Things Desi Americans Need to Stop Doing

It now has been over a year since I moved to the United States of America. Within such a period of time, sociable and friendly individuals do accrue a horde of social acquaintances who serve as pleasant distractions during the tedious weekends. I sadly, due to my frugal social skills and outlandish opinions have gotten myself expelled from all such weekend-collectives. G. however does not exude the same toxic social fumes that I do. She therefore has managed to, over the period of time, expose me to a variegated collection of expatriated Indians. I however am sad to report that all have found me equally unpalatable. I understand that there are glaring flaws in me which do disqualify me for the position of red-hotness in the American-Indian communities, but the American Desi community too is not without its share of rather disturbing characteristics, a few of which I intend to point out in this post. I am fully aware that gross generalizations are always wrong, but they are also awfully convenient. I choose convenience over correctness and proceed.

• I would like to humbly request the Desi collectives to cease and desist from the much venerated potluck format. I am always honoured and consider myself privileged to have been invited to your home, but please do not ask me to carry my food from my home. It is very much like carrying a lunch-box to school. It brings back numerous harrowing memories -- of cold lunches and quadratic equations. Also, unpleasant combinations of the two.
• Desi people, you really have to stop creating clever little portmanteaus combining you and your spouse's name and then putting those combinations on your car tags. I do realise that you really do not care for the fact that every time I see such a tag my teeth grind, but do think about this -- The 2006 Honda Accord may be an excellent package in terms of price, performance and fuel-economy, but as an edifice for the undying love between you and your spouse, it is rather tawdry.
• I love Bollywood. It is wonderful for its campy cheesiness. What it certainly is not is a cultural entity. Most of Bollywood is artistically and culturally bankrupt. So, what we Desis really really need to do is stop elevating Bollywood to a position where it is perceived to be the Desi cultural purport. It is in all honesty, a trifle embarrassing. We Desis are fortunate to have a musical heritage which is exquisite and complex, a literary heritage which is deeply spiritual and brutally honest. If one does not have an understanding or appreciation of them, silence I think is called for.
• There is another habit among Desi Americans which disturbs me a bit. You guys have to stop going to Manhattan and getting yourself photographed in front or back of the Wall Street Bull as illustrated in the figure below. The photograph clicking part of it all is really fine. What tends to really disturb me is the fact that one then goes ahead and and puts that photograph up in their orkut profiles. Seeing your heads ensconced between those humongous bronze butt-cheeks tend to give me the heebie-jeebies.

An Open Letter To Mr Andrew Symonds

Dear Mr Symonds,
This letter is about this recent fracas that you have got into with our cricket team. I understand that there has been some serious offence taken, on your part, with respect to some part of our cricket team pointing out the rather hairy (no pun intended) fact that you actually look like a monkey. I can understand your anguish and I truly empathise. I however am rather perplexed at the fact that you have decided to play the race card on this count.

I would like to assure you that the fact that you have the simian-semblance has nothing to do with your race, colour or heritage. It, like the proverbial shit, has happened. Some people remind others of the Brad Pitts and of the Denzel Washingtons. They are lucky. They are called good-looking. Some people sadly do not carry the same visual appeal. They remind other people of monkeys. I too occupy the position of the monkey-reminder within my peer group and I am fully aware of the fact that the position is not enviable. The consolation however, is that this lack of visual appeal does not result in making me a bad engineer and neither does it result in making you a bad cricketer. All it results in, is the paucity of sex. We monkey-reminders do not get the hot action as often as we would want to (or deserve to). That is all.

I am therefore rather puzzled at the fact that you should construe such an observation as racism, and as a result throw up such a tantrum. I have travelled and lived in different parts of the world and I would like to inform you that I have seen monkey-reminders in all colours and races. It is an international, cross-cultural phenomenon. To prove my claim, I present Exhibit A:

Although hard to believe, this is the very person who called you those names when you had called him a few. The next time he says not-so-nice-things about you, show him Exhibit A. That should shut him up. Running to the match referee, in all honesty is a bit pansy-ish.

Calling you a monkey is a a shallow observation, and a cheap shot at something as facile as personal appearance, but racism ? Come on Mr. Symonds, that is a wee bit extreme. What would be really really sad would be the fact that if people would construe your ( and Ponting's ) act as a convenient and cheap ruse to get back at a player who has been giving Ponting a difficult time on the cricket pitch. We would never know, but if you have done that, that would sadly be a great disservice to your heritage.

A great fan of your cricket,
Bald Monkey

This makes...

Priyanka Chopra's raising-Mother-Teresa-from-the-dead look like the theory of relativity... Seriously !

