Saturday, November 21, 2015

In His MataaJi’s Service

Courtesy -

Pahleaaj Cutwani, chief Censor Bore of India has the world’s toughest job. It’s not easy being the ‘maali’ of the Garden of Eden, relentlessly snipping and pruning amoral apples to keep Adam away from temptation. Adam is a gullible fool. He needs to be told what he wants and kept away from sin. Then there’s naughty Eve and her naughtier python, tantalising Adam with unnecessary skin show. For the greater good of mankind, Pehleaaj has tried several times to tempt Eve into wearing clothes. He even gifted her a Satya Paul sari. But that evil woman prefers draping the python, not around her unmentionables but her neck. Yeesh! Even that stupid python refuses to wear the cool designer Yoga wear that Cutwani bought from Baba Reebokdev store. I mean you have to be an idiot to refuse a miraculous garment that can cure piles, homosexuality, eczema and bad body odour with just a tug of the naarha.

Pehleaaj has appointed himself as the conscience keeper of the Garden of Eden (GE), even if it’s at the cost of becoming the butt of unkind jokes by immoral people who have nothing better to do. These are but small sacrifices you make when you are in His Majesty’s Service. Like the ordeal of having to watch that old man Craig kiss the older woman Belucci for such an excruciatingly long time. Since he could not see a mangalsutra around Monica jee’s neck, Pahleaaj Cutwani was quick to deduce they were not married.

What kind of culture allows elderly men and women to indulge in such brazen behaviour when they should be engaged in pooja-paath and satsang!

Of course, Pahleaaj was extremely upset. There’s no way he could let his great culture get corrupted by this lowly culture that makes such a show of lust. Imagine the catastrophic influence a man well into his 40’s, who has yet to marry, but is not a virgin and doesn’t stay with his parents, can have on the gullible Adam! What’s more, the shameless man beds a new woman every week without getting charged for rape!

Had Bond been brought up with right sanskars, he would never have let Halle Berry jee come out of the ocean half naked. Instead, he would have run up to her and said – behen, aapke ke pass kapde nahin hai?

Desi bond can never get the license to kill. In our Garden of Eden, to get one measly license, one has to fill 25 forms in triplicate and then bribe ‘different-different’ officers to get them do the work for which they are paid salaries from our taxes.

Pahleaaj Cutwani has made up his mind. Since it’s too late to change this dirty British agent 007, he will create his desi version who’ll be purer than Ganga-jal. Of course, he’ll have to collaborate with Sooraj Barjatiya to make it into a wholesome entertainment that the entire family can watch while munching Kurkure.

He’ll be called Prem, Prem Boondiwale. A halwai in the kingdom of Pritampur, he doubles up as a secret agent when business is slow. Since he’s a devout bhakt who fasts on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday and refuses to indulge in non-veg activities on these days, his missions will take years to complete. By that time the villain will die of boredom, hence no need for unnecessary violence. Prem has only two true loves, his Maajee and his pet Pomeranian Barfi and he kisses neither of them. Not even chastely. The women of Pritampur call him Boondiwale bhaiyya and in his free time, he often plays antakshari with them. Prem’s favourite drink has to be Goumutra shaken not stirred, a sprig of tulsi tossed in carelessly. He will drive around in a Nano with seats still covered with plastic.

Prem’s Maajee is in fact M, the head of MI6 and he is employed in his MataaJi’s service. This will take care of the women’s emancipation angle.

If his mission demands he cavort with women from other lowly cultures, he will seduce them by lighting agarbattis in his bedroom and then introduce them to his Maa.

Cutwani can’t stop smiling. All the khadi yoga outfits that he’d bought for that ungrateful python can now be worn by Prem, his new hero, with no license to kill. His new flick will have 32 songs, including Diwali, Rakhi and Holi item numbers and 6 desh-bhakti geets that’ll be played at all parties for the next decade. He already has a list of movie titles – Casino Gayo Bhaad Mein, For Your Bhai Only, The Chaiwala Who Loved Me…. The script can always be written on set as the shooting progresses.

