Maa Kasam!

Whatever happened to that man ?

2010-03-02T19:42:00.000-08:00

(----Part 1---)

He carefully placed his large square thick rimmed spectacles on his nose, lovingly combed his rock-star like shoulder length hair, gave the same treatment to his moustache, wore a thin plain-white half-sleeved cotton shirt that could be easily mistaken for a ganjee, pulled up his bell-bottomed trousers over his torn underwear, slipped on his frayed black leather chappals that he had himself polished lovingly last night, grabbed his colorful thelaa that contained his flute and his lunch dabba that his mother had packed and headed out of his tiny but clean apartment with a spring in his steps and a song on his lips. He felt good about himself. He was confident of his future. It was the 1970s in Bombay, the air was clean, the people were friendly and the roads and buses and trains were commutable. He was recently employed full-time with a famous band that made music for the movies and he could play the flute like nobody's business. The band had promised him lifelong employment and then a monthly pension plan after retirement, as was the case with most types of jobs back then. He believed in honesty, uprightness, hard work, doing the right thing irrespective of the outcome, respecting women, valuing people over material things and all those ideals that people were expected to follow. He didn't have much education but he knew his job will see him through the rest of his life.

His secure future brought him happiness. His days were spent playing the flute, gossiping with his fellow musicians during breaks, eating his dabba under a shaded tree in the movie studio's compound, sneakily eyeing the movie's beautiful heroine getting her make-up done, mentally tracing her body contours under her tight saree and sleeveless white blouse that was knotted in the back and transparent enough to reveal that she was wearing a black bra. He wondered why the black bra got him much more excited than the white (other colors weren't available yet). But immediately after such thoughts he felt guilty since he was taught to respect womenkind and so he made a mental promise to the heroine to never again check the color of her bra (but he kept doing it). He dreamt of having a family, with a wife more beautiful than the heroine and kids who would go to good English medium schools. His evenings were spent wandering around the city aimlessly, breathing in its sights and sounds, perhaps catching a movie with his band's music where he felt mighty proud when he heard his own flute being played. In the evening he sometimes took the luxury of gorging himself with a few street wada-pavs when he knew that his mother was going to make his much despised brinjal curry for dinner. He could afford these royal pleasures. He believed that life was perfect in his India of the 70s and his beloved Bombay would provide for him and his family.

(to be continued in part 2)

Glorifying mediocrity

2009-04-03T18:10:00.000-07:00

Warning - This may hurt your sentiments.

Is it only me who feels the sharp rise in stupid people around them? Have you suddenly started noticing fully grown adults hell bent upon glorifying and publicly broadcasting their own mediocrities. Maybe its because of these social networking websites like Facebook, Orkut, Twitter or maybe its because we were inherently that stupid and these networking websites just gave a vent to our dumb tendencies. Visit any social networking site and you are bound to get overwhelmed with the stupidity of a zillion people. Their dumb "status" updates and their dumb comments on other people's status updates. A 35 year old woman is going through a breakup and she is broadcasting it to her entire group of two hundred people that "boys are stupid". And when she is not going through a break up she is broadcasting how her fucking dog sprays his pee and what part of her bedroom has he crapped in and what color of shit does he excrete. And you'll find two or three of her trusted friends commenting on her broadcasted message on how even their dogs' shit has been green today. I guess it must be Saint Patrick's day then, huh? Dumb bitches. Sometimes nobody replies to her messages and you see her own replies to her own messages. What a fucked up lonely life you must be living. And this is not an isolated case. Its easy to find such dumb-asses everywhere.

I get the concept of status updates, it lets you post something interesting about yourselves, some cool incident or something out of the ordinary, not stuff like "I was totally exhausted in the gym today" (like every other day), and that "Life is tough" (like we don't know that already), and that "I am going downtown for some great food" (like every other fucking weekend). Oh here is another one "KW is busy busy busy"(like we all are lukkhas upto no good). Ah here is an interesting story - one girl in my list was changing the damn carpets in her damn apartment and for that she had to move her stuff off the floor. For one whole month her status updates involved the progress like how she has now trashed that shitload of junk that she had been accumulating all her pathetic life and donated her old shoes and clothes and what not. For one entire month she described how she cleaned up her dingy fucking apartment and solicited advice from everybody in her friends list on what to do of her red platform heels and used hair clips. Who the FUCK cares?

Another self-adulatory bug that has bitten people is childhood pictures. I understand we all find ourselves cute when we were little and I don't mind seeing an occasional childhood picture of my friends. But it gets weird when entire albums are updated with them in different stages of undress, looking like dorks, mouths drooling, smiling, grinning, crying and what not. I don't want so much detail. I don't want to know that one of my friends wore a pink handkerchief as a langoti and that his penis kept slipping out through it. And there will always be some dumb fucking friends of theirs commenting on those photos "oh how cuuuutteeeeeee you look yaaar".

And whats up with all the nostalgia photos. People love to get nostalgic. I get it, its fun to reminisce about your school days, your picnics, your old friends, your college, etc. But for nostalgia to feel valuable it needs time and maybe a few achievements from your side. One gaandu just graduated from a third class college with some worthless degree and is out already posting photos of his college in an album titled "GOOOOODDD OLDDDDD DAYSSSSSSS". "Old DAYSSS DA BESSSSST TIMMEEEEE OFFFFF MYYYY LIFEEEEE".

Its also bewildering to see the bullshit lies they write glorifying themselves. Their profiles are adorned with how smart,beautiful, great, mysterious, philanthropic, ambitious they are. How they want to change the world and run great companies one day. Bullshit I say. Try to first clear that exam that you have been so miserably failing in. When terrorists attacked Mumbai last year one of my friends who was about to travel to India from US updated her status "Soon I will be in Mumbai to heal the grieving". Fucking lying baboons filled with hot-air! When she did go to Bombay her days and nights were spent partying and wasting away as always. Another contact of mine has a habit of starting e-groups "Fight against poverty", "Save Trees", "Save the earth", "Fight against Terrorism" , like he gets up in the morning, brushes his teeth, drinks his coffee, combs his balding head and starts some dumb fucking e-group. This kind of casual join-a-chutiya-group probably dilutes the efforts of those few organizations that are actually doing something worthwhile. People joining these e-groups get a false sense that they are doing something immensely beneficial to the world like "Oh I am part of the 'save the earth' and 'save electricity' and 'earth hour' group, yep, we meet online and talk about fucking bullshit". Another contact who got laid off from his dumb no-brainer job and couldn't find another job here, had to go back to India and is updating his status from India as if he still lives in the US - like how he had a steak-burger and Budweiser from a high end restaurant in Colaba or how he is excited about watching the finale of some dumb fucking American show that he used to follow here. Another one writes that he has thought of a brilliant new business idea that will make him rich - yeah rite - a brilliant idea and you are publicizing it on Facebook ?

And as if thats not enough whats up with the horrible quizzes that they take. I took a couple for trial "do your parents love you" and "what your friends think about you". I mean who the fuck would take that quiz? Shouldn't you already know? And if you don't already know you think a dumb quiz would figure it out for you? Some people say its just for timepass, for fun. Fun? Timepass? Aren't there better things for fun and timepass that you could do? Is your mental level so deep in the gutter that you have to rely on these quizzes for fun? And these quizzes are not like scientifically designed or anything, any dumb fucker anywhere in the world with a computer and an internet connection can write up any nonsense they feel like and call it a quiz.

And its never the people that you consider smart that you see these idiotic items from. The smart ones always have something interesting to say like the places they have been to or cool photographs or some interesting observations or events. Its always the dumb ones who you suspected were dumb right at birth are the ones doing this.

Why are we so hell bent upon patting our own backs, polishing our own behinds like red-ass baboons do to attract mates, congratulating ourselves, trying to figure out all the trivial nuances of our mediocre existence, figuring out our's and others' "personalities" as if it were black or white, figuring out "what people think of us", "do our parents love us", "which city should we be living in", "whats the ideal job for us " and that too from perfectly illegitimate sources. Why do we feel the need to have a graduation party for a 6th grade kid with evening gowns and a rented limo? Is it that hard to pass school?

You say I should just shut up and quit social networking if I have such negative feelings about normal people. But its like a Jerry Springer or a dumb reality TV show; you hate it but you just can't stop watching it. And its an easy way to keep in touch with the people you do appreciate. Maybe its a way to keep in touch with reality, to see what interests people. Maybe its a way to make you feel good about your own existence, by allowing you to deride other people's existences. Maybe I am a dumb bitch too.

Shayari continued ...

2009-03-19T18:52:00.000-07:00

Arz kiya hain .....

Dil ke dard ko dil todne waala kya jaane,

pyaar ke rivajo ko ye zaalim zamaana kya jaane,

lagti hain kitni vaat neechey kabar mein,

yeh upper se phool chadhaane waala kya jaane

Naa tum terrace par aati,

Naa main deewaana hota,

Naa tum aankh milaati,

Naa main tumhaara parwaana hota,

Aur naa tum woh patthar maarti,

Naa main aaj kaana hota!

(Ouch!)

Bhagwaan, Allah sub jagah par hain

Khuda bhi sub jagah par hain

Idhar Khuda hai, udhar Khuda hai,

Jahaan dekho wahaan Khuda hai,

Idhar-udhar bus Khuda hi Khuda hai,

Jidhar nahi khuda hai….udhar kal khudega saala!

(This inspiration probably struck our Shaayar in Bombay while driving on potholes with occasional pieces of road sprinkled in between.)

More can be found here

Courtesy www.jammag.com

Batuk Chand

2009-03-01T04:12:00.000-08:00

There is a security guard outside a famous bar in Irla,Andheri. Most of you may have seen this bar but may have never been inside because it is a "ladies" bar. This guard is interesting because he is about 2 and a half feet tall. He is a fully grown man but short. Little people they say as a euphemism. This is also strange because this is a ladies bar, a place where testosterone runs high, middle aged men who are mostly well to do and some not so well to do, all married with kids, holding respectable positions in society, bored with their wives, high on the smell of money and horny as hell get drunk and get nasty. How in the world do they expect this guy to break a fight as it usually breaks out. Out of curiosity I asked him one day -

Me - Batuk Chand kaise ko jee. (How are you)

Batuk (smiling) - Bus bhaijaan, masti chal rahi hain. Aap batao. (Just being naughty brother.)

Me - Kuch tamasha hua aaj? (Any fight broke out today)

Batuk (engulfed in smoke coming from my mouth) - Haan woh Bharat bhai ne aaj phir Tania Junior ko propose kiya . (Customer proposed a girl again today for marriage!)

Me (a little surprised that he was a Gujarati) - Woh Bharat Mehta? Gujarati? Arrey uski to shaadi ho chuki hain naa?

Batuk - Arrey "phipty parsant" se jyaada idhar Gujarati bhailog aatein hain. Sub ki shaadi ho chuki hain. (more then fifty percent here are Gujarati, a language my folks speak, so kinda like my community)

Me - waah ri duniya, yeh bataa re, tereko kaise jamta hain yeh bewdey logon ko control karneka? (how can you control these drunkards). Woh sub terese minimum double size ke hain. (they are twice your size)

Batuk - arrey size ka kya karega bhaijaan, lund bhi to badaa hona chahiye naa? Mera sub se badaa hain. Mereko teen (three) paav (legs) hain. (My penis is bigger than them all. So big that I have three legs.)

Me (embarassed imagining Batuk balanced on a tripod) - Arrey yaar, kya bol rahaa hain. (what are you talking about dude.). Achha bataa, yeh sub log idhar kyon aatein hain?

Batuk - seedhi baat hain bhaijaan, aur kuch karne ko nahi hain, life mein aur koi interest nahi, kitaab padhte nahi honge, duniya ki kuch jyaada padi nahi hain, logon ki parvah nahi, jee rahein hain, pee rahein hain, nashe mein jhoom rahein hain. Pahle ladki, phir daaru, phir charas gangaa, (Not much to do in their lives, no interests, no tension, no reading, so they are always looking for the next high, sex, alcohol, drugs, etc.)

Me - waah kya baat kahi hain. Chal meri bus aa gayee, mein jaata hoon. Engineering drawing assignment hain mera kal. (Good philosophy dude, my bus is here, I have a heavy load of engineering drawing to finish tonight.)

He made good company while I waited for the bus sometimes. Batuk Chand. Interesting guy. He was the only earner and had like 5 kids if my memory serves me right.

Another was old Mohammed bhai, outside Sinhal's classes. Bright red hair (natural red head) and bright red beard (artificially dyed). He was always looking after the students waiting like cattle outside their classes at 7 in the morning. Making sure we were all right. Soothing influence. Always remembered my name. Pulkit. Always coerced me to stop smoking. He was a cool guy. Saw him after a long time, had grown much older. Couldn't recognize me.

Repetitive lines in qawwali.

2009-02-14T14:32:00.000-08:00

Just something interesting I figured -

The origin of qawwali was without any repetitive lines. Like the song would start and end real soon, in one shot. People weren't paying much for it. The wordings and feelings were beautiful but the artists weren't able to capitalize on this and they were living meagerly. One little newbie punk thought of a revolutionary idea and figured they could bore the audience a little bit and then excite them a little bit. Bold idea because audience can get real nasty sometimes. They tried it one day by saying something like "Artist needs encouragement for singing, so please shower them with $blessings$". It worked. The Artist would start singing and start repeating the same line without moving forward and some audience would go to the stage and shower them with $blessings$. And hence came the repetitions. Now its an art form, in the Indian/Pakistan royal gharaanas who still pursue such fading but unbelievably brilliant art forms of India. "Thoda abhi, thoda baadmein."

Another random etiquette if you ever go to a qawwali concert - don't ever "throw" money on the performers. They are very respected and there is no direct contact with them. Walk slowly towards them, smiling, with respect and leave the money near his feet. You can dance a little bit if you want. You can usually tell the novices from the gharaanawaalas by how respectful they are.

Blog quality

2009-02-14T00:18:00.001-08:00

I use a service that tells me what people search for when they end up on my blog. At first I didn't pay much attention to it but now the more I analyze it the more concerned I get. It seems some considerable amount of interesting people are landing on my blog. I am sure many of the readers are perfectly normal people but I seriously doubt the purpose of these random people and their lifestyles who land on my blog after google searches. Here a few terms that led to my blog, mainly from Mumbai and Delhi....

how to get desi aunty in bed.

punjabi aunty love.

chikni girls of dombivli in train.

thoking kaamwaali bai.

pyaari si sexy teacher on bed lying nanga on bed loving loving.

getting tution teacher history Padma to cry

Making neighbour boy loving not hating

doing hiding pyaar in baaju waala green park.

bad smell sandhaas of wife

I am wondering what kind of junk am I writing that this is happening. I need to write more sensible stuff like emotions, passions, dreams, love, heartbreak, ambition, altruism, higher goals, achieving your true potential, being strong and kind, but never never never never never ......trying to get tution teacher Padma to cry!

Moving lyrics, revolutionary ideas, listen carefully

2009-01-30T12:00:00.000-08:00

Must watch - new movies

2009-01-22T12:54:00.000-08:00

Some of the new movies that are a must see -
1) Yun hota to kya hota
2) Mumbai meri jaan
3) Dasvidaniya
4) Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye
5) Sirf

to be cont'd....

Ghajini

2009-01-09T14:46:00.000-08:00

At the risk of offending some Amir Khan fanatics I will go ahead and say Ghajini was a total letdown. Mindless violence (if I really wanted just gore there is much better stuff out there), Amir's weird angry contorted facial expressions, Asin's cheesy acting and her countless repetitive dialogues on how Sanjay Singhania fell for her, her oh-so-touching "help the apaahijh people" nature (I am sure even a guy like Ghajini would help a blind person cross the street if he ever came across him), Amir's business attire with tight-sleeves folded all the way to his neck (like a sexy blouse or as if he was going to win a business deal not by his intelligence but by scaring the competitors with his biceps), his computer generated toned body (come on, you are Amir not Salman, thankfully), the endless songs that started at the drop of a hat and the sheer elastic length of the movie, saala itna kheecha phir bhi khatam hi nahi hota.

The only saving grace was Mr. Ghajini himself. I awoke from my stupor only when he came on screen. I was almost cheering when he busted Asin's head and was hoping in the end he emerges the victor but was letdown again when Amir busted his head instead. After watching Rang De Basanti and Taarein Zameen Par and after all the hype of Ghajini I was expecting something much more engaging. Something that kept me on the edge of my seat by its intelligence (like Memento from which Ghajini is supposedly copied) and not by heads being smashed with iron rods. If you like that kind of stuff (and I do too but at a much gorier level) watch Hostel by Eli Roth and many more like those. In such movies you know what you are going in for and you get exactly that. You don't feel cheated.

In Ghajini I felt cheated by Amir. I was like the sage Vishwamitra who was calm and happy because I had mastered the art of saving lots of money by steering clear of watching horrible Bollywood movies in expensive theaters. But then came along Amir in the form of Menka the seductress. He performed a nangaa naach showing off his six-pack abs and tatoos in the previews and glimpses of how thrilling this movie is going to be. It broke my meditation and forced me to buy the tickets and then he fed me this horrendous tamasha and after seeing my sorry face and empty wallet rolled on the floor laughing and screaming "yay tereko chutiya banayaa, yay yay yay!".

Chaila dus dollar barbaad. Huh.

Morning surprise

2008-11-20T13:08:00.000-08:00

Yes you have seen old Desi aunties walking in crumpled salwar-kameez and tennis shoes amidst sharply dressed New Yorkers. Yes you have seen them in frumpy sarees with oily hair tied in a bun, backs bended with countless years of sufferings and sacrifices, proudly pushing their grandkids' strollers in sunny California parks. Yes you have seen them walking on curbs sweating in the dead Texas heat carrying grocery bags, heads covered with their pallus. But have you ever seen them working out, pumping iron, kicking some ass? This was my morning surprise as I entered the gym today (see pics below). This woman, atleast sixty, spent atleast one hour on that machine. Phew!

