Main 'Feminist' toh nahi, magar ae haseen...

I have always found it difficult to get myself accepted in any alpha-male group. I am not a sports addict; I don’t get excited by the prospect of guzzling down beer the whole night; and I don’t enjoy talking about women as sex-objects. The last bit puts me in the most awkward of situations because I can rarely wriggle out of such conversations without other men (and some women) looking at me as if I were an alien. It is easy to decline commenting on cricket, or not jump in to a conversation on soccer trivia. It is also easy to excuse yourself from a nightlong drinking session (yes, easy to ignore the snide smirks that follow too). But I get very uncomfortable when men start talking about women. And, no, not harmless chatter about women or plain bitching that you’d also do about other men. These conversations have to do with women’s bodies, about their clothes, everything that would make a woman squirm if she overhears us talk. It shows on my face. I don’t enjoy being part of that conversation. There have been times when I have ended up saying silly things myself (maybe just to not look very awkward, I don’t know!), but I have felt ashamed of myself the very next second. I always end up wondering if other men would talk similarly about the women in my life, or the ones I know personally, and it would make my blood boil. It’s just how I am.

 

 

I think there are decent ways to praise or compliment someone’s beauty, even when they are not part of the group. I also think that, as a society, it will be ages before we start respecting other women the same way as we respect our mothers, sisters, daughters and wives at home (well, most of us do respect the women at home, I would like to believe). I am ok with small, gradual steps taken to bridge the inequality gap, any social reform takes time. I am also ok if some of us want the gap to bridge quickly, and if they run aggressive campaigns around it. I am usually ok with most things in life.

 

I also do not think that women are any less capable than men. I am all for equal opportunities for everyone. There may be some things where one gender is inherently better at than the other (e.g. I always find that women are born dancers; even something very specific like having softer touch that help in picking tea-leaves.. etc.) But that shouldn’t be a barrier to equality of opportunity for everyone. Never. It may or may not be happening everywhere right now. We will get there definitely though.

 

But I am not feminist. Because if I were to be a feminist, I would have to identify myself with the proud feminists that we see all around us every day. Not just feminists who want to run aggressive campaigns to carry out a social reform – for I am ok with that. But feminists who are disguised misandrists, who misuse 'laws against sexual harassment' to their undue advantage, who want to forever wear the crown of victimhood, who stereotype men to fight against stereotyping of women. Yes, I know some of you would say #NotAllFeminists, and I would leave you there with your thoughts and the screaming irony of the hashtag.

 

However, I shouldn’t be bothered by what people who don’t matter to me think or do, right?. What should, however, bother me is if my views get me into regular tiffs with people who matter to me, or who I like in general. In fact, a blog post by one such person who I have always held very dear to me is the catalyst behind why I am writing this blog in the first place. After a long, emotional message (most of which I agree to, in principle), she concludes thus:

 

"

For instance, I know a number of men - good at heart, well educated, striving for equality between the genders though not always achieving it - who vociferously proclaim that they hate feminists. "Don't talk in this feminist type language. Let's have a normal conversation," is something I have heard for many years now. Actually, not just men, many women also hold this view, some even going as far as to brand this clan "Feminazi". I have an infinite capacity to absorb shit, but this is shit I refuse to accept any longer. So, yeah, before we proceed, I am making it crystal clear - I am a feminist. If you hate feminists, you hate me. And the hatred is mutual, this is the last of conversations I will be having with you.

(full post at http://blyton.blogspot.in/)  

 "

 

I was tempted to post a comment there, but held back. I don’t want to get into another ‘fight’ when the post itself warns me against it. But, then, why should my discussion degenerate into a fight each time? Let me try and analyze the last few occasions on which I have gotten into such a ‘fight’ with my feminist friends:

 

 

1. I shared an article from this highly pretentious news-site called Huffington Post on Facebook that sought to establish mainstream acceptance for Hijab. Yes, you read that right. I lamented on how Huffington Post was doing irreparable damage to whatever little has been achieved in letting women have the freedom to dress how they want. Feminists should, ideally, have agreed with me. At least, I thought so. I was wrong. I was told that Hijab is a choice, and women should have freedom to choose what they want to wear. That my stance was anti-women. All this coming from women on my friends’ list.

 

I would have agreed with that article, had it said that any change takes time. If only the article had pondered on how we shouldn’t be judgmental against women who wear hijab out of own volition due to generations of mental conditioning, and how it was wrong in principle, but we should give such women some space, I would have agreed with it. But, no, the article wanted to establish that hijab is ok. Women are ok with it. No change is needed.

 

I come from a family where my mother entered our dahleez in a two-feet long ghoonghat when she got married. This was 35 years back. Since then, I have seen beliefs, sanskaar, customs, getting churned over time. It has been a constant tussle of ideas, old and new. A lot has been achieved. No one has to be in a ghoonghat in our house anymore, there is general acceptance of the concept of women working full-time, or wearing what they want to wear. Their views are heard, respected. We are not a fully liberal family, yet. But I am happy at the small steps we have taken. Imagine, now, if someone like me, comes and tells the women at home, ‘ghoonghat is beautiful’. I can imagine a wide-eyed acceptance from the earlier generation, and three decades of progress would be lost.

 

You may not see what I see. You have not lived my life. I am willing to see your perspective too. But, I want you to see that you are harming your own cause, the cause that you are so emotional about.

 

2. Someone posted a series of tweets on Twitter about how divorce rates in India are low only because women silently tolerate domestic abuse. Emphasis added on ‘only because’. Women all over Facebook felt that their suppressed emotions have finally been expressed, and they had a collective orgasm over the tweets. It was not a post on the very pertinent issue of domestic abuse that women face. It was a post on low divorce rates in India. And, I can easily count a lot of other reasons on why marriages work better in India (or at least they did). I was a misogynist the moment I pointed that out.

 

No one is denying that domestic abuse against women is a serious issue, and needs a lot more attention, awareness, and efforts. But when the topic is about marriage – a union of ‘two’ human beings – you cannot ignore the emotions, efforts, sacrifices of one of them totally, only because it doesn’t suit your narrative. Why just marriage, no relationship will ever work without both individuals doing their bit to strike harmony, something which our current generation is struggling with.

