tHe deSk joCkey

It is a cold night, yet I am sweating. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. I had to send my last message out to the world, before I am exposed. However, I need to get out of this place. It’s getting too hot. I turn towards the exit sign carefully tiptoeing past Bhooka Naan, lest his laptop suddenly starts beeping traitor alert. I jumped as I heard a blood curling guttural scream emanating from the TV in the corner. Did Kishen Kanhaiya just have a premature orgasm, I wondered aloud? No, said the guy beside me pulling out his ear plugs. Apparently, Prince of Patiala just hit a ball for two runs.

My pulse is pounding and I know my edginess is as visible as Lordie’s feelings for Australian Phoren Babas. I head out of the stadium unseen into the dark alleys behind. The glitz, glamour and the noise now seem as fake as Sandy Baddy Babe’s claims to be a cricket expert. A sudden noise made me duck into a dark corner. I peered out at the two dark shadows…Bubli and Appam Chutiya? “I know you are Chutiya outside but all Appam inside”, she was saying. “But the only reason I didn’t hug you last year was because you smelt of fish curry. Why did you have to be a big cry baby about it?”. Appam broke down again. “C’mon!”, she continued, “let’s assume we are underpaid, overworked cheerleaders pretending we enjoy shaking our booty in front of drunk crazed guys for a game we have no clue about”.

The very sight of a Mallu moon walk/crotch grab paired with ugly Bollywood gyrations made me as sick as downing a whole keg of Mr. Batlivala’s beer sitting on his cheaper airline. I had to get away from it. I sneaked into another dark alley trying to find my way out of this maze.

I heard a flapping sound behind me. I whirled around just in time to see a wiry figure descend from the skies. Kaan Moolo! “You can fly with your ears?!?!?”. “Of course”, he replied. “Not many people know this, but I am an indirect descendant of Prof. Charles Xavier. I even went to audition for the role of his long lost son in X-Men: The Flappables, but unfortunately I couldn’t…ummm…perform at the crucial moment”. I nodded understandingly. “Anyway enough about me. I just came to warn you that they are hot on your trail. The only place to hide is behind Big Sister’s legs. They would never be able to look beyond them”. I felt a pang of guilt. “Before you leave man, what I wrote about you….”. He smiled, “I can’t catch the Tata Sky signals. At least not with the huge cloud over our team”. And he disappeared into the night, leaving me wondering WTF just happened…just the way I felt when I saw him bowl three long hops in a row following three beautiful out-swingers.

I decided this night was getting weirder by the minute. I tore out of the alley but stopped dead seeing the big frame of Little John appear before me. He was seething. I turned another corner only to see Bangla Tiger brandishing fake whiskers. Shaking at the prospect of facing two fast bowlers, I ran back towards the alley, but it dead-ended into a huge poster of Little Monster selling me a cola. Yea, fat chance that incessant burping is going to get me out of this mess.

I was cornered. There was nowhere to run.

That’s when I saw Lalit Modi’s face come towards me with a grin as chilling as the Joker’s…”We are not just going to F you. We’re going to DLF you!”.

“Ar…Are you going to make me captain of KKR?”, I shuddered.

A goat started crying beside me. Slightly confused, I turned to the side to see THE Dildo stepping out into the light laughing. “You think we would let you off that easy?”. He slowly reached into his pocket, brought something out and pointed it at me…the air went out of my lungs.

It was a director’s cut DVD of Ram Jaane!

NOOOOOOOOOO…

I woke up, sweat covered, as my wife turned on the light beside her and turned to me exasperated. “Did you have the same stupid nightmare about that injection on your ass when you were five?”. I shivered, “No, this time it was much worse”. She persisted, “Being Kangana Ranaut’s boyfriend then?”. I pulled a blanket around me, “I dreamt I was F…F…Fake IPL Player!”.

The next thing I felt was me being tossed out of the room with my pillow and the slam of the bedroom door.

