The Reservations Protests -- The Post-match Press Conference

The possessors of perspicacious minds and sharp memories will faintly recollect the printed media having had passing mentions and the blogosphere having had rather vociferous outbursts regarding the new reservation policy which the Indian Government has prudently decided to unleash unto its unsuspecting citizens. For the unacquainted, the reservation policy is an extremely erudite law which has been formulated after rather large portions of research by people with significantly bulging brains. This law simply states that the racial variety of the testicles of one's father is more important than one's brains and academic achievements combined, when it comes to securing a place in an institution of higher education.

People with voluminous brains have already commented on the relative merits and the utter rottenness of this whole scheme and it would be considered impertinent if I in my limited intellectual capabilities were to pass any variety of judgement on it. However, now that the entire brouhaha has met its natural death and has been consigned to the dusty cabinet of forgotten inconveniences, I would like to follow the path much trodden by the inferior columnist and bring you the post-match interviews. Therefore, without much ado, and with an unprecedented and vigorous cut-to-the-chase, I present the variegated opinions and viewpoints unshipped at the post-match press conference.

The Fat Bald Politician (FBP)
The FBP with the customary smug, constipated demeanour said
"On a personal level I do not give a rat's posterior to this whole thingummy. I am beyond any sort of higher education and my offspring too have no requirement for it. In fact they have no requirement for any education or skills at all since I have skimmed enough from public coffers and lottery frauds so that they can lead the lives of the idle rich.
At a political level however I was not exactly sleeping over it. As soon as these blokes made for the protests, I set my aides to find out as to which exact vote bank the chumps belonged to. Much to my surprise, they did not belong to any of the established mass-voting entities. We all know that in a democracy, one pretty much does not possess any rights if one does not belong to any of the vote-banks. So, being the undeserving cretins that they were, I promptly instructed the police to wallop the living daylights out of them. That for some strange reason did not go well with the pesky fourth estate. (Ingrates that they are) So I simply decided to ignore them. Worked well actually."
After saying so, FBP then went to sleep.

The Fourth Estate
The representative of the public press arrived late. He however profusely apologized for his late arrival -- "I am very sorry to have kept all of you waiting. I was actually held up since I was covering the live telecast of Shah Rukh Khan's tummy tuck surgery. You know how these surgery things are don't you ? It went into extra time." he said with an apologetic shrug. When asked about the whole reservation thing he said
"In all honesty, it did start out pretty well. We did have a whale of a time when the police were thrashing the protesters within an inch of their lives. We did get a few of the gory shots of students rolling in the mud and reeling from the treatment being meted out by the police. That really did give the ratings a decentish prod. The problem was that it was a bit repetitive. Also the news really did not have zip to it. Not a single celebrity joined the protests. Those lazy bums could not even manage compulsive, jobless protesters like Shabana Azmi and Arundhati Roy, leave alone a Shah Rukh Khan. We finally decided to stop covering the yawn-fest in favour of a MMS message which was doing the rounds. It is a rather scintillating MMS actually. It has a Kareena Kapoor lookalike kissing a Kader Khan lookalike with an Irfan Pathan lookalike looking on in the background."
He then, rather excitedly went on to explain as to how that the contents of the message would be exclusively telecast on a particular news channel very soon.

The Protester
The markedly dazed protester when asked about the key learnings and experiences he had gleaned from the whole ruckus, rather resignedly remarked
"These stupid movies and newspapers had us actually thinking that we are a democracy and we have rights and all that. So we started this protest nonsense thinking that somebody would actually listen to us. Those movies and feel-good articles are really not very truthful. Nobody really cares for us and our opinion is pretty much crap. Also killing the FBP is not that easy. Whatever those stupid movies say, those obese bastards never really go for morning walks when you can shoot them !"

Tags: Reservations,IndianMSM

Friends-in-Law

There exists profound differences between the modi operandi in which the fairer and the unfairer sexes socialise and exchange thoughts between themselves.