 

Yes, there are many cases of women trapped in abusive relationships, who choose not to call it off because of children or other reasons. But can the opposite never happen? I was told that domestic abuse against men, if at all it’s an issue, would be statistically insignificant. Really? Also, I was told not to raise it when matter of women’s emancipation was being discussed. But, hey, we are anyway discussing marriages working better, and not domestic abuse against women. The two are not synonymous, not to a man who doesn’t want to perpetually self-flagellate.  

 

And one only needs to google to find how serious the issue of domestic abuse against men is. Even if many of these reports are exaggerated (a likely counter), what would definitely come out that it is not an issue that can be written off as ‘statistically insignificant’. Abuse is not just physical, it is also emotional. Have there ever been studies on why middle-aged men get into depression? Have there ever been studies on causes of suicides in married men? By declining that this issue is even relevant, one can only highlight the hypocrisy of the argument ‘feminism is about equality of both genders’.

 

3. A feminist friend celebrated the feminism of the movie ‘Badrinath ki Dulhania’ by writing a detailed review on what was right and what was wrong in the movie. A few other feminist friends discussed threadbare each and every socially relevant issue that the movie portrayed. I pointed out that their feminist super-hero in the movie made fun of a male victim of sexual assault. I was quickly labeled as one who brings up male sexual assault every time female sexual assault is discussed, and how the feminists can't help but get abusive when such degenerate men express their views.

 

Hello, you are celebrating feminism of the movie and its protagonist, and feminism in your own words is about equality of both genders. It’s not a post on women’s issues. It’s a post on a movie, and all the good and bad things it represents. How can you ignore something so insensitive as a sexual assault, and how can I be a villain for pointing that out. You wouldn’t get it because you were not the only one squirming in your seat when the entire theatre was guffawing at the actor getting assaulted during that scene. You wouldn’t get it because for you a rape joke against women is offensive and akin to a real assault, but male sexual abuse is statistically insignificant, and hence, irrelevant. 

 

4. I found feminists rejoicing over an article on 'woke' men (whatever that term means). If I were to present a gist, it essentially invoked men to speak up for women’s rights instead of just personally practicing them. Even if I were to ignore how the article completely misses the point that such men would already be doing it, I couldn’t take my mind away from the stereotyping, offensive language, and the slander. Some of the gems from the article, all directed towards men:

 

Every aspect of your upbringing was stacked to make you an asshole.

Literally every possible formative influence placed you at the centre of a universe that exists for your dicksuckery.

I mean this sincerely: you, the woke desi boy, are a wonder of the world. I don’t know how you came to be this way. Liberal parents? A progressive education? A feminist girlfriend or boyfriend? A love for reading? Or just serendipitous stumbling upon the many inclusive corners of the internet?

(full article here: https://www.buzzfeed.com/regajha/whos-the-wokest-boy-in-the-world?utm_term=.rkjxGROE1#.nvqkKVxDN)

 

Somewhere during their journey, feminists decided that the best way to fight stereotyping of women, was to stereotype men. Since men like the macho rough-talk, let’s abuse them, right?. That should get their goat. Quite unsurprisingly, the article suffers from the widely-prevalent syndrome where the author refuses to step-down from the imaginary pedestal of her vanity. She begins the article by first claiming a higher intellectual ground than her opponents (men, in this case), uses prejudiced and condescending rhetoric to make her point, and once you are squirming from the insult, she would give you the solace of her ‘belief’ in you. Quite a novel way to get someone on your side I must say. All this while completely ignoring the basic fact that the person was already on your side.

 

It’s very easy to claim victimhood. And no one knows that art better than feminists who have never had to suffer male privilege.

 

There have been many other incidents definitely, but I must have forgotten about them, given my age. In each of these cases, however, what stands out in my eyes, is the perpetual victimhood, and emotional hijacking of virtually every issue to show men in a negative light. And, no, it’s not ok. If you have the right to take comments on ill-executed feminism personally, men like me have every right to take your diatribe against men personally. You must raise a voice against injustices meted out to women, please do so, and I will join you in any capacity that I can. It is a movement that needs more people, more awareness, more push, yes. But spinning out-of-context sob-stories, I am sorry, I don’t have patience for that. But, yes, I am not as bigoted with my views, not yet anyway. Perhaps, feminism for many is an emotional concept, and not a logical one.

 

A long time ago, while riding a metro, I stood a mute spectator to a feminist bringing her worst wrath down upon a male co-passenger because, in her mind, the latter had molested her. It was my misfortune that I stood at the vantage point where I could see that it wasn’t the guy’s fault at all. But I stood quiet. We were standing next to the women’s seats. A lot of young girls, and other ladies looked on, as many men and other women started abusing the guy. I didn’t want to shame the girl. Probably, if I spoke in favour of the guy, many of these other girls and women would be scared into silence forever. Maybe, they would never again raise their voice against any man touching them inappropriately in a crowded metro. So, I killed my conscience and stood quiet, because I thought of those other women. Today, I am not so sure if I did the right thing. Because I have come to believe that feminism doesn’t help those who need it the most.

 

So, my ladies, I am not a feminist, not the feminist that you are, nor the one you are slowly becoming. And, no, I don't hate you for what you are.

 

Are you MAN enough, then?




Google returns this pic when searching
for 'masculine men' ... hmm?

There hasn't really been a dearth of incidents in my life when I have been left feeling pretty lame in a group of friends / colleagues / random men. Most of these have had to do with set notions on masculinity, how I don't conform to manly stereotypes... and let's say I would get rated a 1 or a 2 on a scale of 10 there.
So if I were to observe 'men' around me and draw a list - 'what men should be like and should do' - I would come up with something that includes the below:

*Scratch. Your crotch. All the time. Everywhere. In public. In front on women. Blatant. Since now we have started frequenting beauty parlours for facials and pedicures, we can't even shirk off personal hygiene as a womanly affair. But, then, scratch you must.

*Stare. At women. Schoolgirls. Teenage girls. Girls even younger than that. Their legs. Their bosoms. Doesn't matter if she is feeling uncomfortable. Be shameless. Be a Man. In public transport, stand near women's section and stare at all of them, your eyes dripping with manly emotions. No woman should be able to move past without feeling your denigrating stare on her.