If only Pahleaaj Cutwani can issue a diktat that allows only him and Barjatiya to make films, he will turn GE into heaven. And if he makes sure his movies are like the bhakti video he made in honour of his Majesty, no one will ever feel like watching movies.

No bamboo, no flute.


Thursday, November 12, 2015

We Are The Champions of Tolerance!

Dearest countrymen and women, till a few days back I was like you and SRK, wondering if intolerance is on the rise, pulling us back to the dark ages. Though I’m still not sure why they call it the dark ages, because our ancestors were pretty chilled out. They encouraged questioning, argument, debate and the give and take of ideas instead of banishing anyone who dared disagree, to a land infested by Mughals and calling them pseudo intellectuals. Instead of throwing ink at each other, they preferred inking literary works like the Urubhanga, Mricchakatika and Meghadootam as well as the most liberal Indian export in history, Kama Sutra. True, Edison had yet to light up their lives but even we in our modern times, experience dark ages, staring at walls, thanks to the efficiency of our vidyut boards.

Lynching for eating mutton that might have been beef. Lynching for being low-caste. Lynching for ‘just like that’. Inking Sudheendra Kulkarni (I’m no fan, even then). Killing of Kalburgi, for his frequent criticism of what he saw as superstition and false beliefs.

Dare you say that such concerted “incidents” are shameful! Dare you say that culprits are inflicting these with impunity because they know they’ll be safe! You were promptly labelled as ant-national, ‘pseudo Hindu’ and offered a one way ticket to Pakistan by ‘Yogis and Sadhvis’ who magically appear on TV. Come to think of it, are they actually Pakistani tourism, since no one in their right senses would visit that country!
Image courtesy Twitter

But seriously, where were these sainiks of true Hindu religion, when Babar invaded India? Where was the bravado when Tipu Sultan massacred Hindus and razed temples? Why didn’t they burst crackers when Humayun tumbled down the stairs and fractured his skull?

Monday, October 26, 2015

Maggi Wapsi

Courtesy - Google images

The Bombay High Court on Thursday set aside the countrywide ban on nine variants of Nestle’s Maggi instant noodles, saying the national food regulator had acted in an “arbitrary” manner and not followed the “principles of natural justice” while banning the product.

The residents of Hungristan are dusting cobwebs from their kitchen pots and pans, nervously clicking gas-lighters, hovering near their gas-stoves, their stomachs rumbling in anticipation. Their favourite, sweetheart of millions, Maggiwati is returning after a long vanwas.

Though it’s been only a few months since she went missing, but it feels like a lifetime. Unable to bear the trauma of waking up hungry on those lonely nights, and no simmering Maggiwati to cuddle up to, Dharmendra had taken to writing angst filled poetry. His composition – My life is an empty bartan

                     baby jaan, you are my dhakkan, 
                     ajaa hila de mera chammach, is now a superhit Honey Singh number, providing succour to unhappy souls guzzling beer at happy hours.

When Sunny, Bunny, Chavanni first heard this song at Maaji Bar, they promptly burst into tears. Something they hadn’t done in decades. Maggiwati was their pole of support through hours of harrowing traffic, snarling drivers and cacophonous symphony of horns. All they had to do was get back home alive and she’d be waiting for them lying coiled in her aromatic glory, waiting to be devoured.

She was simple unlike most women. All it needed was just two minutes to reduce her to a gooey mass of deliciousness. Okay, it took more than two, maybe 10. But once you fell for her easy charms, she became a lifetime obsession. Try as you might, you could never let go of her. In fact, you locked her in your cupboard, hid her in your drawers and sometimes under the bed. She was the answer to every hungry hosteller’s prayer seeking succour from the tyranny of mess food, the brightest thing at a girl’s pyjama party. She reminded her fans, her passionate lovers, her lifelong devotees of Ma kaa pyaar – unconditional, uncomplicated, a little unhealthy and filled with calories.