Janitor Strike

2008-11-09T18:22:00.000-08:00

A couple months ago on a sunny California afternoon the Bay Area came to a screeching halt. The jhaadoowaalas and kachrawaalas went on a strike and stopped all work without prior notice. Drains were clogged, trash overflowed, toilets became un-inhabitable and this once-smooth-flowing pipeline was disrupted causing human intestines to get embarassingly backed up. A sea of janitors was protesting outside corporate offices to get their wages raised. Banners and everything. "Hamaari maange poori karo, nahi to tumhari sandhaas poori nahi hogi". It was a riot. Everybody was hit. Intel, Yahoo, Cicso and all behemoths were drowning in a sea of chaos. Engineers refused to work in refuse. It was a day that will be remembered in the history of Scatology as a "black baasi Monday".
The janitors are an unknown lot. They arrive regularly, on time, clean up your junk, throw you a fake smile (because seriously there is nothing to smile about for them) and get out of there. Sometimes they catch you on your way out of the toilet, just after you took an obnoxious crap, and you know that he knows that it was you. You smile at him knowing very well that he is going to have to clean up your mess. He smiles back but in his mind he is crying and cursing your entire family tree.
There is never a "good" time for this kind of disaster to happen, but this strike happened at an especially opportune moment. There was a big conference being hosted by a company that week (name withheld upon request). Big ideas for the next generation mobile technologies were being discussed. Well respected men and women from various fields were presenting their research. Rich investors looking to fund projects were present too. Everybody was looking to make the world faster, better, to move it forward. But they forgot that more importantly their backwards needed to keep moving too. They were hit by the strike and didn't have a clue on how to fix it. They didn't think that the janitors would have anything to protest about.
But the janitors wanted a place in the conference to air their grievances. They started protesting outside. Security was called to calm them down, but calm down they won't. Finally the CEO of that company, alarmed by this situation, came down and talked to the protest leaders. A few enthusiastic protestors had banners like "Don't you like it clean?" or "Wanna use the forest instead?" and apparently that had an effect on the CEO. He allowed a woman janitor to take a place in the conference.
This woman, in her mid forties, slightly overweight, low on confidence, oiled hair tied in a ponytail, took a seat next to some of the richest men in the world. This was a day of unprecedented importance. People who moved the world forward and people who kept it flowing backwards, sitting side by side, under one roof, discussing issues and resolving crises. This was bigger than Obama being the president of USA. But this woman had a hard time expressing her ideas because the elite men and women didn't give her a chance to speak for a long time. People all around were screaming technology jargon like "Decrease processor size", "increase transistor count", "more processor cores", "less cores but faster". Tired of this constant shouting that she couldn't understand the woman gave up and screamed "GAANDU LOG TUMHARA SANDHAAS SAAF MANGTA HAIN KI NAHI ?!?!". The room went silent. People listened to her speak about her issues. Her demands were met and the strike ended. Business resumed, forward and backwards.

(For more information on this historic event please google search or check out this link -

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2008/05/20/BUL410P59Q.DTL)

Desi first date continued...

2008-10-31T15:07:00.000-07:00

In a response to one of my posts I was asked by someone to stop ridiculing people for their ideas of romance (See "Desi First Date" below) and was challenged to come up with my own idea of it. I pondered over what defined Indian romance in its true colors and came upon the following video which just nailed it. No words neccessary.

Granny gone wild

2008-10-06T18:25:00.000-07:00

In a small village in Gujarat we have our ancestral house. There we've spent a few summer days lazing on its large wooden swing solving a majority of the world's problems. The house was maintained by an old woman, in her eighties. She was unmarried. Taking care of the house was her only passion. She loved it and she loved us. She cooked and cleaned for us. She told us stories of witches and daakus at night. The few days that we spent at the house was what she looked forward to for the rest of the year. She had thick long gray hair which she was very proud of and hoped that that would make a handsome young man fall in love with her. We provided her money enough for food and clothing. She was at the house for more than 20 years until she passed away. We called her Dosi Maa. This story is of her passing away.

One morning, in the summer of 1990, she didn't come out of her room and a low thumping sound was emanating from it. We knocked and enquired whether she was all right. The thumping ceased and she said she was not feeling well. We concluded she just wanted some rest although it was very unusual of her. We did not see her all day and to let her rest we ate our meals at a neighbour's house. The neighbours were surprised too because Dosi Maa was very active for her age. But they did mention her disappearing at times for a few days and they also heard thumping sounds in the middle of the night sometimes. We played outside until we were tired and returned home and immediately collapsed in our beds.

After a few hours, around 2 in the night, a few of us were awakened by a sudden sound. It was the same thumping, only much louder. We waited for a few minutes, stared at each other and decided to go downstairs. The electricity for the entire village was knocked out so it was pitch dark and we had to rely on candles. We knocked on Dosi Maa's door but got no response and the thumping continued. After a half hour of knocking we decided to break the door down as we were very concerned. A few of us started kicking it. The thumping got louder and, raising our concerns, we heard an angry moan, almost like a cat's. After a few kicks we managed to break the door down. And we were horrified at what we saw. Dosi Maa had stripped herself of all her clothes. Butt naked. Her shrivelled skin hanging loose over organs that had lost all shape and form. Her thick long gray hair was left open. She was jumping up and down vigorously on one leg. The other leg was balanced in the air like a yoga pose. She was smiling wide but moaning angrily. Her face was happy but her voice was terrifying. She also had a shaving blade in one hand. We were shell-shocked for a few seconds and didn't know how to react. We implored her to calm down but to no effect. One of us ventured close to her to hold her still but she violently pushed him away. Then, as if irritated by our efforts, she dangled the raw blade and suddenly began to shave off her head with it. Her hair started falling out in clumps coated with blood from her scalp. She didn't seem to get affected by it. By this time the neighbours were at our house. One of them thought that she was possessed by a ghost and the only way to get her to calm down would be to beat her with sticks. Beating our beloved Dosi Maa with sticks ! What a terrible thing to do. But we did it. We started thrashing her with bamboo logs. But it made no impact on her. It was as if she was made of iron. Our sticks broke but she still kept jumping on one leg, now completely bald with a bloodied head and face, naked and still screaming.

The local priest was brought in. He concluded that the only way to get rid of this ghost was to threaten to throw her from a big height. We decided to take her to an abandoned five storeyed building. Six of us caught her with great difficulty as she was biting and scratching us, tied her up, threw her in the back of a tempo and drove towards the building. While driving we could hear her jumping in the tempo and screaming. Upon reaching there we got her out of the tempo and carried her to the top floor. It was dark and we had only a few lanterns for light and she kept biting us constantly. We dangled her from the top floor but she only got louder and more violent. This method did not work. We were in tears and dejected by the horror. The local priest then said the only way now was to chop her head off and when the ghost leaves the body you could sew it together and she would still live. We were confused and did not know what to do anymore and that made us very vulnerable to bad suggestions. We did it. We chopped it off. With an axe. In one blow. The head came off and rolled on the floor. And to our horror of horrors it started screaming and bouncing up and down on the floor like a football. The headless body just stood erect balanced on one leg. Most of us just fainted at this sight. I caught hold of the head and stomped on it a few times to drain its life out but it didn't matter. Instead it slipped from under my foot, bounced behind me and gave me a sharp bite on my left buttock. I still have the marks to prove it. And it continued bouncing. Then in one final desperate attempt we flung the head out of the building. It went down in slow motion, chattering, screaming, looking angrily at me until it faded into the blackness of the night.

And then I woke up from my dream, sweating, with my heart beating rapidly, thanking the Gods for alarm clocks.

Night out in the city

2008-09-26T15:09:00.000-07:00

After spending many weekends either watching movies or playing cards or nerdy games with friends or just plain-old-reading, Sejal and I decided that we should act like a young couple and enjoy a night out clubbing. So we decided to go to Santana Row, the only club-able area in the south bay. We dressed up in our finest party clothes, sprayed an entire bottle of perfume (we are Gujarati) got in our ride, cranked up the latest hip dandiya number and drove towards the partaay. The first requirement of a good night life scene is that you should have a ton of trouble parking. Not here baby, parking was a breeze. That pretty much told you how exciting the club scene would be. We started walking alongside various clubs and saw wine glasses and giant round plates on the tables with just a drop of what is considered food in the centre - aaila gourmet style. Aunties and uncles everywhere, talking softly, mostly quiet. We quickly moved away from those dead zones and towards where the music was blaring. The second indicator of a good night club is people crowding outside to get in. Not here; all clubs were empty with bouncers swatting flies outside. We spotted a club that had a few people inside apparently enjoying the music (as evidenced by the rythmic slow bobbing of the head in sync with one leg) and drinking. They seemed to be talking but I didn't see how you could carry a conversation in such a noise. It seemed so uncomfortable and pointless. Yes for single guys and girls it was a nice way to check each other out, exchange sexual vibes and make it worth the 10 dollar cover charge and 4 dollar beer. But for the Desi married couple it made no sense, especially because the resulting divorce could be very expensive. And of course I did enjoy clubbing in Austin during grad school. A bunch of desi enginerds, low on money, high on testosterone, sweat and body hair, dancing rowdily with a large handkerchief in hand, forcing everyone to do bhangra, all of 5 feet 7 but drunk and stupid enough to pick a fight with the biggest of the bouncers. The idea was that the more loud, obvious and vulgar you get the better the females would notice you. We are desi, we have to be obvious and explicit. It never worked that way and you ended the night with the same nerds you began it with in the same tasteless apartments.

The club also had no dance floor; atleast that could be fun. Since it didn't make any sense there we decided to check out other places where you could atleast hear each other talk. We found a nice outdoor club with lounge type chairs and low decibel music and filled with good looking women. That seemed ideal. I asked Sejal to put on her burkha as there were some good looking guys around too. Upon entering we were told that we would have to share the table with another couple. The concept of sharing isn't alien to me - you often shared a table at a cheap restaurant in India where the other guy just kept eating and ignored you as if your hungry self waiting for the food didn't exist - sure we've done that. So we agreed. I was secretly hoping that some gorgeous women were sharing our table because clubbing is all about seeing and being seen, isn't it? Thats why I gave Sejal a small window in her burkha so she could see but not be seen. What we saw instead was an old couple looking straight in our direction.

At last we settled in our chairs and stared at each other. Then we wondered what to talk about. Is there a special club talk that you need to engage in with your spouse? Should we stare at each other with promiscuous eye and lip movements. I mean, what do you do in a club with your spouse that you cannot already do in your house?! All around we saw large groups of people engaged in laughter and fun. We also saw couples like us sitting and staring at other people. So we decided that the next time we go clubbing we will get a group , even if we have to pay them god damn it! And we ended up talking about how bhangaar this club scene is and how much more fun Austin was and the extreme importance of partying in a group. A drink later we packed up, headed back to our car, put back the dandiya music and went home.

chaar aane ki murgi, baar aane ka masala, huh.

p.s. Things related to burkha and dandiya music were fictional and added just for creating some excitement in this thakela post.

Arz kiya hain...

2008-09-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

Courtesy www.jammag.com

Yeh teri zulfein hain yaa raat ka andhera,

Ho jaa ganjee, kar de sawera.

Lohe ko Loha kat ta hai ...

Sone Ko Sona Kat ta hai...

Jaher ko Jaher kat ta hai...

Isliye apko Kutta katega

Woh to aaj bhi hamein dekh kar muskurate hain

Par unke bachche bade kameene hain
Jo hamein mama, mama kah kar bulate hain

Tajmahal ko dekh kar,
Bola shahjahan ka pota,
Aaj hamaara bhi bank balance hota,
Agar dada deewana naa hota...

Jab dekha unhone tirchhi nazar se,
toh hum madhosh ho gaye,
Par jab pata chala ki unki nazare hi tirchhi hai,
toh hum behosh ho gaye...

Bewafa tum ho to Wafadaar hum bhi nahi,
Besharam tum ho to Sharmile hum bhi nahi,
Pyaar ke is mode par Aake kehte ho
Shaadi-shuda ho ?
To kya hua darling... Kunwaare hum bhi nahin!

Jab jab gire baadal, teri yaad aayi
Jhoom ke barsa saawan, teri yaad aayi
Bheega main, lekin phir bhi teri yaad aayi
Kyon na aaye teri yaad? Tune jo chatri ab tak nahi lautai...

Aaj kal tum muskuraati ho bohut
Mere dil ko bhaati ho bohut
Dil kehta hai le jaoon tumhain dinner per
Par suna hai tum khaati ho bohut!

Chehra tera nazron ke saamne se hat ta nahi,
Tere siva koi aur mujhe dikhta hi nahi,
Ab toh bas ek hi dua karta hoon khuda se...
Ki tu thodi patli ho jaye,
Aur mujhe baaki ke log bhi dikhayee de!

Har khushi ko teri taraf mod doon,
Tere liye chand taare tak tod doon,
Ek baar tu has ke dikha...
Tere sare daat tod doon!

Sher sunne me sunane me maza aata hai
Jab asli ka sher samne aata hai
Tab bhaagne me maza aata hai

(bhaiyya language)

Tuhaar chehraa moti samaan,
Tuhaar chehraa moti samaan,
Moti hamaar kutte ka naam!!

Itna khoobsurat kaise muskura lete ho,
Itna qatil kaise sharma lete ho,
Kitni aasani se jaan le lete ho,
Kisi ne sikhaya hai... Ya bachpan se hi kamine ho?

Courtesy www.jammag.com

*************************************

And one last original shayari from me -----

Door se dekha to sher khadaa thaa,

door se dekha to sher khadaa thaa,

maaila, paas gayaa'ich nahi.

MIA desi hain !

2008-09-18T14:18:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was listening to a San Francisco radio station for Alternative Rock and a very strange and curiously familiar tune came on. It sounded so much like an 80's Mithun movie song. It went like "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy, aaja aaja aaja". Oh wait, it was *indeed* from an 80's Mithun movie "Disco Dancer"! Then a strange African congo beat took over but still interspersed with "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy". I immediately Shazam'ed it (for primates who don't know what Shazam is, its an iPhone feature that tells you the song name just by "listening" to it). It was by an artist called MIA. Strange name. Whatever. So I looked up a few more songs from this artist and got hooked. She had some unbelievably funky songs with beats from multiple cultures and always something desi about it but you couldn't point your finger to what it was. Then I read up on her and was shocked, amazed, astonished, flabbergasted, dumbfounded, maa-kasam'ed to discover that MIA is desi, aaila! This is the first desi (ok second if you count the Parsi bawaa Firdaus Bulsara a.k.a. Freddie Mercury from Queen as Desi, not kidding.) artist getting somewhere in mainstream western music. Her music is fascinating and makes you wanna dance. She is Tamil and hot. Her family fought with the Tamil rebels against oppressive Sri Lankan government. She has stayed all over the world, has strong opinions on social causes, freedom, injustice and what not. Naachti bhi hain mast. She is too much, yaar. Without further adoo garlic here are some of her more famous numbers.

Marathi iPhone

2008-09-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

Found this from another blogger. Its high-larious !

(Courtesy http://crucifirex.blogspot.com/2008/03/aaifone-technological-marvel.html

)

Couple of days back, Steve P. Jobs unveiled the world’s first custom made series of touch screen phones, affectionately titled the AAIFONE (aaiFone). Targeted specifically at the Maharashtrians, this phone is the result of a recent collaboration between Apple (or SapharChand as its partners call it), RMNS Corp. and Shee Cena (wholly-owned subsidiary of Ball Tak Inc., Ulhasnagar) The product was launched in a high profile press conference held in Bihar on Feb 14th. Steve P. Jobs appeared on a bullock cart wearing a Pheta with the aaiFone held high. He was accompanied by Aaj Phekrey (CEO, RMNS) and Uthake Phekrey (Chairman, Shee Cena) on either side. “This starts a new chapter in the history of touch screen phones”, said Steve. “I have always wanted to give something back to my fellow maharashtrians and this is my Valentine’s Day gift to them. I am and always have been one of them. For the uninformed, my middle name is Padgaonkar and not Paul as some people assume it to be. Mee pann ek Marathi manoos aahe”, confessed Steve in front of a massive three member audience. aaiFone weighs a good 5 kilos and is sturdy, lathi-resistant, shock-proof, oil-proof, water-resistant and blood-proof. “It has been designed keeping the average activist in mind. We want people to use it during bandhs and rasta rokos and that’s reason we have made it this strong”, Aaj was quoted as having said. Encased in a violence-inducing orange, green and black metal case, this Phone is an internet-enabled multi-touch, multimedia masterpiece. Based on the Jijabyte chipset (named as a tribute to Shivaji), it has a virtual keyboard, touch sensitive buttons and 0.3 Megha-pixel (named after Steve’s daughter) camera. The initial models won’t have xenon flash or auto focus (though the consortium says that the later versions would have a North Indian focus!). But what truly makes it a portable must-have of the ordinary Marathi manoos is its software and interface. Apple’s proprietary software – Mac ki OS is at the heart of this phone. The default language of the phone would be Marathi (Devanagari being the only other option.) Mr. Uthake was quoted as having told the audience that they could have any other language on the phone as long as it was Marathi. The aaiFone would come pre-loaded with wallpapers and screensavers of Tigers, Shivaji maharaj, Vada pav, Arun gawli etc. The themes would have a distinct orange, blue and green tint to them. Famous Marathi tunes such as the Nashik dhol, Dhagala lagli kalla and Jai Jai Maharashtra mazhaa would be included as a standard set in the cell’s multimedia gallery. In terms of connectivity, the phone would have an inbuilt browser called Swarajya and files could be exchanged wirelessly using proprietary software NeelDantha. For promotional activities, they have tied up with actors Shreyas Talpade & Mohan Joshi. The advertising would be handled by Bhen & Mather Pvt Ltd. An ‘apple-eating tiger’ is the proposed logo and the propossed ad jingle is – Tujhya aai cha, Mazhaa aai cha, Saglyancha aai cha aavadta AAIFONE. The consortium has vowed to make this phone available ONLY to real Maharashtrians. After a careful screening process (to be done by company activists and not network providers), only the TRUE marathis would be able to lay their hands on this baby!