*Abuse. Your friends. Your colleagues. Bosses. Teachers. Random people. Call their mothers names. Sisters too. It makes you feel good. It makes other men around you feel good. You aren't friends with a guy unless you have insulted his whole family and he has happily embraced you in return.

*Pump Iron. Build those muscles. Post selfies on Facebook while flexing in the gym mirror. Tag all gym buddies and random girlfriends in those photos so that they can pretend to drool. Then quit gym, bloat up like a balloon and reminisce good old days of gymming.

*Drink. Daaru. On all occasions. Like you were born to drink. And if you don't want to drink on any occasion, be prepared to face manly remarks like 'Biwi se darrte ho?', 'Sissy boi?', 'Yaar iske liye doodh lao koi..'. They say men bond over alcohol the best. Ok, maybe a notch lower than over smoking, but then you already know my thoughts on the latter.

*Fight. And show masculine aggro in general. Doesn't matter if the person you had a tiff with is speaking softly and reasoning it out with you. You must punch him on the nose. Else be prepared to be booed by even the women standing around you 'Aadmi ho ya aurat? Lagao kheech ke saale ko...'.

There are many other manly qualities which need some more observation and scrutiny. Maybe another blog in another time. So, yeah, a rating of 1 for lean, soft-spoken, non-smoking, rarely-drinking kind of person like me isn't really unjustified. But I have decided I can live with it. ;-)



PS: The idea for the blog came from this article, which was shared recently by a friend on Facebook.


 

Kahan se kharidi, aisi Bokwaas script? Wait, who cares for a script, let's make cars fly!

Bringing Lungis back in fashion
- Chinnai Express collection

I was never fond of travelling by train. Even as a kid, while my cousins would fight for the window seat, I would be only too happy to lodge myself on the upper berth with a comic book in my hand. 

And then there are always painful memories of that exceptionally long train journey, of being stuck in an 'express' train that trudges along at snail speed, delayed by several hours, of bowels giving you trouble (it always happens to me in a train!), of the bawling of hawkers, of over-crowded compartments because of ticket-less passengers requesting you to 'adjust'. Watching Chennai Express was like reliving those memories. Plus SRK and his hamming thrown in. Need I say more?

The movie is all about Rahul, a 40-year old smart-ass, who tries in vain to make you laugh at his buffoonery, all done in the name (and much to the shame) of common man. In most of the movie, he just whines and cribs like an extremely nagging girlfriend, and actually does a poor job of even that with his comic timing way off the mark. He also wins the award for the shadiest hero ever, who, upon being beaten by the villain, meekly leads him to their secret hideout to capture the heroine as well. Surprisingly, the only funny moments in the movie come from Deepika, who methinks has done a somewhat better job here than most other movies where she chooses to just expose her legs instead. 

So this kid in the family sitting next to us at the theater complains to his dad during interval, 'Papa, I am bored.'

Papa suggests, 'Play game on the phone, beta'

'Kuch comedy hi nahi hai'

'Arre, second half mein aayega shayad'

And then when the movie ended, he asks, 'Papa, is movie ka naam Chennai Express kyun hai?' I did not wait for his father's reply.

Sadly, the future of Bollywood doesn't look bright either. With Shahid Kapoor impersonating a dog, and Ranbir Kapoor advocating 'padding' for men, the movie buff in me can only weep. Tragic, no?

5 rupaiye ka common sense dijiye please

Life would have been so much simple if common sense was available in kirana stores.. because we all seem to need it. And small doses would do, better than having none at all, right?

Don't know about you guys, but it would have been  a lot more benign for me at least.. for my senses can no longer jhelofy the stupidity of people around me, which has attained atrocious levels of late.

Some typical instances of people not realizing that they lack basic common sense:

- You are talking on mobile, to one of your clients. Another client of yours wants to talk to you - he calls you on your mobile, finds the line 'busy', so he calls you again, finding it, to his surprise 'busy', and so he calls you some 10 times, shocked at how your line can remain 'busy' for full 3 minutes. I mean, obviously, there aren't any other people in the whole world who you speak to other than him. So, he decides to call on your land-line but no one picks up (maybe, because you are on the other line?) and then he calls your colleague who tells him that you are speaking to someone on phone and will call him back. This, when you have a habit of promptly returning each and every call that you missed. Stupid?
.... and I, seem to have too many such clients!

- You find that one of your friends seems to have posted a video of a girl in a short red skirt with an axe on Facebook. The post is tantalizingly titled 'Don't you want to find out what happens to this stupid girl?' and your friend seems to have tagged some 149 people in the post. Now, your friend never does such a thing... posting a random video and then tagging random people in it. Maybe, it's a spam / bug / worm? But then, how can you NOT find out what happens to that girl in a short skirt? The voyeur-with-a-dirty-mind in you gets the better of the normal-man-in-possession-of-common-sense and you click on the video.
... only fact that will save you from the ignominy of telling the whole world you are a creep is that all your friends will also fall for this trick. And there seem to be too many such worms on Facebook and too many dumb people in my friends' list.

- You are a Social Networking Activist, which means that you want to spread awareness about all that is wrong in this world from the comforts of your cozy bed, by posting your opinions on Facebook / Twitter / Orkut and other such sites. So you read somewhere on the net a headline that goes .."Madras High court ruling that sex is equal to marriage... " You jump in joy. What a kill!... and you update your status - How many of you got married today? ... oh my God, Madras court has gone senile.... This happens only in India!... and your other Social Networking Activist friends join in with appropriate OMGs and Let's sign online petition opposing this and shit. Of course, not one of you thinks it would be relevant to read the context of the decision at all (huh, like I care?).
... but don't worry, no one will find out that you are dumb, because no one will bother to know the context anyway. Your activism shall thrive and people would feel happy that they have done their good deed for the day by 'liking' your status update.

Morons!

Why preach when you can threaten

Smoking is cool. Smoking defines machismo. Smoking helps you calm your nerves. I totally buy all that logic. And after all, it's your life and your fucking lungs. I am really not bothered.