The male method is simple, straightforward and robust. The process consists of the collective absorption of alcohol or caffeine or both, interspersed with a few infrequent, random views on the traffic, weather and the general well being of the substance being imbibed. There are times when highly animated conversations do throw up thorny and controversial comments regarding the comparative merits of different rock bands, the ailing form of a particular cricket team or the dodgy knee of a particular footballer, but such occasions are extremely rare. If one stumbles upon a normal version of such a session, one is expected to be greeted with warm, amicable silence.

The female method, in sharp contradistinction to the above explained racket, is one fraught with fervent vocal activity. The topics in the fray range from the Absolutely Nothing to the Utterly Insignificant. The frugal content of the exchange however, never translates into the paucity of volume. Large helpings of ideas are exchanged on the topic of linen and the colour combinations for various things. Voluminous exchange is also observed on other miasmic topics like literature, social trends and Oprah Winfrey, but I would not be able to comment on them and neither do I intend to draw the attention of the peruser towards that direction. The remarkable quality towards which I intend to draw the attention of my scant readership is the sheer volume of stuff that is actually exchanged during the whole affair. This trend is certainly admirable for the purpose of creating and nurturing the bonhomie thingy, but suffers from one serious flaw -- One runs out of things to say.

Whereas men are not encumbered by the superfluous desire to converse or talk for the maintenance of a relationship, women for some strange quirk of character deem it a necessity. This quirk combined with the exhaustion of topics (as already explained) to discuss between two girlfriends result in what could be termed as churning. Women flit from friend to friend after all mutual topics of interest have been discussed at length.

The astute reader, much accustomed to my informative posts at this juncture would raise extremely pointed questions regarding the general direction of this banter. Therefore, without much ado, I would now like to broach the core topic. As a result of the diligently described process of churning, the individual involved in a marriage thingy in the capacity of a husband is exposed to a rather variegated selection of friends-in-law. As a result I, in my capacity of dutiful husband coupled with the character of an intrepid researcher, have finally come up with a list of categories of friends-in-law. I would like to clarify that this research is far from exhaustive and can certainly be added upon.

Type: The Sappy Nitwit
Marked by the inexplicable tendency to hallucinate. Will find the strangest of things beautiful. Will startle one with unexpected and sudden ejaculations of oohs and aahs upon chancing upon any sort of animal (including buffaloes). The animals are generally not found to reciprocate the gesture. Will suggest the worst movies and holiday destinations to the wife.
Pros: None.
Cons: The wife at times will drag one to the suggested movies and holiday destinations. Also, sudden oohs and aahs tend to distract one when driving in heavy traffic.
Husband/Partner: The husband or partner of the sappy nitwit posseses the admirable trait of unleashing blank grins to accompany the perspicacious observations on the part of his loved one. Privately, this person is generally found gnashing his teeth.

Type: The Pseudo Women's Libber
Posseses a rather unexplicable malevolence for men in general and the bald ones in particular. Professes the equality of sexes but somehow holds the opinion that men are blots in the landscape of their angst ridden life. Strangely this variety gets unusually perturbed when not given any attention by these very men. Even the bald ones. I have found this contradiction a trifle mysterious.
Pros: Due to the utter disdain with which one will be treated in one's house, one may dispense with all social graces and merrily attach oneself to the television and the beer.
Cons:Being subjected to basiliskesque glances within the confines of one's own happy home gives me the heebie jeebies.
Husband/Partner: Nonexistent.

Type: The True Women's Libber
Brevity of expression marks this particular species. Realizes the redundant excrescence that one is. Keeps the interaction to the minimum. One never gets to know the traits of the person.
Pros: As already stated, one is treated very much like a piece of furniture. Rather perfect.
Cons: None.
Husband/Partner: The company of the husband or partner is never thrust upon one.

