Thursday, 15 August 2013

In the memory of Tarun Sehrawat

In the summer of 2012, Tehelka’s Tusha Mittal, along with photographer Tarun Sehrawat, ventured deep into Abujmarh, a 6000 sq. km. of forest area in Chattisgarh which was then a “fully-liberated” Maoist territory literally off-bounds for any Government machinery to reach and where not even mainstream journalists dared to venture. As they came across the “Gram Adhyaksh” of the area, a Maoist designate and the equivalent of a village sarpanch, they were surprised that they were frisked not for weapons or money or food items, but for medicines. They found out that people living in remote areas such as Abujmarh either do not have the resources to travel to towns for treatment or are restrained from doing so owing to Maoist diktats. If they defy the diktat and go to modern medical centres, they don’t dare to return to their villages for fear of the Maoists’ backlash. So much for the utopian vision of the State fulfilling its duty of providing civic amenities in every nook and corner of the country!

For a moment, even if we assume that “The State”, which I would assume is constituted of the legislature and the executive for the purposes of my argument, decides in right earnest to adhere to the welfare plans envisaged for the general population, I have complete and unshakeable faith in the wretchedness of the morally depraved “common man” of India to rob every other citizen lower in the social hierarchy than him of his or her rights and privileges resulting in the Government’s best-laid plans going astray. Every doctor appointed in rural areas MUST attend to his patients as per his duty roster, every government teacher drawing salary MUST be present in the classroom at the appointed hour, every PDS outlet MUST provide ration as per the approved quota, every contractor whose tender for civic works is accepted MUST construct as per the terms of the tender, every sarpanch disbursing NREGA wages MUST ensure transparency, every petrol pump owner, every tax-payer, every taxi driver, every businessman employing others, every loan agent, every mutual fund/ insurance agent and anyone and everyone involved in any transaction bound by a civic/legal contract MUST discharge his end of the bargain without impinging upon the rights of others. However, the complete moral and ethical bankruptcy of the average Indian acts as a sponge soaking the benefits which are to flow out from him in the value chain. And whenever he is shown the mirror, he is quick to jump up and conveniently point fingers at politicians and government functionaries and evil corporate entities for the sorry state of affairs. So the last thing we can rely upon, if we wish to ensure the upliftment of a traditionally neglected set of tribals living on a remote hill range in a historically famished region like Kalahandi of a phenomenally backward state of this country is the Government machinery delivering the services which can bring them out of extreme poverty of a scale which places them in a medieval era existence as of now. If there is chance of their progress occurring on account of industry, thwarting that chance is the same as condemning them to centuries of doom. Multitudes of policy-makers sitting in air-conditioned environs and hordes of activists and social commentators emitting gallons of hot air in the name of preserving the rights of people such as these move on to the next possible opportunity of displaying their intellectual acumen and mastery of Civics lessons leaving behind numerous Singurs and Niyamgiris and Narmadas to rot further.

Do allow me to treat Niyamgiris as a microcosm of the battle being raged in India between the doers and the talkers and focus on the issue of the Palli Sabhas of Niyamgiris having been given the entitlement of taking decisions for themselves and for the long-term welfare of their region assuming that they are capable of doing so. To start with, the entire hill range is not owned by the villages which are voting on allowing mining of bauxite, and realising this, they have fallen back on the age-old stinking premise of “religious rights” to claim their right over the entire hill range. So convenient and so rational and so very “Indian”!! I do not know how deeply the reader has studied the infrastructural and social makeup of this region so let me summarise it here for you. The area under contention does not have any roads, health centres, or schools presently. The state provides 7 kg of rice to each tribal every month- and there is no saying how much of this actually reaches them because of the reasons discussed at the onset. Potable water must be fetched from streams. People here still hunt with bows and arrows and consider one of the hills to be their Gods- the Niyam Raja, meaning the God of Justice. Witch doctors rule the roost. Any outbreak of a fatal disease like cholera leads to casualties. In majority of the villages, women outnumber men who often die young, as young as in their early 40’s, often emasculated by local wine. Speaking of wine, let me narrate the scene at one of the “voting sessions” of a Palli Sabha which voted on the issue of allowing Vedanta access to bauxite. I quote here Jay Mazoomdar, who has been consistently reporting from the region: “The morning after the first palli sabha at Sekarpadhi, a few villagers in neighbouring Kesarpadhi intently scanned some Odiya dailies. Not the headlines but the photos to check how familiar faces look in print. In a corner, one made a lively fire to cook chicken and rice for the visitors. The rest debated their options for the second palli sabha on 22 July. A morning tippler emerged from a hut and ambled across the common yard, rehearsing his spirited speech aloud. A couple of youngsters, worried that the perpetually drunk elders would mess up the palli sabha, vowed to axe the salaf trees – a variety of palm prized for its intoxicating sap — of the village. In an instant, the can’t-touch-our-Niyamgiri speech changed to a can’t-deny-me-salaf protestation. After all, it is the ‘national drink’ of Niyamgiri. Within minutes, others chose sides. Some would have come to blows had a few activists not intervened. But the edginess hung in the air.” Carrying on, Mazoomdar quotes an “activist”, “Nothing awakens the confident speaker in Dongriya Kondhs like a tipple or two,” assures a veteran activist, “as long as they watch their limits”. So when a potentially industry-altering project with Rs. 40,000 crore at stake is to be decided, it will be done by a bunch of drunk, illiterate, violent and confused residents from 12 villages (why just 12??). Elaborating on the violence and threat permeating the scenario, let me quote another enlightened decision-maker here: “Nobody supported the company, if anyone did, the rest would tear him into pieces”. Great!! Hordes of national and international organizations descend upon a cluster of villages which have no idea how the proposed industry would change their living conditions which have been abysmal for centuries, coax them into disallowing Vedanta, they are threatened with their lives if they dare to reconsider, and we are supposed to assume that these residents have the wherewithal to take the correct decision. So rational!

Let me dwell a bit more on the international angle to the protests. If Vedanta is able to produce aluminium so close to a bauxite source in what is the world’s biggest aluminium refinery, international prices of aluminium are expected to nosedive and India would be on its way to becoming an aluminium producer of global significance. So when British “activists” suddenly discover Kalahandi in Orissa and are found hobnobbing with the locals, is it surprising that their connivance with the global aluminium lobby is being doubted?

Today India faces a ludicrous scenario where it has some of the world’s biggest deposits of iron ore and coal but imports both!! If we are to move ahead on the path of the growth which we see midget-shaped Mongolians stretching from Beijing to Singapore galloping upon, we have to take tough decisions of relocating people from their natural habitats and allowing the mining and extraction of natural resources. Environmental concerns should be a part of the checklist, and not the bottleneck impeding growth. Quoting an estimate of the Association of Indian Chambers of Commerce, struggles related to land use are today holding back nearly 200 proposed factories, railroads, highways, and other projects in India worth $98 billion in investment. According to UN estimates, the global population is expected to cross 9 billion by 2050 and 10 billion by 2100. Considering India, 60% of India engaged in agriculture contributes to 16% of GDP. So shall we be content with this scenario and wait for the population to explode without any corresponding evolution of income sources? If we do, then we shall have to pack our bags and head with the Dongarias back to the caves which we had left eons ago after overcoming our fear of fire!
Tarun Sehrawat

As for Tarun Sehrawat, the brave man who ventured into the heart of one such deprived and neglected corner of India which is waiting for the Government sunshine to percolate its quarters, he succumbed to cerebral malaria a few weeks after he came out of the jungle at the age of 22. Every day, countless such deaths go unnoticed in the deepest recesses of this country, while we haggle with populist regulations and give high-fives to foreign activists who’ve been duly kicked out of their own lands.