But then you don't let me be. You walk beside me on the road and blow smoke in the air around me. You stand next to me at the chai-wallah and light a cigarette. You stand in front of me in the queue at the station and defile the air that I breathe. I am not asthmatic. But I hate inhaling smoke like thousand others who do. And I definitely don't want to die of passive smoking. That would be stretching imagination a bit too far, no one dies of passive smoking, you would point out and laugh. So let me explain my problem in an alternative way.

How would you feel if we are all standing in a queue, and suddenly I take out my bottle, gulp some water, gargle and then spit it out all around. Obviously I do it in a way so that drops of water fall on your body. Disgusted?

Better, we are all sitting in a restaurant and I stand up, turn around so that my bums face your nose, and let out a nice, smelly fart?

I can take it to the next level, but you should get the drift by now.

You may say it's not the same thing. I would agree with you. And add that what you are doing is actually worse. The smoke that comes out from your mouth has possibly traveled across all your innards and would carry with it (in addition to the toxic tobacco fumes) traces of all kinds of germs that reside in your body. My spit or fart would be less harmful by a long shot. I am no doctor or scientist. I am just using plain logic.

So, next time you are in company of people who don't smoke, or in any public place, and you itch to light a cigarette, just be warned that I may be lurking around the corner, waiting to offer you the wettest of my spit or the smelliest of my fart. I never liked the concept of 'tit for tat' more than now. Good luck with that.

Meri pant bhi sexy hai

These trousers are apparently a
cross between frocks and leggings

I am a fashion disaster in every possible sense of the term. There was a time when I would only wear pleated trousers. Then, gradually, I moved on to flat fronts. But, by this time, the world seems to have taken several leaps as far as fashion is concerned and my wardrobe is still filled with the traditional old-school trousers.

And the woresht thing is that I don't even like the new styles that people wear these days, so how do I adapt to them? Arre, don't laugh, have you seen the kind of stuff people wear these days?

*Pants that are so tight that one cannot even wriggle their legs through them. I mean how are you supposed to sit, run, walk, or squat wearing them?

*Then, there are pants that seem to balloon above your knees. Like you are wearing a frock and then someone just took a sellotape and wrapped the lower part of the frock around your legs tightly.

*Pants that are orange, pink, yellow and red? I thought only Govinda had licence to wear those.

*And, yeah, boxer shorts were supposed to be worn as underpants, no? People seem to have adopted them as the new pajamas now.

So much so, that if you look at someone from behind, it's hard to tell if it's a guy or a girl. Clothes, hairdos, there hardly seems to be any differentiation. Sadly, gone are those days when Calcutta was wayyy behind in catching up to these mind-fucked fads. In times to come, people on the road are gonna point at me and laugh  madly - 'Look he is wearing normal trousers. Ha!'.

Death only.

Return of the skinny Hero

The malnourished, skinny
hero is back?

It is not technically a 'return', as Bollywood never really had skinny heroes. But the whole obsession with ripped abs and bulging biceps had attained completely crazy proportions of late. Even the background dancers in Bollywood songs these days seem to be gym-regulars. I mean, what had the world come to.... But then I saw the promo of Raanjhanaa... and heaved a sigh of relief.

Let me explain the background first.

As those of you, who read my blog on and off, already know, I am no Adonis. From early childhood I have been lanky, those types whose muscles refuse to camouflage the bones, and the latter stick out at odd angles all over the body. I successfully managed to thwart Mummy's attempts to feed me nutritious food, and remained proud of my lean frame. By the time I realized that girls had now started drooling over Salman Khan and John Abraham, it was too late.

But now, I am hoping, the trend shall reverse. I shall proudly wear my half-sleeved T-shirt and roam around on the roads. No more would Sonia look at me tirchi nazron se, when while watching a movie, the hero on screen lifts up the heroine in his arms and pirouettes all around. And if anyone ever makes fun of my non-existent biceps, I can shut them up by saying - Fashion hai yaar, even heroes are skinny these days. 

Amen.

And then I am not supposed to judge you?

I am usually nice to others. And I also try and be as patient with morons as is possible for awesome people. But then there would always be those who make you wonder what exactly went wrong with human evolution.

And I am not even talking about things like farting in public, adoring SRK and his panty-revealing antics during IPL, borrowing my pen and not returning it etc. I mean I have matured now into tolerating all of these.

But not these:

When using the Men's Room:
- Try and pee in the pan (that's why it's there!), it's not so difficult to aim you know. I don't want to step into a pool of pee when I use the men's room
- You are not a woman. So please don't start a kitty party in the men's room. Do your stuff and leave, what's with all the conversations and camaraderie while in the stalls!
- Wash your hands after you are done? The number of men who don't do this is mind-boggling! Be sure, if I have seen you just rush out in apparent hurry, I am never shaking that hand again.

And otherwise:
- I have a terrible memory. And I am totally not the guy who'd remember your name if I don't meet you everyday. So I would understand if you have the same problem. But what's with faking a memory lapse? Does it give you some false sense of superiority?
Umm... I know you are Patwari.. and your name starts with a Y and ends in an H, but I can't remember what it was.
- Govt. has made public parks where young couples can sit and express their love for each other in myriad ways. Then there are other popular places like the Rabindra Sarovar or Nandan Cinema where, unofficially, singles are not allowed at all - as they take up space which can be put to better use by couples.
But then you choose to do PDA inside a crowded Metro compartment? I refuse to blame it on raging hormones... your hand in his back pocket, and his hand somewhere on you doesn't even appeal to the voyeur in me.

There are many others. But what's the point? I can't change the world. (But I can Blog).

How 'Run Lola Run' inspired our daily lives

Passengers waiting for Metro to stop
so that they can rush inside

I was in Bombay for three years. No, while that is a sad thing, that is not what this blog is about.
So, yeah, in Bombay I used to take the local trains to and from work. No, that's not what I am going to crib about either (I have already done that earlier here).

That was just to drive home the point that even three years of Bombay local trains couldn't have prepared me for the nightmare that is Calcutta Metro Rail. I mean have you even tried boarding a Metro these days? Here is what I wonder of all these morons travelling alongside me my co-passengers:

Did all of you want to be sprinters but actually got stuck in fucked up corporate careers? For nothing else can explain the mad dash all of you break into at the slightest opportunity.
Got off the auto? Run madly towards the turnstiles knocking off everything on the way!
Got through the turnstile? Run towards the platform, panting and heaving!
Train has arrived? Madly push into the already-crowded train!
Got off the train? Dash for the turnstiles before anyone else can make it. For this is your only chance to redeem yourself from that shameful episode.. the ignominy of coming last in 100 meters sprint way back when you were in Class I.