“I knew I should have married the other guy”…

Indian politics is dirty, period! People threatening to chop people’s hands off, people calling parties “Gudiya” when they themselves are of the paapi variety, calling a grizzled old man a melting “Iron Man” and people threatening to crush other people under a roller…it almost feels like watching Playboy bunnies in the middle of a pillow fight; minus the reason why we watch them in the first place. However some endearing stories of valor and vision emerge from the maze. Much like young Jamaal emerging from the pile of crap.

Matuknath Chaudhary is a true revolutionary. Which is analogous to saying he is a true Bihari. Societal norms be dammed, this man has single handedly validated Rajesh ‘tu-tho-pagli-hai-re’ Khanna’s and Amitabh ‘I-like-girls-with-long-legs’ Bachchan’s turnouts in ‘Wafaa’ and ‘Nishabd’. His party appropriately titled “Prem Party”, aims to build parks around Patna to enable Viagra armed old geezers and MMS armed young couples indulge in man’s oldest hobby without the pressure of the world’s most effective spy network (read: your siblings/neighbors/mohalla) or the corrupt havaldar hiding behind trees/garbage bins hounding you. Perhaps the need arose from his own experience of being caught saying ‘My heart is beating’ to his lady love Julie Kumari, by his wife. That Neanderthal! Hasn’t she ever seen the true heart behind the man in all their years of marriage? Doesn’t she know that the workings of the dil are much beyond the comprehension of even the most renowned cardiologists? Hasn’t she ever spent Rs 500 on a platinum multiplex ticket to view one of Baba Yash Chopra’s divine revelations? Even that other high priest of love, Lalu Prasad Yadav gave his blessings to the couple, going on to suggest that the concerned parties should be a happy threesome…which brought a somewhat disturbing threesome image to my perverted mind. Lalu, Rabri and their favorite cow – the disturbing part being Lalu and Rabri.

The genius of the man! With his motto, he has reached out to the largest vote base possible – the young ones who are tired of poorly lit rooms and damp under-rock hideouts, and the old ones who have pretty much stopped caring for everything around them. The only people who find his message blasphemous are the couples working all day taking care of either the youngies or oldies or both. And these are the people who don’t go out to vote anyway. Their effect on election results is about as much as Arbaaz Khan’s effect on Malaika Arora’s career. And in that message is also a subtle slap on all the politicians talking economics, religion, poverty and terrorism as he brings the focus back on the ONE thing that a person yearns for the most – the need to be loved without having to check in to a motel named “Good Fun”.

It is interesting to note that he is contesting against Shatrughan “Shotgun” Sinha.

Prem vs. Shotgun – Given the state of the world, isn’t that a fight worth fighting?

You sir, have my vote!

It isn’t pleasant when you wake up on April 1st to the following news stories, presumably on TOI…

The Samajwadi Party sprung a surprise when they short listed Chota Shakeel as a prospective replacement to Sanjay Dutt after a court denied the actor’s request to contest the polls. Likening Shakeel to “Circuit” from the Munnabhai movies, Amar Singh said that the real-life and reel-life gangsters shared a special kinship which showed that the SP is a party for all people regardless of mental ability and criminal past. Varun Gandhi meanwhile died laughing in jail ultimately serving Shakeel’s original purpose.

Mamata Bannerjee blamed global warming, recession and Mimoh Chakraborty’s debut film performance on the CPI-M and Ratan Tata. Speaking to reporters (who were there only because they had nothing better to do), the fiery activist said that Ratan Tata was secretly planting advanced intelligent chips within Nano cars programmed to attack her in the year 2025, when she will finally come to power in West Bengal. Not quite understanding what chips meant, she organized a bandh to shut down all department stores selling Lay’s, Ruffles and Kurkure.

Microsoft Software engineers sue Microsoft because after racking their brains (and being denied a bathroom break) to answer the super tough “How would you design Bill Gates’ bathroom – money no bar” question in their interviews, they eventually only got to design boring operating systems and word processing applications under tight budgets. On a related note, Bill Gates also sued Microsoft because nobody ever ended up designing a bathroom for him.

7 year old kid stumps financial experts with the simple question – “If banks gave money to daddy to buy a house and daddy gave money to person who is selling the house and person who sold the house puts money back in bank, and daddy is also paying the bank, then why are banks failing?”. The CEO of Citibank later resigned and Barack Obama replaced Tim Geithner with the kid.