Thursday, 18 October 2012

Iski topi uske sar


So Kejriwal wants to rehash a last year story on Vadra and a 2-weeks-old cover story on Maharashtra's irrigation scam to come up with the earth-shattering conclusion that politicians shouldn't collude with businessmen, while he is himself flanked by Mayank Gandhi, accused of a graft in the redevelopment of 30 acres of a South Mumbai property, Prashant Bhushan, whose Kumud Bhushan Educational Society was allowed to buy 4.68 hectares of land in the hill-State of Himachal Pradesh in 2010 where land is a scarce resource and there is an embargo on outsiders buying it without government permission and Anjali Damania, who gallantly wanted the irrigation dam in Maharashtra near her plot to be shifted by 700 metres to save her own 30 acres! The funny part is, Kejriwal screeches his jholla-wallah rhetoric with a GANDHI topi on his head!

On the 10th of January 1927, Gandhi wrote this in a letter to Ghanshyam Das Birla, “My thirst for money is simply unquenchable. I need at least Rs 2,00,000 — for khadi, untouchability and education. The dairy work makes another Rs 50,000. Then there is the Ashram expenditure. No work remains unfinished for want of funds, but God gives after severe trials. This also satisfies me. You can give as you like for whatever work you have faith in.”  
G.D. Birla accompanying Mahatma Gandhi on his stroll from the Birla House, New Delhi

In the late 1920's, when Gandhi was fiercely advocating the use of hand-spun khadi, Birla contested his stand by writing to him, “Do you not think that you are unnecessarily exaggerating the results of the khadi propaganda? You could find this out yourself if you send hawkers with mill-made as well as shuddha khadi who may ask some villagers to select their choice after explaining the latter properly about the quality as well as the price of the cloth, I have not the least doubt that if you made the experiment you will find that 90 per cent of the consumers will pick up the cheaper and more lasting of the two stuffs. Mill khadi is popular because people find it cheap, durable besides it being swadeshi make.”  The mighty warrior that Gandhi was, he chickened out dutifully and replied thus to Birla in 1930, “I am convinced that the boycott will be successful only through khadi. This does not mean that the mills have no place in the scheme at all. The mills can have their deserved place by recognising the worth of khadi. The conception of God envelopes all Gods.” 

While we are at giving our dear departed national i-con a belated jhadu ki jhappi, it would be worth pointing out that Gandhi was a regular resident in the Birla household in Delhi since 1925, and he spent the last 144 days of his life in the erstwhile Birla House, which has now been converted into a Gandhi museum called Gandhi Smriti. Ha-ha-hi-hi-ho-ho.

Recall what the dainty Nightingale of India once tweeted, "It costs a lot to keep Gandhi poor." 

Who was the last ambitious i-con who started his political innings by heaping mud on other politicians? V. P. Singh.

Monday, 23 July 2012

5 old mules

Good afternoon, good morning, good evening- depending on where you are.

The khaps are at it again. Asking women not to venture out without a male escort. And they have found support from politicians as well as a section of the educated illiterate which hides behind the sham label of "common man" while living the lives of callous monsters. 

Let me provide some relevant stats.

A study titled The Role of Women in Agriculture reveals that "women comprise just over 40 percent of the agricultural labour force in the developing world, a figure that has risen slightly since 1980 and ranges from about 20 percent in the Americas to almost 50 percent in Africa. The global average is dominated by Asia. Within Asia, the sub-regional averages range from about 35 percent in South Asia to almost 50 percent in East and Southeast Asia. The Asian average is dominated by China, where the female share of the agricultural labour force has increased slightly during the past three decades. The female share in India has remained steady at just over 30 percent". From the same study: "Information provided to FAO (Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations) from 86 countries indicates that in 2008, 5.4 million women worked as fishers and fish farmers in the primary sector. This represents 12 percent of the total. In two major producing countries, China and India, women represented a share of 21 percent and 24 percent, respectively, of all fishers and fish farmers". Some facts released by the Indian Government: 48% of India’s self-employed farmers are women. There are 75 million women engaged in dairying as against 15 million men and 20 million in animal husbandry as compared to 1.5 million men.

Another study titled Feminization of India’s agricultural workforce by Anuradha Talwar and Swapan Ganguly states that "amongst rural women, the percentage of 'marginal workers' (defined as working for less than 183 days per year) has increased significantly from 8.1 per cent in 1991 to 14.2 per cent in 2002".

A 3rd study, which seeks to point out the benefits of using bio-mass fuel by rural women starts out by pointing: "The overall pattern of time spent on such activities is analyzed for over 5,000 women in rural India. Women spend about 40 minutes per day collecting fuel and almost one hour fetching water. They spend almost two hours pursuing income-earning activities. 64 percent of the surveyed women engage in some kind of income-generating activity".

I spent some time collating census data and found the following % breakup for male and female "Agricultural Laborers" in 4 states of India which are relevant to this discussion: Haryana (56%, 44%- which means that 44% of all female laborers in Haryana are females), Goa (45%, 55%)- this is what happens when males spend their days sipping fenny, Uttar Pradesh (62%, 38%) and Rajasthan (42%, 58%)- 58 PERCENT OF AGRICULTURAL LABORERS IN RAJASTHAN ARE FEMALES. 

If you are still awake, what this implies is that a large proportion of rural women work on the farm, fetch water, catch fish and perform other income-generating activities, which they can't do by staying inside their homes. Moreover, as per a recent FAO report, if women had the same access to productive resources as men they could increase their yields by 20-30 per cent. This would raise total agricultural yields in developing countries between 2.5-4 % and reduce the number of hungry people in the world by 100-150 million. And here we have the glorious khaps asking women to stop doing all of these till the menfolk get rid of their hangover and are ready to escort them. Well, asking women not to go out because the same khaps have done NOTHING to improve the human quotient of the rapists in their villages is like asking people not to buy vehicles because the roads in the villages are only going to get worse, or asking them not to have children because of the high infant mortality rates in the country, or better still, asking villagers not to pass excreta because the sanitation facilities in the villages are inadequate. Whoopsy daisy!

These same khaps pass judgments censuring people from specific castes, issue orders for DIShonor killings and routinely defy the Constitution of the country. Defending them is the same as stating that the Taliban should be respected because they help people in times of earthquakes!!!

Good night and God Save us, wherever you are!!! Btw, God chose not to save Manoj and Babli as 5 old mules in Haryana smoking hukkas brayed and asked for them to be killed. 

Manoj and Babli, murdered upon the orders of a Khap panchayat in Haryana

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Resolutions: piece of cake


I did it. Fulfilled my resolutions for 2011. Every one of them. While you were lolling around procrastinating and finding ways to avoid what you had set out to do, I was my usual focused, committed, diligent, persevering, and unblinking self, blasting anything that came in the way of me and the fulfillment of my resolutions. So it is with great joy, and profound humility, that I present before you my royal conquests.