This, when there is a train every four minutes! I mean, I seriously mean man, grow up.

Ladka ho mere jaisa, ladki ho tere jaisi

I am convinced now that my accidental decision to do an MBA might have been actually a blessing in disguise. Because had I not done an MBA, I would definitely have ended up being a bachelor all my life.

I am privy to a lot of matchmaking conversations these days. And MBA grooms are the only ones in demand.

Sample this..

"Ladka MBA hai ji", heightened interest all around.
Being the inquisitive guy that I am, I end up asking, "umm.. which campus?"
And they give me what-does-that-mean? look. "I meant which school did he do his MBA from?"
"That we don't know.. some college in College Street, but how does it matter? He is an MBA, that's all that matters"
I decide there is no point in me participating in this conversation at all.
"He would be making 25-30 lacs I guess. Not everyone can earn that crore salary ji. What say, Vicky?" they clearly don't want me to kat lo that easily.
"Huh? How would I know... not all jobs..."
"Arre, how much do you earn, tell us?"
Now that's one question I hate. Flashes of earlier "Haw, didn't u study at IIM Bangalore?" conversations run through my mind. "Umm.. around... <some arbit figure>"
"He would definitely earn this much... see, college doesn't matter then..."

Random aunts have been calling me to ask if any of my MBA friends would be suitable for their girls, or girls they know. Apparently, it's not only the parents, but the girls themselves, who want only MBA husbands. Not without reason then that a lot of p(h)onytail MBA institutes are springing up here and there... and they get SRK to endorse them, the most eligible husband that our generation has seen, whatever that means.

So, yeah, MBA. And blissful married Life. Bet you never foresaw this correlation. Sigh.

Relay

"Rafique, please understand. We serve pure vegetarian food in 'Krishna' restaurant. Your appearance... ... ..
...our customers don't feel comfortable walking in when they see a Muslim attendant.. hope you understand... "

Rafique was seething with anger as he maneuvered his bike through the crowded lane, cycling furiously. He almost threw the bicycle in the alley next to the staircase and rushed upstairs. How would he feed his family now? He entered his kholi to find Ayesha adjusting the cushions on the diwan. Her dupatta wasn't covering her head. In a fit of rage, he slapped her tight across the face. "Begairat!".

***

Her face still smarting, Ayesha peeled the skin off the potatoes and dropped them in boiling water. She didn't even realize that tears were welling up in her eyes. Sarika's arrival diverted her attention.

Sarika looked glad and content. She had a notebook and pencil in her hands. Ayesha's eyes widened. In a quick movement, she snatched the notebook away with one hand, and pulled Sarika's ear with the other.
"How many times have I told you not to touch your brother's things?"
"Ammi, I want to go to school too"
"I will send you to school! ..." shrieked Ayesha as she forced Sarika's right palm in the pan filled with boiling water.

***

"Come play with us Sarika"
"No I am not in the mood", Sarika sat on the stairs nursing her bandaged palm, as her friends played with clay dolls in the aisle. She could see Amruta limping in the distance. A wicked smile appeared on her face as she got up and hopped towards Amruta.

Amruta saw her and stopped in her track. Her eyes were fearful. Sarika pinched her on her arm.
"Don't" shouted Amruta.
"Why? What will you do otherwise? Run after me and hit me?" Sarika's laugh was maniacal.

***

"Why do you go out to play with that Sarika, baby?"
"I don't mummy, she comes to me and hits me" Amruta was inconsolable.

She finally felt better after her mom gave her a chocolate bar. As she limped into her room, Amruta found her grandfather sleeping on the cot. She hated sharing her room with this old man, who irritated her with his stories. Even her mom and dad didn't like him and were waiting for the day when he would die and leave them alone.

Balaji woke up and looked at her polio-ridden granddaughter with extreme sadness.
"Come to me, beta"
Amruta made a contorted face and sat down to play with her dolls, ignoring her grandfather's call.

***

Balaji Rao was proud of the way he had raised his sons. Even though he was a man of little means, he had ensured that both his sons studied in English medium schools. And what a gem Shrikant had turned out to be. He worked in a reputed bank, had a beautiful wife and a lovely daughter. Only if polio hadn't affected poor Sarika. Balaji let out a sigh.

Neelesh entered the room with hesitant steps.
"Papa, do you want anything from the market?"
"Yes, get me some poison, will you? Better to die than have a son like you"

As Neelesh left, Balaji gritted his teeth. What sins of his previous birth had made him sire a gay son?

***

Neelesh sat on the ledge, staring blankly at the waves breaking at the rocks. It wasn't his fault.

"Neelesh, you are sitting here! We have been looking everywhere!"
Neelesh turned and saw Ashok and Kalpesh running towards him.
"What happened?"
"You forgot? Today is our rally!"

How could Neelesh have forgotten! These asshole Biharis needed to be taught a lesson. They'd come and defiled their precious city, made it dirty with their filthy ways and worse, undercut them to take up their jobs.

But things would change soon. Rana Saheb had taken up arms against these infidels. Only today morning, his party people had bashed the owner of 'Krishna' restaurant in a North Indian locality, for refusing to put-up a signboard in Marathi.

***

It roars, whether you like it or not

It will not make you roll in laughter at bawdy jokes or PG-13 innuendos. It does not have dhinchak songs that instantly get added to any DJ's playlist. The action sequences are not out-of-the-world like Wanted, Dabangg, Ready or Bodyguard. And, well, okay, it also has the same-ole story rehashed a hundred times in Bollywood already.

And yet, Tiger roars. Roars in its simple humor. Roars in music that slowly grows on you. Roars as it avoids easy traps of melodrama and mushy romance. Roars in amazingly beautiful cinematography. Roars as it rides as much on Katrina's petite shoulders as on Salman Bhai's machismo.

When you put two of the best looking stars in Bollywood together on screen, you don't ask for much more. But Ek tha Tiger offers more, and offers everything that Salman movies these days don't. Take that from a fan who has seen every shitty movie that ever starred Salman, and has adored all of them. 