Type: The Shopper
Appearence cannot be discerned due to the fact that the subject shall be smothered by shopping bags most of the time. Will make frequent appearences to pick up the wife to go shopping.
Pros:Conspiciously agreeable by the absence.
Cons: Severly degrades the doubloon abundance in one's life.
Husband/Partner: Seen in shopping malls with a demeanour which may be termed as dazed. Generally very well dressed.

Analyze This

Delhi, India: In an expected turn of events, the combined number of hours clocked by braindead cricket match and cricket player analysis programs on Indian television have surpassed the cumulative time for all the actual cricket shown on it. The momentous occasion came upon the unsuspecting world during 32^nd minute of the immensely popular Match ka Joker Kaun ? post match analysis show which was being aired on Aaj Tak at 8:35 pm last Saturday. A large number of channels had been vying for this prestigious achievement but Aaj Tak pipped the rest of the competition by going in for a post-match analysis program without any actual match to analyze. Bald Monkey, our chief researcher has created the worms which describes the timeline for the whole process:

Although it has made no difference to the actual viewership, the [FILMY] channel has called for a rematch. "The post match analysis program in question cannot be deemed as official since there was no actual official match before or after the show. Aaj Tak is cheating !" was the official statement from the management of [FILMY]. The Aaj Tak channel has responded saying "Talking of official, we are not even sure as to whether the Eurasia Cup thingy that the [FILMY] channel has been covering (and analyzing) is even official or not. Also, that match between the movie stars and cricketers-from-the-geriatric ward which [FILMY] telecast and analysed was certainly not official. Official Shoffical ! Pah !" . Set Max, (the pioneer of meaningless post and pre match analysis) has for unknown reasons remained silent on the matter.

When Sharad Pawar, the president of the BCCI was approached, he informed us that the BCCI had been anticipating such an eventuality. "We in the recent past had drastically increased the number of irrelevant matches and tournaments but clearly our efforts have not been enough to thwart the problem" he said. The BCCI is now looking into ways in which it might grant official status to some of the analysis programming and in the process generate some revenue for itself. "We will put in place a board of selectors who will select a panel of experts to analyze the matches on television. For the rest of the flim flam on these programs, we will have a reality-show-talent-hunt with huge portions of melodrama." the president of the BCCI said.

Tags: Cricket, FourthUmpire, IndianTV, ExtraInnings

Lessons as King of the Apartment

Unbeknownst to the common multitudes, there exists a bunch of parallel universes. The most notable and well known among them of course is the ballpoint pen universe where all ball point pens and whiteboard markers silently slip away, never to return when one's attention is directed towards the keyboard. A not very well known example however is the rather tersely addressed onsite. For the benefit of the unaware, I put forth the facts. This particular variety of parallel universe is well known to individuals who are acquainted or related to those merry souls dabbling in the very lucrative Information Technology racket. Onsite is that nebulous alternate reality into which one's acquaintance shall disappear into for protracted periods of time and emerge after this period with significant alterations in wardrobe, girth, hairstyle, accent and marital status.

Having armed my scant readership with the essential facts, I would now like to unship the sad news that G., (the light of my life) has also gone onsite. When I confer the title of the light of my life to her, I do not do so with the frivolity of a traipsing teenager. G., over all these years has been singularly responsible for also paying my electricity bills apart from the other assorted collection of ransom notes which invariably rear their ugly heads at the beginning of every month. Now, left to my own devices, I foresee darkness.

Every tumultuous dark cloud however is not bereft of its silver lining and these dark times too are not devoid of merit. We are all aware of that old saw about a man's home being some sort of a castle and the man in question being the king of that castle thingy and we also are equally well aware that it really is all tish-tosh. I have however decided to implement the word and spirit of this old saying. I am therefore proud to break the news that due to the very regrettable temporary absence of G., I (completely disregarding prevalent laws) have proclaimed myself as Actual King of my proverbial castle, thereby elevating my status from that of a piece of coveted furniture to the lord and master of the limited 1200 square feet I survey. I am sorry, but I am quite drunk with power. I however feel obliged to admit that apart from the power, there might also be an assortment of other potent stuff which might be responsible for my inebriation these days, but shall not do so because it really is not of any relevance in this particular discussion. In my prudent nature however, I am aware of the temporal nature of this high position of advantage I hold and ere I relinquish it to the proper authorities, have decided to document below the salient points and revelations of this heady experience.