#

Resolution at the start of the year

Fulfillment

1

Achieve a dramatic turnaround in my body weight and achieve a balance which will aid me in aligning my external and internal persona resulting in a harmonious synergy of body and spirit.

Gained 10.25 kgs.

2

Immerse myself in celebrated works of literary accomplishment to enrich my intellect and leave me throbbing with perspicacity and sagacity.

Read 291 book reviews.

3

Travel to hitherto unknown lands so as to broaden my worldview and assimilate the experiences of diverse cultures thus making me an epitome of syncreticity.

Went to Bhindi Bazaar.

4

Associate myself with meaningful and change-inducing social causes demanding courage which would leave an imprint on the course of the times to come.

Stared back at an auto-wallah.

5

Make a multitude of friends of the opposite sex so as to be able to understand their thought processes better and have a plethora of mutually rewarding and memorable experiences.

Followed Mallika Sherawat, Poonam Pandey and Sherlyn Chopra on twitter.

6

Involve myself with rejuvenating sporting activities so as to increase my energy levels and attain exemplary fitness.

Played Scrabble on facebook.

7

Learn more about the lives of luminaries belonging to different fields so as to attain inspiration to ascend to great heights.

Read a dozen obituaries.

8

Delve deep into the world of cool gadgets.

Learnt how to scroll through a document on a MacBook.

9

Get in touch with old friends and make new ones with the objective of enriching my social life and surrounding myself with invigorating conviviality.

Sent 21 friend requests on facebook, 5 on Netlog, and several others on other forums, the names of which are tough to recall.

10

Invest in art.

Went to The Comedy Store.

Jealous? :D Well, you can do it too.

Friday, 19 August 2011

Dutt, the Guru


Ab na woh mahfilen rahin,
Na rahe woh yarane,
Tab dilsaz galiyan sari gulzar thin,
Ab har mod pe taakte hain veerane.

Na zubaan pe haya ki thi bediyan,
Na dil mein afsos-e-berukhi thi tabhi,
Us be-lagaam hayat mein bhi,
Har koi aata tha apnane.

Tune ji li apni zindagi Sabih,
Saari maujen au' ravaani nosh kin,
Ab soch mat aur uth kar tu chal,
Aayen hain kuch sanjeeda log tujhe dafnane.

Monday, 18 April 2011

The In Thing

The tattoo parlor guy said this is the latest fad, and it will change India!!!! So I went for it.



Thursday, 7 April 2011

The CO(mmo)N MAN



Submit fake bills. Cheat with your taxes. Break traffic signals. Break every queue. Kill the girl child. And the elder ones too, if they dare to have a mind of their own. Bribe and save time. Employ children at home. If you are "higher up", hate the dirty rats. If you are "disadvantaged" by birth, substitute strife with sloganeering. Blame the politicos YOU chose because they belong to the same caste as YOURS for the mess around you. If someone can't speak your language, cut off his tongue. If someone can't see the TRUTH you can SEE, gouge out his eyeballs. If someone has a different skin color, peel it off. Don't worry, a moron with zero credibility behind him is leading a tamasha which is serving as a nice filler between the World Cup and the IPL at a place suitably called Jantar Mantar, and you can wipe your slate clean by scribbling your name on a piece of paper.

Sunday, 25 July 2010

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

INVICTUS
By William Ernest Henley, 1875

Thursday, 11 February 2010

Time out

Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan
Woh jo behate the abshaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan
Woh jo behate the abshaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan

Aankh ke ek gaaon mein, raat ko khwaab aate the
Aankh ke ek gaaon mein, raat ko khwaab aate the
Chuney se behte the, bole to kehte the
Udte khwaabon ka aitbaar kahan
Udte khwaabon ka aitbaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan

Jin dino aap the, aankh mein dhoop thi
Jin dino aap rehte the, aankh mein dhoop rehti thi
Ab to jaale hi jaale hain, weh bhi jaane wale hain
Woh jo tha dard ka karaar kahan
Woh jo tha dard ka karaar kahan


Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan
Woh jo behte the abshaar kahan
Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahan

--------------------------------------------------------------------

There is no yearning now which leaves me enthralled,
There is no yearning now which leaves me enthralled,
Where have they disappeared, the gushing falls?

In the village of my sight, the night was frequented by visions,
Which flowed when touched, and whispered in collusion,
How can trust be imposed in those flighty illusions?
Just how can trust be imposed in those flighty illusions?

There is no yearning now which leaves me enthralled...

On days you were, bright sunshine held sway,
On days you were around, bright sunshine seemed to hold sway,
Now all that remain are gossamer threads, about to wither away.
The covenant of suffering lies appalled...
The covenant of suffering lies appalled.

There is no yearning now which leaves me enthralled,
Where have they disappeared, the gushing falls?

Friday, 5 February 2010

7 Habits of Highly Effective tweeple

#1 Don't play Jesus. Follow those who follow you.
#2 Don't just fart. Find causes close to your heart.
#3 Don't take a chicken for a turkey. Recognise fake celebs.
#4 Shortening your links looks clean.
#5 Using trending topics to get followers is like burning your skin to get a tan.
#6 You CAN upload pics and videos AND post tweets longer than 140 characters. LEARN it.
#7 Don't you change your clothes? Keep changing your background.

The 8th Habit
#8 Be regular, goddammit.

Friday, 20 March 2009

Wha2do!


Once upon a time, there was a Helenji, and whole of India used to dream of her only. Cabaret shabaret she did. Also all other types of dance forms. Uncles and bhaiyyas and babalog all dreamed of her for years and years. There were some small small dance queens like Jaishri T and Padma Khanna too, for the mujras and gajras and thumka songs. Then Hemaji came, and became a dreamgirl only! Everybody whistling and crying Basantiii Basantiiiii.

Later, Sridevi aunty came and did Hawa Hawaiii and people went crazy! Also Madhuri aunty taught us to do Ek Do Teen... and these two ruled over the Indian libido for one decade! Choli ke peeche... dhak dhak... all sorts of Chaalbazi they did, and all dewars of didis were swooning over these Roop ki ranis and dying to give Tohfa to them. So easy for poster makers no? Madhuri Sri Devi Sri Devi Madhuri, that's it!!

But then they had to marry no! Madhuri aunty chose some doctor shoctor and went to Amrika! And Sri Devi aunty God knows why fell for that boneless meatloaf Bony. Then we all thought: wha2do now!! Sure there was that bong bomb Rani. And also Kareena baby. Cute they were, sometimes hot too. But things were changing only. How you ask? Wait no, I am telling.

Bollywood people became desperate. Story and all ghanta they had. No script also. Acting? Hahaha, joking or what? So wha2do now? Simple na! ITEM NUMBER! People now did not ask what is the story, who is hero, any dhishum dhishum or what? Only they wanted to know: Item Number hai kya!! And bygod, what raapchik item girls came! Shilpa Shetty, who was shut in some can or something, came and shook her booty so hard, that not only U.P. and Bihar but whole world was robbed of dil ka qarar! And then that yummy firang, Yana Gupta, drove all Baboojis mad while dropping her bijli! Isha Khallased all of us!!! Even the ice-cold bitch Aishwarya, who could not have attracted a horny Arab deprived of the sight of a female for a hundred years, sang durrty durrty songs like Isq Kameena and raised the temperature. Sush also swayed to Mehboob Mere, only one dance step she knows though! And Ramadoss uncle so very squirmed on his butt as Bips lit our Bidis and sprinkled namak isq ka on our wounded hearts. So we were all hooked onto this item song and all.