Talking about banks, the sub-prime mortgage crisis is actually a sham. It was learnt that banks actually lost money playing slots and blackjack in Las Vegas. Through complex statistical analysis it was deduced that the Risk / ROI (Return on Investment) ratio was the same as lending money to a drugged up unemployed crazed guy living in a trailer, to buy a house in Beverly Hills. Congress passes a bill to declare Bellagio, MGM Grande and The Venetian as banks.

John Buchanan finally scrapped his multiple captain theory and resigned as coach after the Kolkata Knight Riders (KKR) lose a match where the batsman dropped to the ground crying when 6 runs were needed of 1 ball. Apparently Ganguly wanted him to take off his shirt, Gayle wanted him to bat left-handed, McCullum wanted him to join the ICL, David Hussey forgot his allegiances and sledged him and Brad Hodge couldn’t care less as he was tucking into some rasagollas. Shah Rukh Khan later decided that KKR does not need a coach and recruited Dilip Vengsarkar as chief astrologist for being prescient about above event.

Above mentioned people/organizations sent legal notices to this blog for slander/defamation. Desipundit, Blogbharti and a whole host of bloggers took up my case and this blog became no. 1 on Technorati and Alexa. Indibloggies meanwhile was conned into believing that this is a popular blog and awarded it blog of the year. 2006 winner and top contender for this year Great Bong sued Indibloggies which in turn sued Technorati which sued me back. I take down post but later talk to Katie Couric, Diane Sawyer and Simi Garewal and write a book on my experience. Everyone wins in the end!

Granted these are figments of my demented imagination. But it truly is scary when there’s a strong possibility of April fool’s jokes being…well, not jokes at all. Be afraid Fool…be very afraid.

The age old anthropological debate of the XX vs. XY never seems to end now, does it? It seems to be a real favorite filler for slow news days or dumb celebrity questions you would ask on Valentine’s day. Unfortunately a lot of these pieces seem to be targeted at why women think men are dogs and what they could do to improve and be a poodle instead a.k.a this one that came my way from a woman I know closely with a *winky-wink* emoticon attached to it. So being the stand up guy I am, I have decided to umm…stand up for all the guys over the world, who are too lazy to stand up themselves or are passed out at the local bar or busy sweating over their latest fling, and set forth a series of lessons that educates thy women on what we have to put up with. Drum roll…

Lesson #1: The Memory

Have you ever sat on Sundays during the 90s and looked in ill-concealed wonderment at those kids doling out those little-known answers on the Bournvita Quiz Contest? A-ha, step aside Derek O’ Brien’s minions. You just met the ONE. Yup! The one who remembers whether you called her at 12am on her birthday 10 yrs back. The one that can remember the date / time / place / color of clothing / sitting position / how many pigeons flew over your head when you committed your last transgression. And the one who can somehow relate your forgetting to leave the toilet seat down with why she always thought that you were never in touch with your feelings and rattles off all the times when you preferred watching Andaz Apna Apna to talking about where your relationship was heading. Now it is said that women have an amazing ability to forgive the worst blunders. Unfortunately that ability is not translated to forgetting. On the other hand, it is said men forget but do not forgive. Makes sense, we don’t forgive because we simply can’t remember what to forgive.

Lesson #2: The Bitching Gossiping Talking

Fancy sitting on a lazy weekend afternoon gawking at Aishwarya Rai in all her mini skirted glory from Dhoom 2 and get the sudden question – “Isn’t she a complete hypocrite and totally fake?”. Now in the best GRE/TOEFL/GMAT tradition pick the right answer

a) “Are you serious? Look at those sexy long legs and that pout. Nothing on her looks fake.”
b) “Naah, she actually is a homely person. Probably was desperate to get married”
c) Drooling from the corner of the mouth, you fail to acknowledge her.
d) You change channels and watch Mayawati/Mamata Bannerjee give another of their crazed speeches and mention something about politics to make her go away.
e) The person you hate the most calls and you happily greet him like a long lost brother.