Revelations and Learnings:

The good news is that leaving the wet towel on the bed after that refreshing shower is not cataclysmic. We have been led to believe that this act is responsible for bad things like the WWII and the way Hrithik Roshan dances, but it is not true. It however does leave your bed and the surrounding environs smelling like a goat.

That thing called the refrigerator is actually useful. It is not one of those wall hanging thingies one is forced to spend hard earned money on, but finds no practical use for. When not crammed with indigenously formulated facepacks, organic vegetables and the wide array of leftovers, the contraption is fully capable of storing a significant percentage of one's 24 pack of Fosters with significant residual acreage for the soda (which we all know goes well with the whisky). Quite miraculously, after all that, it even has some space for the cold meats and the mustard which we all know are of vital importance when the heart thirsts for that sandwich to go with the beer. In all honesty, I am rather pleased with the my refrigerator's recent form.

The division of the happy home into specifically purposed rooms always has been a bit inexplicable. After some research, I am happy to announce that it is all really bunkum. It is yet another superfluous, extravagant superstition. One may successfully maintain the status of a healthy, balanced and happy individual by having dinner, watching television, and going off to sleep at the same point of space. There is absolutely no requirement for one to frantically move from point to point for each of the above mentioned activities. All things may be executed from the same place and that venerated location being in front of the television.

Tags: Situations, refrigerators, onsite

An Elegant Couplet

Is tauba par hain naaz tujhe, zahid is qadr,
Jo toont ke shariq ho mere gunah mein.
-- Daagh Dehlvi

The castle of the vanity of your abstinence o holy one,
Is the mere dust, to mingle with the ruins of my indulgences.
-- Inelegant translation by Bald Monkey

Tags: Urdu, Shayari, Daagh

Air Deccan aka Simpli-Fry

I just have had the good fortune to offer Air Deccan some custom. The experience has been in a certain way, rather exhilarating. There is a robust quality about the way the merry lot go about conducting business. Any captain of industry will tell you that the secret to an admirable and successful business are not the satisfied customers, but the hapless, suffering and inextricably trapped ones. I am happy to deplane the news that Air Deccan has managed to amass the latter variety in droves. As already mentioned, I too was a proud member of this not-so-exclusive club a few days back, and am back with a first hand account of the whole blood curdler.

In all honesty, the hair-raising episodes begin with rather benign, innocuous notes. Upon checking in, one is given that dull yellow boarding pass by a slightly surly stewardess. When enquiring about the conspicuous absence of the seat number on the boarding pass, one will be informed that the seats have been allocated by a brand new method called free-seating. Free-seating when taken upon face value, sounds like a rather benign, democratic phenomenon which can be tackled with the nonchalant wave of the hand. However I am sad to state that very much akin the elections in Bihar, ( which again, taken on face value does sound like an exercise in benign, democratic hobnobbing ) is certainly not to be taken liberties with. It is an exercise fraught with frenzied activity and ruthless blood spilling. I will therefore venture to digress a bit and explain the mechanics of the whole racket for the benefit of the innocent. This free-seating thingy comprises of the following steps:

1. Collect roughly 2/3^rds of all your material possessions and check it in as cabin luggage
2. When inside the craft, seek and destroy all available space in the overhead bins by cramming your stuff into it. If the refrigerator does not fit in the bin above your seat, try and shove it under the seat in front of you. ( That is the law.)
3. Distribute one's family far and wide inside the plane and try and ensure that nobody else occupies the intervening seats so that the loud conversation during the flight is unhindered.
4. Try and browbeat any bald, unattractive man from occupying any seat near one, or the rest of one's family.

