Friday, October 31, 2008

All that's new(s)

I figured out that I visit around five news sites a day - CNN, BBC, Times Of India, Outlook and Asian Age. I also occasionally visit moneycontrol.com to nurture my longing for becoming a raging bull ( not literally) one day and occasionally stop by Times Now to ensure I haven't missed anything that I shouldn't have. Someone recently asked me why a person like me, who dedicatedly refrains from reading, visits so many news sites and my answer (though slightly cocky) was - Fiction is too far fetched and Facts are oft mundane; News does a good job of mixing the two.

I have to mention though that in spite of my near diligent visiting of these sites I am partial to only certain kinds of content. These include Business, Technology, Arts and Entertainment, some Sports and a few columns that look amusing. Interestingly, I consciously stay away from political news as I don't have any political view point :(

Of these sites I really enjoy BBC's technology section, CNN's money watch and Outlook's columns. I get irked by Asian Age's amateurish layout and have strong opinions against the fact that TOI is quick changing (or maybe it has already changed) from a serious newspaper to an extended gossip column - some of their recent articles include a discussion of fashion mishaps in India ala Jackson style (suggestively titled Peek-A-Boob!), claims that Paris Hilton got a new tattoo on her hind spot and a photo article on the hotties of Indian cinema. However, I am totally impressed by TOI's "print edition" feature which lets one browse through the newspaper as it is.

More news on news will follow - I need to sleep now to wake up in time for my morning newspaper :)

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Ugly Indian Man !!!

Some years ago, I was struck by the contrast between the beauty of Hindi film heroines and the ugliness of Hindi film heroes. After researching the matter, I concluded that the explanation was straightforward: leading men in Hindi films were ugly because they were Indian men, and Indian men were measurably uglier than Indian women. You don’t have to take my word for it: cursory surveys of marriages, morchas, classrooms, offices and homes will bear out this observation.

While my observation was accurate and the data I had gathered reliable, I made the mistake of attributing the ugliness of the Indian male to nature. I know now that Indian men aren’t born ugly: they achieve ugliness through practice. It is their habits and routines that make them ugly. If I was to be schematic, I’d argue that Indian men are ugly on account of the three Hs: Hygiene, Hair and Horrible Habits.

Let’s start with their extremities. Examine the nails of any Indian man: the cuticles will be yellow with haldi and the underside of the bitten-off tip will be spotty with accumulated dirt. When you think of where they put those nails, this is not surprising. I’ve seen respectable men conducting conversations with their index fingers two-digits deep in their nostrils, digging with industrial enthusiasm. If you ever see a desi man delicately rubbing the tip of his index finger over the pad of his thumb, beware. Don’t go near him: he’s rolling the bogies he’s mined into little balls.

He uses those same fingers to adjust himself in public. All Indian men do this, without exception. The refined ones do it furtively, but the majority do it openly without shame or embarrassment. A famous Indian batsman does this regularly with the butt end of his bat handle under the gaze of thousands of spectators. You can’t do this and be good-looking, you really can’t. You could be John Abraham (an exception to our ugly rule) and your looks wouldn’t survive this particular habit. And if it isn’t the thumb and forefinger, it’s the pinkie inserted into the ear and vibrated with manic vigour. This generally comes with eye-rolling and little oinks of pleasure. You’ll never see women doing this, only men. It’s an important route to ugliness.

The sounds they make are crucial to the unattractiveness of Indian men. For example, an Indian man with a cold will, in company, try to snort up the congestion and swallow it. He’ll do it over and over again, completely unaware of the revulsion it causes. When he eats, there’s another repertoire of sounds born of the fact that sub-continental men don’t keep their lips together while chewing. If you think this doesn’t apply to you because you do keep your mouth shut while processing food, you’re wrong. A second before swallowing, you part your lips and swipe your tongue over your palate, to juice the last taste out of the morsel, and you make a sucking noise. If you want to test this out, use grapes: they generate the slurpiest sounds.

But hair habits do even more to intensify the ugliness of Indian men than the sounds they involuntarily make. Statistically, some ninety per cent of all south Asian men wear moustaches, their masculinity seems to be critically dependent on this growth. I don’t mean the beard-cum-moustaches style which is respectable, but the standalone moustache. Even here, a bushy, Zapata-style moustache has something going for it, but the styles Indian men favour are a) the twirled moustache and b) the little trimmed one. The first makes its host ridiculous, the second makes him look like a harried clerk or, if the hair has been trimmed into a thin line, like a sexual predator.