But now!???! God, now it has become impossible only! Everywhere now girls are like too good!! You go to a theatre and drop your popcorn when Deepika Padukone comes and smiles that peachy peachy smile on that almond-like face! Next Friday you have a frolicky Freida, showing latka jhatka as Latika. And then you have a sassy Sonam fluttering her lashes and all mawalis start maaring girls maska by doing Masakalli Matakalliiii. Also mast mast Mahie Gill, doing Emosanal Atyachar on poor poor boys and smashing aeroplanes in door des ke towers!! So cool no?? Every Friday some cool new hot thing! BUT DOES IT STOP THERE??? NOOOOO!! :(

Too cruel the scene is now! You do anything, and you have to fear being driven crazy by poster girls! Want to see sport? Save yourself from SaniAAH Mirza! Now there is even a Saina! And those Bhambri sisters, dusky and all! (Frankly though, my personal favorite was always Anju Bobby, with those legs that seemed to go on forever.) Wanna watch Biz news?? Arre what biz and whither news?? So tough to watch that ticker with such ticklish treats like Ayesha Faridi, Shireen Bhan, Mitali Mukherjee and Sumaira Abidi smiling coyly! Swoon! Cricket, you planning to watch? WHOAAA, lookatthose cheerleaders! Chee cheee what are they wearing... wowww actually!!! Politics, someone said?? Wokay! Priyanks, what a fab figure! Agatha K Sangma, India's youngest MP at 27 years, what a chink! :) And make way for Kanimozhi, sultry siren from sambarland, raising the political mercury.

And now, with this cable shable and multiplayx and all, life is only tougher for tapori log. Let me not even start R&Ring about the Gisele Bundchens and Jessica Albas and Jessica Biels and Jessica Simpsons and Rihannas and Sharapovas of the world!!!

SO TOUGH then, leching now no?? Not like the good ol' days, when one-two names everyone used to chant. Wha2do!!!

Tuesday, 10 March 2009

Superhero Stripped

Parental guidance: This post contains abusive language and sexual references. Not suitable for reading by minors.

THAAAD. “Madarc**d,” spat out the duty in charge (DIC) as his full-palmed slap landed on the cheek of the auto-wallah. “Dimaag theek karna padega tum log ka,” he continued seething. The auto-wallah looked thunderstruck. A few seconds elapsed before he found his voice and started: "Sir, ek ghanta se change dhoondh raha hoon… main ne inko mana thode hi kiya tha." CHAPAAAAD. Another bloody blow to the auto-wallah’s upper body. This one threw him off-balance, and he wobbled backwards till he hit the lone desk placed in the police post. “Naam aur gaadi number likh iska,” the DIC barked at the pandu sitting at the chair behind the desk, “karrwai hogi ispar ab.” He then turned sideways and muttered to me without looking at me: “Aap bhi apna naam aur address dijiye.” The auto-wallah’s eyes had begun to water.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The 6:35 Dadar-Borivali fast local slowly pulled into Goregaon. The holiday crowd (today is Milad-un-Nabih, a Government and a Bank holiday, a working day for me though) bundled out cheerfully while I dragged myself out, loathing having had to go through the daily grind when the entire world was enjoying 48 hours of bliss (tomorrow is a holiday as well, Holi). I came out of the station and helped myself to two hot gulab jamuns and a plate of golgappas at Surabhi Snacks. They did nothing to improve my mood. After the snack-athon, I trudged towards the line of autos, hoping to catch one soon and return to my abode and get rid of the crumpled shirt sticking to my skin and the sweaty trousers biting into my groins and the soggy socks sticking to my soles and everything else reminding me of having been abused yet again by this ruthless bitch called Bombay.



5-7 autos whizzed past me, travelers having boarded them more than 100 meters away from the station. I walked the mythical-distance-which-gets-you-to-an-empty-auto-outside-Goregaon-station-at-peak-hours. Still no sign of an empty auto. The sticking, the biting, the sweating now knocking hard at my temples. Then I saw him. A plump, dark guy with a scraggly fuzz at his chin, with his thick mop of hair swept to a side in the manner of Tamil movie stars. He had a shifty gaze, not focusing at anything for more than an instant. He was driving an auto with a lone passenger. The posture of the passenger, with his feet pointing out of the auto, hinted that he would get off soon. I started half-running-half-walking alongside the moving auto. I asked the passenger whether he was about to get down, he confirmed that he was. “Chincholi Bandar?” I then quizzed the auto-wallah (AW). No reply. I continued sprinting alongside the auto till it stopped. The passenger got out and handed a 50 rupee note to the AW. I lunged and settled inside the auto while the AW was getting down to go and hunt for change. Realizing that I have already made myself comfortable inside his rampyari, he shot a questioning glance at me. “Chincholi Bandar,” I repeated. “Nahin jana hai,” he threw back the dreaded three words at me and ambled out of the auto. “Pahle kyun nahin bola jab main poocha tha….. kyun nahin jana….,” I shouted after him, the bile rising inside me. He looked back at me while he was moving towards a flower-seller and shrugged in the most humiliating and disapproving manner conceivable. I snapped. “ABHI YAHAN PAR HAWALDAR HOTA TO BATATA TERE KO KAISE NAHIN JAYEGA.” I did not realize then that I was screaming while ejecting myself out of the auto, with 25-odd people having halted in their tracks to stare at me. A bespectacled man dressed in white clothes slithered past me muttering to me under his breath: “Complain karo iska complain.” I looked around fervently, and by some divine arrangement, saw a man in uniform loitering on the other side of the road. I flew across the road and accosted him. “Sir, yeh Chincholi Bandar jane ko mana kar raha hai.” The uniformed guy, who was the DIC of the police post located outside Goregaon station, looked at me quizzically. I pointed towards the AW, who was looking at the two of us as well, the 50 rupee note still clutched in his hand. As soon as the DIC’s eyes settled on the AW, they lit up and he moved in rapid strides towards the AW. “Kya ho raha hai be?” the DIC snarled at the AW upon reaching him. No answer. I reached the two of them and repeated my version of what had transpired one minute back between the two of us. One minute back. “Chal andar, tere ko theek karta hoon, aap bhi aaiyye.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the police post. THAAAD. Madarch**d. CHAPAAAAD. The AW is in tears now. He has cooked up a story that he had been looking for change for the past ‘one hour’, and that he never refused to take me to my destination. The passenger whose 50 rupee note is still stuck in between the AW’s fingers is now inside the post as well, and he says that the AW had INDEED been searching for change for sometime, and that the AW did not specifically refuse me. I let loose a full-throated verbal volley at him. The DIC is still glaring at the AW, itching to have another fling at him. The paandu intervenes, I ask the AW to go look for the change while I wait in the auto. We come out of the police post.