Greg Chappell says Bite Me -- The Translated Interview

Oh yes ! It has happened. The sixth-ish or seventh-ish ranked team which was expected to end up in the  first-ish or second-ish position by a billion-ish feverish fans has proved itself not to be really good enough to qualify to the top eight-ish.  In the wake of such an unexpected turn of events,  the Great Indian Yellow Media ( which already has pitched in with some of the most incisive and investigative reporting on the tragic Bob Woolmer affair ), decided to rest their perspicacious gaze on the Indian Team's benign coach, demanding an explanation for the tepid performance on the part of the blokes in blue. The Indian coach, in his customary bonhomie, has come back with his oft repeated "Bite Me !".

For the benefit of the members of my scanty readership who have not been able to discern the more robust undertones of this cockles-of-the-heart-warming exchange, I in my habitual generosity, have translated a few selections from the conversation itself.

Actual: 
Who should take responsibility for this defeat?
I think it's a collective responsibility. We didn't play well enough and it is a disappointment that everyone has to share.
Translation:
It is all your fault ! Is it not ?
Bite me ! The monkeys in blue are to blame. I am of course, as I always have been --- perfect !

Actual:
Would you like to continue as coach?
This is not the time to talk about that.
Translation:
Time you called it a day eh ? (Smirk smirk) !
Depends on how much money they offer me in the renewed contract actually. (Smirk smirk)

Actual:
Over the last 17 matches overseas, India have only played 50 overs on four occasions. Why is that?
We haven't played well enough.
Translation:
Have you even been noticing that we have been batting like a bunch of bungling monkeys for some time now ?
Yeah I did. So ?

Actual:
But it's a period stretching over one and a half years...
We haven't played well enough, that's it.
Translation:
And your coaching and planning during that time has not really bought home the biscuit has it  ? 
Bite me !

Actual:
Aren't you shirking your responsibility?
No I don't think so. I am not employed by you people, I am employed by the BCCI. Obviously, I will have to face up to them and give them a report and give them some indications of what I think. But I don't think this is the forum for me to say anything.
Translation:
You know what old chap ? All this "bite me, bite me" is getting a trifle tiresome. Are you going to act apologetic or not ?
Muhahahahahahahaha ! You chaps would really like that, would you not ? Well honestly, I do not intend to do any such thing. Not worth it actually. During my finger raising tenure, I have realised that you guys, at the end of the day, are rather fickle and ineffectual. So .... you guessed it ! Bite me !

Actual:
You said you are answerable to the BCCI. But aren't you also answerable to one billion fans in India? Shouldn't you say something to them?
We didn't play well enough.
Translation:
Come on now ! Could you at least act a bit contrite ? Please  ?
Bite me !

Actual:
Why didn't we play well enough?
Well I don't think India has won a tournament overseas since 1985. There is a bit of history to it. There are obviously some reasons. I am not prepared to go into them at this stage.
Translation:
That is pretty much enough ! You have no clue as to how to coach a side do you ? 
Well... honestly no. I am not really good at coaching and all that. I am here for the money and the politicking . That is where the real fun is. Actually I also had no faith in this side anyway. They are a bunch who have not managed to win anything over the last 20 years. So what did you guys expect ? I was pretending to coach a bunch of imbeciles who had no chance of winning anyway. So I did not bother. 

Actual:
This is still India's worst performance in World Cup history. Is there a need for serious introspection?
I think there is a need for a serious introspection, but I don't think it should start today.
Translation:
But we were the finalists last time ? Remember ? We were pretty good then ! We only lost to the Australians in the last world cup !
Well, you did not lose to Australia this time did you ? And yes ... It really is not my fault.

Actual:
Are you going to go back with the Indian team or are you worried about your security?
I don't think any comment about that is going to help the situation. I'm quite confident that systems are in place to look after security of the team and the individuals involved.
Translation:
Do you think that the those bone-headed Indian fans might knock your house down too ?
Naah ! Those idiots cannot do that. My house is in Australia.

Actual:
You took over the team in July of 2005. How many points would you give yourself on a scale of 10?
Again, that's a very difficult question to answer. I'm happy that I've done the best job that I could do. Eighteen months is not a long time to build a team. If you look at any sport, it takes a long time. To put a number from my point of view, I don't think I am the right man to make that assessment. I am happy with myself. The coaching staff and the support staff did they best that they could do. It wasn't good enough.
Translation:
Care to share a few thoughts on being a complete loser ?
Naah ! I am a bit tired of this whole conversation thing anyway. I think I will go and practice my sulk-behind-the-glass-window thing. Oh wait ! I nearly forget!  For the last time,  bite me !