Middle-aged men improve on this by dyeing their hair a radiant black then letting their roots show. Or, like General Musharraf, they will dye the hair on top of their heads but leave their side-burns grey because they think they’ve read somewhere that this makes them look distinguished. It doesn’t: it makes them look like unreliable car-dealers.

Indian men wear badly because they look into magic mirrors that hide the changes middle-age brings. For example, they don’t notice the hair growing out of their nostrils in little tufts and, consequently, don’t trim it. Even worse, the hair bristling out of their ears in great wiry jets is invisible to them because their narcissism is so complete, so proofed against reality, that what they see in the mirror is not their reflection but a favourite photograph taken twenty years and twenty kilos ago.

But speaking for myself, the oddest aspect of the Indian man is the things he’s willing to wear, and I’m not talking about his dress sense because that would need a book. I’m talking, for example, about the thick bands of rotting pink threads that north Indian men wear around their wrists. I’m sure there’s some respectable ritual reason for this that requires them to keep these threads on till they discolour and fall off, but why would you change your clothes every day if you’re willing to wear something that you sweat into for weeks?

Then there’s their keenness on necklaces. Not one, but as many as they can wear. Not content with doing this, they leave the top buttons of their shirts unbuttoned so you can see that tangled jumble of amulets and gold chains and lockets. Sreesanth and Ganguly wear so many that they look like shady trinket vendors.

Any inventory of the ways in which Indian men achieve ugliness has to include their relationship with rings. We’re not talking about nice rings, say a discreet wedding band, but cheap rings with coloured stones in tarnished silver settings worn on every finger of both hands, not excluding thumbs. Since the average Indian man’s fingers aren’t long and slender, the net effect is one of sausages banded with metal.

Why are Indian men like this? How do they achieve the bullet-proof unselfconsciousness that allows them to be so abandonedly ugly? I think it comes from a sense of entitlement that’s hard-wired into every male child that grows up in an Indian household. That, and the not unimportant fact that, despite the way they look, they’re always paired off with good-looking women
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This is an inspired post. Felt this is something you guys should not miss; hence the same appears on this blog

Friday, July 25, 2008

No Goals Achieved !!!

Conversation with a Phirangi Friend, in a Phirangi Land
"So do you follow soccer? Oh, wait. You guys call it football in India, right?"
"Yeah! It's kinda strange. Given that you hit a Ball with your ... err ... hmmm ... your Foot!!! the naming does sound a little strange!"
"Oh shuddup! No seriously, is soccer big in India?"
"It's bigger than big - it's BIIIIG!!"
"So how come you guys don't feature in the World Cup?"

Very true! How come we guys don't feature in the World Cup? We are a country of one billion people. Couldn't we find eleven people who kick a round piece of air filled leather blob the right way???? Come on now! What are the chances of that. Given our population and gusto for the game, we should send two teams for the World Cup. "In a thrilling semi final match, India A beat India B. We know that half a billion people are happy and rejoicing right now. What say Mike?" Now that's what we should be hearing on TV. But no - the reality is quite sad. So sad that we are all busy picking favorites from other countries. My dad is supporting Argentina. My sister is supporting "the team David Beckham plays for". My uncle likes to pick lesser known teams and support them - so it's gonna be Costa Rica for him. Blah blah!

And it's not just football. Basketball, wrestling, tennis, swimming ... you name it and we suck in that sport. Lemme repeat the point. WE ARE A COUNTRY OF ONE BILLION PEOPLE. We have snow, water, rain forests, everything. Combining these two statistics we should win gazillion gold medals in every freakin sporting event - Summer Olympics, Winter Olympics, Olympics for the people in moderate climate zones, Wimbledon - whatever! But No! The only games we seem to excel in are the ones that got surprisingly left out from every big sporting event - or which in common man's lingo means - GAMES THAT NOBODY CARES FOR.

It's like they had this auction going on for all the big games and the Indian dude representing us landed up really late. The auctioneer took a quick look at him and sighed.

