok. I was awarded only twice and tagged twice but I like to think that it was merciless. Feels good. And its my bloody blog so I will define what merciless means here.

I ignored the tags and awards for a long time but I had a dream last night in which a Tag and an Award took human forms and tried to strangulate me. They were crying while doing so and thus awoke my conscience. I promised them that I will honor them and hence this post.

I will try not to bore you with my answers.

U.S. Pandey who blogs at One Grain Amongst The Storm gave me the Liebster Award and here are the Q & As –

Top 4 authors, or photographers, you love

Charles Dickens (The first novel I read was an abridged version of Oliver Twist that I won in a debate competition in class 6. I don’t think there is any novel by dear CD that I haven’t read)

Arthur Conan Doyle (Ah! They don’t make them like him anymore. The Hound of Baskervilles and The Sign of Four are my all time favorites)

Orhan Pamuk (There is something very grounded in the way he writes his incredible stories)

J.M Coetzee (The most gifted writers of our times. Read Life & Times of Michael K and Disgrace and you will know what I mean)

Top 4 Movies

Ok. That is a crazy question. Anyways, my top 4 movies are – Spirited Away, Pan’s Labyrinth, The Shawshank Redemption, Amélie

Top 4 singers/albums

Kishore Kumar (For the sheer variety), Shreya Ghoshal (For the divine voice), Asha Bhosle (For those seductive punches), Mohammed Rafi (For melting my heart again and again)

What would you do if you were to be stopped from writing?

I will start painting.

Are you in favour of banning books?

God No! Adults write them and adults read them.

Are you in favour of capital punishment?

If we are absolutely sure that the person committed the crime, then Yes. If there is a 0.5% chance of his/her innocence, then No. You can’t bring back the dead.

Are you in favour of veils for women, as in hijab?

I am in favor of  religion not telling anyone what to wear.

Which is the best translated work (or works) you’ve read?

Night train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier

Moments you cherish.

My time spent in Manchester. It was the first time I realized that humans are capable of not littering the roads and piss on the walls and not honk and….I can go on and on.

Moments you’d rather forget.

One day I will gather the courage to write a blog post about it.

Is blogging for everyone?

No. Sustaining your creative streak is never easy.

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Tushar who blogs at My Life, My World gave me the same award as USP and here are the Q&As –

1. Why did you start blogging?

I was bored.

2. You are getting an all expenses paid trip for two to a place of your choice? Where will it be and with whom?

I need mountains around and loads of snow. Place doesn’t matter.

3. Dog or cat? And why?

Errr…none actually. I am not an animal person really. I like them though.

4. Half a million dollars for slogging for 6 months year or a week’s peace on the beaches of Bahamas?

Why is that even a question? 🙂

5. What is your deepest fear?

That one fine day, I will wake up to realize that I cannot get up from bed without anyone’s help. One day a nurse will take care of me while I lie on a bed.

6. How did you propose your girl/guy? Or how you plan to do so?

I am married and I didn’t propose. I just asked – So, what do you think? And she replied – Mm..Hm. And that was pretty much it.

7. One ‘Ctrl + Z’ moment of your life? Something you want to undo if you had a choice?

Loads of them. I have a fear that I will leave my zipper open one day. I will jump off a building if that happens.

8. Who is the most ‘marriage-able’ celebrity?

I don’t know. I don’t know any of them personally.

9. One thing that can take you to the ultimate heights of fame?

You mean people-trying-to-grope-me and tearing-off-my-clothes-in-public fame? I don’t want that.

10. Do you follow any sports, team, club or a person? Why this love started?

Hell no! I try not to follow anyone. I am not a stalker.

11. Did you like coming to this blog? And will you visit again?

Too personal! 😛

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Afshan who blogs at The Pensive tagged me a long time back. She gave me 25 questions. 25!!!! Afshan, I can’t answer your questions right now with honesty because I will be lying in most of them. I will pick your tag later when I can give truthful answers. Thank you for tagging me though.

I love this aura of suspense that I have created!

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Reema who blogs at My Random Thoughts tagged me in the Stone Age. Here are the Q&As –

1) Your most beautiful post.

Costa Chatter – Sita and Draupadi – I found this series satisfying mainly because I can go back and read it without cringing.

2) Your most popular post

My most popular post was I am with about 1,25,000 hits. God knows why!

3) Your most helpful post

They were How to shop with a lady and stay sane & Facebook photos uploading etiquettes

4) Your most controversial post

I won’t call it controversial per se but a lot of people did not like what I wrote here – Why SBI is the worst bank of India.