The flower-seller hands over the change to the AW. I am sitting inside the auto, with my chest swollen with pride and eyes glinting. A couple of guys standing beside the auto are looking at me with gaping mouths. An old lady standing at some distance is giving me a look of absolute and total reverence. The DIC strolls past me and looks at me with a hint of a smile at his lips. “Thank you, Sir.” I bellow at him. He acknowledges. The AW comes back inside after having handed the change to the slimy EX-passenger. He slowly settles on his seat and starts the auto. We start moving forward. I am the Superhero. I conquered this scumbag. Reduced him to rubble. Showed the whole world that thugs can be broken.

The AW starts muttering something once we are on our way. I challenge him to meet me at Malad, at Borivali, at any goddamn place on the Western Express Highway and I will have him crushed in a similar fashion. He falls silent. His shoulders droop, his voice loses its bluster.
After about 10 minutes, I start feeling sorry for the guy. He has not uttered a word in this interim. I play some music on my Nokia XpressMusic, hoping to relieve the tension. I enquire him about the route he intends to take. He motions and indicates with his head. No words uttered by him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We reach my apartment. 24 rupees is the fare. I hand him 50 rupees. He hands me back 30. I hand him back 4 rupees. I get down. The AW looks up at me. His eyes are wet. He tries to speak something. The lump in his throat does not allow him to. I wait and listen.
“Aap ne jo aaj mere saath kiya, who pichle 8 saal mein nahin hua tha,” he says.
“Achcha to mujhe bhi nahin laga, par tumne mujhe majboor kiya aisa karne ko,” I reply.
“Aapko pata hai us police wale ne mujhe kyun maara?”
I am quiet.
“Main pichle 2 saal se use uske ghar par chhod raha hoon, aur main us se roz bhaada leta hoon. 2 saal ki khunnas us ne aaj nikaali.” By this time, he is not looking at me, but through me. He starts the auto and it sputters away. I do not feel like taking off my clothes anymore. I feel butt naked right there, by the side of that busy street.

Wednesday, 4 March 2009

Poopistan


(Not suitable for reading by minors.)

Fakes. Liars. Tergiversators. Weasels. Compunction-less darned and rotten damned souls. Conglomeration of the accursed. Facinorous FUC*STERS. Pakis.

I wish a couple of those shifty Sri Lankans had had their brains blown to bits by the mad dogs that had been let loose upon them in Lahore. "Pakistan hosted six teams very well recently at the Asia Cup and I was there for the final. It was very well organised", thus had spoken the rotund Ranatunga while he was the Sri Lanka Cricket chief to sanction the SL tour to Poopistan. I am sure he must have been still more enthralled and delighted at how well-orchestrated the Monday attack was, wherein 12 heavily armed rats got wind of the changed route via which the SL team was to travel to the Gaddafi stadium in Lahore, intercepted them, shot at them and hurled grenades FOR 26 MINUTES, and then managed to disappear into the lanes of Lahore. The city police arrived on the scene a full 30 minutes after the incident began. Amazing synchronization! No wonder the pea-brained and pig-headed porcupine Ranatunga was so impressed with the organisational skills of Pakis!!!

8 days before this, on February 23, Dominic Cork, a former English fast bowler and current commentator for Pakistan TV had urged England to tour Pakistan. “I have enjoyed in Karachi a great deal and I met no difficulty here,” was his erudite comment. After the attack, he had this to say: "I won't be coming back here while I'm still living, there is no chance." HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. He had un-Corked his enjoyment a bit too prematurely, by the looks of it. And after Cork lands in London and gets over his post-enjoyment blues, he should meet The British Foreign Secretary, a dick who goes by the name of David Miliband and who is touted to lead Britain one day, and try to knock some sense into his shriveled brains. While visiting India in January 2009 and after having traveled to Amethi with that son-of-the-soil/messiah-of-the-masses/apple-of-the-eyes-of-the-aam-aadmi Rahul coochie-coochie baba, Miliband had stated that durable peace could not be achieved in the region without resolving the lingering issues like Kashmir. After he got a severe whacking from his Geography teacher, and an even severe and far more painful screwing from his foreign policy advisors, he was left bleating thus: "Look, you learn everyday in this job. You've got to try and take that forward." So the British Foreign Secretary is still LEARNING, and so is everyone else who has ever tried to hyphenate a moribund and ill-directed imploding Poopistan with a struggling but resilient and value-based democratic India. And like Thilan Samaraweera who must be shivering with pain on his bed this very moment with a bullet shot in his leg, and Kumar Sangakkara who must be twitching with a sharpnel wound in his shoulder, all of them have had to learn it the hard way. Hope their learning is complete now!!!

IMRAN KHAN! Another fine specimen of this population of cheats and scoundrels, who made a career out of using bottle tops and vaseline to impart non-existent swing to the cricket ball. This self-stlyed rambo floated a political party called 'Tehreek–E–Insaaf' in 1996 with the blessings of Lieutenant General Hamid Gul, the former Pakistani intelligence chief famous for fueling the Taliban's rise in Afghanistan. Imran Khan, as well as all the other candidates of his party, lost their deposits in the 1997 Pakistan general elections. His party again put up 272 candidates in the 2002 general elections, and won 1 out of those 272 seats, securing a total of 0.8% of the popular vote. Imran had supported Musharraf's military coup in 1999, and then went on to reject his Presidency before the 2002 elections. In the 1970s and 1980s, Imran Khan was a regular at London nightclubs such as Annabel's and Tramp. In an interview given to Guardian in 2006, he claims: 'The thing was, I hated pubs. I could not tell you how much I detested them..... I hated the smell of a pub. I hated the look of it. And of course I never drank alcohol.' In the same nightclubs, he romanced nubile belles such as Susannah Constantine, Lady Liza Campbell and the artist Emma Sergeant. And I am sure all of you remember the headlines about the British heiress Sita White, daughter of Gordon White, Baron White of Hull, who became the mother of his alleged daughter. A U.S. court even ruled him to be the father of Tyrian Jade White. In 1988 he told Australia's Sunday Mail, "Pakistan society encourages marriage. There, I lead a very steady, comfortable life. Here, it is more exciting. The pace is faster. Because of the nightclubs and parties, it is a very good place to be single." And now, this once dastardly drunkard and famed frolicker, claims to be fighting for Islamic values, 'influenced by his conversations with a mystic from the Sufi sect of Islam that began in the last years of his cricket career'. Spurred on by his spirtual awakening, Imran rooted for the pro-Taliban Islamist candidate for the Prime Minister of Pakistan in 2002 and has also declared that he hates "... it when our leaders or elite feel that by licking the soles of the feet of foreign countries we will somehow be given aid and we will progress." This hatred of his supposedly went into hibernation in 2005, when Khan was in Washington, D.C. and raised $175,000 for his much-publicised cancer hospital from the same Westerners he loathes when back in Poopistan. (Something of an Advani, who hails Modi when in Ahmedabad, cries over Muslims masscared when in U.S., and hails Jinnah as a secular leader when in the vicinity of his mausoleum!) Imran Khan had stated in November 2008: "There is no problem about the security of cricketers in Pakistan. The terrorists will never target cricketers knowing that they will then lose the battle of hearts and minds of the people. Cricketers are safe in Pakistan." He has not cared to issue a statement in the past 48 hours.