The watchful reader however, will have noticed that to conduct and excel at the spirited activity of free seating, one must be inside the craft. I will now try and describe the process by one may insert oneself safely, and effectively into an aeroplane. The following treatise might not help one at all times to get into the desired aircraft, but will certainly ensure that one is in some variety of flying vehicle, with some nature of destination.

The first point one should note is that the time and date for departure expressed on the boarding pass is not be taken literally -- It is more of a metaphoric direction, like a miasmal Nostradamus prophecy or the 30 minute pizza delivery promise from Dominos. A departure is destined, and the faithful are urged to wait. The scheduled departure time shall arrive and then slip away quietly, but the prophetic boarding call shall not do the same. Therein lies the second catch -- there is no boarding call. Air Deccan does not involve itself in such shameless spoon-feeding, but in turn depends on the enterprise, guile and cunning on the part of the passenger to get him/herself boarded. So, here are the broad directions if followed, will prevent one from languishing and withering away at the terminal for the rest of one's natural life.

1. Roughly after an hour after the indicated departure time, take a wary, but careful look around. In one area of the departure terminal one will notice a large, thronging multitude of aspiring passengers waving random objects in the air. Upon closer examination, one will discover that the attention of the merry mob is directed towards a particular door. One is advised to make a mental note of the location of that particular door, since that is the area in which all things interesting shall occur. One is then advised to mentally and physically prepare oneself for the ensuing struggle with the above mentioned thronging multitude. I have, for the convenience of my fellow human beings captured a picture of this doorway:
   
2. One must be warned that getting to the door is not for the faint hearted. Prepare to push, shove, kill and maim to get there. Also do not forget to carry one's hallowed boarding pass.
3. Once one has arrived at the door, standing amidst the remains of many fellow human beings who have perished on the way to the very place where one stands exhausted, one shall encounter a surly sphinx. Upon meeting with him, one is urged to vigorously wave one's boarding pass under his nose. The man then might allow one through. If one is rejected ( One should be prepared to be rejected about a seventeen times), re-insert oneself behind the mob.
4. Repeat from step 2 till desired results are obtained.

Once one has managed to please the sphinx and get into the plane, and has managed to grab a seat for oneself, one is urged to discuss with at least five fellow passengers regarding their personal opinions on the destination of the flight. If three or more individuals concur with one's views on the same subject, one possesses a fighting chance of arriving at the desired destination. The rest of the journey is much simpler -- It mainly comprises of twiddling one's thumbs and gritting one's teeth when being subjected to blank stares from the hostesses.

The whole experience is however not completely devoid of merit and I, in my truthful and informative nature cannot deny the reader this fact. The pleasant aspect of the whole Air Deccan operation is that it does not serve any food, or water on the plane and I, for one am extremely pleased with the revolutionary step. I, do not react extremely favourably to free munchies or dinner served during a journey. I shall not lie -- I gorge and I uncontrollably eat. I have without fail, walked out of many a Rajdhani Express and langar, feeling rather uncomfortable and dyspeptic ( to say the least). Air Deccan has however not subjected me to any such tribulation at all. When I finally trickled out of the airplane, (about a four hours late) I might have been tired, scarred and disoriented, but there were absolutely no signs of heartburn or dyspepsia, and amazingly I was ready for dinner too ! Like numerous other things during the journey, this too was unprecedented.

Tags: Air Deccan, Airports

A Bengali Man's Guide to a Punjabi Wedding

My good friend D. just got married. Heres wishing the brand new couple all the cookies, biscuits and munchies. The news is that I was fortunate enough to have been able to occupy the much venerated position of awkwardly-dressed-gawking-friend at the ceremony. Also, despite my frugal social skills, I did manage to have a whale of a time. All in all, just the thing what the doctor would order.