Found the namuna

2008-09-05T16:17:00.000-07:00

Maa kasam, I found the guy's website! This is the same guy I was talking about in this post. And the website is http://rajkumarkanojia.com/index.htm.

His photos, his achievements, aai haai fidaa ho gayaa. He is my next Mithun, my next Govinda. I am religiously going to track all his serials and movies, although it will be hard to actually spot him because he has acted for a total of sixty seconds in his thakela career.

Desi First Date...

2008-08-29T16:19:00.000-07:00

I come across many a Desis' ideas of an IFD - Ideal First Date (on various educational and social networking websites. Ok fine Orkut, which I realize is reaching addiction levels now). Many Desi IFDs are directly dhaapofied from a ghisaa-pitaa western idea of a "date". Desi dudes and dudettes, but mostly dudes and many of them well into adulthood (trust me I check everything from age to marital status to profession to number of scraps and fans) romantically claim their IFD to be "a night on a beach, just the two of us, candle light dinner and fine wine". And I am wondering bhenchod tera baap baitha hain na tereko poora beach khaali karke dega? The millions of people getting some much-needed breathing space are simply going to vacate the beach for you or what? Moreover the beach havaa will wreak such a havoc that it'll bujhaao your candles even before you light them. The stink of machhi will penetrate your nostrils so stubbornly that no amount of fine wine smelling will get rid of it. The bhikari urchins will be standing around your table tugging on your date's mini-skirt (or worse, taking a good peek into it) asking for a bite of that gourmet misal-paav crying "de de maai de de, bhagwaan tera bhalaa karega, chaddi kheechu kya teri?". And how does this candle light fit into the whole Desi thing? The only times we've had candle light dinners was when there was a power outage in the society.

Huh, chala muraari romance karne, cha-maaila!

iPhone in India

2008-08-22T17:15:00.001-07:00

So finally the iPhone has arrived in India. I have been following launches in a few countries since the past few months. Most of the launches had some music and some celebrity appearance and a tiny little interview with the first iPhone customer in that country. But nothing beats this video of the launch in India. They have cheerleaders (a new phenomenon courtesy IPL Cricket where, hired girls, after travelling in jam-packed trains from lower middle class neighbourhoods of Dombivli and Thane, initially cheerled in golden sarees and punjabi dresses but soon complaints were filed and were quickly moved to wearing Shiamak Davar type dresses and pom poms. Not sure about the saree part, but what the heck , I would pay big money to see saree clad cheerleaders). Back to the main story. This first iPhone customer in India was an unexpectedly funny guy. He totally cracked me up. First when he dances with the cheerleaders in a fulltoo gaavti style and the cheerleaders totally don't acknowledge his presence. He tries to mimic the cheerleaders and also makes pom pom style motions with his fingers. Next when he poses with the iPhone as if he is posing at his wedding. But the killer move is when he talks. And boy he talks. Its his moment of fame and he makes the most out of it. His smile, his grace, his innuendos, marshallah, mar jaavaa! The final punch comes at the end when asked what will he do with the iPhone tonight. He replies he intends to spend some quality time with the iPhone in a place where he gets some privacy and freedom from his nagging wife - the toilet!

p.s. The ambience is a little noisy - Mumbai hain baap - so be patient, turn the volume up and you will be rewarded.

McCain for president !

2008-06-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

I hope McCain wins this one (heck, anyone but Democrats). I am not saying this to simply go against popular sentiments but after understanding the democrats' stand on global trade it scares me to imagine Obama as the President. If Obama wins (and actually implements what he claims today) it will be a serious dampener on global trade that will adversely affect outsourcing and cause some major global industries (manufacturing, technology, exports) to suffer. Obama and Clinton fired up popular and illinformed sentiments about "saving American jobs" and got tremendous support from the public. But they conveniently ignored numerous reports that show that globalization is ultimately good for the country. A few do suffer but for the majority of Americans it has turned out to be a boon. People get so emotional deciding who leads the country that they completely forget the economical implications if someone like Obama or Clinton takes over the White House. They get so swept over by the romantic, rebellious, screw-the-big-old-white-boys-club feelings that they are ready to elect somebody, anybody, "different" regardless of what policies they advocate or how it will affect the country in the long run.

Globalization is good. It helps the world and Americans stand to benefit the most from cheaper goods. Don't stop it now. McCain for president. Heck anyone but Democrats!

Birth of the Vada Pav

2008-06-13T19:25:00.001-07:00

Courtesy www.mid-day.com

40 yrs after Ashok Vaidya invented the gastronomic miracle, his sons join the Shiv Sena’s vada pav relaunch campaign

HE STARTED IT: Ashok Vaidya (centre)with his wife, two sons and sister. Ashok started the first vadapav stall in Mumbai

Each time, Vinayak Vaidya went for an interview, he hoped his future employer would ask the one question, he waited to answer — ‘what does your dad do?’ For the answer, filled him with pride, every time.

“I would tell them my father, Ashok Vaidya, invented the vadapav! It made a difference. In fact, we’ve learnt a lot from his business acumen and entrepreneurial skills,” said Vinayak, who is an MBA, and is not involved in the family business.

Flashback

In 1966, Ashok started the first vadapav stall in Mumbai outside Dadar station with help from Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray. Now, 10 years after Ashok’s death and 40 years after the day that changed every Mumbaikar’s gastronomic destiny, whatever the social strata, the Shiv Sena, as approached the Vaidyas to start selling their ‘invention’ under the Sena umbrella — the Maharashtra Vadapav Vikreta Sena.

Now

Sena leader Sanjay Raut said, “Ashok was a hard-core Shiv Sainik. We’re happy to have his family on board. He was the pioneer in this business.”

Ashok’s wife Mangal said they have ensured there’s no compromise on quality. “When we started out, the price was 20 paise per vadapav, now 42 years on, we have priced them at Rs 6, because of the hike in fuel prices,” she said.

Their stall in Dadar sells 600 vadapavs a day.

Said Dinu Randive former chief reporter of Maharashtra Times, “Big restaurants have opened in Dadar, but Ashok’s vadapav is still sought after.”

Vinayak and his brother Narendra (31) said, “We owe everything to the Sena and especially to Balasaheb Thackeray. It was Thackeray who personally requested them to stop harassing my father, when he first started selling vadapavs.”

Nain Se Nain Milaa

2008-04-29T10:32:00.001-07:00

Khopdi we called him. It meant skull. In his case it meant numbskull. His real name was Pankaj. Nobody knows who gifted him this horrible name, but it was right after Nukkad was aired for the first time on Doordarshan where they had a drunk character named Khopdi. Pankaj was not a drunkard though. He was just a kid, a year older than me. I was in eighth and he was in ninth. A rich kid with porcupine like hair. Although he had no dum he loved picking fights. I considered him a friend, not a good friend, just somebody I hung out with or walked back home from school with. He had a girlfriend too, Meena. Atleast he thought of her as his girlfriend. She had other plans though.

Meena was a well-endowed, fair, long haired, horny, dumb-as-a-rock Gujarati girl who had failed a few times and was six years older than everybody in Khopdi's class. She was the quintessential spoilt, last bencher, stay-away-from girl. The girl who has had "experience" with guys. Khopdi and Meena hung out like boyfriend-girlfiend, holding hands, taking pappi and what not.

Enter Suleman. Suleman bhai he was called. He and his nine brothers owned an illegal tabela (place where mum-bhaiyyas maintain their prized possessions a.k.a black beauties a.ka. bhains a.k.a buffalos). Suleman bhai was supposed to be a goonda, mavali, angootha-chaap, tapori, hafta-collector and generally a great guy to hang out with. He could be found spread out on a khatiya in front of his tabela. His tabela was halfway between our residence and our school. It was actually an oasis in our daily treks between school and home. Our walks were very exciting wherein we passed the "good" middle-class localities where people had their own toilets and then we passed the "bad" localities where people - men, women, children and dogs alike - took a crap out on the open roads. You must have heard of the saying "The world is your stage and you are the actor" but where we walked "The world is your sandaas and you are the hagria" made more sense. I am not kidding. This is before the sulabh-sauchalay days where now you can pay one rupee to take a dump. We literally went through shit during our school days. His tabela was a haven where we could rest a little bit, drink some water and prepare for the struggle through the humongous piles of shit and smell that lay in vast expanse before our eyes. But thats besides the point.

Suleman and Khopdi were chaddi-buddies (term plagiarized). At one point Khopdi used Suleman to beat up some boys who were harassing Meena. Suleman in return asked Khopdi to "intro" him to one of the school girls because "uska dil aa gayaa ladki pe". The girl was 15 and Suleman probably 30. It didn't work out.

The real masala began when Meena failed her ninth grade (again!). Khopdi, dumb as he was, did manage to pass and moved to the next grade. I moved in the same class as Meena who still kept her seat on the last bench. Unfortunately I too was placed amongst the last benches. The first few days were normal with me staring out the window to my left, steady like an iguana, while teacher after teacher taught sleep-inducing subjects on warm humid sweaty afternoons. One day by mistake I turned right and caught Meena staring at me. At that time and age I hadn't discovered girls as objects of interest (I was a late bloomer) so I just ignored the stare. For the next few days the stares just increased, in terms of duration and shamelessness. First she used to look away as soon as I caught her. Now she continued staring and also began to smile a little. I found this very amusing and not the one to be backed down stared right back at her. It turned into a game and at one point it became so intense that we sat out entire hour long classes just staring at each other. Of course the stares were interspersed with smiles, winks, eyebrows movements, lip biting and what not. Never a word spoken or a move made as I still didn't get the purpose of all this, just that it was devilishly exciting.

A move was made after all. One evening my dad handed me a jhag-mag purple envelop containing a pink card. He had already opened and read it because in Indian families your mail is my mail is public mail. It had a few kisses and hearts drawn over it and said in a caligraphic script "Pulkit, I am hopelessly devoted to you". I snatched the card from my dad's hands and rushed to the toilet, the only place where you could get some privacy. While taking a crap I wondered who could it be. Why would my secret admirer not write her name on it. And then I saw it. Snugly ensconsed between two kisses was written "MEENA". Holy shit. This was the first (and only) love letter I got. What do I do now. How do I respond. It was all so confusing. This was my friend's girlfriend. But I didn't really like the friend and I didn't really like the girl ! So I decided to get the maximum mileage out of it.

Next morning in the first class when the teacher was done with roll calls and Meena and me were in the midst of our first session of stares I sudddenly stood up and announced "Pooja Miss I have a very serious problem. I am getting love letters from a girl in this class. I can announce the name and expose the culprit." Again, since there is no concept of privacy in India the teacher asked me to announce the name. I pointed my finger right at Meena. She still kept staring at me and now the entire class of sixty students was staring at her. She had no idea what hit her. After a few minutes she burst into tears. She was taken to the principal's office and reprimanded. I was instantly a hero for exposing a lover. (of course in hindsight it actually exposes my immaturity but back in those days, a middle-class no-love-business mentality was hard to shake off).

In my pursuit of heroism I had completely forgotten about her boyfriend Khopdi and of course Suleman Bhai. For a few days I avoided them by taking a different, longer, route to get home. Finally one day they caught me. It had to happen. Meena was present, still staring at me but with anger this time, the winks were gone. Khopdi was furious but he didn't scare me; I could take him anytime. Suleman Bhai was what made me poop in my chaddi. I was sure that Meena had cooked up a story that made me look like the villian outraging a woman's modesty. As my defense I wanted to educate them on the illicit activities between me and her but quickly realized that my kharaab time was going on and kept shut. After a few well deserved jhaapads from Khopdi and Meena, Suleman Bhai asked everybody to stop. He was a cool Bhai after all. I was made to apologize profusely to Meena ben and the matter ended there.

After I graduated SSC and went to college, Meena ben got married to a rich gujju jeweller, Khopdi went to work at his dad's business and Suleman's tabela was demolished. While navigating the streets of Borivli every so often I passed her and her jeweller husband and I still felt our eyes lingered at each other a bit more than what seemed accidental.

Waiting Watching Praying

2008-04-21T18:12:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, 23rd April, 2 p.m. This is what I have been waiting for all my life. If I get a GPL *again* this time then it rudely proves exactly what I said towards the end of an older post ( here ), that the forces are working against me. They don't want to see me happy. If I get a GPL again it'll be a repeat performance of this. If I get a GPL again then sayings like "you can't straighten a dog's tail" or "laatoon ke bhoot" or "fool me twice shame on me" will have another brilliant example to provide.

Good luck to me. May the fat lady sing. May Goddess Lakshmi shower me with her blessings. Happy Diwali to me. Happy Birthday to me. And finally, to appease the Gods, I offer them this nangaa taandav.

Happy times or a dead cat bounce?

2008-04-18T10:24:00.001-07:00

I am not able to believe my eyes since the past few days. The financial markets are jumping higher than high school cheerleaders. My thakela phatela marela financial portfolio is showing signs that it might survive the g**nd faadu massacre that has been relentelessly hitting the markets in the past few months. Technology is starting to look like a bull market again. But. But. But. A dear friend tells me this is nothing but a dead cat bounce. He is a perpetual bear. Always gloomy, negative and ready to douse any flame that shows hints of hope. He is a single falsetto in a room full of baritones (quote plagiarized). He gives you so much dukh. I wonder why they didn't name him Dukhiya. When the entire world starts to dance gleefully, Dukhiya's pessimism rears its ugly head and provides statistics like "from 1968 to 1982 markets were essentially flat". So investing at that time would essentially make you a pauper (considering inflation etc.). Then your shiny happy party suddenly comes to an end. You start thinking if god-dammed Dukhiya is really right. Should you stop the party and get back to work?

I say bullshit. This is a bull (not a bull-shit) market. The world will keep marching forward. You are not going back to the stone ages or hunt for food or steal women to procreate (although in the last case the world is still in the stone ages, but thats besides the point). Keep the party rolling. Let the birds soar, let the lions roar. Open your expensive champagnes, your vintage wines, your single malts, your saambhar masalas and your dhokla packets. I know Dukhikya is silently ridiculing and casting multiple narkutis on this parade, but for today there is no place for him here. Rock on bulls!

Here is the transcript that prompted this post. Dukhiya's name changed to protect his identity.