It's a simple story, told simply. With some subtle, unadulterated fun.

And, talk about screen presence. Fucking screen presence. Just leave Salman on screen, yeah, and all is taken care of. Mashallah.

Bring out the Gunda in you

There are very few things in life that I am really touchy about. Actually, I can consider myself pretty much emotionally dead otherwise, but some topics get me talking.

Calcutta has always been one of them.

It's laid-back, but it's warm, I would argue. People are nice, I would tell anyone who is willing to listen. Men are lazy, but they are progressive, I would coerce them. And most importantly, women are safe here, I would make them believe.

Not like Mumbai where passers-by don't care if you lay writhing on the road in pain, where your neighbors don't even know you exist. Not like Delhi where even women spout abuses in every second word, where the men consider raping any woman they see as their birth-right. Not like Bangalore and Chennai where the auto-wallahs can make you repent why you were born in the first place, where the local populace's antipathy towards North Indians will make you squirm.

But time had to catch up eventually. And it did.

Women are raped, and then they are mocked by the Govt and police for daring to lodge a complaint. Anyone trying to act as witness is also molested, and officers trying to investigate the case are transferred.
Co-passengers turn their head the other way as a child falls off a speeding auto.
People on a busy street in the heart of the city couldn't care less as a gang of rowdy auto-wallahs molest a lady and beat up her husband for daring to protest against their rash driving. Even after the media highlighted the issue, the auto drivers walk free due to political clout, whereas the couple is being tormented.

Ask any person on the road, and he would seem worried. Calcutta is not the same anymore, he will tell you. He is scared, worried and anxious. He is concerned about his own safety and that of his family's.

So, if we have become more and more like the other cities in India, does that mean that we have re-arrived on the commercial landscape as well.. and that like Mumbai, Delhi and other cities, we too will see growth in industry and employment.

The answer is a big fucking No.

We never deserved that, and we don't deserve even now, as I found out today when I tried to enter my bank's premises in the morning. It's an All-India strike called by some union of bank employees. Funny thing is neither me nor any other employee of my bank is member of the union and yet, we were not allowed to enter office by flag-bearers and slogan-shouters. Colleagues in other parts of the country found it funny, it's a fucking strike of PSU bank employees... why is your branch shut? And then they would themselves answer with a smirk, that's Calcutta for you.

Of Kajras, Chummas and Mungdas

Item numbers have always formed an integral part of my movie-going experience. And I, for one, take them seriously boss. But then this post is not about the over-the-top item numbers of today.

This is about those songs which made you shamelessly dance away in drunken glory at some point of time in your life, songs which you have karaoke-d with your chaddi-buddies when you were young and innocent, with suppressed giggles and an eye on the lookout - you wouldn't want grown-ups to hear you singing them, songs which when played today seem like a forgotten tune, but then you hum along nevertheless, remembering fun that was of yesterday.


Confused?

Lemme make it easy. Imagine a group of drunken men dancing - late 20s, early 30s, middle-aged. Drunken men dance like.. umm.. drunken men. But, then, at times, the dancing attains a different level of totally mad frenzy.. when the DJ plays certain item songs. This post is about such songs.



Saat Samundar - Clearly one of the reasons why Vishwatma shouldn't be labeled a forgettable film. No, the song's not on the list because of a gyrating Divya Bharti alone. The lyrics inspire some of the most imaginative dance moves ever.

Jhuma Chumma de de - One song that makes every guy on the dance floor think of himself as Amitabh Bacchan out to woo the Kimi Katkar dancing a few feet away. The flirtatious undertones of the song provide perfect cue for discarding all sanity, and sensibilities.

Mungda - Without exception, all songs of Helen are pieces of majestic art. However, Mungda surpasses all of them in its sheer sensuality. Helen wasn't exactly very young when this song was shot.. and yet, she could easily have given the Sheilas and Munnis of today a run for their money.

Oye oye - If there was one thing that Rajiv Rai got right in his movies, it was to have peppy numbers in place, and make cute looking actresses maro latkas and jhatkas on them. Not surprising then, that a lot of songs from his movies feature on my list. For Oye Oye though, it wasn't Sonam (who Rajiv Rai later married) alone, it was also Nasiruddin Shah's rustic nautanki that made the song what it is. Tridev had other good item songs too (in particular this one where Sangeeta Bijlani seduces the entire theater), but nothing quite compares to Oye Oye.

Tu cheez badi hai mast mast - Clearly Mohra was the one movie that highlighted Raveena Tandon's career in Bollywood. No, she did not play a very important role in the movie. She only danced to rapchik songs like Mast Mast and Tip tip barsa pani.

One two ka four - The only male item song that deserves a mention here. I can't say whether it was Anil Kapoor's moustache (as if he needs any more body hair), a demure looking Madhuri, the sheer narcissism portrayed in the lyrics or some unknown mystery that makes the song a favorite.

Ek do teen - Tezaab could have been a cult movie. Many say it already is. Not me. And I can't decide on what shouldn't have been there in the movie - Chunky Pandey? Mandakini's hamming? And if it is indeed a cult movie, then it is only because of Mohini and her counting abilities.


Kajra Re - It is with a lot of self-control that I have included this song here. My antipathy for the femme fatale who danced on this song is not unknown really. But this song is legendary, alrite, and I couldn't have not included it in my favorite list, in spite of her and a nauseating Abhishek Bacchan. As consolation to myself, I will put up a pic of Rakhi Sawant dancing on this song instead.


Choli ke peeche kya hai - When I was really really young (not too young to not understand what this song meant though), my uncle had gotten this recorded in an audio cassette and would secretly play it when no one was around. To his bad luck, the cassette was soon discovered and promptly thrown into the dustbin. It's tough to decide what makes the song so vulgar (and hence, so interesting to drunken men) - the lyrics, Madhuri's dance, Neena Gupta's suggestive looks or the lust in Sanjay Dutt's eyes. Do watch the video, if only for the hilarious subtitles that I managed to find.

Last Note: This is my list. Your list can be, and should be, different from mine. So Chill, and have fun :-)

Popcorn tub, large coke and ample tears

Tears ran down Rani Mukherjee's cheeks as she spoke to her father on the phone. The father is evil and he wants her to earn money, at any cost.