Bollywood, Tollywood, Don, Bile and Pontification

There are times when the urge to pontificate overtakes one. To be truthful, the urge does overtake be rather frequently. This is one such time. Therefore, without much ado, I proceed to pontificate.

There was once a nice, quaint commercial Bengali movie industry. I do not use the was qualifier because the industry has disappeared. I do so because the sad fact is that it is no longer nice, quaint and entertaining. Also, I do not intend to express the view that all fare produced by this erstwhile entity was stupendous. Even during the its better days, Tollywood, (as it was called during those days) would produce its share of horrendous, tolerable, nice and lovely movies. Now they are just cheesy and embarrassing. The reason why they are so is rather simple. From being a original and Bengali affair, it went on to become a poor man's Bollywood -- a pathetic wannabe for the consumption of the tough eggs who craved for some Bollywood action the Bengali way. They are very bad Hindi movies made in Bengali. That is all I have to say about the Bollywood Tollywood thingy.

I just happened to watch Don a few days back, and am sorry to say that I found the movie to be rather horrible. I can envisage the Nike heeled, lovers-of-Anurag-Mathur hissing in anger at such an unfair judgement, but let me assure you that it truly is a bad movie. You just do not realize it is bad because you are the target audience -- the semi-literate tough eggs who speak in bad and broken english and who want some of that Hollywood action the Bollywood way. For you, it is a good movie and so you may calmly un-hiss.

Now I shall proceed to unship some advice for the benefit of the nitwit who is the scriptwriter for the cinematic abomination that is Don.
Dear Scriptwriter,
When you proceed to write the script of a movie in a particular language, you are assumed to posses a fair command over the language. Thinking up witty lines in English and then, mindlessly translating them to Urdu or Hindi does not make a witty line in Hindi or Urdu. For example, the direct translation of "You forgot to say please..." in Hindi does not make a witty line, it makes a tardy one. The same could be said about "I might just change my mind about you." I could have cited numerous other examples but I really did not think the movie was worth paying attention to. If you cannot think in Hindi or Urdu, I would advise you to write scripts in English. Please do not burden us with your pidgin Hindi. It is jarring.
Yours faithfully
A Lover of Hindi Movies

There are and will be paeans sung in praise of Don the movie -- on the high production values and how cool it looks. The truth however is much sadder. The movie is what it is --- It is a cheap, cheesy, outlandish and laughably bad Hollywood movie. The only difference is that the characters happen to speak in very bad Hindi, very much like the bad Tollywood Hindi movie in Bengali.

Cingular

Raising the fubar...

The Rule of Four -- Oh My God !

Never has it happened to me, that I have rushed through the book because it is so bad. This entry is about the mind numbing experience -- The book is markedly forgettable and absolutely nothing to write about.

This was my second grapple with this exercise in self importance. The first time I tried to handle it, I was taken completely by surprise. The sheer enormity of the ridiculousness of the first five chapters floored me. With a meek wave of the white flag, I retreated, curling up with an old volume of Wodehouse. Wodehouse always has a soothing balm like effect on me. A single Jeeves yarn was good enough for the Bourne Ultimatum, but the above mentioned five chapters required the combined powers of three complete books from the Psmith Omnibus. Thus renewed, I returned for a rematch.

I think that the rematch idea was a bad one. I had given up the first time because the book bored me. I never realised, the first time around that apart from being singularly insipid, the book also does not have a point, apart from the dripping pretentiousness. I had been trying very hard to finish it for the last four days, but last night, as I slept I kept having the same nightmare -- I am reading the ridiculous ramblings from the The Rule of Four. Trust me, that is scary shit. I had no option left. Any hot Bene Gesserit would say, "I will face my fear.I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path." Any hot Bene Gesserit would do what I did. I decided to let the damn thing pass over me. I woke up at 3:30 in the morning, and by 7 am I was through the Vapid Volume. I might not exactly be a finer deeper man after doing so but am certainly a much more relieved one.

For those who might be interested, the book is about nothing. Unrelated to the plot, it mentions a bunch of college students who generally trudge the snow and prepare for some thesis thingy about some 16th century text. Also totally unrelated to the plot, it mentions an art collector running amok with a pistol because somebody stole his blueprint or thunder or mojo or something. This art collector eventually sets fire to an alcohol soaked clubhouse and in the process, burns himself to a cinder. Oh yes, there is a girl there also, but again, not really a part of the plot.

Tags: books, bad books, reviews, The Rule of Four