****************************************************************************

Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:02 AM): just saw your offline msg.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:18 AM): they call it a dead cat bounce. not a bull mkt rally
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:40:25 AM): as usual. i'm a bear
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:17 AM): oh please, your bear is going to get destroyed
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:30 AM): you will be left with its rough hard fur
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:43:32 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:44:05 AM): sure. we will see. do you know from 1966 - 1982 the market was essentially flat. unless you picked every bottom and top in that duartion
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:22 AM): holy shit
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:33 AM): you gotta be kidding me
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:44:40 AM): which indicator are you referring to?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:44:47 AM): S&P 500
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:45:31 AM): You have small bull and bear markets, but the market could not get out of high valuations (P/E) for a long time
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:45 AM): you are talking about 50 years ago
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:49 AM): lot of changes since then
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:45:57 AM): more productivity, efficiency etc
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:46:20 AM): i'm sure people said the same in 1966 compared to 1900s
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:46:57 AM): sure there is more global connectivity; but VALUATIONS ARE THE IRON LAW OF FINANCE
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:47:19 AM): who is to say what valuations are sustainable or not
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:47:38 AM): the market obviously.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:48:44 AM): the world can't retreat, it has only one way to go. you talk aout 1966 but if you bought in 1966 , 20 years down the line the market has grown gazzilion times. what about that
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:49:34 AM): i'm not sure of people's patience, but I know that I can't be patient for 15 years. You need to be a robot to see yourself earning less than a CD for 15 years
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:49:58 AM): what were CD rates from 1966 to 1982
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:50:12 AM): on average about 6 -7%
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:50:59 AM): I don't think i will be excited when the market is just 15% below its ALL TIME HIGH.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:51:15 AM): sure the market can go up. I don't know.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:25 AM): I am totally vested
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:29 AM): invested I mean
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:35 AM): classic bull bear struggle
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:43 AM): until now I have not done well
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:51:56 AM): but next 5 years we'll see.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:52:19 AM): I'm 50% vested, but only 15 -20% in equities
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:52:54 AM): I am less of a risk taker as you know, I rather don't make much, but I dont want to lose much.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:22 AM): we agree to disagree
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:23 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:53:30 AM):
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:37 AM): if we had this discussion in 2001 I would have won
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:53:40 AM): today you seem to be winning
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:53:47 AM): here is one more thing: you lose 50% you have to make 100% to break-even. think abt it.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:54:08 AM): thats just a matter of perception, if you stick with the good guys you will do well
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:54:16 AM): challenge is finding the good guys
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:54:56 AM): which is always the case. so you buy the market when it is cheap; not when it is fairly-valued or overvalued. that is a safer way to play it
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:55:27 AM): so now is it cheap or overvalued?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:57:40 AM): range of fair-value, between 14 - 25 P/E. How you calculate P/E is another long topic of discussion, but suffice it to say that corporate profits are near all-time high which is you 'E' portion, and if there is anything called as mean-reversion these profits will come down and drag the stock prices if history is a guide
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:58:03 AM): market is about fairly valued at 17 - 19 times earnings
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:58:25 AM): yep, profits is everything
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:58:44 AM): this earnings season there have been mixed results, so no clear indicator
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 10:59:05 AM): AGAIN, Remember in 1991, the last housing crisis more than 1000 depository institutes FAILED; we aint seen nothing yet
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 10:59:47 AM): markets get more and more efficient with every fall
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:00:00 AM): people correct their models, their assumptions
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:00:03 AM): I dont know this qtr or next qtr; i do know that corporate profits will fall as a % of GDP and markets wont like it at some point in time
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:00:35 AM): so basically you are saying the world will go back to primitive ages
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:01:45 AM): no. i'm saying that markets are fairly valued; it is NOT WORTH THE RISK OF INVESTING IN STOCKS when things are going good.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:03 AM): you buy when nobody wants stocks, not when everyone wants it
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:02:19 AM): that can be a double edged sword, kinda like sigmatel
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:02:32 AM): so now, the huge banks citibank etc have falled more than 50%
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:38 AM): that is why you buy the market, a good diversified set of busineess
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:02:40 AM): not one stock
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:12 AM): amen.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:19 AM): essentially what you are telling me is buy low sell high
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:03:34 AM): amen.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:03:45 AM): again, the writedowns have just started. it will be another year before we know about the total writedown
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:04:06 AM): to say that we have discounted writedowns which people dont know how much is coming is wishful thinking
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:04:26 AM): true but you think it is going to get the banks into a net loss? over the years these banks have amassed hundreds of billions of dollars, what is 20-30 billion dollar loss for them?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:06:03 AM): yes, with acknowledging that you can't pick the bottom,but when corporate profits have fallen, yes that is the time to buy. You may not be at the bottom but your returns will definitely be better than buy-hold at fair value crap.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:07:21 AM): that I agree, getting in at drops but in the big picture of 20-30 year horizons the dips seem insignificant. to each his own, if you can hold for a longer time you should be in the market , if you can't then you shouldnt
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:07:52 AM): well, if they had so much money why are they begging sovereign wealth funds for money. the terms are ridiculous, if the stocks go down further, the SWFs have negotiated a deal where they get a lower price reinstated meaning higher yields. why would these banks be so desperate if they had money
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:08:34 AM): they don't want to cash out on their "other" investments, its a credit/liquidity crisis, but you don't sell everything when you don't have enough bank balance
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:08:41 AM): it is easier said that done. that is why i gave the 1966-1982 example
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:09:20 AM): for e.g. they are digging oil rigs in nigeria, shit load of money if they find oil , but just because they have liquidity issues doesn't mean they should stop progress
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:09:52 AM): and isn't is surprising that sovereign funds are falling head over heels to bail out these "troubled" banks
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:10:01 AM): sure. you have a point. they are pretty diversified. too big to fail. but if you have to weather the storm for a couple of years, at get into huge amount of debts, not sure how long it will be before you finish paying up
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:11:53 AM): anyway, good discussions.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:11:58 AM): let the fight continue
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:12:31 AM): It will be interesting to see when you will be a 'bear' and I will be a 'bull'. maybe when S&P hits 1200
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:13:48 AM): dude,if markets fall so low, you are talking poverty, layoffs, high crime rates, shit hitting the ceiling. At that point you'll have to worry more about protecting your family and gold more than buying stocks
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:14:41 AM): and you and I would be out of jobs
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:15:14 AM): your brawn power will be more valued than your brain power
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:15:19 AM): essentially going back to stone ages
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:24:43 AM): the market hit 1100 in 2002; i am not in stone age
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:25:28 AM): the market fell by 80% in the depression and still didn't go into stone age
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:26:03 AM): depression was a horrible time to grow up, people growing up in depression have terrible memories
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:26:30 AM): pictures of squalor spring up when they think about the great depression, long lines, random corruption etc was common
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:27:41 AM): the tech bubble in 2001-2002 was pretty depressing too; ask me i worked thru that time. Markets/economy correct; all I'm saying is I'll wait for the correction. a 15% drop is not a correction
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:29:47 AM): did you buy after 2002 ?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:34:12 AM): i bought a bunch of stocks in 2002; the mistake I made was I sold too early as I was still my first stab; i did mistakes buying in early 2001. bought sun for $10 and broadcom for $40
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:34:42 AM): after my mistakes, i learnt abt value investing and bought depressed stocks in 2002.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:35:11 AM): so that turned you into a bear I guess, and of course that Maudlin cult
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:35:43 AM): I think I believe that the way to success is to not lose much.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:35:59 AM): but take risks only when you are paid for it.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:06 AM): that so so boring
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:07 AM):
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:36:14 AM): yeah. I'm OLD MAN
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:28 AM): today google announces
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:36:34 AM): I think its going to drop after that
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:36:35 AM): that is good. I don't want people to think like me.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:13 AM): i heard abt the ad rev drop. they kind of masked it saying it was internal report and can be wrong... some bs like that
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:26 AM): heh e
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:34 AM): dude if google drops, industry drops
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:35 AM): apple drops
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:44 AM): yeah. i've noticed.
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:37:46 AM): and now I just got vested my first installment and I so want it to go up
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:37:56 AM): i hope that internal report was WRONG.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:39:04 AM): dude. if history (read sgtl) is a guide, you are a great market timer
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:39:38 AM): you know how much I wrote down in personal losses this time finally after dumping off sgtl
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 11:39:50 AM): any guesses?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:40:12 AM): you are a sharp guy man. you will come back. you are in a blue-chip now. not sgtl.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:40:46 AM): if i've to bet msft vs aapl over the next decade; my money would be on aapl.
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:46:47 AM): u can right down over a 3 -5 year period right?
Dukhiya (4/17/2008 11:46:54 AM): write down
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 1:17:18 PM): goog crushed estimates
Pulkit Desai (4/17/2008 1:17:22 PM): long live the bull market

Bollywood reel villians

2008-04-09T20:50:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer - The following is my guesstimate of what might have transpired based on news that I have come across. It might be totally untrue. And please pardon my French.
I knew it. Nana Patekar now officially belongs to the "Shakti Kapoor Hawas Ka Pujari" club. An upcoming actress Tanushree Dutta accused him of, over a period of hours, subtly making sexual passes at her. She was shooting an item number and Nana Patekar's role in it was only a few seconds long and he was supposed to go away after that. Instead, he insisted on staying back and tried to teach her the dance steps and got uncomfortably close to her. aaoo, come on baby, aaoo. Dance choreographer ko bithaa diya. And the height was that he asked the choreographer to re-write the steps so that he could get blissfully close to her. This made the nubile Tanushree very uncomfortable, after all she is from a decent family and only does decent item numbers. So she raised a storm and stopped the shoot. She bared her heart out to the media and now the MNS (Raj Thackeray's party) is marching to her house and accusing her of spreading false news about their respected Nana (marathi manoos). They say he is a senior actor and you cannot falsely accuse him like this. Nana is saying that Tanushree is like his daughter and she is making a faaltu tamasha. I say bullshit. Nana is one hundred percent the horny bastard that Tanushree claims he is. Hawas uski aankhon se tapakti hain. I am sure many actresses must have had such issues with Nana but, the raakshas that he is, nobody probably complained about him. I applaud this smoking hot young actress for being so hot. And, of course, standing up against Nana. Nana tujhi aai chi $@%&.
For those of you who missed Shakti Kapoor caught on tape in that big scandal - I got the excerpts right here baby :
Dim lit hotel room, candid camera, girl pretending to be a model, Shakti promising to give her a break on the big screen.
Candid Girl - Hi Shaktiji, aap ke role ki bahut taareef karti hoon.
Shakti Hawas pujari - Yeah yeah, thanks. (smiling)
Girl - aap ne bataaya ki mujhe break mil sakta hain
Shakti - haan zaroor milega, why not.
(Shakti and Girl talk for sometime abour roles etc. Inaudible sometimes. Then the indecent proposal.)
Shakti - To badle mein mujhe kuch to milega naa.
Girl - matlab fees?
Shakti - nahi yaar, aur kuch
Girl - salary se percentage cut?
Shakt - no yaar. You know.
Girl - No sir. What?
Shakti - oye, fuck re. (moving his hands depicting the act)
Girl - Sir yeh kya keh rahein ho?
Shakti - arrey everybody is doing it. No problem yaar.
Girl - That is impossible sir. There are so many respected actresses in the industry.
Shakti - Arrey sub faaltu hain. Pooja, Aishwarya, Meenakshi, Madhuri sub ne diya hain re.
Girl - Kya baat kar rahein ho sir?
Girl - Ghai ne Meenakshi. Madhuri ne bhi.
Girl - Madhuri bhi? Kiss ke saath sir?
Shakti- (out of ideas for a moment and blurts out) - Yash.
Girl - Kaun?
Shakti - Yash Chopra.

And to think that I was a fan of Shakti and Nana for a very brief period of time many many years ago (somebody please kill me). Sayaji Shinde is another namuna who also totally belongs to the hawas club. The mere mention of them makes you wanna quickly throw a giant burkha over the womenfolk. Anyway, without further ado, for your viewing pleasure, pictures of those beautiful gems.......

PJ

2008-04-01T02:13:00.001-07:00

I was there at the inception of this PJ, although I don't remember which one of the many idiots I know of actually thought of it. You must have already heard of it. It has taken the joke world by storm.

In a classroom Sir asks a question. "ek baar, ek ladke ki plate mein, paav (bread) ke neeche "Jannat" likha tha. To uske Sir ka naam kya hoga?"

Answer - "Ishq di chaav" !

Proof -

Jinkey Sir ho "Ishq di Chaav",

Paav ke neeche "Jannat" hogi.

Clap Clap.

Let the midlife crisis begin pre-midlife

2008-03-31T01:35:00.000-07:00

It seems now the craze is photography. Fully grown homo-sapiens (sanskrit word, mind it) are into clicking away happily at whatever things they find interesting. At times its giant mountains of enticing snow, other times its reflections in water, seagulls soaring high or a blank face of a wretched Indian street urchin staring at you while you gleefully click away with your high-end camera. And all in black-n-white, mind it. At first you think something is wrong with them, your friends, I mean (not the hungry people, nothing is wrong with them, just that everything is wrong). People clicking pictures, writing blogs, learning languages, music, studying way past their 30s. Are these the desi versions of mid-life crisis? As opposed to the good'ol American way of buying a bike or going off to St Thomas to live the rest of your life high and broke with multiple relationships. The same activities you found avoidable while growing up (only nerds took up music or read books or wrote poems) are the ones you feel like doing now. Kahani mein twist.

But if you look at it from a different angle, you learn a whole lot when you pick up a new activity. It enriches your personality. When you look at your friends' photos you do end up seeing all of them and that too many times over. And its also a lot of hard work. Lighting, exposure, zoom factor, optical/digital, motion, etc etc. Even writing blogs. You might think its not a big deal. Maintaining the crappiest of blogs (like the one you are reading right now) and coming up with stuff to write is some work. Its pointless, why do it? Shit, why do anything. Its all pointless in the end. Point is, having as much fun in between, mind it. But seriously, this is probably what they meant by growing-up. Maturing. Letting go of your anger your ego and focussing on something constructive. So pre-midlife crisis may actually be good for you.

Samapt Dhanyaad.

p.s. Sorry if you actually know me. You know I am bullshitting.

Indian Food

2008-03-26T00:36:00.000-07:00

Indian food is designed to shock your senses. Lot of attention to detail is given to rattle your brains. It is so tasteful that you never have a dull moment unlike when faced with a peanut butter sandwich where every moment is dull and listless. Right from the modified maan-chaau soop to the chicken chilli appetizers to fish curry to the rice and to the cold kheer or garam chai in the end. Thousands of years of carefully moulded culture have mastered the art of shaking you up, andar se. Can you imagine, how many grandmothers must have cooked on how many fires for how many years before a dosa was deemed perfect for consumption. As opposed to the the big Wendy's hamburger which is so fast, effecient, wall-street'ish and ugly. Sometimes, you want to talk to the poor bawarchi sweating in the desi restaurant; ask him where is he from, what do his kids do and how the fuck he got into this shithole. But, you'll just go back to work; your problems are more important.

An interesting nomenclature history that we figured - about how the "Bhatura" was invented and named. You know chhole-bhature, right? So the story goes like this. In the olden days a couple was serving some puris to their guests. By mistake, one dumbass cook put a lot more puri-powder (maida?) into the oil. A huge-ass puri popped out. Right at that moment a little punk walked into the kitchen and saw the huge-ass puri and screamed "Its a....its a....its a.... BHATURA"!

Hugs and kisses

2008-03-07T11:33:00.000-08:00

Parents visit 2007-2008

2008-02-28T14:29:00.001-08:00

First Video Blog offloaded

2008-02-28T14:26:00.000-08:00

My first video blog was about Raj Thackrey and his violent tactics in Mumbai. I had to offload because it contained inflammatory and profane language and freaked my parents out (they happened to see it by accident). I will post it some other time, in some other form.

First try - Video Log

2008-02-11T16:13:00.000-08:00

Life Paused

2008-01-13T12:05:00.001-08:00

Narendra Modi swept Gujarat elections and gave me a jhaapat. The US is seemingly heading towards a recession according to many economists (who are wrong about half the time). My gym has stopped. My net worth is dropping sharply day after day.

chee yaar, yeh kya ho rahaa hain. Kuch lete kyon nahi? Kaunsi dawaee loon? Coldarain lee?

Science fiction while growing up

2007-12-17T18:58:00.000-08:00

This was the science fiction in the good'ol days of Doordarshan.

Die Narendra Modi Die !

2007-12-16T22:34:00.002-08:00

I really hope the asshole Narendra Modi loses in the current Gujarat elections. He has made Muslim life hell in Gujarat. He has openly allowed killing of Muslims. They can't get jobs in Gujarat, can't rent apartments, have an extremely difficult time buying houses and what not. Its fucked up for them. Somebody please assasinate him!

As a teen I considered myself the saviour of all mankind. One of my earliest fantasies was of being a serial killer. Not the senseless maniac kinds. My targets were the people who have become openly anti-social. I even selected a name for myself "The Dhokla Killer". It was trigerred by an MLA's son residing in my building. He was the most obnoxious jerk I had ever met and his dad was very powerful so everybody feared and tolerated this bully. Many a times while hiding with him playing chupaa-chupee I had thought of strangling him or crushing his head. The little punk had no idea of what I was thinking about him. Then I would carefully think through all the possible cases of how the police could identify me as a culprit. How would they figure? I had no intention. I was just a teenaged friend. Then the fantasy grew to accomodate the neighbourhood tapori Raju who was known to beat up aged people in his complex. I even imagined the exact time of the day - afternoon, when most are asleep in their houses - and the weapon I would use. What I couldn't bring myself to think of was actually performing the "final deed".

As the years passed, my list expanded to accomodate Bal Thackrey, Narendra Modi, Salman Khan, Puru Raj Kumar (he killed a few laborers while driving drunk) and pretty much everybody who was in the Indian news for ghastly acts. Of course the politicians were the hardest to get because they have so much security. But I would assume you just need a few smart minds to devise a plan and get them. I didn't think of the chaos and destruction that would follow if they were assasinated. Instead of cleaning the place, it would end up destroying it. It would cause more riots. So it didn't make sense assasinating the policiticians. The police is already targetting the big bhais via encounter killings, so that front is taken care of, kinda. The only chance for my fantasy to become a reality was to go after the local anti-social elements. Those neighbourhood goondas who routinely harass simple people in complex ways. But the approach doesn't work when you live outside the country. So, obviously, I didn't do anything. The asses are still alive and I am still out of prison. But the thought of freeing the society of horrible people was exhilirating while it lasted.

Vegetarian? Vegetarian?

2007-12-14T00:17:00.000-08:00

"Vegetarian? Is this Vegetarian? Veggie?" a short dark balding man in an oversized leather jacket asks the waitress at a Thai restaurant pointing at a picture in the menu. The lady is used to many Indians coming to her joint because its cheap and close to a major software consulting company. The employees are mainly underpaid FOBs, in the US on a couple years' assignment. Some have been here for many more years but are still just as curious as the FOBs. Many can't afford a car yet so its nice to be able to just walk to the restaurant. A welcome break from the drudgery of boring work and idiotic bosses. Plus Thai food is so much like Indian food; what with the coconuts and the spices. They lady says impatiently "No meat. Order?". She has many customers to attend to. He orders a veggie fried rice.

He waits for his food to arrive and glances at other tables. Some occupied by singletons like himself, others with people in groups, lucky them. He can't seem to recollect even a single time he ate alone in India. A few tables away is a group of four Indian girls talking excitedly and giggling. He tries to catch their eyes. He succeeds with one. He smiles at her. She rolls her eyes and whispers something to the other girls. They all turn around, look at him and break into another giggle. He smiles to himself, thinking, Indian girls are so beautiful and innocent, not like the American ones. Oh wait, he looks closely. There is beer bottle on their table. And, also a pack of Marlboro! Shee, no culture only! Indian girls are very spoilt he concludes.

He overhears a conversation on the table next to him. Two guys, one Desi and the other American, are discussing the recent housing market collapse. The Desi is confident and the loudest most obnoxious person in the restaurant. "THIS IS THE RIGHT TIME TO BUY, IF YOU HAVE A MILLION YOU SHOULD BUY A HOUSE IN CUPERTINO, BEST SCHOOL DISTRICT!". Our man has been hearing about house prices and stock market every place he goes to. It seems all that people talk about here is fucking houses and stocks. Cupertino, he makes a mental note, good school district. But he is not interested in houses for now. He is just struggling to send the monthly payments to his parents in Hyderabad. He takes comfort in knowing that his parents are being taken care of. House, maybe some other day.