P reached out for R's arm and held her tight. It was then I realized, that sitting in between two girls in a movie like 'Laaga Chunari Mein Daag' was a bad bad idea.

So, yeah, P was crying. And R consoled her with these endearing words, 'Men are like this only re, we are destined to suffer!' The fact that both of them will soon graduate from IIMB and actually bring many a men to tears in the corporate world clearly didn't matter. Also, they totally forgot that I, another 'evil' man sitting in the middle seat, could hear them. I was only supposed to look repentant on getting dirty glances from them every time a man made Rani Mukherjee suffer on the big screen in front of us.

End of part one.

The mother-in-law was at her best, hurling choicest abuses at the meek bahu. The entire confusion was actually a big misunderstanding - however, it was clear that, for now, the bahu has to suffer.

Thus ended a maha-episode of one of the most popular serials on TV, leaving the women in the house close to tears. The daughters-in-law (DIL) at home immediately burst into a tirade against the evil mother-in-law (MIL) on screen, also pointing out how in reality too the MILs don't understand the DILs at all. The MIL of the family, on the other hand, sided with the on-screen MIL and also took this opportunity to lambast the DILs in general. It does matter, of course, that the MIL and DILs at home are actually at peace, with no warring tendencies at all.

End of part two.

So, yeah, we, Indians, love drama. And we take this seriously enough. Be it Bollywood, Ekta Kapoor serials, IPL, Satyamev Jayate or anything else that can tug at our tear-ducts - we lurrrvve the drama.

The only problem I have with this whole nonsense is how people forget that what they are watching is scripted, fabricated, meant to entertain and not to be emulated or learnt lessons from. For example, all the male characters in these serials are pansies, with no dialogues, who cry like a girl whenever their girlfriends / wives are angry / upset, do not seem to have to work for a living and can be seen at home all the time showering praises on the women - such cutie pies they are! Now if all women start believing that this is how men should be, tab to ho gaya na!

Look at people from South India for example. Arrey, take these movies and these stars a little less seriously na?

End of random rant.

Facebook for dummies!

Life is unfair as it is. On top of that, what if none of your Facebook friends ever 'like' any of your pictures or status updates? Scary.

Do you feel lost while checking random status messages / pictures from your friends, telling everyone about their latest exotic vacation, while you have nothing at all to post? Do you just end up staring blankly at the Facebook home page, wondering what should you type, to attract that much coveted 'like' from your friends, or even better, that elusive 'comment'?

Worry not, you aspiring facebook celebrities, because Yogi Baba has come to your rescue now. I will tell you, the step-by-step process, for taking popularity on cyber-space to the next level.

1. Choosing the right DP (display picture)

You can take a few days off from work before you decide on this. For females, it is easier: you can post a picture of some pet, or some cute kid (preferably with a love quote), or Katrina Kaif. And the guys will hound you, assuming you are hawt. Should you want to put up a pic of yourself, make sure it is mysterious looking, like half-side-face or only your eyes (with deep kajal). And the guys would hound you, assuming the rest of you looks slightly better. For guys, something like a broken guitar or torn jeans works. If you want to put up your own pic, you should have a fancy beard or goatee or funny hair, or at least wear goggles. Plain pics are just not cool. Sissy boys can put up pics of Shahrukh Khan.

2. Choosing the right friends, Hell yeah

Ok, get this straight. Send friend request to every goddamn profile you come across. Be shameless about this. You need not know them. And you need not even introduce yourself. Just send the requests. For every snooty tight-ass who rejects your request, there are at least a dozen other losers who will accept it. Remember, you need to have friends first, and only then they can 'like' what you post. If someone ever asks, 'do I know you?', you can give any silly reason, like this one I got from a guy who had sent me a request - 'we have 12 common friends, we must friend each other' !

3. Beg. Borrow. Steal

Now, coming to what you should post. Don't rack your brains, use Google instead. Young girls can post random love quotes, or about sufferings of love, or the agonizing wait for prince charming or how some Bollywood star-couple looks so cute together. If you can't think of anything, just post - I am sad or I need a hug. That always works. Since women refuse to believe that they don't fall in the category of 'young girls', they can do the same. Guys can post about cricket, the eternal favorite. Or alcohol.
You can always 'share' nice stuff someone else has posted, without giving due credits of course (you are not here to do charity, always remember!).

4. A picture is worth a thousand comments

Post as many pictures as you can. Eating at McDonald's with your friends? Click pics and upload. Movie with colleagues? Click pics and upload. Mom forced you to go to mandir with her? Click pics and upload. Vacation? Ooooh.. the bestest opportunity. Click pics and upload. And many of them. And tag all your friends, even if they are not in the pic. If you live an absolutely boring life, just upload 'Happy new year' wallpaper and tag all your friends.

5. Live commentary is fun

Cricket match? Soccer? Tennis? Parliament proceedings? It is your solemn duty to provide live commentary to fellow Facebook addicts who may not be able to watch the TV themselves. Or maybe they are watching, but you don't know. And often, these updates can lead to cyber war of words, which will help your cyber popularity like anything.

6. Stalk others. And they will stalk you in return

We are all parasites after all. Make your own gang of back-scratchers. And you are good to go!

Now, if you have found any of the above dope useful, please do 'like' this blog. And if you want to absolutely make sure that I know of your gratitude, please do leave a comment. And only should you want, you may share the link to this blog on your Facebook page. And, yeah, do tell your friends about it. *sheepish grin*

Will trade forks for sanity (a little?)

B-school is a funny place. And the students who get selected into the top ones are, without an iota of doubt, a weird lot. So, when we at IIMB got to know that IIMC students were being tutored in 'table manners', there were some of us who madly giggled, and then some of us wanted a similar course to be floated in IIMB as well. Thankfully, that never happened.

During my summer internship, I would have lunch with all the other interns from various B-schools. And I noticed with interest that, while the rest of us ate like barbarians with our hands (licking fingers, gravy dripping from our chins, food spilled all over the table), the guy from IIMC would neatly fold his rotis into small cones, take some sabzi in a spoon, fill the cone with the sabzi, and gracefully eat it like a true Banker. That was when I started having doubts about my career in banking. That was also when I realized how too much education can kill all the fun in your life.