Javed Miandad. Bundle of slime. Roach of the gutters. He had this to say after the attack: "It is so sad all this carnage and terror. What is worse is that all the fears expressed by foreign teams about coming to Pakistan have been proved correct. Pakistan cricket will take a long time to recover now." So Mr. Miandad is serious about helping Pakistan cricket and improving the security situation in Pakistan?? AweZum!! He desperately wants to end "all this carnage and terror"?? WonDraful!! One small query though! WHY THE FU*K WAS HE OK WITH HIS SON JUNAID GETTING INSIDE THE PANTS OF THE DAUGHTER OF ONE OF THE MOST NOTORIOUS TERRORISTS OF THE WORLD, DAWOOD IBRAHIM, POST A WEDDING which was attended by '500 mostly unnamed guests feted to a lavish dinner in the most luxurious and colourful environment possible in Dubai'?????? ConfuZing!!

What is the objective of this Ranting and Raving (R&Ring) about Imran K and Javed M? Because the twin-faced lives of these two aZZholes denote everything that is wrong with Poopistan. That it has been built on a false notion of religious fraternity, which was blasted merely 25 years after its inception when it was split down the middle. That it has had to resort to lies and evasive tactics to hide the condemnable and destructive policies of its rulers, both political as well as military. That it is comfortable with disowning the bodies of its dead soldiers as it cannot agree to them having fought for Poopistan. That it has been LYING to the WHOLE WIDE WORLD about its ulterior motives for the past 62 years.

After so much blood has flown under the bridge, one would expect sense to supersede senility. Alas, the hopes of the sane have been dashed again. This is what the SL captain Jayawardene had to say after being airlifted in a chopper from the stadium where he was supposed to have been playing cricket with bullet and shrapnel injuries on the bodies of his teammates: “It's an unfortunate incident. In hindsight, this could have happened anywhere in the world”. AbZoludely machan! Annyywear att all! You could have been bombarded in a stadium in Herat, 650 kms from Kabul. Or in Palestine! Or in a patch in Pooneryn, the town which is doubted to be the last remaining stronghold of LTTE. Or at the sweet getaway of Kilinochchi, the ‘administrative capital’ of LTTE till quite recently. So the next time you are hosting your dear Paki brothers, please listen to your swollen herniated balls, and not your head, and choose a north Sri Lankan town as the venue- right next to Prabhakaran’s potty place- ‘cause if your defunct brain is to be blown to smithereens, it could very well happen annyywear, RIGHT?? So why choose a venue which appears to be safe, secure and conducive to a civilised sport like cricket??? That choice would make abZoludely no zenze att all, right!?!

But the star orator amidst the mayhem turned out to be the newly crowned Paki captain Younis Khan. His statements at a Press Conference post the attack were absolute shockers. Do find the
transcript below. The comments in red are of course my reactions.
----------
"Thank God we decided to leave our hotel five minutes after the Sri Lankans."
OH WOW, SUCH SYMPATHY FOR YOUR GUESTS, WHOM YOU ALLOWED TO LEAVE FIRST TO SWALLOW THE GRENADES! SUCH A SENSITIVE THING TO SAY, TRUE TO YOUR BENIGN PAKI SOUL!
"We are a young team and God forbid if both buses had been moving together it could have been catastrophic."
HUH! WHA! WHERE! HOW! SO YOU ARE OK WITH INZAMAM AND YOUSUF MOHAMMED BEING ROASTED?? :) WALLAH!
"This incident was very draining emotionally and we have been trying to keep our players calm."
INDEED, YOUR PLAYERS ARE USED TO LIVING IN SUBLIME AND SERENE SURROUNDINGS SINCE THEIR BIRTH! THIS MUST HAVE COME AS A REAL SHOCK TO THEM!!!
"We should all be thankful no one from the Sri Lankan team was killed."
OH YEAH! YOU SHOULD BE VERRRRY THANKFUL NOTHING THAT SERIOUS HAPPENED. AFTERALL, WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL WITH GUNS BLAZING AND GUARDS DROPPING DEAD AND GRENADES EXPLODING? THIS SORT OF THING IS NOW AS COMMON IN BOTH POOPISTAN AND SRI LANKA AS CHADDI-WALLAHS ARE IN INDIA.
"I was surprised by their reaction…. they took the incident in their stride and said they had no complaints with our people."
QUITE HEARTENING TO KNOW THAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY EXPECTING TO BE SPIT UPON.
And here is the top drawer remark: "We as Pakistani people need to change things and stop these terrorists from spoiling our cricket."
YOUR CRICKET??????? STOP THESE TERRORISTS FROM SPOILING YOUR CRICKET????? YOU ANTIQUATED ASININE ABOMINATION! YOU BLABBERING BRAINDEAD BOZO! YOU CLUELESS CRETINOUS CAVEMAN! YOU THINK IT IS YOUR “CRICKET” THAT IS IN IMMINENT DANGER OF EXTERMINATION?? YOUNIS, YOU CUN*, THERE ARE BARBARIANS HAMMERING AT YOUR GATES. ARE YOU DEAF TO THEIR CRIES? BEFORE YOU GET TO REALISE WHAT HAPPENED, THEY WILL DRAG YOU OUT OF YOUR REVERIE, BURN YOUR BOOKS, ASK YOU TO GROW A BEARD THAT IS AS AT LEAST AS BIG AS YOUR FIST, ROB YOUR WOMEN OF THE LAST VESTIGES OF HUMAN DIGNITY, BEAT THEM TILL ‘THEIR MOTHERS' MILK LEAKS OUT OF THEIR BONES’, ASK YOU TO SURRENDER YOUR SISTERS AND DAUGHTERS TO SATISFY THE ‘FIGHTERS’, AND RAPE THEM IN YOUR PRESENCE IF YOU REFUSE. AND WHAT YOU ARE BOTHERED ABOUT TODAY IS ‘TERRORISTS SPOILING YOUR CRICKET’!?! HOLY COW! HOLY GOAT! HOLY LIZARD, EVEN!!!!
----------
WHAT THE FUC* IS THE YOUTH OF POOPISTAN DOING? In response to the imperialist tendencies of the US administration in 1960’s and the Vietnam aggression, the youth of the US took to radical politics and metamorphosed into hippies. The SDS- Students for a Democratic Society- was set up and hordes of students went on strike or took over their universities asking for a control over their administration. in 1970, at the Kent State University in Ohio, four students were shot dead by National Guardsmen. On June 4, 1989, close to 3000 students and intellectuals were killed by Chinese tanks as they were protesting against the death of pro-market and pro-democracy official, Hu Yaobang at Tiananmen Square in Beijing. Closer home, youth demonstrators across cities shamed the Indian politicians across party lines after 26/11 and forced many cowardly Congress heads to roll. More recently, a single community on Facebook started by one Indian woman aged 29 turned into an international phenomenon, and covered leery fascists with truckloads of stinking, soggy pink chadhis. Paki youth seems to be content in migrating to the US of A, or lolling about on their feudal farms, or floating in the clouds soaked in the highs of chillum.

FUC* MAHESH BHATT. FUC* HIS DAUGHTER. FUC* NANDITA DAS. AND VINOD MEHTA. No amount of cultural exchanges can change the mindset of a society that sees being different from us as their raison d'etre. I say this despite having stood outside the NCPA in Mumbai, literally elbowing others for a ticket to the first ever Abida Parveen concert in India, and managing to coax a couple to hand me their spare ticket priced at 3500 bucks way back in 2004.