Reading of my favourable review of the whole racket, my markedly scant readership must be wishing to be a part of a similar cermony so as to make themselves available for the above mentioned whale of a time. I however feel compelled to warn one and all that it is not all that rosy and pink. The punjabi marriage is one fraught with nuances and if one does not keep one's eye's skinned for them, they tend to hit one's face with the intensity of a voluminous, cold, dead fish bunged by an extremist vegetarian. I have therefore garnered a few salient points which will keep the hapless, boring bengali like me in good stead and well prepared for the exigencies that inevitably ensue during the punjabi marriage.

It is Fun : Punjabi weddings are just like the bengali weddings in most ways. It is full of the normal stuff -- the bewildered bridegroom, the coy bride, incoherent sanskrit mantras, the general confusion and the bad clothes. There however exists a profound difference -- the punjabi wedding, in sharp contradistinction to the bengali wedding, is rip-roaring fun. The individual habituated to the bland bengali wedding is warned in advance -- Please do not expect the moribund, machiavellean mukherjii marriage. Be prepared to have some serious fun and one is urged not to feel too guilty or alarmed about it.

Dancing : There will be dancing -- and certainly not in dollops. There will be dancing in large, generous, kingsize portions. Dancing, for me always has been that activity which involves the vigorous shaking of the head to some obscenely loud Deep Purple number. The head may also be repeatedly banged against an object whose hardness is determined by the degree of inebriation. The variety of dancing in question however, is a totally different glass of lassi. The bhangra is more of a rhythmic flailing of hands and knees to some extremely similar sounding songs. Rhythmic movement on my part however has always been an impossible task. Like left-legged souls are therefore warned to steer clear from these immense dancing arenas lest they be dragged in by some extremely enthusiastic individual and subjected to the ignominy of awkwardly jerking one's legs amidst a collection of smooth, silk-shirted bhangra experts. The next logical question that would naturally spring to the mind of the astute two-left-legged individual would be "Where are these immense dancing arenas ?" So, here is the helpful answer: Be very wary of the carpeted areas. Also, if there is a part of the floor which has multicoloured rectangles which abruptly illuminate themselves at regular intervals, that is the part of the planet which is to be treated with extreme caution. The larger problem however is that the action is not confined to these areas themselves. They are just epicentres. It spreads. Therefore, simply zeroing in on one stationary location is utter foolhardiness. Any standard text book on bhangra avoidance would always suggest one to be dynamic, observant and agile. One is urged to keep a very close eye on the mass movement of the dancers and frequently shift base, pretending to have something rather important to execute at any spot where no dancers are present. Language Tip: For some reason, the bhangra is not danced (nachna) it is poured (dalna). Do not say "Woh bhangra nach raha hai !" (He is dancing the bhangra). Always say "Woh bhangra dal raha hai !" (He is pouring the bhangra). If you are in a position where you are about to say "Mein bhangra nach raha hu." ( I am dancing the bhangra ) and you are as talented as I am in the bhangra department, you might as well go and say it, since you have already embarrassed yourself.

The Horse: Somewhere during the proceedings, a white horse shall make an appearance. Even though one will have been crazed by the surfeit of vegetarian food, one is very very strongly urged not to rub one's hands in glee at the hope of some meat on the table. The horse is not for eating. The poor animal, dressed like Kareena Kapoor will be the beast of burden which shall carry the bridegroom into the land where leaving a wet towel on the bed is punishable by death and drinking binges and good food do not exist. To add insult to injury, all and sundry shall cruelly mock the poor bloke by gleefully dancing ( See above ) in front of the very horse while the victim haplessly observes from atop it. I too in my sadistic nature, threw caution to the wind and showcased a few of my personal steps for the benefit of my friend, but was hastily stopped from displaying any more since I was scaring the poor horse. In review, one is advised not to scare, or eat the horse.

Language Tip: The horse in question is a mare and not a stallion. So do not say "Ghoda aa raha hai" ( The stallion is coming ). Instead, say "Ghodi aa rahi hai" ( The mare is coming ). For some strange unexplained reason, "Ghodi aa raha hai" is also not very well received.

Tags: culture, bengali, punjabi, weddings, bhangra