But then, if you have been following my blog (get the hint!), you would know that I am not exactly on God's favorite list. So, yeah, it had to all come back to me eventually. So, I was having lunch with my lady boss, and we ordered pizza. Pizza came. I was hungry. I took a slice. Picked it up. Took a bite. My teeth wouldn't cut through the cheese layer. I use my hand to tear the cheese away. So, am kind of trying to tear a bite.. struggling with both my hands.. but enjoying my meal. My eyes dart towards my boss. She had used a knife and a fork to neatly cut a small piece from her slice of the pizza, and was looking at me in horror. I give sheepish grin and pretend that I am not hungry anymore. And hope that the earth would just swallow me up. Imagine! I mean, come on, who uses a knife and a fork to eat a pizza!

I have seen worse.

I have seen people eat dosa with a fork, garlic bread similarly, and a sandwich like it was a small baby being operated upon. A normal person would get into depression, I am telling you, and would seriously start doubting his own existence. But I am stubborn as hell. And I don't even know how to use chopsticks. Die.

So, when a colleague recently chided me on picking the wrong plate for dessert, in another colleague's wedding, I gave him a dirty why-the-fuck-do-you-care look. And later smiled to myself.

For Abs and Glory

What's happening to the world? Where have all the happy men with paunches and hairs peeping out of their nostrils & ears gone? What's this craze about being fit? And clean? And since when has being handsome become synonymous with having washboard abs, and waxing your body-hair, and getting facials done? Since when have diets become fashionable for men and guys have started memorizing words like 'decaf', 'calorie' and 'oily food'?

Scarily, I think I know the reason.

Switch on the TV and every actor in every goddamn TV serial has six-pack abs to flaunt. Even the wannabe kids who come for these reality show auditions have a toned body. You look at these kal ke aaye Heroes - and all of them have a well-maintained physique, all of them shave their body-hair, and all of them frequent the parlors for getting their eyebrows done. When I travel, all the young teens and tweens on the road can be seen wearing body-hugging tees that show off rippling muscles. So can you really blame the girls for expecting their boyfriends / husbands to get rid of their paunches too?

What I fail to understand is what has changed between then and now? Did Rajesh Khanna or Amitabh Bacchan ever have six-packs? Was Anil Kapoor expected to shave off his chest hair? Then why now?

I think we should start a movement to stop all this nonsense. Let's encourage men to flaunt their chest-hair instead of showing off shaved ass-cracks. And there should be contests like the "world's sexiest paunch" to restore some sense of balance in this fitness-crazy world.

I know what you did in 2011

I had been watching you, Bollywood. And I have always known what you are up to.

In 2011, you succumbed to new lows - and that hurts me. And I must tell you that this is not done. You have to work as much on our relationship as I have been doing. And you will also have to explain to me - why this Kolaveri Di?

1. Setting: A song-sequence inside a classroom of a school - First Standard, or maybe, Second, if you stretch your imagination a little.
Teacher: A plump Vidya Balan.
Plot: A wardrobe malfunction.
As Bappi Da's supersonic voice booms in the background ~ Giraake apna pallu, Baar baar... Kar deti ho humko, Bekarar ~ Vidya's pallu actually drops, revealing ample bosom. Wait, I am not mad about this bit. What happens next is the earth-shatteringly dumb part. All the kids (yes, kids!) in the class, get super-excited at the serendipitous mistake by their teacher and throw their books all around to celebrate.
I get that this was supposed to be funny. But maybe, Bollywood, you are trying too hard.


2. Setting: A video-game turned real
Characters: The Good Guy..err.. no, Robot...err.. no, Clone.. err, no, some Holographic Image of a video-game Hero... erm.. ok, let's just call him G.One. Similarly, the other guy, let's just call him Ra.One.
Plot: Making the world a little more gay-friendly.
Ra.One is about to kill G.One. And G.One needs to survive, so that he can kill Ra.One later. Simple. And the only way he can save himself is by grabbing Ra.One's crotch. So, he does that. And then, both of them blankly look into each others' eyes uttering inane dialogues like "Yeh kya kar rahe ho G.One? ... I don't know".. till the level ends in the supposed game they are playing, saving G.One and thereby, humanity.
Bollywood, listen to me and not SRK, you will do well. Trust me on this one.

3. Setting: Doesn't matter
Characters: Don't matter
Plot: Doesn't matter
The movie has Mimon Chakravarty / Mahaakksshhaaay / Gobbledygook
End of argument.

4. Murder of Item Numbers: I have earlier professed on this blog my love for item-numbers. That doesn't mean you will start belting out one inane item number after another, differentiating one from the other only by inventing a new name for the item girl: Jalebi Bai, Chameli, Dilli ki Billi and what not. Jeez.

I don't even want to crib any further. I am willing to give you one more chance. Don't disappoint me please.

Sigh. *Turns on music ~ No touching, no kissing......... *

Leap of Faith?

Being the adarsh Maru boy that I am, I got married pretty early in life. Yeah, it's been two years already! I don't even remember what it feels like to be a Khulla-saand anymore (as if I was really making any good use of my 'Khulla-saand' days *sigh*) Anyway, that's not the point.

So, one of the unwanted consequences of getting married early is that most of your friends still are bachelors. And like true friends, they do everything possible to make you realize what you are missing out on. But, now time has caught up with them. Wickets are falling by the hour. All my friends are getting hitched left, right and center. Evil grin.


Even this has an unwanted consequence for me though. Each of my friends, who is being regularly put on display to the parents of any eligible girl passing-by, comes to me seeking advice. Is this the right time? What qualities should I be looking for in her? What if I marry a wrong girl? How can I be sure she is the one? Why do people say all wrong things about marriages - is it really that scary a thing?


And I am as flummoxed as they are. How should I reply? There is no checklist against which you can tick-off qualities in a girl. You just know she is the right one when you see her. Are you always 100% sure.. maybe not. But then every call in life is a leap of faith, else where would the fun be, innit? I have known women to have mandatory criteria in mind when they look for a guy - rich, classy blah blah. But not guys, we go by guts and instincts.

And is the Game Over after marriage? Let's say that the grass looks greener on the other side - but you don't know until you have crossed over :)