Japan had to be nuked. Germany had to be brought to its knees. This modern-day threat to world peace and stability, which is actually a making of the very powers that claim to be fighting it today, needs to be extirpated with absolute finality. And the powers that be in Poopistan are the last people capable of and willing to do it.

And last of all, FUC* the grandsons and granddaughters of Mahatma Gandhi who walk among us even today. Mahatma MY FOOT. I would have loved to see that moron Mahatma, with brains shrivelled to the size of his nuts, alive today. I would have loved to give him a kick in his butt and send him off to do his satyagraha shit before Osama, and come back with a Kalashnikov shoved up his behind. God knows for how long we will have to bear the brunt of decisions spurred by his idiosyncratic idealism, and further exacerbated by the naiveté of Nehru, the butthead who ordered a winning army to halt and retreat in Kashmir.

The Gandhi sham continues in this country to this day. Gandhi was supposedly a teetotaller and Gujarat, his birth place, is a dry state. Today, when a pair of Gandhi's rotten sandals and rusted pair of glasses and God knows what else crap has been purchased for 1.8 million dollars by a liquor baron, the whole country has exhaled a COLLECTIVE SIGH OF RELIEF! Hahahaha. Such a resounding SLLLAPPPPP Mallya has landed on the pallid cheeks of smug topi-wallahs.

TO HELL with Gandhi memorabilia. That shmuck called Otis should have swallowed them up and choked upon them and died an excruciating death, for all I care! WHAT difference does it make to this country of 22% of the population living BPL, if a goodie bag of Gandhi poop is brought back to this country? SCRE* the phony Gandhi lovers, bloody hypocrites and headline-seekers. And this toad called Otis wants India to reduce its expenditure on defence! I WISH HE WAS ON THAT BUS IN LAHORE AS WELL, AND HIS ASS WAS POUNDED WITH A MILLION BAZOOKAS BY THOSE COKE-PEDDLING 72-VIRGINS-CRAVING LUNATICS! That should have driven home to him the fact that mad dogs do not like the taste of olive branches, and that they NEED to be put on a leash.

Maybe there is a segment of Pakis that are still Pakistanis. I am told that there is indeed such a segment (told by my relatives in Pakistan). However, if this segment wants to halt the hurtling slide of Pakistan towards Poopistan, it needs to burn the fat off its bums. It needs to leave the deceiving indolence of Clifton in Karachi, shun the sickening riches on display at the LUMS campus in Lahore, stop loitering in the Lake View Park in Islamabad, and get ready to do what Sardars did in Punjab: FUC* THE FUC*STERS.

Thursday, 26 February 2009

Susegad

Originally released as Goa Diaries in June 2007
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Hello people! If the trivia hasn't reached you yet, I am currently in Goa for a one month Sales Officer training stint, and this place is indeed as full of surprises as I had imagined it to be! Every hotel room has three taps- one for cold water, one for hot water, and the third one for booze. Prawns, squids and pomfrets hang from the trees- just extend your hand and pluck whatever you wish to! Man, is this for real or is this a fairytale!
---------
Goa went to the polls on June 2, and even the elections were quite extraordinary. No posters, no loudspeakers, and no rallies!!! The Election Commission had come down real hard this time due to Goa's reputation as a truant electorate. Anybody hoarding more than two crates of beer was hauled up for questioning. Goa has had a tradition of leaders defecting at the drop of a hat, and when I guessed the going rate for an MLA as 1 crore before a local, he burst out laughing, stating that 1 crore would be the rate for someone aspiring to be the part of the town panchayat in Goa. When I enquired as to how the panchayat member would earn back his investment, two most ready avenues cited were: granting permission to non-Goans to acquire land in Goa, and arranging for people to smuggle liquor out of Goa. Currently, only two bottles of booze can be taken out of the State's boundaries, and with Royal Challenge costing 310/- here (against over 500/- in Mumbai), the booze bounty game is BIG! A shot of brandy/whisky costs 10 bucks in the hotel I am staying in. Man oh man, talk of temptations! J Some people start hicc-ing as early as 10 AM, and some of the liquor shops open before the chemists. Also, the whole State shuts down from 1-4 PM, for reasons you can well imagine by now. ;)
-----
I went to Colva and Calingute beaches last week, and found them to be much cleaner than their Mumbai counterparts. There was a CCD right on the beach. Next weekend, one of my salesmen has promised to escort me to a beach which is off-bounds for Indians (I wonder why!). On Colva beach, I was accosted by a lady who ended up giving me a deadly King Cobra tattoo on my arm. Pity I have to bathe daily, and most of it has already vanished.
-----
Life here is so quiet at times that you can feel your eardrums humming. No wonder Charles Sobhraj chose Goa for his hideout. He was eventually picked up from a bar on the outskirts of Panjim (Ou Croquiere), and the owners decided to put up a bust of Sobhraj which is placed on the seat in the bar where he was having a drink when caught. Complementing the scenic landscape are take-your-breath-away cottages and houses and Victorian churches which are a treat to the eyes. Goa is a place where you can find a 'Cake Palace' serving croissants and soufflés on a deserted highway! No matter where you go to, there is a dainty little surprise waiting for you.
-----
Talking of dainty little surprises, I have to mention the million Marias that compete with the hills and the greens for beauty. Dressed in flowing skirts with their hair arranged in neat buns, they float past you like fairies. And these fairies are not just drop-dead-gorgeous, they are pretty efficient as well, as almost ALL the shops in Goa are managed by salesgirls. They order stocks, manage accounts, and even lock up the shops at closing time. When I enquired about the reason for this peculiar phenomenon, one of my wholesaler's staff quipped: "They are there to attract customers". When I pretended to be aghast at this, and pointed out to him that with all the shops having salesgirls, this incentive is nullified, he added that they charge less salaries, and are more honest. Whatever may the reason be, it is indeed a pleasure to be selling Horlicks to these lissome lasses.
-----
It was torturous to keep myself from discussing food for so long, but I intended to save the best for the last. This place does not offer food, it serves ambrosia! I look forward to trying out a new dish each night, and have never been disappointed yet. Fried pomfret, Prawn Xacuti, King Prawns served in hot garlic sauce, Chicken Vindaloo, Prawns Balchao, King Fish Masala Gravy, Shark steaks, Fried Squids… they serve it all with panache! And you can even munch upon Prawn patties ( 3.50/- apiece) and dip your fingers in prawn pickles! I have not been able to lay my hands on a crab yet, as they are caught only when the new moon appears. I wonder what good deeds my forefathers did for me to deserve these.

Recommended reading: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/destinations/india/article565695.ece .

Tuesday, 24 February 2009

What goes of your father!

I hate them. HATE them. I want to slash their bodies with deep, bleeding cuts, sprinkle tabasco sauce on those cuts, then carve them up into slices the size of gum sticks, and sautee those slices in a pan of hot, boiling oil to be fed to Moninder Singh Pandher and Surendra Koli. I want to dress them up in Pak army attire, hang them from the ceiling dangling upside down, and let Sunny Deol loose upon them. I want to give them a free tour of the Michael Jackson mansion, ending with them spending a night with Michael himself. I want to reward them with a life-long free and compulsory entry to all Himesh Reshammiya concerts. I want to pack them off to Transylvania and shut them up in an attic with Count Dracula and his blood-thirsty brides. Such is my hatred for them- unmitigated, absolute and unrelenting.