Maybe this is what made her so charming – the sin factor. Her bad girl appeal made her all the more desirable. The more your parents told you to stay away from her, the more you lusted for her.

Monday, October 12, 2015

An Open Letter by an Aggrieved Bhains

Also published on Huffington Post India
Clicked by my dear husband

Dear Gais and their children,

We’ve always known that our steaks are low compared to our fair-skinned sisters, the holy Gai. For centuries we have been subjected to unfair treatment simply by virtue of our skin colour. Yet, nobody even bothered to ask us how it felt to be treated like a piece of beefcake. Not a single feminist organisation came to our rescue or raised slogans on our behalf. If Cow is your Maa, doesn’t that make us your aunty? Is this how the world’s greatest culture that gave the world Cowmasutra, treats its aunties!

Is being born dark such a great sin that you’ll focus only at our inner boti and harbour unholy thoughts about us! We’ve suffered the indignities heaped on us with silence. We tolerated the blatant racism that even our shit is subjected to. Despite grazing at the same garbage bins and munching on the same plastic bags and bottles, cowdung is venerated and our shit gets equated to bullshit your elected representatives try to pass off as wisdom!

And now shit has hit the hoof.

Things have come to such a low for us that even the lowly goat has started getting more respect than us. Bhainsbehens association of India (BHAI) was far from amoosed when Union Minister Giriraj Singh equated goats and cows to Ma-behens of Indian mankind. In fact, few of our behens are feeling suicidal and considering storing mutton dressed as beef in their refrigerator.

What about us? Do we mean nothing to you? Does your heart not tremble when you don’t lynch men for daring to treat us as their lunch!

Dear children of cows, you are committing a grave mistake by pitting BHAI against GAI. We will no longer take it lying down. We shall rise on all fours and like Arvind Grazeliwal start a raita phelao andolan.

I don’t mean to brag. Rahul Gandhi has shown keen interest in having fodder with us. He’s also masticating on the possibility of empowering our lot. It is learnt from reliable sources that he’s arranging Jupiter's escape velocity for our upliftment.

Asha Bhainsle, spokesperson of BHAI has been contacted by none other than Arnab Gaiswami to appear on his show to debate on - Is Bhains the General Category of the Animal Caste system – The Nation Wants to Know! Or worse, are we the weaker sex!

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Keep Calm or I’ll Feed You Mishti

Also published on Huffington Post India 

The furore over the imposition of meat ban in several states in consideration of the Jain festival Paryushan made me realise what a peace loving community we Bengalis are. We don’t care that nobody cares for our religious sentiments. During festivals like Durga Puja, we are so engrossed checking out each other’s saris and ingesting copious quantities of biryani and kabiraji cutlet that we don’t get time to demand bans. Rather, we go for a self-imposed ban on vegetables during those days. True, the bhog of ‘khichudi and labda’ is vegetarian but we more than make up for it in the evening by having protein and bhajabhuji (Bengali-pioneered junk food, way before the West could think) on behalf of the entire nation.

We Bengalis are a contented lot as long as others acknowledge our intellectual superiority, rich kaalchaar and don’t serve us a vegetarian meal. I know of instances where a particular Bengali family was put in deep freeze for a lifetime of indifference because they dared to serve only one non-vegetarian dish on their daughter’s wedding. My Ma-in-law has yet to get over the horrific ordeal of being invited for a meal by our Punjabi neighbour in Delhi and made to eat just rajmah chawal. How can someone invite you over for lunch and serve just one dish and that too rajmah!