The answer? It is secret option ‘f’, which means say “Yes, she is insanely fake and hypocritical. In fact I think she re-invented fake and took it to a whole new level”. And then sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor as she takes you through why she thinks Ash married AB Jr, but is actually interested in AB Sr and how she is probably Manglik because she ruined Salman and Vivek’s careers and is now doing the same to AB Jr. And don’t bring a confused expression to your face as she drifts into different tangents talking about how she had a similar relative, Meeta Maasi, who is exactly like that and how her son Shantu had an affair with his neighbor, but now they are married to different people. And if you don’t know who Meeta Maasi/Shantu/Shantu’s neighbor are and how they relate to Ash and Abhi, then take a deep breath and count from 1 to 10. During these times, the women aren’t looking for an opinion/question/interruption. All they want is a pair of tympanic membranes to vibrate their sound bytes off.

Lesson #3: The Gift

You give her chocolates but you forget the flowers. You get her flowers but you forget the chocolates. You get her flowers and chocolates but you forget the date. You remember the date, chocolates and flowers but forget to get her a card. You remember the date, chocolates, flowers and the card but forget that teddy bear. You remember the date, chocolate, flowers, card and the friggin’ teddy bear and forget that you just ran out of cash for dinner after that! You tell her you forgot the whole damn thing with a sad face and she gives you the most beautiful hug with an angelic smile and tells you that she loves you regardless…while she has mentally stored it somewhere in her mind’s extensive data warehouse to be mined much later – re-read Lesson 1. No winning there sir. Unfortunately one of life’s great unsolved mysteries to go along with why women love Salman Khan despite his driving over pavement dwellers in his fancy car and why they still hate you for accidentally driving over a rotting carcass on your Hero Puch.

Lesson #4: The “That Time of the Month”

Now if you are wondering if this is a good thing, and you are newly married, then won’t you sit down…yes, that couch would be better, you might need to lie down in a while. There are few things that cause a man to break out in cold sweat than THAT critical time of the month. In fact it is the only time of the month he gets turned off by the front cover of Playboy and looks longingly at John Abraham wishing how things would be simpler…sigh. Now given the propensity of the XY variety to screw up often, the wafer thing margin of error basically…vanished! Imagine your mother’s womb being cursed for producing scum like you becaaaaaaaause…you showed up at 7:02 when you promised to meet her at 7:00. Or how about practicing some tai-chi to learn to tackle the flying projectiles coming your way because you paused about 257 milliseconds before answering the 8.0 Richter scale question “Am I looking fat?”. Now do the math – assuming that this time lasts a week, and a week before is spent preparing for this week, and you screwed up the week before because you missed a spot while vacuuming and you add in a buffer of four days you are going to piss her off because you want to watch Sehwag hammering the Kiwis, it basically leaves you with about 3 days of bliss per month. Make them count my friend. Now shoo…and before you leave, could you sign this legal document stating that YOU put that stain on the couch and not ME?

Lesson #5: The Disclaimer (Re-read paragraph/word formation/precise punctuation many times and commit to memory)

This is for my dear better half. All incidents and facts reported above are purely anecdotal and happened in other people’s lives. You remain the perfect girl in my life and are completely unlike anything I have described. Being with you has been like being on a picnic. And what I term crazy for other girls in above lessons, in you, I call it a wonderful attention to detail. (Now please remove the gun off my forehead. that barbed wire from around my wrists and that needless MCP sign off my back).

The Conclusion

All such lists/lessons are inherently banal. As much as the women make tall aspirations about the perfect man and men have dreams of the perfect Pamela look-alike, the thing that attracts us to each other is the imperfections in us. It adds spice to a relationship and helps us bond to each other better. In effect, the feeling of completing each other comes when we negate each other’s limitations rather than complement each other’s qualities. And usually marriages/relationships fail because people are unable to come to terms with their own expectations rather than the failings of their partner. So in conclusion? All you women are as hot as Angelina and all you men (even you with the beer belly) are as cool as Brad. Unless there is a nanny in the mix…in which case this whole exercise is a moot point anyway.