His food arrives. Ah, the smell of hot and spicy fried rice. He wants to eat with his fingers but resists the temptation and picks up the spoon instead. While munching he gazes through the window at the street outside. An old Indian lady with a walking stick wearing an old sweater over a punjabi dress and tennis shoes is hobbling down the footpath. The area has a few redneck car dealers. Monster sized trucks and SUVs whiz past the old lady at high speeds. The noise and vibrations emitted by these great American engines make the lady tremble. Our man gets a little concerned. But she'll get used to it, he thinks. After all, when he first got here he regularly walked three miles on the interstate highway to get to the nearest Walmart. He still gets the jitters thinking about the roar of the passing 18-wheeler trucks and their loud angry honks.

The lady comes to a stop at a bus-stop nearby. Two Indian guys are waiting there carrying a few plastic bags filled with grocery items, looking completely out of place. Green vegetables, tortillas, milk, eggs. Waiting for the bus to arrive, wondering who the heck did their grocery in India or for that matter who cleaned their houses or washed their clothes or cooked their food or cleaned their dirty dishes or paid their bills. One guy has forgotten his jacket at home and is now shivering uncontrollably. His partner pays no attention to him and keeps staring blankly in the direction of the arriving bus. A relationship run efficiently, just like a business. He had never imagined that cold could be this devastating to your body and soul. In movies they showed people dancing on snow capped mountains and then lighting a campfire and getting horny and then wham! bam! thank you ma'am! Not like that here.

The bus arrives, the Indian posse gets in. Our man finishes the last grain of fried rice in his plate. He takes a sip of water and rinses his mouth making a little gurgling sound. The loud Desi on the other table hears this and contorts his face displaying mild disgust. Saala desi, he thinks and continues his solo speech "SO THE GOOGLE STOCK IS DOING GOOD. IF YOU HAVE SOME SPARE MONEY YOU SHOULD INVEST IN IT!".

Our man gets out of the restaurant. It has gotten much colder. "Oh bhennnnchod" he screams and sprints towards his office. He thinks of calling his roommate to pick him up from work tonight. Can't walk home in this biting cold. Fucking roommate, counts every penny, even gas for a ride, efficiently running a relationship, like a business.

Samaapt. Dhanayad.

p.s. A hilarious paragraph from Suketu Mehta's book Maximum City, where he talks about his immigrant childhood -

I missed saying bhenchod to people who understood it. It does not mean 'sister fucker'. That is too literal, too crude. It is, rather, punctuation, or emphasis, as innocuous a word as 'shit' or 'damn'. The different countries of India can be identified by the way each pronounces this word - from the Punjabi bhaenchod to the thin Bambaiyya pinchud to the Gujarati bhenchow to the Bhopali elaboration bhen-ka-lowda. Parsis use it all the time, grandmothers, five-year-olds, casually and without any discernible purpose except as filler: 'Here,bhenchod, get me a glass of water.' 'Arre, bhenchod, I went to the bhenchod bank today.'

In my first New York winter, wearing a foam jacket my parents had bought in Bombay which actually dispersed my body heat out to the atmosphere instead of preserving it, and sucking in the freezing winds during my mile-long walk to school and drawing them to my body, I found I could generate warmth by screaming out this word. Walking into the wind and the snowdrifts, my head down, I would roar, 'Bhenchod! Bheyyyyyn-chod!' The walk to school led through quiet Queens residential streets, and the good Irish, Italian, and Polish senior citizens who happened to be home in the daytime much have heard this word on very cold days, screamed out loudly by a small brown boy dressed inappropriately for the weather.

Go Bobby Jindal Go !

2007-12-11T00:17:00.002-08:00

I just read an article by Shashi Tharoor about Bobby Jindal. I am joining the party late but, what the heck, I'll say it anyway. So Bobby Jindal is now the Governor of The State of Louisiana. The Desi community here and in India are all jumping with joy like teenage cheerleaders. They held prayers before the election. After the elections they celebrated like they just won a lottery. Wow, first Indian American to reach such a high position in the US government. The future sure looks bright for us here. We mastered technology, business, medicine, motels and now politics. America is truly a melting pot. But wait a minute. Do we even know what Bobby Jindal stands for? When little, the boy was named Piyush but he decided to change his name to Bobby, apparently getting inspired to be white after watching a TV show called "The Brady Bunch". He converted to Catholicism and made his wife do it too; they are regular church goers. Nothing against the religion, I've got great Catholic Desi friends, but what would be the reason he would (and make his family) convert? Possibly to appease the white folks? He stands for the Republicans. Nothing against the Republicans (I am one) but considering his parents were immigrants and knowing the hard stand of Republicans against immigration and their inherent xenophobia you would assume that the dude would be a little liberal on things sensitive to the immigrant community. He is anti-abortion, anti-gay (have to validate that), anti-gun control, and what not. All that a typical desi would stand for, Bobby Jindal stands against. The fucker is smart, no doubt about that. He is not obligated to show his Indian-ness but saala he takes money and support from Indians for his campaigns and in his speech to the Indian community he totally flips over and talks about how great the Indian culture is but makes no reference to actual policies for the benefits of immigrants or on any of his hard stands. We are so gullible. Bobby almost screams out that to succeed here you have to change your identity and be like John "Chevrolet" Doe.

Anyway, the full article is published here from TOI as follows.

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http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Columnists/Should_we_be_proud_of_Bobby_Jindal/articleshow/2495846.cms

The election of Bobby Jindal as governor of the US state of Louisiana has been greeted exultantly by Indians and Indian-Americans around the world. There’s no question that this is an extraordinary accomplishment: a young Indian-American, just 36 years old, not merely winning an election but doing so on the first ballot by receiving more votes than his 11 rivals combined, and that too in a state not noticeably friendly to minorities. Bobby Jindal will now be the first Indian-American governor in US history, and the youngest currently serving chief executive of an American state. These are distinctions of which he can legitimately be proud, and it is not surprising that Indians too feel a vicarious sense of shared pride in his remarkable ascent.

But is our pride misplaced? Who is Bobby Jindal and what does he really stand for?

There are, broadly speaking, two kinds of Indian migrants in America: though no sociologist, i’ll call them the atavists and the assimilationists. The atavists hold on to their original identities as much as possible, especially outside the workplace; in speech, dress, food habits, cultural preferences, they are still much more Indian than American. The assimilationists, on the other hand, seek assiduously to merge into the American mainstream; they acquire a new accent along with their visa, and adopt the ways, clothes, diet and recreational preferences of the Americans they see around them. (Of course, there are the in-betweens, but we’ll leave them aside for now.) Class has something to do with which of the two major categories an Indian immigrant falls into; so does age, since the newer generation of Indians, especially those born in America, inevitably tend to gravitate to the latter category.

Bobby Jindal is an assimilationist’s dream. Born to relatively affluent professionals in Louisiana, he rejected his Indian name (Piyush) as a very young child, insisting that he be called Bobby, after a (white) character on the popular TV show ‘The Brady Bunch’. His desire to fit in to the majority-white society he saw around him soon manifested itself in another act of rejection: Bobby spurned the Hindusim into which he was born and, as a teenager, converted to Roman Catholicism, the faith of most white Louisianans. There is, of course, nothing wrong with any of this, and it is a measure of his precocity that his parents did not balk at his wishes despite his extreme youth. The boy was clearly gifted, and he soon had a Rhodes scholarship to prove it. But he was also ambivalent about his identity: he wanted to be seen as a Louisianan, but his mirror told him he was also an Indian. The two of us won something called an ‘Excelsior Award’ once from the

Network of Indian Professionals in the US, and his acceptance speech on the occasion was striking — obligatory references to the Indian values of his parents, but a speech so American in tone and intonation that he mangled the Indian name of his own brother. There was no doubt which half of the hyphen this Indian-American leaned towards.

But there are many ways to be American, and it’s interesting which one Bobby chose. Many Indians born in America have tended to sympathise with other people of colour, identifying their lot with other immigrants, the poor, the underclass. Vinita Gupta, in Oklahoma, another largely white state, won her reputation as a crusading lawyer by taking up the case of illegal immigrants exploited by a factory owner (her story will shortly be depicted by Hollywood, with Halle Berry playing the Indian heroine). Bhairavi Desai leads a taxi drivers’ union; Preeta Bansal, who grew up as the only non-white child in her school in Nebraska, became New York’s Solicitor General and now serves on the Commission for Religious Freedom. None of this for Bobby. Louisiana’s most famous city, New Orleans, was a majority black town, at least until Hurricane Katrina destroyed so many black lives and homes, but there is no record of Bobby identifying himself with the needs or issues of his state’s black people. Instead, he sought, in a state with fewer than 10,000 Indians, not to draw attention to his race by supporting racial causes. Indeed, he went well beyond trying to be non-racial (in a state that harboured notorious racists like the Ku Klux Klansman David Duke); he cultivated the most conservative elements of white Louisiana society. With his widely-advertised piety (he asked his Indian wife, Supriya, to convert as well, and the two are regular churchgoers), Bobby Jindal adopted positions on hot-button issues that place him on the most conservative fringe of the Republican Party. Most Indian-Americans are in favour of gun control, support a woman’s right to choose abortion, advocate immigrants’ rights, and oppose school prayer (for fear that it would marginalise non-Christians). On every one of these issues, Bobby Jindal is on the opposite side. He’s not just conservative; on these questions, he is well to the right of his own party.

That hasn’t stopped him, however, from seeking the support of Indian-Americans. Bobby Jindal has raised a small fortune from them, and when he last ran (unsuccessfully) for governor in 2004, an army of Indian-American volunteers from outside the state turned up to campaign for him. Many seemed unaware of his political views; it was enough for them that he was Indian. At his Indian-American fundraising events, Bobby is careful to downplay his extreme positions and play up his heritage, a heritage that plays little part in his appeal to the Louisiana electorate. Indian-Americans, by and large, accept this as the price of political success in white America: it’s just good to have “someone like us” in such high office, whatever views he professes to get himself there.

So Indians beam proudly at another Indian-American success story to go along with Kalpana Chawla and Sunita Williams, Hargobind Khorana and Subramaniam Chandrasekhar, Kal Penn and Jhumpa Lahiri. But none of these Indian Americans expressed attitudes and beliefs so much at variance with the prevailing values of their community. Let us be proud that a brown-skinned man with an Indian name has achieved what Bobby Jindal has. But let us not make the mistake of thinking that we should be proud of what he stands for.

Its getting cold out there

2007-12-09T19:50:00.001-08:00

To all my east coast and surrounding area friends, I hear its getting ridiculously cold out there. Dirty snow, slippery roads, multi-layered jackets, you haven't showered in ages, holed up in crappy apartments all day long. I've got a song to cheer you up...

When it gets dark and lonely,

and its always freaking cold only.

You are thinking of sunny days,

but God has her funny ways,

The snow outsite climbs in inches,

maa kasam the thandi pinches.

All you crave is chai-garam,

but your spirit is totally naram.

East coast, about its culture, does boast,

chaila, now you are dreaming of the west coast?

Anyhow, I can totally relate to you. Its freaking 75 F here on the west coast today. I am thinking of putting on my shorts and going for a jog. Ah, the good life.

Out

2007-12-07T00:34:00.000-08:00

Out of ideas.

phus.

phuskey.

atom bomb at first, then lavangi.

sayonara.

kaltis.

dukaan bandh.

The Doors - Touch me baby

2007-12-02T03:43:00.000-08:00

One of the greatest songs of all times.

Bharatanatyam

2007-11-30T00:38:00.000-08:00

The stage is minimally decorated. A few flower garlands are placed alongside a plain banner that simply states the purpose of this event - "Annual Fine Arts Festival - 2003" in a school somewhere in Tamil Nadu. In one corner are two plain-jane ladies with giant square spectacles, well-oiled hair, sandalwood teekas on their foreheads, sitting cross legged on the floor, each facing a microphone. Two men in equally big spectacles and even bigger teekas are sitting next to them, one tuning a mridangam (a tabla type precussion instrument) and another a violin. The audience is murmuring and a few children are screaming and running around in aisles playing pakdaa-pakdee. Everybody seems strangely at peace with themselves; not hard to comprehend considering the total lack of sexual tension in the atmosphere. No show-baaji like garba or bhangra.

Then, she enters the stage. A girl, about 14, draped in a bright purple-yellow-orange colored silk outfit that looks like a combination of a tightly wrapped saree on the upper half and a snug salwaar on the lower. The colors are bright but they blend well. The dress is tight but not vulgar. Multiple golden ornaments adorn her face, her feet, her arms and her hair. Her hair is jet-black, just like her giant eyes, tied in one long plait embellished with flowers and clamped to her dress at the back. A lot of attention has gone into ensuring that she remain as flexible and aerodynamic as possible and at the same time look femininely delicate. The audience immediately takes notice. Most of the kids return to their seats, some don't. Parents of those unruly kids order them to get back promising, with angry hand gestures, great spankings if they didn't.

With almost a violent jerk the bored ladies and men on the stage erupt into a loud musical recital. No one would've imagined that these quiet-looking people could make this loud a noise. At precisely the same instant, as if they were synchronised electronically, the girl springs into an energetic but tender dance. The plain-janes seem to have just discovered what they were born to do. They sing effortlessly and in perfect sync with each other. They are loud but strangely pleasing to your ears. They are not afraid of their voices and present every variation within their infinite vocal range vividly to the spellbound audience. Its almost as if they don't care about anything anymore. They seem to be narrating a story which you strain to understand. Something Vinaayaka, Vinaayaka. Being the dumbass that you are , you don't get it.

The men are not to be left behind. The mridangam walla is vigorously tapping his palms and fingers on his instrument but it does not take over as the dominanting sound in the performance. It only adds to the ongoing harmony. The violinwalla also seems to track the melody with his instrument. Each is doing their own thing but collectively they appear to be one. Like chaar badan ek jaan. Like everybody knows what everybody else is thinking, what their next moves are going to be and then adapting to those moves. The entire ambience is transformed in an instant, like going from 0 to 100 mph in half a second. Many a times these performers don't even rehearse together until they start performing in front of a live audience. Its like years of practice have given them a magical sense of understanding of another musician's frame of mind.

The girl's dance is a whole different phenomenon. Some parts of her body are moving in sync with the mridangam, some with the violin and others with the musical narration. Her fingers, palms, forearms, shoulders, feet, ankles, knees, hips, torso and most importantly her countenance seem to be taken over by the music. Her feet are synced to the mridangam's percussions. The faster the mridangam thumps the faster her feet move. Sometimes your eyes just can't keep up with her pace. Her face shows varied emotions that change with the tempo of the song. She seems to be following the sequence of the story, sometimes acting like a Godess, sometimes a mother, sometimes a flirtatious lover, sometimes a hapless victim, sometimes a mischievious child, sometimes a monster, sometimes a saint, sometimes a human and sometimes an animal. She glides from one character and emotion to another effortlessly. There is not an emotion out there that she cannot present without uttering a single word. She has taken over your mind. You don't matter anymore. Each twist, each action has a purpose. Not a single move is out-of-place or wasted. It all makes sense within the narration. How different parts of her body perform different artistic manoeuvres at any given instant is a frustrating mystery. Heck, you can't even simultaneously tap your head with one hand and rub your stomach with the other.

After a couple hours of vigorous upheavals the music stops, the musicians go quiet, back to their bored idle states as if nothing happened. The little girl gently bows to the audience which is still hypnotized by her presence and exits the stage. You can't help but wonder how many centuries of refinement and education have gone into Indian classical dance and music to have arrived at such a brilliant form. And this is just one instance. There are dozens more, Kuchipudi, Kathak, Odissi, all uniquely different but equally mesmerizing. There is no end to this. When people say Indian culture is great, this is what they probably mean. There is not a single other culture in this world with so much variety, depth and vibrancy. The Chinese come close but not quite.

In the good old days of Doordarshan they used to run classical music and dance performances when there was nothing else to show. You wouldn't wanna be caught dead watching any of that stuff. Just wasn't cool. How ignorant.

For your viewing pleasure here is one of Medha Hari's performances and some random stills from the web.

Desi American Idol Audition

2007-11-14T19:11:00.000-08:00

It was the summer of 2001. I was walking home back from school in the scorching dry Texas heat, cursing Mother Nature for inflicting so much pain on poor car-less students. America was supposed to be nice and cold just like in the movies, not like this furnace I was in. The only saving grace was that the heat caused the babes to shed their clothes and emerge almost nangi-poongi. There I was, an unshaven desi, walking on the footpath, taking my own sweet time oogling at the shiny slithering legs, wondering where my life was going. Engineering wasn't as exciting (in terms of the type of work and the quality of girls) as I had imagined. My MS research was going nowhere. I was dreaming of an alternate career. I wanted to be a singer. I had always prided myself of possessing a brilliant singing talent which no one seemed to appreciate. People around me were jealous of my voice. They tried very hard to put me down. They praised other guys for their singing but never mine. The girls went gaga over one particular punk's voice. I will not disclose his name here (you know who you are). But I kept on. I sang. I sang when I was alone. I sang when I was happy. I sang when I was sad. I sang in bathrooms and I sang while hanging out of trains. I even added my own jhankar beats and pelvic thrusts to make it more palatable. Like dhaak-cheek-dhaak-cheek. I dreamnt of a music producer hearing my songs and signing me up for his next album and then making it big. FYI that didn't happen.

Back to the story. Halfway through my journey home I saw a little flier stuck on a lamp post. It read "ATTENTION SINGERS. WE ARE NOW CONDUCTING AUDITIONS FOR THE BIGGEST MUSICAL EVENT. ANY AGE WELCOME. PRIOR EXPERIENCE NOT NECCESSARY....BLAH BLAH BLAH." Somewhere in this loud notice I missed that it was meant for the Choir. If you dont know what a Choir is check Wikipedia. In short its a bunch of prudes, well-dressed, mainly in a church, who go "OOO AAA EEE" in chorus. See photo. There is no place for dhaak-cheek-dhaak here. Heck , who knew it then.