I know Punjabis are passionate about chhole and rajmah, but for us it’s cattle feed till generous quantities of keema have been added to it. Our love for maachh is as legendary as our lust for mangsho. My husband often recalls with glee the recipe for dumoorer chop on a TV show that asked for two teaspoons of dumoor (raw fig) to be added to half a kilo of minced mutton. In fact, true blue bongs equate “non-veg” with only mangsho. Fish (phish) is a daily comestible that borders on being “veg”. If your Bengali friend has invited you over for a bhegetarian laanch, you are forewarned that the daal could have a fish head looking dolefully at you and the humble lauki, Baba Ramdev’s favourite vegetable, will have a crunchy splattering of shrimps. We don’t like vegetables to feel lonely.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Moved to Tears

I have discovered the key to everlasting excitement – a life that refuses to settle down and keeps you constantly on your toes making you adjust to a new normal. Much like the commitment-phobic bad boy who women choose over the nice guy.

Eleven years back when we finally moved to our new apartment, I did a happy little jig and said to myself, yay, no more packing and unpacking of mountains of cartons! No more submitting piles of ID’s where we resemble doped convicts and filling forms in triplicate, giving proof of our birth and a forecast of our estimated death – so that we could get our address changed. We’ll grow old and crumble with this apartment. This will be our happily ever after. Yay again!

Truth be told, my yay lasted for quite some time. In fact it felt like a marriage that has lasted long enough to reach a stage when the halo dims, reality sinks in and we start taking each other for granted. It’s no fun to be wrapped in a comfortable cocoon of predictability. You get bored of being bored and soon enough you start itching for change.

The fun fact about change is, everybody wants it. But when it’s finally at our doorstep threatening to knock us out of complacency, we throw a fit like a kid being dragged to school for the first time.

Three years back when we moved to Brisbane in Australia, I welcomed the change. True, it took me a few months to adapt to a new way of living. But once I got past the trauma of being my own cleaning lady, presswali, cook rolled into one, I cherished the freedom I got doing my own stuff on my terms.

What I did not know was this was just the beginning of an unending cycle of settling and unsettling.

Barely a year after moving back from Australia to apartment no. 1 in Gurgaon and then to another apartment, we are getting ready for the tedious process of moving again. Our packers and movers have become an extension of our family. I now call them by their first names.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Why a Ban on Porn is the best thing to have happened to India

Google images

United Nations has warned that India's population will rise faster than expected and beat China by 2022. Since our government is always in a hurry to achieve the unachievable, it promptly went ahead and banned over 800 porn sites. With so much spare time in hand, men and women will be forced to procreate to pass time and India will breach the target sooner than expected.

Thanks to their initiative, all of India, including the ones who never watched porn, now have a comprehensive list of 857 sites where they can watch porn.

30% Indian women, who according to a study watch porn online, are heartbroken. BJP spokesperson Hard Kaur Prawn Khanna has announced that the government will soon be coming up with a rehabilitation scheme for these women. An undisclosed source has claimed that it’ll involve watching a skimpily clad Baba Ramdev trying to kiss his own butt in a loop. Once satisfied, women will no longer be forced to ogle at hungry for attention men in shorts and tight shirts.

Now that Ministry of human resource and development is claiming Kamasutra is a book on Geometry since all it talks about is tryangles, youngsters will now have to rely on Chetan Bhagat books to educate them about sex.

Even though a majority has strongly condemned this ban that has deprived them of not only of achhe din but achhi raatein as well, all I see is the bright side. With no porn to watch, terabytes of data will be freed. Service providers like Airtel won’t have to hang their head in shame while claiming to offer broadband services. Teens will no longer be compelled to wait for their parents to go to sleep before they can switch on their laptop and log on to YouPorn. Parents can now walk into their progeny’s room fearlessly. Aunties can take a break from being every horny manboy’s fantasy and go back to their mundane existence. And men searching for Bong babes in sleeveless blouses can start visiting my blog again.

The government will not have to Google for 1001 flimsy excuses other than crop failure for farmer suicides. They can coolly blame the absence of porn.


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