A day later, the emotion has perhaps settled a little, but the strange sense of hopelessness has not. As I sit today reading through the details coming in through various outlets, it feels that there is no way you can be ready for this despite 60+ years of terrorism. And while I grow weary at the renewed finger pointing across the border (haven’t we had enough of that in the last 4 months?), a couple of things don’t make sense to me at all

1) Why would the terrorists, who have unashamedly killed innocent women and children before, have any qualms about killing high profile cricketers? If their intent is to destabilize the ruling powers, anyone is fair game. So where does the confidence on cricketers being safe, come from?

2) Why is it important to stage cricket games to prove a point? When did cricketers become diplomats or statesmen for their countries? And what if the tour had gone without incident? All it proves, and has proved in the past, is that the security was tight or the terrorists didn’t think it worthy enough of their time. It doesn’t automatically make Pakistan a safer place, nor does it force other countries to reverse their decisions. This leaves the door open to just one disturbing possibility – money.

The Indian team luckily or prudently decided not to tour Pakistan. And the thought of seeing Tendulkar’s and Dhoni’s name substituted for Samaraweera and Paranavithana fuels the worst of what-if fears in us. However, the biggest losers in this are Pakistan cricket and the state of Pakistan as a whole. And somehow, I feel sad for the people living in the country; saddled with the worst of regimes, facing the worst of uncertainties, and living in fear of the worst of the backlashes from the rest of the world.

Several years back, when I was still in university, I had the pleasure of having a Pakistani as my neighbor. Now like the average Indian who viewed their country through the same blood tainted lens the politicians paint for us, I was a little wary and perhaps remained even a little distant to him. However like all guys in general we bonded one day over a glass of vodka (which I was surprised that he was willing to drink despite his religion), a guitar and a lot of good food. And while discussing various topics in general, we inevitably came to the subject of tensions between our countries. And he made a few points that touched me immensely. He said, “I am proud to be a Pakistani, yet there is no one who appreciates that”. “People here in the US have sympathy for the Iraqi, muted admiration or fascination for the Iranian and are just in plain awe of the Indians and Chinese. But when I mention that I am a Pakistani, they reserve their contempt masked by patronizing dismissal only for us”. And he continued by saying that one day, he wanted to see his own country stand tall for its achievements and not its dubious relationships. He said that the average Pakistani is yearning to be a citizen of the world and not unofficially belong to the official “Axis of Evil”. And finally I asked him if he would ever marry an American and he said he would, if she would convert to Islam. What about an Indian? He said he could never return to his country. And that saddened me because I might have given the same answer regarding marriage to a Pakistani. As much as we would like to break our shackles, we still feel incredibly burdened by our past.

And that is precisely why I don’t feel the necessity to call out the hollowness of calls to visit the country. Neither do I want to succumb to the urge to wrap this situation in an incredibly funny yet disturbing way. Because the fault does not lie with the people making these calls. Because as much as we are led to believe that Pakistan’s failure lies in harboring and nurturing terrorism, that notion is fundamentally wrong. Their failure lies in its inability to give the average citizen the opportunity to flourish and prosper in this world. Its failure lies in its inability to clearly define a vision for its country. And its failure lies in ignoring the basic pillars that build a successful state of governance – education, infrastructure and economy. By allowing the military to rule the roost at the forefront or behind the scenes, they pretty much guaranteed that they would always make the wrong friends – the Taliban, or make friends for the wrong reasons – the USA.

And not all countries are completely successful at containing terrorism and unrest. India’s extreme economic progress masks a lot of its own problems with the Hindu fundamentalists and Naxalites. Even the USA with all its mighty technology and prosperity could do nothing to contain the widespread crime, rioting and looting in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Eventually, when you remove hope from a person, he/she very rapidly descends down a path of destruction. Now apply that to a significant majority of a country’s population and you get one giant terrorist state.

In the wake of these attacks, it is obviously easy to want to isolate Pakistan from the rest of the world. However an isolated Pakistan is not only ripe for the taking for the likes of JeM, LeT, Harkat and the Taliban, but it also means that India would become the new Israel – having Pakistan, Bangladesh, China and Sri Lanka as our neighbors.