I checked the date. Oh crap the auditions were happening today! I was excited. I saw this as a chance to revamp my miserable life. I ran like a wild goose towards the audition hall although not once losing sight of the nangi-poongis. My happiness knew no bounds. I reached the advertized location. It was calm and serene there. Many well dressed students were waiting in a line outside a closed door, talking in whispers. All that running had made the chappal-wearing desi sweat like a pig. But what the heck, its my voice they want, not my appearance. My competitors were practising breathing, meditation and were reading from some loose sheets. I was silently ridiculing them; who reads before singing? Losers! I knew this was going to be a dhamaka for the western world, an Indian beating Americans in their own songs. For the audition I decided to present them with "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel. It had my kind of beats and low-class mentality.

The line grew shorter. After about an hour of memorising the lyrics I was confident and ready to kick ass. The door opened. The previous guy walked out; not looking very happy. Ha! I walked in. It was a huge hall, draped with maroon velvety curtains, decked with impressive chandeliers and soft lights. Pin drop silence. At the far end of the hall was a royal looking piano. A blonde lady in her thirties was perched behind it, prim and proper. I walked up to her hoping she doesn't catch the whiff of desi paseena and praying that she be one of those who value inner beauty and talent over sickening body odour. She handed me a bunch of sheets that looked similar to what people were browsing outside. It had those high and low musical symbols on multiple lines across the page. Some chords or shit like that. I was dumbfounded. Looking at my bewilderment she asked whether I knew how to read these musical notes. What do I know, kaalaa akshar bhais barabar. I told her no but I am a good singer and I can also add my own beats while singing. She said this is for the choir and you need to know how to read these notes and they don't need any beats. I said I can master these notes in a few days. No big deal. Tu piano bajaa re, teri maa ki. She asked what do you want to sing. I said Uptown Girl. She hesitatingly agreed, not knowing where this was going to lead. I started to sing....

"Uptown girl, dhaak-cheek-dhaak"

"She's been living in her uptown world, dhaak-dhaak-dhaak,"

"I bet she never had a back street guy"

"I bet her mama never told her why."

...

and I ended the rendition with an emphatic "DHAAK-CHEEK-DHAAK !"

Bam! This was undoubtedly the best performance of my life. I knew I had clinched the deal. The lady looked up from the piano. She looked confused, shaken up and out of words. I knew I had roused her emotions and left her speechless. She thanked me and told me that they will contact me if anything materializes. Just a formality, I thought. I gave her my email address and headed towards the door. On my way out I saw the poor souls waiting in line not knowing that they had already lost the competition.

But its kinda strange that I didn't hear back from them. Its possible that they lost my contact information. On second thoughts, maybe I should just stick to engineering.

The train rolls in

2007-11-02T01:14:00.000-07:00

Its 8.30 am. The peak hour. Nopes, its not some lame Churchgate to Borivli local in the opposite direction with a few smug window-seating aunties enjoying the morning breeze. I am talking about the real deal here. You are waiting for the 8.30 am Borivli to Churchgate local to arrive at your platform. You are standing near the edge of the platform, surrounded by hordes of people, packed to the brim, nudging each other, waiting impatiently. The men and women regions are clearly separated. The office ladies have their saree pallus tucked in. The college going girls have their bagpacks snugly covering their chests because the men in the arriving trains sometimes slap their breasts. Bhen***ds. The macchi-waali has her catch of promfrets in a tokri balancing precariously on her head, dripping a mysterious pungent fluid on a miss-goody-two-shoe's mini skirt. Some men are busy gawking at the ladies, some digging their noses, some scratching their butts, some lazily adjusting their crotches, some reading the latest business news, some catching a quick smoke and others discussing answers to mathematical integration problems. They say that you can see the Great Wall of China from the moon. I say, try focussing that satellite on Borivli station sometime. You will see a humongous black oily mass, moving up, down and sideways, formed by bobbing heads trying to catch a glimpse of the arriving train.

There! You see it appear at a distance. The giant metallic reptile rolling slowly towards your platform. As always, a bunch of people are hanging out from each compartment. The nudging around you gets harsher, the nose digging picks up pace and the crotch adjustments get vigorous in anticipation of whats going to happen next. Every square inch of your body is in close contact with the people around you. I wonder what happens at the men-women border; never been there. It doesn't matter whether you are a college student, a rich stock broker or a mochi. All are treated equally and shabbily. Some adventurous guys take their positions, periliously close to the edge, hoping to catch the window seat. But no window seat today. In fact, no seat only today! The train had stopped at Kandivli earlier and is going to be jam packed with "return " passengers. If you hadn't seen such a massive humanity before you would almost pee in your chaddees. The train slows to a crawl but its still moving. The human mass starts shifting towards the doors. Oh crap, first class dabba aaya idhar! The motorman did not park at the right place. You curse his mother and lunge towards the second class compartment. They used to also have a third class compartment earlier, but travellers complained that third class sounds too derogatory and hence it was removed. I think its probably the luggage compartment now.

The collective mass starts pushing you in. People hanging out of the doors try their best to push you back out. The collective mass wins and you all go in with one big giant push. Some passengers who need to get off at the station (the guys travelling in the opposite direction) cannot do so; serves them right! Some elbowing, screaming, cursing and punching follows and you are finally inside. Oh yeah, baby ! Eventually everybody settles in the compartment like sand settles in a bottle. One fat amateur student is left out and he looks pleadingly at the guys in the compartment who pity him and let him in too. Even air cannot penetrate this compartment now. But not to worry, you have a few other things to breathe depending on the guy attached to your front side. If he is shorter than you , you get to smell the brand of chameli oil he is wearing today. If he is taller you get to smell his armpits. God forbid, if he is exactly of your height the possibilities are endless. That is a story for some other time. For now all that matters is that you are in. Mission accomplished.

Happy Halloween !

2007-11-01T02:20:00.001-07:00

Fully grown Indians dressed up in ridiculous Halloween costumes acting as if you are having a lot of fun; totally not cool. You look weird. Take it off. You are not 10 anymore. Even at 10 you didn't dress like that. Take a look at yourself. How low can you go? And please do not wish me Happy Halloween or Happy 4th July. I will slap you silly. And puh-lease, enough with the pirate costumes.

As a side note, we Indians also have our own Halloween costumes. Printed gujju-chaap silk shirts that snugly follow and amplify our body contours (formed by massive amounts of charbee) and loose baggy formal pants with spanking new white tennis shoes. Scared of a gujju? Boo!

Earthquake

2007-10-30T23:50:00.000-07:00

Yeah sure you've been to Europe and New Zealand but you are not a complete man if you haven't been in an earthquake. I have been in an earthquake. Thats right, an earthquake. It hit the Bay area yesterday, October 30th 2007. Magnitude 5.6 on the Ritcher scale. I, Pulkit Desai, was there. And I survived. I am a survivor.

Life was good before the earthquake, I tell ya. As usual my evening was packed with totally exciting possibilities. I was sitting on my couch contemplating whether to spend my time cutting my overgrown nails or reading random people's scraps on Orkut or making blank calls to my childhood crush who never liked me and is now married with a few kids. And as usual the guy in the apartment above mine was walking with a heavy foot, thumping my ceiling (I hope he dies soon) . Suddenly the apartment started shaking violently as if a ghost had possessed it. For a moment I thought the guy above me was just walking extra heavy this time but then the shaking was too powerful to be caused by a single person. Then it hit me, it was a freaking earthquake! The couch was shaking vigorously with me holding on to it. The paintings were swivelling around their hooks like rectangular pendulums. Its a good thing most of my paintings are sitting on the floor instead of being on the wall. (To know why read this post ). My entire life flashed before my eyes. The little kid to whom I had taught a lot of gaalis a long time ago suddenly jumped out of nowhere and started laughing at my plight. I decided to get the hell out of there. I rushed out. The guy from upstairs was getting out too, without a shirt on. Oh wait, I didn't have one on too. I rushed back in, put on a tshirt, oops, wrong color, picked another one and rushed out. The other guy was screaming as if someone in his family had just died. He continued screaming long after the earthquake had subsided. It really traumatized him (I wish it would have killed him). The earthquake lasted for less than a minute. I entered the house again, everything was in place, no damage. The seismology deparment says there will be aftershocks in the next few days but no specific times have been provided. I just hope it doesn't happen when I am sleeping. I hate people checking me out in my nightdress.

All in all, I feel like I have changed after this disaster. I feel insignificant in front of Mother Nature. I feel more at peace with myself. I am not as cynical anymore. I promise to be nice to people from now on. I hope the guy above me dies soon.

Salman Khan

2007-10-29T23:56:00.000-07:00

I see many pics of Salman Khan on Orkut albums. Girls just love him. They have his pics saying "awsaam, awesomm, AwEsoME only he is, only he rocks". He drives them crazy. Many fully grown men are also mad about him. Salman is an absolute gaandu, a murderer, jerk, violent, goondaa, uneducated, woman-beating punk. The guy has only negative qualities. But he is a hit. The country loves him. Unbelievable.

Old friends

2007-10-27T00:41:00.000-07:00

Meeting old friends is an art. How do you greet them when you guys meet for the first time in fifteen years? I mean you were tight and all back then. Now its been a while and not really consequential anymore. Who da phuck imagined this little punk, your friend, has grown into this man with a hairless head, hairy legs, a moustache and a kid ! Its almost as shocking as seeing your little brother grow from a cute little baby into this towering monster casting his heavy weight around, but mentally still gentle as a lamb. I digress. How do you greet old friends? Hey, Amit, how you doing?Hey, Pulkit, how are you? All this while you are just replaying in your mind the kind of shit you guys pulled off when you were little. Stuff that would make the elders wanna commit mass suicide. But that is a story for some other time. And Amit, here you are with a kid? What do you tell him?

Social work.

2007-10-25T01:07:00.000-07:00

A peasant Marathi couple receives some training in basic computer skills and the English language from a non-profit organization. In a village of illiterates these are the only seemingly advanced people. These days the family talks like they are the Gods because sometimes they attempt to fix the old turtle-ass windoze'95 computer in the local dawaa-khaana, the only computer in the village of five thousand people. They are the talk of the town. Not much happening down there. But a peaceful life, no magaj-maari. The exciting part of their evenings is discussing how they managed to repair the computer and how smalltown gaavtis are conquering the tech world. Following is one such late evening conversation between Barkya-the son, Meeta-the oversweet daughter, Champa-the mother and Gopi-the father. The family is gathered around the tiny kitchen illuminated by a dim light bulb, clothes hanging from various hooks in the wall, paint peeling off from the ceiling, Gopi and Barkya in ganjees riddled with holes and chaddees with colorful line patterns that only Marathi men can be seen wearing.

Champa : Arrey, tey Baarkya chaa maitrini's wife got pregnant disk. hee hee sorry, fragment disk. I forgot how to repair. Something defrock, defraack, techya maaila!

Punk-ass son Barkya: Defrog, defraaag, kaai-tari pan! Vedi zaali kaa?

Extra sweet daughter Meeta : Disk Defragmentor !

Half-drunk Gopi : waah waah ! chaan chaan!

Gopi : Tumhala kaai maahit naahi! I go today to fix the hard problem. Blue screen !

Everybody : aga baaya! Kaay saanghtaas kaay ?

Gopi : Blue screen. Looking at me. Laughing at me.

Barkya : Feku nako re ! Fukat chaa tension.

Champa : Gup bus rey baarkya, tujha maaila!

Barkya : Manjhe tula naa, aai?

Champa : GUP BUS !

Champa : Tar kaay kela tumhi ? Laavli vaat Bill Gates chee ?

Gopi : Arrey, Bill Gates laa mee ek kaan-phaadi deeli. Billia, bagh, maazaa shee nako bhaandan karu. Tula mee karel...... reboot ! Gelaa blue screen, hoy kee!

Everybody : lai besht ! lai besht!

Everybody : clap ! clap !

The entire village is thrilled about how the super-family continuously solve caampooter problems. The villagers have seen the caampooter but they don't know what the heck is it for. They have seen things move on it, some photos, some color but mostly they are terrified by it. Not to worry. The super-duper-family will be there for the rescue. Lots of progress.

What triggered this vision is a real life "help the gaav-waala" effort I participated in when in college. I saw a flyer in the Juhu area and decided to join-in. They were trying to make a village computer-literate. It was a remote place, a 4 hour train journey from Dadar. I was expecting some idelogical nerds to lead the effort, instead I saw rich hot housewives from Juhu and even hotter daughters and sons in charge. The village was decorated as if a royalty was about to arrive. The village girls performed a pooja, a dance, we had some delicious food, some ribbon cutting and nonsensical speeches by pretty aunties and their kids. For quite a while I did not see the computer. Eventually I saw it. It was an old machine donated by one of the rich aunties. Nobody knew whether it worked or not. They turned it on, windows booted after an hour or so. That aunty's son had probably downloaded a truckload of porn causing it to slow down. One family in the village (Gopi's) was appointed to look after the computer. Nobody told them what to do with the computer. The remainder of the evening was spent lazing around the village and getting served by the gaavwaalas. I don't know if that computer was ever turned on again or if it did anything useful. And I kept wondering throughout the outing, why would the aunties take so much pain to travel all the way from Juhu to God-knows-where. They were too glamourous for social service. Ok granted that social workers need not neccessarily look dorky, but they usually are. The thinking probably goes as "I am a total dork so I will help others to heal my pain". (no offence meant; Asha, AID, Saheli you guys rock,serious) But these aunties? What the hell were they thinking? Maybe their husbands were conspiring to take over the village zameen. Maybe they wanted to show their kids how lucky they were to be born in a rich family. What did they want from all this tamasha? Its drives me nuts !

The moment of truth

2007-10-25T00:40:00.000-07:00

The moment of truth arrives when , after a long sweat-consumed workout session, you come home, had an ok day at work, have some spicy Thai Green curry, pour yourself a glass of Guava juice, turn on your 55 inch TV, slouch on your leather couch and play the next nail-biting episode of Office, you realize, life is good, here.

Write sense

2007-10-20T00:48:00.001-07:00

Write sense I am being told. I ask what is sense in this world of non-sense ?

One night in a desi cyber cafe.

2007-10-19T18:21:00.001-07:00

A new cyber cafe has just opened a few streets away from the ambaawaadi basti. It has 10 cubes in a 10 by 10 kholi. The main patronage is lower middle-class workers and daily wage earners like construction workers, carpentars, chaiwallahs, school going kids and petty Shiv Sena thugs who really don't have much going on for them these days. The customers are not extremely poor; once in a while they can afford to spend 20-30 rupees for pleasure. They arrive at the cyber cafe at around 10 in the night. Most of them have just finished eating their daily meals with their families, many smelling of daal or sambhaar and will now start browsing hardcore pornography in cramped cubes. Not all of them though. You will find an occasional student trying to look up US university rankings (wanting to get the hell out of this shithole) or emailing her friend in America. The tubelights are bright and the cubes are well covered; they have to be, it gets pretty ugly in there sometimes. Its not sound proof though. You can hear noises emanating from the tiny dingy cubes. On their computer screens are white women of various shapes and sizes spread out in various positions in various locations. The dhool that made the laborer's skin pitch dark contrasts starkly with the white bodies flashing vulgarly on their screens. Its heavenly for them in there. Who could have imagined that apnaa Babloo who never got so much as an accidental glance from the neighbourhood jhaadoowaali would be indulging in blonde foreigner women on an island in America. Babloo's story is different though. He is not angootha-chaap like others. He is 10th pass. He can read and write broken English and works as a peon. He wants to reach out to the mysterious heavenly women not just via his eyes but also via his poetic words. He wants to communicate. So he chats. He has been talking to JessicaHotForU, a lady from America he says, for a few months now. Jessica has sent Babloo a picture of hers; it looks like Britney Spears. Wait, it is Britney Spears! Babloo was very excited about Jessica looking so pretty. At this point nobody knows whether Jessica really looks that pretty or if she is really a she at all. Babloo also sent his picture to her; actually Salman Khan's. Hey, everything is fair in love and war. Today Jessica is coming late he proudly tells the cafe attendant. They are all amazed that Babloo is able to communicate with these women. Babloo logs on in his internet room. Jessica is already waiting.

Babloo : hai Jessica. you told you get late today?

Babloo : you are there?

...long silence...

JessicaHotForU : yeah, sorry sweety.

Babloo : hai Jessica.

JessicaHotForU : hi how are you sweetheart?

Babloo : I am enjoying talking to you daily.

JessicaHotForU : me too honey.

.....long silence....

Babloo : you are there?
JessicaHotForU : yes, too many people online today. LOL!

Baboo : how many people you talking?

JessicaHotForU : depends.

Babloo : I only talk you.

JessicaHotForU : awww. How sweet.

Balboo : you liking?
...long silence...
Babloo : What are you wearing today darling?
JessicaHotForU : nothing.
Babloo : Wow. I want to be with you and fuck you now only.
JessicaHotForU : come and get it sugar.
Babloo : I want to come America. But very hard to leave company. My five-star hotel very busy. But I get good money from business. I get tickets to America and live with you. But visa is problem.
JessicaHotForU : You own a five-star hotel? lol !
Babloo : Yes, partnership with friend.
JessicaHotForU : wow. I wanna come and check it out.
Babloo : Yes, yes. Please come to India.

...long silence...

Babloo : You are there?

JessicaHotForU : Yeah.

Babloo : Actually I want to ask question. I never love anybody. Only you. And I know you from 3 month. It is love at first sight.

JessicaHotForU : Me too sweety.

Babloo : Really? Then you want to come and live with me?

JessicaHotForU : Sure. lol !

Babloo : I want to marry you. I have experience your body many times. Now I want to be your husband.

JessicaHotForU : wow. no kidding. LOL.

Babloo : I am very serious. I want to marry you. You will be like queen. Lot of money for you.

...long silence...

Babloo : You want to marry me?

JessicaHotForU : Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? You think I am going to marry a diseased third world towelhead dothead snake-charmer like you?