5) A post whose success surprised you

The Hitchhikers Guide To A Sane Life. I don’t know why it was so popular back then and why I wrote it.

6) A post that you thought did not get the attention it deserved

Traffic control gadgets for the ASIRW (Average Stupid Indian Road Warrior). I poured my heart and soul into it and came up with such innovative ideas and no one read them.

7) A post which you are most proud of

I liked the caption posts I did a long time back – Fear and Have you ever…

I would like to thank all those who read the post till the end and if you have scrolled down and this is the first line you are reading then you missed all the gossip from my personal life. Also, I am not tagging everyone because honestly I don’t think there is anyone left.

And for those who awarded me –

image from here.

Misanthropically Yours

Image from – http://wall.alphacoders.com/big.php?i=177417

I am turning into a misanthrope. I don’t want to but when I see a five year old raped and tortured, when I hear news of a bottle and candles retrieved from her vagina, when I see a policeman offer Rs 2000 to the raped girl’s father to let go of the thought of an FIR, when I see a policeman telling the survivor’s family that they should be thankful that the girl is alive, when I see a policeman slapping a protesting girl, when I see politicization of the issue, I don’t see how I can stop myself from hating mankind.

My generation has not seen the World Wars but I have read enough books, seen enough movies, seen enough documentaries to understand what happened. I know how a culture was obliterated, how it was turned into gaseous fumes coming out of a chimney of a camp. I know how millions of carcasses were shoved into pits using trenchers, I know how two entire cities where vapourised in the name of peace. The images are entrenched in my mind. I can never forget the image of a four year old naked Jew boy running towards a barbed fence of a concentration camp as a German shepherd chased him. I felt lucky that I haven’t lived in those times but the ironical bit about history is that it doesn’t matter. It is an embarrassment everyone wants to forget and then commit again. And no, you are never lucky enough. The end of barbarism can never be a done deal.

Has the world turned into a better place to live? Is this a meaningless question? Can our society function without brutality or will it crumble to pieces in its absence?

I do not understand this race anymore. I do not understand why I have to live in a constant fear of losing my loved ones. I do not understand the brutal images of what could happen to my family that spring in my mind every other day. I do not understand the utter abjection with which we treat each other.

I sometimes feel that my mind will explode into a million tiny pieces. I sometimes want to howl with pain, scream so loud that the sound exterminates every human from the face of Earth. I want to give this planet another chance, something that is not possible till humans infect it.

They tell me that I should be grateful for the good life God has given me. I have a loving family and a happy life. Is that good enough reason to be satisfied, to count my lucky stars? How can I be happy when I look around and see misery? How can I be happy when I read about men exploding themselves in marketplaces to serve their God? How can I be happy when I belong to a country where the fragile culture is all about encouraging rapes and molestation? How can I be happy when I see a doctor telling the parents that they can wrap the dead female fetus in a newspaper and throw it in the dustbin on their way out? How can I be happy when I see the subjugation of the weak at every nook and corner? I don’t know how people cocoon themselves and live a detached life. I feel violated.

They tell me that there is good in the world. I would like to believe that but how is good a part of the solution? Is it growing? Is it reducing the coldness? How many more sacrifices before it takes over?

No. Telling me that there is good in the world is not good enough. Tell me how the world is getting better because that is what I want to know. And don’t call me a pessimist. I am only numb with horror. I see things getting worse all around me.

I am scared to bring a child in this world. I am scared that I will spend the rest of my life worrying for the safety of my kid. Apathy has no boundaries. It is a limitless ocean, it is a black hole that has sucked everything that was good in this world. I don’t want my child to live in its shadow and I don’t want to put a cage around my child. I don’t want to live the rest of my life pretending that I live in a war zone.

I wish to meet that 5 year old girl. I wish to hold her in my arms and tell her that it will be all right. I wish she looks at me and smile. I wish to live in a world where this heavy burden of fear does not exist on my chest. I wonder how it feels to live without it. Just thinking about its absence makes me feel rejuvenated, makes me feel like a freed slave. I wish to live in a world where power is not brutal, where humans are not derailed psychopaths, where life is treated as an invaluable gift, where happiness is not insulated and confined to a selected few, where God has no face.

The night sky fills me with awe. The stars and planets are nature’s way of telling us about our insignificance, about our diminutive presence in the universe. And we still have the intrepidity of hurting each other, of clawing at each other’s soul, of raping a 5 year old.

Isn’t that enough reason to be a misanthrope?