And that possibility is a lot more disturbing than the current state of affairs.

Cross-posted here.

Why the hell do we even care anymore? Why the hell should we not let society descend into total bedlam and let the evil run riot? Because somewhere deep inside we believe in the goodness of those around us…and we believe that the basic structure of society is built on the trust that each one of us will contribute our part.

But some days it is just too hard to trust in it.

Why attack innocent sportspersons who ignored the fact that no one else wanted to take their place, and displayed the truest form of friendship? Why attack innocent protectors of the law who brave the worst that life has to offer and form the first wall of defense against this evil? Why attack innocents, period?

Moot questions all.

Some days it is just too hard…

As India celebrates the monumental achievement of Slumdog Millionaire’s coup of the Oscars, some very prominent personalities rush to embrace the occasion. While Anil Kapoor has let all of his hair down (briefly causing environmentalists to believe that the Amazon rainforests have been restored), the Congress has rushed to indirectly claim responsibility for poor sanitation, child exploitation, corruption, slums, dogs, and ergo inspiration for Slumdog. Even the judge adjudicating the protest against the title, hailed it as “furnishing us with the tools” to tackle the problems depicted in the movie. Now whether he was calling Anil Kapoor a tool or was suggesting people dip themselves in human feces to tackle the serious problem of dispersing a crowd surrounding their favorite stars, is being hotly debated in the by lanes of Dharavi and the now “haath hi mere saathi” clubs of Mangalore alike. However, in all the euphoria, a prominent but drowned voice of dissent mixed with mild contempt emerged as a discordant note. Much like a sour grape in the middle of a fruit salad or like constipation in the middle of your morning ablutions - it bothers you a lot more than you think.

No one has done more to inadvertently promote the movie than the variety of quotes provided by Amitabh Bachchan (also referred to below as Big B, AB, Mr. B, Amitji etc) and now lately Jaya Bachchan. Now, AB is either incredibly smart at using the media to his advantage or treats them as a necessary nuisance to his celebrated life. And he uses his blog intelligently to diss reporters for all the reasons that keep him in the news, much to our weariness. For e.g., note the remarkably wordy post to describe, in his words, a remarkably “innocuous incident”, when Kareena supposedly snubbed the Big B at an event. Now for all you people concerned about ABCL’s financial mishaps a decade back will be pleased to know of Amitji’s new found frugality.

“Media must know that I carry my own camera department at public functions, just so we can counter misuse of the visuals that the, so called professional, media records.”

Also allegedly reported is that Mr. B employs a department to find new temples in remote towns and another department that keeps a tab on the number of times a camera has caught Jaya Bachchan smiling (that number is still in single digits since 1973).

But back on subject, first time around, he offered up an opinion on the movie, wrapped it around the pretext of promoting debate and sounded sufficiently hurt when the media from Mumbai to Manchester ran with his quote terming it to “slam” the movie. Now AB has a way with words that makes the most mundane of posts seem like poetry - the kind of poetry that you have to “by-heart” in your hindi classes in school. So I feel for the deadline-weary journos who have to read through 3000+ word blog posts to look for juicy titbits of information. Here’s a humble request on their behalf.

Saar, pliss to be writing some easy posts so that they not to be drowning in the deepness of your esteemed dad’s weighty musings to understand what your real opinion is.

However, in a more snarky interview to a routinely boring questionnaire, he clarified his opinion in a more understandable form. Like when you watched your first porn movie and went “a-ha” after you finally figured what goes in where.

“SlumDog is a very well crafted film. But no different in story and content from a Manmohan Desai or a Prakash Mehra film of the 70’s and 80’s. In many ways it is a great tribute to these giant makers and to the Indian Film Industry.”