Babloo : Why you angry? I love you Jessica. You love me too. We not fight after we marry. I wear towel only after bath and not on head, on my body to cover my, heee heee, huge dick, that you like, hee hee. What is dothead darling?

JessicaHotForU : Piss off dumbass.

Babloo : Your language I not like. After marry you change bad language.

JessicaHotForU : Screw you bloody terrorist.

...long silence....

Babloo : Why you quiet darling?

JessicaHotForU : Mother fucker, don't ever talk to me again.

Babloo : I am feeling very bad. I love you. You break my heart if you talk like this. Can you send me another photo of you? My friends say its not right photo. I told, they liars. Now I think they right. You not right.

JessicaHotForU : Ok dude, you are on my ignore list. Tata !

Babloo : What is ignore list?

Babloo : Send me another photo.

Babloo : You are there?

Balboo : Darling?

...long silence...

Babloo : Saali harami.

Babloo logs off. He is heartbroken. This is the fifth time a foreigner woman has played games with his heart. He says he will never fall in love again. He feels used. He pays the 30 rupees to the cyber cafe guy and heads out leaving his friends behind, moaning and groaning in their respective cubes. He goes home, opens the door. The tiny kholi is jam packed with his family sleeping on the floor. He gets to his spot, covers himself up with an old torn bedsheet and cries himself to sleep. On the other side of the world JessicalHotForU shuts down his computer, takes off his skirt, puts his pants back on and goes to work.

Technology has finally united developed and developing nations.

Indians are so loving.

2007-10-11T22:32:00.000-07:00

I mean it. Indians are so loving. Your uncles, aunts etc, they are always concerned about you. You fucking matter. You fall sick you get 10 calls a day. Everybody is available for you at a moment's notice. Here, you have to think twice before asking somebody for help. So freaking formal. Where the fuck are we living? Or maybe not, here I can count so many people who would help any moment. And I am rarely formal. Love America. Proud to be H1-B visa holder. Green Card pending ! Uncle Sam, main aaya aaya aaya ! Dude, get your act together.

Home sweet home

2007-10-11T21:26:00.000-07:00

You enter the room, its dark and cold outside. There is nobody around, not a single soul. In India it would be packed to the brim with sabzeewaali, bhaandiwaali, hajaam, gorkha and a little wretched dog who has nowhere to go and nothing to do. Nopes. Its dark and lonely outside your door brother. The door opens, a pile of newspapers is lying besides the door. The freaking paperwaala does not stop delivering no matter what. The house is well furnished but looks totally shabby. No matter how much money you spend on this money-hogger, it never stays fresh. Clothes lying around, shirts, shoes, underwear, whatever. The floor is mostly covered with clothes and you have to constantly navigate through clothes to be careful about clothes that you might wanna wear the next day. Laundry you have not done in months. Freaking your clothes have'nt been washed since months. Cups lying around. Coffee half-drunk. Smells of stale coffee. ewww. WTF is going on brother? Smells of fungus infested juice too. The smell is just disgusting. Ok maybe not that bad. But you get the point barobar? You think this is disgusting? I think its ok. But sometimes, restrooms, they are so freaking disgusting. Oh ma God, do not wanna go there brother. And the kitchen and closet and what not. The point is, you could live like this. Someone I know lives like this. No, its not me. Sorry to ruin your fantasy. Pervert.

Prediction

2007-10-08T19:59:00.000-07:00

Abishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai will break up within two years from today. Putting panvati now - om phaat !

Bhaaji and stocks

2007-10-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

A day in the life of a Bombay housewife.
6 am . The first bell rings. The doodhwaala is at the door. Already in a sitting position. Ready to spurt milk. Lady yawns in her bed, another freaking day, what a bhangaar life. Without brushing her teeth she walks up straight to the door. Opens the door, lady in gown, doodhwaala liking it, aah haa behen'ji. Lady opens dirty mouth. Bad smell in doodhwaala's face. Doodhwaala getting the hell outta here. Kitna liter? Lady says two, gets her milk, paani kum daalo kal se, she says. Doodhwaala says "arrey behen'ji , paani to hum kabhi nahi daalte". Freaking the same dialogue has been going on between housewives and doodhwaalas since the beginning of time. Somebody please give up !

10 am (After many many bell rings from gorkha, kaamwaali, istree waala, courier, and a little punk who just coming from his morning walk decides to play a prank to ring her bell and run away.Also, after making breakfast for her husband, nice omlettes with no grease,and seeing him off prim-n-proper ) finally she wakes up. Two things are of utmost priority. First making lunch. For herself. No, not for husband, husband typically has lunch outside, not like the good'ol days, nope. What a pain in the butt, cooking for yourself. That is the worst punishment. Second priority is check on the market. Not the bhaaji market. Stock market. Daily ups and downs are monitored just as the price of kaandaa batata. On one hand she is sitting on the floor saaree all rolled up to her thighs, peeling potatos and on the other hand she is making calls to her stock broker to buy Tata, sell Birla, kill Reliance. All the behemoths of the financial world are getting sold by gharwaalis daily. Saala public pareshaan. She probably makes a couple hundred and is happy about it one day and then loses a thousand the next. But hey, gives her something to talk about. Why can't she enjoy gambling. Roll on, sistaa.

Every hour is different. When I was a teenager, one dumbass told me that housewives get bored and are constantly horny for young teenagers. Thats bullshit. They've got the best lives ever. They are very happy. Let them be.

11 am, 12, 1, etc to follow....depending on shocking insights that I get.

How much time.

2007-10-03T22:36:00.000-07:00

How much time do you need to hook two screws into a painting and deck up your bedroom wall? Lift the hammer, pop it in the wall. Like, phataa-phat. 10 minutes. Then your life becomes relaxed, you have these beautiful Monets and MithunDa poster paintings singing you sweet lullabys to put you to sleep. Like Mona Lisa's sweet smile or Mithunda's sweaty laal rumaal, soothing you, hush baba hush. I mean, life will change. Freaking. Then why ! why ! tell me that we have not hooked it up yet? Freaking we got these paintings 6 months ago. Its lying in a half-unpacked box in a very visible corner of the house. No effort is taken to move the paintings, hide them, hook them up, nothing. Guests come and guests go, they all watch it, get a little curious then try to pass it off as if its not a big deal. Probably declaring me as lazy and unorganized, which I am. Sejal is getting to be one too, living with me. After a couple years she will lose it too. Returning to the topic, when will I hook it up? Newsflash. I am not hooking it up. I call it half naked modern art. Freaking.

Gotta have one mindless rant.

2007-10-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

Please stop reading this if you cannot tolerate junk talk and filthy language. The best part of life is a bank balance. Of course, the worst part is also a bank balance. Freaking you hate money at one instance and then freaking you love it. I spent a big chunk of my life in Mumbai plus I am a Gujju so everything I do is eventually for money ; everything. I wouldn't take a crap if it didn't save me money in terms of doctor's bills. Ok, going off topic, right about now. For money, becoming a bhai is acceptable too. But then nobody is going to get scared of a balding Gujju bhai, so can't be that. But that brings up another good point, all the top bhais of Mumbai are total chakkhas. Their voices, their looks are so feminine. They wear such colorful clothes. No big bhai looks like a scary movie bhai. Here are a couple, Dawood-anna and Chotee Shakeela....

I digress. Moving on. In search of money. Engineer ban jaa, doctor ke liye terepass dimaag nahi. Engineer banaa to ideological gaandu ban gayaa. Badi badi baat, uski tho. Poverty hatao, politicis gundaa hain, blah blah. US mein MS karne aaya, Nobel prize jeetega. Tera baap baitha hain naa uppar tereko Nobel dega? Ek se ek badhkar baithe hain idhar. Chal phut. Theek hain, ijjat se job karenge, paisa kamaaenge, mast aaram. To waapas, money money money. Bhukkad saala. Phir paisa aaya to its not a big deal. Paisa gayaa to aaila, maa ki aankh! Saala emotional roller-coaster constantly. Hippie Austin mein rahke job karke thoda thanda hua, to company IPO jaati hain. Waapas money money money. Stock uppar uppar jaata hain to dil hoon hoon kare, ghabraaye; khopdi dhan dhan kare, khul jaaye. (song from the movie Rudali, what a junk movie,who makes such movies, ok I haven't watched it yet). Anyway. Phir stock girtaa hain to sapna toot gayaa. Thats a different story alltogether, read the one towards the beginning of my blog. Bola chhod, kaaheko maatha-phodi, kaam karo. To thoda kaam kiya. Waapis thanda hua, money crazy gone, resigned to my fate, to doosri company (ekdum chakaa-chak company bolta hain baap) phone karke nayaa job ka offer. Job change, doosri company gayaa to uskaa stock bhaaga. Saala almost double ho gayaa. Uski maa ki. But can't sell due to restrictions. Waapas, dil hoon hoon. Abhi aaj date hain 2nd october 2007. Idharich bolega. Next year same date pe stock agar double nahi hua to main samajh jaayega, bhagwaan apun ke saath game khel rela hain. Bhagwaan, tu hain, tu hain. Sorry tereko itna ignore maara. Bus kar bhagwan, bus kar. (Collapses with the dumroo tied to his feet. The taandav is over. Dukaan bandh.)

ICICI bank bhaigiri - update

2007-10-01T17:22:00.001-07:00

Update to the original blog posted on ICICI bank bhaigiri. After reading my blog ICICI has decided to give the dead man's family 15 lakh rupees. Jo jeetey jee nahi kar sakaa woh markey kar dikhaya. Saali apni Indian economy is so strong, now suicide is also giving good returns. Don't forget to invest in it. Know any poor, depressed, bankrupt people? Want to make money? Are you thinking what I am thinking?

The sky is not falling

2007-10-01T17:04:00.000-07:00

Dukh bhare din beetey re bhaiyya. The downslide stopped. Fed reduced interest rates by a whopping 0.5%. Helicopter Bernanke (he once said if there is a cash shortage in the market he will get in a helicopter and throw cash on the streets) finally blinked. In a recent interesting article in the New York Times one analyst talks about how the Fed has to keep pleasing wallstreet just like a mom pacifies its baby. Only the baby here is the rich wallstreet banker who gets scared as soon as he hears the baby next door sneeze. The problem is that the baby is strategically placed and hence needs to be mollified constantly or else it starts pulling out its investments from the market. Then all babies follow causing a domino effect. The markets are jumping higher now. Doesn't matter if reducing interest rates may (note *may*) lead to inflation (or may not) so in short its possible that you will have a lot of money but your money won't be worth much because everybody around you has a lot more too. Who cares about that for now. Enjoy the ride. See your investments grow. Let the good times roll. Kya pataa, kal ho naa ho.

Love the ugly.

2007-09-29T02:28:00.001-07:00

This article is not for the faint of heart. Please stop reading this if you cannot tolerate graphic depictions. Imagine a tiny cheap half-broken 10 paise rubber band. Imagine it has been in the hair of atleast twenty-five Indian women until it finally gave way and broke. So the amount of oil and hair stuck on it is significant. Please stop reading now. Now imagine it has been dragged and trampled on in the ladies compartment for about five years straight. Its pretty lifeless but not dead yet; there are still some residual hints of elasticity and color; it was bright yellow at one time now its mostly black with a faint tinge of yellow. If you've come this far, don't go away now. Imagine this somehow gets stuck to a little boy's feet. The boy sees it for the first time;its still stuck to his feet. Mashed up snugly on his heels. Not going anywhere. Just happy to have found a place to die peacefully after all. The boy immediately understands the situation and decides to protect the poor rubber band. He carries it around on his heels for a couple days. He doesn't wash his heels lest the rubber band falls off. He plays with it secretly; plays with whatever is left of its lousy elasticity. Eventually people around him puzzled by his behaviour learn about this activity. They are shocked at the disgusting little piece stuck on the boy's feet. They plead and cajole the boy to give it up. Then they force him to give it up. They replace the ugly rubber band with a brand new shiny one. The boy doesn't like it. He wanted the ugly one. He has avoided rubber bands ever since. Serious.

ICICI bank bhaigiri

2007-09-20T02:25:00.000-07:00

Recently in the news, a simpleminded middleclass marathi manoos took out a Rupees 50,000 loan from ICICI bank but could not repay it. It is alleged that ICICI sent goons after him, harassed his family, asked him to sell everything he has, including his wife and kids and even then if he can't repay the loan, techya maayla, DIE ! Unable to bear the pressure the poor man committed suicide. While reading this the first thought that crossed my mind was, wow my bank is so serious about its money. Great job guys! I own ICICI shares. Ugh.

Bachhe to baghwaan ka roop hote hain.

2007-09-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

awww so cute, so sweet. Take all the save-the-drama-for-your-mumma movies made by Karan Johar or Yash Chopra or Yash Raj or all those ridiculous big banner tear-jerker movies. Heck, take any desi movie released within the past 10-15 years and take a close look at those scary little devils that masquerade as child actors. With a straight face you cannot tell me that they are anywhere close to what kids should be or used to be. I seriously have to yet find one movie where the child actor was anything less than absolutely irritating. They act like adults, talk like they know everything, recite complex dialogues that are too sensible to make sense coming out of a 15 year old child's mouth. They dance like adults; fucking Shiamak Davar screwed it all up. His bollywood dance propaganda sucked the natural innocence out of kids and turned them into perfectly synchronized dancing chimpanzees. Give me some creativity, some improvisation. Freaking bollywood. To top it all, the kids still want us to believe that they are just little and cute and innocent. Bullshit! If you act like an adult I am gonna treat you like an adult. Little punk.

I am sure we all have our choices of the most punkass child actors ever. For me the one that stands out is that little girl Anjali from Kuch Kuch Hota Hain. See pic. Ugh. Anjali khud ko kya shaani samajhti hain? Teri to, saamne aa kabhi, dikhata hoon!

What trigerred this outburst is another mahaa-pakaau movie I saw recently "Vivah". It featured another irritating sample, attached here. To copy that even real-life kids in India are acting like this. You go to the malls or garba or theme-parks or check out their online profiles and you are bound to see such items on display.

The only saving grace in this whole mess is that these child actors remain just that, child actors. Very rarely do they get a big break in the entertainment industry. After a few years they can be seen acting in inconsequetial roles. Ha! Now what happened to you? All your cute wisecracks are over now? Phew ! There is some justice after all. How do their parents even live under the same roof as these scam artists. If I have a kid like that I will...ahem...chal chhod abhi...my better-half reads this blog sometimes. Anyway, the score is Pulkit-1, irritating kid actor-0.

Shocking things heard from educated people in the 21st century

2007-09-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

These are some of the most shocking things that I have heard from upper middle class and supposedly educated people in this day and age.

...Women are a little less intelligent than men because they need to take care of the house and family.

...Women are bad drivers.

...I expect my future wife to be a virgin because I am one (good luck).

...Women are attracted to men who have had multiple partners. So next time you are trying to pataao a lady, tell her how big a player you are and then treat her like crap.

...Muslims need to be wiped out. They have many children and they will take over.

...I support Shiv Sena and Narendra Modi for the "lesson" they taught to Muslims.

...more to come...

Things that make you gay

2007-08-25T21:32:00.001-07:00

One poor desi intern working for us was shocked when an American friend of his called him gay. He didn't understad why he was declared as gay - he religiously leches at girls from his apartment window and performs all other normal activities that a hot blooded, moustached, penniless, intelligent Tamilian scavenging desi buffets and writing software like mad should be doing. The reason he was called gay was because he enjoys classical music. He came up to me with a heavy heart and an open mind. He wanted to get rid of all those things that made him gay. He wanted to be a man's man. I explained to him the concept of "gay" in this country. Just desiring women will not cure you of your gayness. You have to be very careful of the subtle things you do that can make you gay. I gave him a few tips which I am presenting here for all the desi men who like women but are considered gay.
You *are* gay in the US if you.....
...are desi.
...don't live in Texas.
...listen to classical music or Britney Spears or Justin Timberlake and the likes.
...drive a hybrid vehicle or a honda or toyota (pickup trucks excluded)
...recycle.
...care about world peace.
...care about global warming or greenhouse effect.
...own an iPod Shuffle instead of the real iPod.
...can complete a sentence without fumbling for words.
...have a good vocabulary.
...don't fart or scratch your butt.
...respect womenkind.
...like wine.
...hate beer.
...don't smoke.
...play cricket or baseball.

...walk shoulder-in-shoulder with another guy (thanks anonymous poster)

...participate in Antakshari.

...riding double seat on a motor bike with another guy (thanks anonymous poster). I understand in India you were used to the warm comfortabe feeling of being behind another guy but here, don't do it.
more to come....

Aap ka Kusoor

2007-08-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

Are a majority of Indians getting dumber by the day? Yea, sure, the booming economy and India Shining and American accent and consumerism and blah blah blah is all good, I get that. But the quality of movies that comes out of Bollywood, pretty much the only mode of mass entertainment for Indians, is getting so ridiculous that there are no expressions left to describe the deep scars they leave on your mind. In the past 10 years, try as I may, I can recount a total of only about 10 movies that have been a hit in India *and* are worth watching IMHO. Ok fine, everyone has different standards for good and crap but there has to be some amount of basic intelligence that an audience should demand in the movie. The type of desi movies that have done well is shocking. I thought about it quiet a bit and concluded that there can only be two reasons- either I (and my friends) are getting to be a bunch of old farts or Indians are getting dumber. To sort this out I gathered much courage and rented the movie "Aap Ka Suroor" by Himmesh Reshmiya the nasal-singing sensation. He is a hit in the music world, people love him, I've got no problems with that. The movie is a hit and I have got problems with that. I finished the movie in three sittings because otherwise I would have died of an overdose. The actors could not act even if their lives depended on it. Their facial expressions were just like the story; non-existent. There was supposed to be a suspense but it started and ended only in the last ten minutes and it wasn't really a suspense,but I don't want to go there as my blood pressure shoots up when I think about it. As expected, Himmesh did not take his cap off in the movie. Did you know he is bald? That guy has never taken his cap off in his whole life, ever. Even while he is getting beaten up and thrashed around, his cap never comes off. Even in the jail they have a special cap for him to match the jail clothes. Takla saala. The lead actress and comedian are better left undiscussed. I don't want to waste cyber space talking about them. In short it was a movie that should not have been made or watched. Its an insult to intelligence. Himmesh, I know you are reading this, chhote chhote bacche yeh blog padhte hain isiliye gaali nahi doonga. Pyaar mohobbat se samjhata hoon, teri maa ki, hum ko kya chu**ya samjha hain? Saale takle, gaana gaa, picture mat banaa. Mera paisa aur timepass waapis kar.