I cannot recall how and where it started. It must be having its roots in my childhood, when 'servers' at weddings used to put just one piece- O N E teeny-weeny itsy-bitsy meeny-miny P I E C E- of chicken on my plate, and wait for me to move on, while I stood there, a meek kid, with my eyes imploring them to be awash with the milk of human kindness, rather, the gravy of human kindness, and load my plate with another fleshy leg piece. The abhorrence scaled greater heights with more of those servers finding divine pleasure in depriving me of more of God's wondrous creations at feasts:
  • steaming gulab jamuns ["yes yes, just two; no no, no chashni (sweet syrup)..."],
  • crunchy shahi tukdas (bread soaked in flavored milk) ["one only... come later"],
  • maquti ["no extras..."].

And so on and so forth, I have been repeatedly made to crave, pine, and lust for the sundry variegated delights at ceremonial feasts by satanic, sadistic servers.

I spent two months in Coimbatore in the summer of 2003, undergoing TCS induction training. For 2 months, we survived on a diet of tamarind rice, curd rice, lemon rice, sambar rice, steamed rice, rice rice... and still more rice, as we slogged 18 hour work-days. Several people have confided in me that TCS provided consultancy to the US Army for setting up the Abu Gharib prison and torture base using its own Induction module as the starting point which it toned down to suit the specifications provided by the US Army. At the end of the Crucifixion, sorry, 'induction', at the "Graduation Ceremony", my jaw dropped to the floor as we entered the dining area. Chilly Chicken, Singapore Noodles, Chicken Butter Masala, Biryani, Paneer Bhurji and many other heavenly sights and smells stared at us from simmering containers. I wondered whether the thrifty tamBrahm Ramadorai and the parsimonious Parsi Ratan had had to undergo a heart transplant which resulted in us being served this ambrosia. We (me, and two equally demure friends of mine, mademoiselle Jyoti and monsieur Zafar) were the first in the queue, and we had to poke the sluggish servers with our plates to make them get about their business. Throughout the evening, their impudence drove me mad. They did their best to kill me by boring holes in my back as I walked back after another serving. They evaded, they grunted, they smirked. And they did that not once, not twice, not thrice, but during all the four helpings that I had. I wanted to scream at them, "Is this the way to treat a gentleman?" But being the good-natured pansy and pushover that I am, I suffered in submissive silence. The most spiteful snide remark was saved for the last, as I proceeded for my third plate of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce. As I asked the server to cut a thicker-than-usual slice for me, he looked up at me, parting his lips to reveal the most demonic and darned set of dentures I have ever laid eyes upon, and hissed, "Your favorite flavor, Sir?" The query pierced my soul and cut me up irreparably forever. VANILLA? MY FAVORITE FLAVOR? HOW CAN PLAIN-JANE MUNDANE INANE VANILLA BE MY FAVORITE FLAVOR? Me, the King of Ferro Rocher and Choco Chip and Almond Fudge and Nirula's Nutty Buddies, being accused of favoring VANILLA! I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes, bit my lower lip, collected the plate he had proffered to me and walked back to my seat with a heavy tread, vowing not to go back for a fourth helping. (I went for it only after another guy had replaced the rude roach.)

That was 2003, and this is 2009. India has won a world cup. Sonia Gandhi has been canonized. Adnan Sami became gaunt. So did Lehman Brothers. A negro became the President of USA. Rahman got an Oscar. I got rid of my dandruff. But nothing has changed on the I-hate-servers front. I was in ITC (The Maratha), Mumbai, last week for a Sangeet party. The menu was delectable, and I was salivating in anticipation of what lay ahead for close to 2 hours before the start of main course. The servers moving around serving prawns, meatballs, kababs, chilli paneer- the works - warmed the cockles of my heart. But as soon as I picked the plate to start with the main course, I could feel the hair standing on the nape of my neck. I went for the continental and world fare first. I beheld a basket of chicken shawarmas (a middle-eastern wrap filled with meat shavings) on the first table, and was drawn towards them. I asked for one of them, and a dopey-eyed guy thrust one in a plate towards me. I asked him next for hummus (a dip or spread) to go along with the shawarma, and my ears reverberated with his shocking reply: "It is there inside the shawarma." INSIDE THE SHAWARMA??? WAS HE PEDDLING A SHAWARMA CART ON A BAGHDAD STREET??? DIDN'T HE KNOW THAT IN INDIA, THE 'EXTRAS' ARE FAR MORE COVETED THAN THE MAIN DISH. THAT WE LIKE TO INUNDATE OUR ROLLS WITH TOMAYTO KAYTCHUP?? AND MAKE OUR NOODLES TURN BROWN WITH CHILLY SAUCE?? AND SLOSH UP OUR BURGERS BY SQUIRTING SAUCES IN BETWEEN THE TWO BUNS TILL THEY DRIP FROM THE PERIPHERIES AND WET OUR FINGERS?? HOW DARE HE TELL ME THAT THE HUMMUS WAS INSIDE THE SHAWARMA! THE FRIENDLY SHAWARMA GUY AT TANGO'S CORNER AT MALAD NEVER TELLS ME THAT.... HE GIVES ME AN EXTRA SPREAD OF HUMMUS AND TOMATO/CUCUMBER FILLING WITH EVERY SHAWARMA. WHAT DID THIS SERVER THINK HE WAS? THE MONARCH OF BAHRAIN, TELLING ME HOW TO HAVE MY SHAWARMA!! I did not want to spoil my appetite, so I moved on without damning him to the firepits of hell. After stashing away a chicken and tomato pancake on my plate, I was drawn towards another mesmerizing sight- a whole steamed thin crust salami. The guy carving and serving the salami gave me a vapid look and then dropped a salami skin covering measuring 1 cm by 1.5 cm onto my plate. Was I supposed to place it under a microscope, and attempt to unravel the genetic secrets of the piscean populace? I gave him a look filled with such iniquitous scorn that he hastily carved out another meaty portion and deposited it upon my plate. After battling this hostile army of conniving assailants for more than an hour, I reached the desserts section, and my heart sank. NO CHOCLOATE PASTRIES!?! Pineapple, fresh fruit, strawberry, and blueberry pastries only. Strawberry, and blueberry... TOGETHER??? Why was gooseberry left out? And so unkind of them to have not invited mulberry! How racist of them to have sidelined blackberry! And if they were so serious about this berry berry business, who would have complained if Halle Berry was tagged along as well on a platter! Monsters like me would really have had a ball. If there hadn't been badam halwa, and khubani ka meetha, and 3 flavors of ice cream present alongside this prejudiced palate of pastries, I would have had a breakdown.

I am to attend two feasts tomorrow, on the same day. I am sweating in anticipation of what lies in store for me. In case I survive the double whammy, I shall add to this tragic account. In the meanwhile, all I want to ask the slimy servers is: WHAT GOES OF YOUR FATHER if you just gimme what I want!