Now Mr. B might want to temper the euphoria over a British-made movie on India, or he really is filled with a genuine sense of self-important nostalgia. Or perhaps, he wants us all to go “a-ha” when we finally see the parallel between Manmohan Desai’s deeply moving “Saari duniya ka bhoj hum uthaate hain” and “O Saaya”. Or maybe, Anil Kapoor is doing the 2008 version of “Mere angne mein tumhaara kya kaam hai” in the movie, when he attempts to sabotage the slum-dog’s success in “Who wants to be a Millionaire”. Or perhaps we all don’t appreciate the grandness of our own movies enough to have the nerve to go gaga over a westerner’s blinkered view of our country. Fair enough, point well made sir. However, would you rather we go gaga over your bahu’s over-hyped appearance in Pink Panther 2? Or should we be puffing our chests in pride at your beta’s entry into the Guinness Book?

While your exposure, perhaps, is the longest, you are not alone in being hounded by the media. Despite whatever is reported, you remain one of the most sought-after celebrities in any era. Then, as the Joker would say, why so serious?

Sometimes we tend to carried away with the general sentiment against a person. And when your spouse happens to like putting his foot in his mouth, you are pretty much fighting a losing battle. But I was pleasantly surprised to see Manyata Dutt’s interview on a show called First Ladies on a dubiously named channel NDTV good times. Dubious, however, Manyata is not. In fact she comes across as a straight talking, in your face person with no time for hangers on or in fact Sanjay Dutt’s own shenanigans. And for the first time, I actually saw why the Dutt sisters are wary of this one. Amongst a host from her, my favorite quote from the show was regarding handling Sanju’s finances - “I have to handle his finances or Sanjay will spend it on cars, watches or lend it to his loser friends“. Priceless! And an awesomely public way to send loser friends scurrying away with their tails between their legs.

A word about the show. Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla are two of most insufferably boring hosts I have seen. There was another one with Suzanne Roshan (look around youtube) and the questions made her look positively ditsy and Hrithik completely dimwitted. Credit to Manyata for making it more watchable than it is.

For all you desis who thought introducing Chicken Vindaloo, Ayurveda, Software Engineers and Aishwarya Rai (not to be consumed together) to the west made you accepted, think again. You know that the east has truly arrived when a major television network decides that the favorite pastime of numerous chachas and maamis with 20-something nieces/nephews/neighbor’s daughter, is basis for a “ground-breaking” reality show tentatively titled “Arranged Marriage”. Or what the single 20-somethings in India call “those nosy-nothing-better-to-do buzzards”.

However, ground-breaking it is not. Even the whole premise of the show is not that interesting. Basically it is family and friends playing Alok Nath & Reema Lagoo from multiple Sooraj Barjatya movies finding a suitable jeevan-sathi for the single person in question. The couple marries and then allows CBS to make money off of their arguments on who gets to take the trash out or what color the walls should be. Newsflash CBS! That ain’t “arranged marriage”, but just any ol’ plain marriage. But what caught my eye was the rediff-messageboard-like quality of the comments on that post. One such gem included this excerpt -

“…I have traveled and worked in Afghanistan and Pakistan and Iran. Arranged marriages means FORCED MARRIAGES AND HONOR KILLINGS IN THOSE COUNTRIES AND MANY OTHER MUSLIM SOCIETIES…”

Without casting aspersions on the experiences of the author (or why it needed all CAPS to drive the point home), it is interesting to note the generalization applied to the Muslim culture of what (s)he has witnessed in these shining beacons of anti-democracy. Unless of course “Forced” and “Honor Killings” is more a metaphor for anyone getting married. But retarded concept aside, why would this be any fun to the Jerry Springer/Dr. Phil style marriage problems the Americans love to feast on? Perhaps Lou Dobbs can take umbrage at another illegal alien concept crossing the hallowed borders of America.

Nothing like the reality show that would be in display on the streets of Bangalore come Valentine’s Day though. The magnanimous not-for-profit (but-out-of-work) outfit called Ram Sena, presumably inspired by the CBS effort, has decided that forcibly marrying couples seen openly dating on said day is the best way to thwart the celebration. Perhaps, after being universally chastised for smacking the girls on their heads in the Mangalore incident, they have now decided to let all the guys, looking for the perfect day to “make fraanship”, smack their own collective heads. And what’s more, they are going to send out senas armed with the modern day equivalent of the bow and Bhram-astra arrow – a video camera and a turmeric stub. If that doesn’t scare the canoodling couples, the half-bored faces of marriage registrars screaming “Yahaan sign karo!” and multiple sainiks screaming “Hum Dost Hain!!” (courtesy: Deewana Mastana) certainly will. After I was done rolling around the floor in laughter and being rudely reminded by my wife that she had just vacuumed, a few intensely logical thoughts entered my mind (the type of thoughts that occur to you if you are not a Ram sainik).