Yet, its a hit. I cannot believe this. The movie critics are also *not* declaring it as a POS that it is. They are giving it average to good ratings. I have seen old Mithun movies and even they were not this bad ( I was a Mithun fan for a brief moment). I can only arrive at one conclusion. The majority of Indians are getting dumber. Sorry.

Stop this madness !

2007-08-16T08:38:00.000-07:00

THE MARKETS ARE CRASHING. THE SKY IS FALLING. MY AMERICAN DREAM IS ABOUT TO GET CRUSHED. SOMEBODY STOP THIS FREE FALL !

Desi ko Pardesi chipkaya

2007-08-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

A major fiasco happened within the Maharashtra government recently. A report on the state of poverty in Maharashtra was published by a research team. The front page of the report showed pictures of such horribly malnourished kids that it wasn't funny anymore. It was like they got a bare skeleton and covered it up with tight ragged leather to substitute for skin. The entire government was shocked, especially the chief minister. After some investigation it turned out that the dumbasses had just picked up some pics of malnourished African kids for their report. After some embarassing apologies it was resolved and the copies of the report were withdrawn.
It kinda reminds me of another fiasco that happened in my ex-company. After the tsunami hit the Indian continent in 2004 I urged my ex-company to donate to the relief efforts. I told them that there are seriously legitimate, minimal overhead organizations like AID, Asha, etc. who will ensure that the money will be utilized most efficiently. My ex-CEO agreed to donate 100K Dollars (yes $100,000) because the company was doing quite well at that time; a great gesture nevertheless. But they decided to shun my suggestions and donated to some "Human-Relief" organization. I had never heard of it. But, whatever. A few months went by. Then one evening I saw a flyer posted on our company's notice board. It was by the Human-Relief guys. It had a picture of a woman on a camel in a desert, wearing distinctly un-Indian clothes. It stated "Thank you for donating to the fund. Your money has made a big difference to the people in Afghanistan... blah blah blah...". Wait! What! AFGHANISTAN?!?! WTF? I told the management about the blunder. I explained to them that Afghanistan was not affected by the Tsunami. Afghanistan needed a lot of water and they would actually benefit from a Tsunami. India and Afghanistan are not the same countries! What to do now, khel khatam paisa hazam. They quietly removed the flyer from the notice board.

Subprime mortgage crisis

2007-08-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

I could never figure how the pretty Jessica at the front desk or the scruffy John clearing the trash at my office could afford a house or for that matter the cars they drive or the vacations they take. They don't make nearly as much as I do. Who loaned them such huge amounts of money to buy a house and how could they even afford the monthly mortgage. How the heck can they buy all these things, my middle-class Indian mind could never comprehend. Some of my questions were finally answered after the subprime mortgage crisis hit the US markets in the past couple weeks, of course, causing a lot of loss to my investments. Basically subprime loans are given to people with bad credit history i.e. people who are careless about money. We all have done our mistakes with our money but these people have really screwed up with other people's money (read loans). Banks want to give these screwed up people big loans but they also charge high interest rates to hedge against the risk that these people will screw up again. Banks think that if enough people pay higher interests then its a good strategy against the few who will default on their payments. Banks entice people by giving low interest payments for the first couple years (so the monthly payments seem artificially low) and then jack up the interest rates to absurd levels. Obviously, John and Jessica can't pay these loans so they default and their houses are foreclosed. Couple that with the housing market not doing so great (so the house cannot be sold easily again) and the bank just lost a shitload of money. So it turns out that 2 years ago a lot of subprime loans were given out and right about now is the time when John and Jessica will not pay the mortgage. Hence the current crisis. Whether or not it will cause a recession in the US economy remains to be seen. Some experts say that the US economy is not dependant on housing alone and this crisis will pass without much lasting damage. But the signs sure do point towards some major ass whooping in the near term.

Begging for your life.

2007-08-07T00:20:00.001-07:00

Just saw a movie "Parzania" about the Godhra (Gujarat) riots. I had almost forgotten about the horror. In short, a train carrying Hindus was burnt by a Muslim mob. The Hindus retaliated with ten times more violence. The Gujarat government and the police actually supported and organized the butchering of Muslims. One picture said it all. A Muslim man begging for his life about to be butchered. How does it feel when a mob is upon you hungry for your blood? Do you fight back or beg for your life? Do you think that if you say something smart or funny they might spare you?

Dreamy eyed teens

2007-08-03T12:01:00.000-07:00

Taken from a real chat session with a Dreamy Eyed Teenager mistaking Bollywood for reality.

Dreamy Eyed Teenager: hey
Pulkit Desai: yo
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: will u join a yahoo group for me please
Pulkit Desai: depends on which one
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: its to support sanjay dutt
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: http://movies.groups.yahoo.com/group/SanjuSupporters/
Pulkit Desai: but I actually supported the indian police for jailing sanjay dutt.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: omg
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: y
Pulkit Desai: because he is a criminal.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: no he is not
Pulkit Desai: he was involved in the bomb blasts during mumbai 1992. I was there at that time. I know it.
Pulkit Desai: hundreds of people were killed
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: it was 1993
Pulkit Desai: my dad almost got killed.
Pulkit Desai: yea 1993, whatever. it was real then.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he didnt do it
Pulkit Desai: oh really
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he got involved
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he has just kept weapons
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: and i dont know y he did that
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he doesnt deserve 6 yrs of jail for keeping weapons
Pulkit Desai: of course he was involved, there is proof.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he didnt do the bombing
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: seeing him in 14yrs.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: there is a big difference in him
Pulkit Desai: why does that matter, he could have stopped the bombing by reporting it and many lives would have been saved.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: judge should had forgiven him
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: those underworld ppl were prob. blackmailing him
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: who knows
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: sanju is a real nice guy
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: i have met him face to face
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: even though his daughter was in NY
Pulkit Desai: he is a criminal and he needs to be jailed.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he still kept in touch with her
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: the night before the court date
Pulkit Desai: I am going to start a group to keep him in jail.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: they talked for along time at night
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he even called her before entering the court
Pulkit Desai: so what
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: omg ur so not doing that
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: if u dont wanna join my group thats fine
Pulkit Desai: what about the thousands of kids who became orphans due to the blasts
Pulkit Desai: 6 years is a small punishment.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: but ur not making a group to keep in jail
Pulkit Desai: if you guys are trying to free a criminal, then somebody has to counter that.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: my point is that 6 yrs. is too much
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: and my mom was saying that he served 1 and half yrs. in 1993
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: so that will be minus from 6
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: so its going to be less
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: and the sad part is that he doesnt get any special treatment in jail
Pulkit Desai: doesn't matter, he was a part of a conspiracy, he could have saved many lives if he told the police about the bombs, due to him many people died, so he is very responsible for it.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: as i said he could be gettin blackmailed
Pulkit Desai: rite.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: yeah i kno im rite
Pulkit Desai: yup.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: so ur not joining my group
Pulkit Desai: of course not. I don't support criminals.
Pulkit Desai: you would have known if someone you knew got killed in the bombings.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: i guess
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: sanjay dutt has been my fav. actor
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: so i just cant see him suffering
Pulkit Desai: actor is not equal to God.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: he is a very kind hearted guy
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: wen i found out he got jailed i was cryin and i was so upset
Pulkit Desai: most of the film industry is involved with the criminals who have caused a lot of violence and deaths.
Pulkit Desai: so don't feel sad for him. be happy that the indian system did the right thing.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: sunil and srk r helpin out with petitions
Pulkit Desai: their petitions will be thrown in a trash can
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: who knows
Pulkit Desai: law is law. It can't be changed for some stars.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: it mite
Pulkit Desai: yea, the judges are going to look at your yahoo groups and make their decisions.
Dreamy Eyed Teenager: yaarr be nice

Why Republican?

2007-08-03T11:55:00.000-07:00

I've gotten asked why do I think I am a Republican. Daily reports of violence and bloodshed around the world do not affect me (it used to). I just skip over to the business section. I do not relate to poverty anymore (I used to). I don't recycle and don't have any plans on living eco-friendly. I find myself aligning with the powerful and ignoring the powerless. All this I am not seeking out actively but it still happens. And if I am not a part of the solution then I am a part of the problem. Hence I am Republican. If you can't beat them, join them.

Haai Ram !

2007-08-01T17:57:00.000-07:00

I am a republican. Cannot believe it. Yeh kya, kaise, kab, kyun ho gayaa re baapu. Kamine yeh bolne se pahle teri zabaan jal kyon nahi gayi, kaan phat kyon nahi gaye. Tu to saala American bhi nahi hain !

Gujarati Naatak.

2007-07-29T23:21:00.000-07:00

Watched a Gujarati naatak today "Baa-ay maari boundary" (daadi ne maara chauka). I actually am in the midst of bone-crushing work deadlines but decided to screw it all and go for the naatak. My second naatak. First one was when I was like fifteen. Remember it to be very engrossing even at that age. But somehow never saw a naatak again. Saw a lot of junk but never naataks. Watching a naatak was not cool (read gay) back then. But now, being gay is so cool. So watching a naatak is not uncool anymore. I digress.
The drama starts with the narrator announcing to shut off mobiles and kids. The first scene starts, the main characters are acting. A minute goes by and the crowd in the back seats raises a storm. Avaaj nathi! (can't hear you!) , mike! mike! The actor continues acting as if nothing happened. The crowd does not relent. The actor gives up and starts convincing the crowd that once your noise dies down you will hear everything. He starts testing the mikes. In the spirit of the moment, one aunty decides to take the lead and screams "ben no avaaj check karo" (let the lady also test the mike). At this point the crowd cracks up. The actor is visibly irritated. He says, don't shout, I can shout louder and funnier than you. A little tu tu main main ensues between the actor and the audience which is pretty hilarious. In the end they all settle down and the actor resumes the play. After fighting with the crowd he ends up giving a good performance for the very same crowd.
The drama was basically about a plain-jane housewife treated miserably by her family because she knows nothing and then tansforms, with the help of her grandson from America, into this model for various ads and regains her identity and ego. The drama was mostly slapstick comedy (pretty funny in Gujarati though) interspersed with true desi style emotionally charged dialogues about how you should respect your parents and how any sad and lonely person has hidden talent and can change overnight into something great. They hit the right chord with the audience because a majorty of them were housewives. In the end they all unite and live as one big happy family forever. The drama has been performed 335 times. Imagine doing the same role over and over again.
Anyways, it was a good break from work and junk movies. For reasons unknown I'll see the next drama after ten more years pass by.

Promise

2007-07-29T15:01:00.000-07:00

Just re-read the beautiful gems that I've been writing. What a lousy bitter cynical bitch am I. I promise to write good stuff.

Mumbai Dabbawallas

2007-07-29T01:32:00.001-07:00

Enough with the dabbawallas already. A million and forty seven articles have been written in excruciating detail about their greatness. All management schools practically worship them. If you are an MBA student you gotta have atleast one picture of you wearing a gandhi-topi and posing with them. Prince Charles invited them for his wedding or something. What are they getting in return? Are they charging any fees to distribute their wisdom? Can they increase their charges for dabba delivery? Do people give them more room in trains to ease their discomfort? Do cars stop by to let them pass on the streets? Is the Mumbai public really enamoured by them? Are their standards of living getting better? Are they taking real advantage of the so called "skill" that they have? Will they be able to afford good education for their kids? No. The rude reality is that they are poor and will remain poor. The world will keep praising them and they will keep getting poorer. Its like a consolation prize, "hey, we won't we won't make it any better for you but we will write about you and treat you like God". Majboori ka naam Mahatma Gandhi.

Newton's law of inertia

2007-07-26T12:02:00.001-07:00

I am thoroughly convinced that Newton was correct. Not only in physics but in all aspects of existence. What is happening currently will keep happening unless something drastic is done to change it. Rich will get richer, poor will get poorer. Happy people will get happier, sad people will get sadder. Developing countries will get all the problems of the world and the developed ones will get all the benefits. Escalating violence in poor but oil-rich countries will make the wealthy countries wealthier. Heck, in one report even global warming is supposed to bring in a fortune to rich countries (because it makes the weather in colder places milder, increasing tourism, economy, etc.) and will make the poor countries suffer. Natural disasters will hit poor countries more often and more seriously than rich countries. In terms of people I know, the poor ones always seem to have more problems than the rich ones (and I mean real problems, not flimsy issues like love, heartbreak, etc.).

Basically if you are lagging in a race in the beginning you will typically lag forever. If your grades are not good in the first few semesters of your education, they will not be any different in the future. If you are fat you will continue to grow fatter. If your company is struggling for business , it will continue to struggle. If its doing well, it will continue so.

.....unless something drastic happens to change the course of your progression (and some companies and people can do that) you will not get out of your misery (or opulence) anytime soon. Newton rocks.

Work, Work, Work

2007-07-20T20:03:00.000-07:00

Its Friday evening. My wife is with her aunt. She is supposed to pick me up later. I have 2 hours and nothing to do. A lot to be done but nothing to do. I see some people running around the hallway looking important. There are always people running around at work. I don't recall ever running around. I wonder why. Is it because I just work better or is it because I work lesser? There are times when I absolutely do not work. 2 hours (sometimes more) per day. I wonder if they all have times like these. I want to ask them but since I've just started the job I can't act stupid. Maybe later.

I wonder how many people love their jobs. I mean really love their jobs. Like every morning they get excited about work and have everything planned out for the day. How must that feel. Looking forward to work. Having a thousand ideas for improvement, to be more productive, faster, better. Out of all the people I know, I can say a total of one may fall in that category. Everybody else I know is just doing a job. Considering you spend 75% of your waking time at work, and considering that I have about 30 more years of work left, can life really be that boring? Does it have to be? Are you wiling to take a risk to change it? Do something you like to do? Be one of those shiny, happy people? Work as if thats what you were born to do?

Naah.

You have great potential

2007-07-20T19:48:00.000-07:00

I can't remember the exact place, time or occasion when I finally accepted the fact that I am not going to accomplish anything ground-breaking or life-changing in my life. Kaun bola thaa, this guy has great potential? Uski tho !

Letting go.

2007-06-21T14:05:00.001-07:00

I finally did it. Dumped all the stocks, at a massive loss, of the company that I was in love with forever. Its like letting go of unreciprocated love. Hurts like hell. They say letting go is supposed to make your heart feel lighter. Can't say about the heart but my wallet sure feels much lighter. Total personal loss around 140K USD and change.

I read the monstrous book by fucking Warren Buffet, the greatest investor ever, so they say. The Ingelligent Investor it was called. I felt extremely intelligent after reading the book and many other "great investment" books, much to the chagrin of my wife. At that time I ignored her irritation. Her argument was simple - if we could become rich by reading investment books then everybody in the world would be rich. Ha! What does she know about money, I would think. I followed every piece of advice about "need to focus, not diversify" and "buy low, sell high" etc. etc. Armed and ready with information I began to focus. What better than the company you know in and out about. I focussed so much that at the peak of focussing all my money, and I mean ALL my money, was invested in the one company, that screwed up eventually. The initial going was good. The stock nearly rose ten-fold in the beginning. I felt that I have made the best decision of my life. I was a half-millionaire. Everyone around me begged me sell it off and be happy with what I got. But no. I wanted to be a millionaire. I knew the stock would double and get me to the millinoaire's club. And then the downfall started. The stock dropped and fucking Warren Buffet told me to "buy low, sell high" so I bought more. And it fell further and I bought more. The more it fell the more I bought. My days went by in a dizzy. At one point I was putting in 10K, 20K dollars as the stock continued falling. Months were spent browsing all possible news about the company. I wasted around 2 years immersed in analyzing and re-analyzing the company, thinking this drop is just temporary and dreaming about what will happen when it picks up and then I can sell all these shares at record profits. Work sufferred terribly(what do you expect when all my time is spent on yahoo finance message boards). Lost confidence in my own basic skills, engineering. Its like an elongated period of time that just goes by when you don't remember what exactly you were doing. Analyzing 5 cent ups and downs in the stock price, analyzing volumes, analyzing after hours trading and what not, to fish out information that only I would understand. Information that means nothing in this randomness that they call the stock market.

Finally, I dumped it all. Massive loss. Mental stress took a toll on my health. Its strange you never think that you could be stressed. But stressed as hell I was. Gaand-faat stress. Quit my job. Started a new job. Started working out. Life changed for the better. Its all good now. My new company is doing quite well. The stock is looking great. I wonder if I should buy. Let me analyze the company......

I've gotten myself a blog

2007-06-11T15:43:00.001-07:00

Will write something, someday.

Orkut testimonials

2006-11-16T21:53:00.000-08:00

The intensity of praises (ek doosre ki lal karo) on Orkut is mind boggling. Every testimonial on chirkut claims that that person is "sweetest", "one of the sweetest", "there for me", "stood by me", and sometimes simply "is good" or "is nice". Guys are surpassing girls in praising each other. Brothers find their sisters cutest, sisters find their brothers even cuter. One dude even called his sister sexy. Everybody is ambitious, bold, open, perfect. Good person. You are good. I am nice. We all are the best. Group hug now.