1) How do these guys know if a couple is married/dating/related/just accidentally standing within an imaginary circle, the diameter of which equals Jayalalitha’s gut?

2) I get the video camera part, just in case any of the couples is engaging in MMS suitable action. But the turmeric? Is that an aspiration towards yellow journalism?

3) In which episode of the 40 set DVD box of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan, did I miss Lord Arun Govil’s intense crusade against St. Valentine?

The silver lining - all you guys ‘n gals looking for the perfect opportunity to elope, the free marriage offer lasts for just a day.

All in all, two reality shows, disparate motivations, same emotional atyachar!

Dear Barkha,

This letter is with reference to the legal notice you/NDTV sent out to Mr. Kunte. You go girl!! Don’t let these blogger-shogger type people (myself excluded) citing free speech get your kurtis in a twist. They just shouldn’t be allowed to get away with slanderous posts sullying your good name and the extensive effort you put in making the most mundane news seem like a Mona Chopra wardrobe malfunction. Your name is not just a name. It is an institution….like IIPM or Sanjay Dutt’s view of marriage. Off-topic, are the two of you perchance related? Oh never mind…

I don’t understand the criticism that’s come your way for the 26/11 coverage. I mean c’mon!! What’s the big deal in showing commandos lurking on roof tops, or clarifying hostage numbers in the hotels? It isn’t your fault that you see the big picture and realize that the real victims in this crisis would have been the viewers, confused seeing the same mind-numbing images without new information. It isn’t your fault that you wanted to prevent a finger cramp epidemic for people surfing through various channels looking for updates. It’s you who really has the pulse of a nation fed by subtlety-averse Ekta Kapoor emotional sagas. Seriously, what fun would a movie like say Lakshya be if we had to watch Preity Zinta’s oversized face (no offense) all through the movie without watching Amitabh Bachchan’s oversized face dictating tactics? Or without your shoving a microphone up people’s…umm…noses, how would I know what a person is REEEALLLY feeling seeing his/her loved ones taken hostages? How would we know that the situation is dire without you raising the decibels in your melodic voice to a level at which even dogs and owls can sense the tension? I gotta tell you babe, you really put the Pee in “We the People”.

And I don’t get what is wrong with a little hyperbole anyway. The whole booming business of push up/padded bras and male-enlargement pills come with the basic human tendency to show something bigger than it actually is. I mean…if above-mentioned Ekta Kapoor can make a fortune out of playing Mozart’s 40th symphony interspersed with Kal Ho Na Ho sad songs to depict someone choking on a peanut, why cant you? If Shah Rukh Khan can pretend that Om Shanti Om is the best movie of all time, then why can’t you? If Jayalalitha can call a diet a hunger strike, why can’t you? If Rakhi Sawant really could be a male trapped in a female body, why can’t you? So many questions these bloggers don’t care to answer. These punks want the truth…but can’t handle the truth. They don’t realize that putting their views in such a public forum shows India in an even poorer light than a million Slumdogs.

Let me officially state my support for your cause. Taking inspiration from you, I have decided to shoot a legal notice to my boss for busting my ass publicly for watching porn on the live production server. I have also decided to serve legal notice to my dad for terming me irresponsible in front of my family when I used his credit card to play online teen-patti. I also am going to serve legal notices to multitudes of friends, colleagues and acquaintances who I suspect have bitched behind my back due to the above two libelous allegations. And while I’m at it, I will also send a legal notice to the Maharshtra government for giving me whiplash from pot-holed roads and to Sajid Khan for giving me a headache watching the Star Screen Awards.

For, like you, I believe that the power of free speech should only lie with the person who owns the press.

Yours and NDTV’s forever