"Too bad Appu! You are late. We have nothing left for you. The Americans came in early and took most of the good stuff - athletics, basketball, tennis, boxing, everything! The Chinese sent a lot of people too and they got a decent deal as well. We had the long distance races left for a while and we gave them of to the people from Africa. The South Americans sent in a big delegation for soccer alone. So that was theirs. Too bad Appu. We have nothing left for you."

So Appu becomes all dejected and whimpers.

"What abt snooker and billiards?" Appu asks, albeit in a subdued tone.

"Those are gone buddy. We have carrom left though. It's the same thing, just less interesting."

"Ok! I'll take that," Appu sighed.

The guy in charge of distribution felt sorry for Appu at this point. So he cut him a deal.

"What abt cricket?" he asks. "It's this game like baseball but the players have to be more dressed than a man attending a business meeting. It's like you are going for a luncheon but stopped midway to play some sport. Not too many people wanted it. Only the English and Aussies claimed it. And remember no women will ever get associated with it. Not even cheerleaders!"

So Appu becomes all excited hearing that the Brits play it. We were ruled by the Brits for centuries. The very mention of the word England gets us excited. So he readily agrees to taking cricket. He even agrees to share it with everybody else in the sub continent."

Just as he is about to leave, the auction master calls him again.

"Hey, do you want khoko and kabaddi as well?"

"What's that?" Appu asks.

"I dunno. No one else did either. I believe you have to hold your breath and repeat Kabaddi, Kabaddi, Kabaddi till you faint with breathlessness. Oh! And there will be a lot of dirt too. Want that?"

Now we know that as Indians we don't let go of anything. You can give us a free blue whale and we'll take it and put it in our living room and flaunt it to every relative. "My son got this blue whale FREEE! He did not have to pay a single penny for it." So Appu lapped up khoko and kabaddi as well.

Once again he was about to leave and the auctioneer called out again (how dramatic).

"Want this game called Chess? Well! To be perfectly honest, it's not exactly a game. It's more like an indoor thing. The Russians love it coz it's cold in Russia and they can play chess inside their rooms. We have some chess shares left. You care for some? But we believe that you need a high IQ and boredom tolerance to be a master in it and ..."

Appu was all ecstatic at this point. "A thinking game did you say? Oh we love thinking games. That way parents can fool their children into playing this game while what they are actually doing is preparing them for engineering school. My people will love it. Thank you. Thank you," he exclaimed.

And that is how we got it all. Hmmmmm!

Friday, July 18, 2008

Limit tending to engineering !!!

Flashback in hazy black and white - Years ago (I was around 4-6 years old/young then) they asked me in kindergarten what my dad did for a living. Now mom had taught me, along with my name, age, address, favorite color and nursery rhymes, the fact that my dad was a Mechanical Engineer. I believe I dint even think for a moment, looked at the highly overweight Mrs. Gabriel, and told her with a whiff of confidence that my dad was a "mechanic". I still remember that Mum was very disappointed/agitated/tense once I narrated this incident (probably expecting some kudos from her) to her, coz apparently a mechanic is different from a mechanical engineer.

The main story begins - every time anything stops working in the house (ranging from a toaster to the television) my mom expects Dad to fix it on his own. "What kind of an engineer are you?" she'll begin, "the shower is leaking and you can't even fix that." Dad would try to fix the shower, ensure that it drips even more and then call the plumber. "You are absolutely useless. I wonder how you cleared engineering," Mum would indulge in banter. Once in a while Dad tries to explain that he hadn't exactly taken Introduction to Plumbing 102 in college but Mum doesn't care much. Her logic is simple - "If you can't do her chore, you aint an engineer no more" :)

Now the same thing is coming back to haunt me. My mum asks me over the phone, "The computer is so slow. Why can't you make it fast?" she asks me earnestly. "Mom, that's coz we bought it in 1945 after the Quit India movement. You should be happy that the museum hasn't yet seized it. Why don't you buy a new computer?" I protest in vain. "You are just like your dad. Both of you are of no use to the house. What did you learn in ..." Suddenly we are interrupted by the sound of gushing water. Dad has failed to fix the shower again, making it worse in the process. "Now, I have to call the plumber again," Mum says, while running towards the bathroom, "I think I should have married a plumber."

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Wishful Thinking
How I wish that people were half as generous to me with their money as they are with their advice :)

Ringing all the way !!!

Does this happen with everybody or is it only me and yet another global conspiracy to give me hypertension before it is entirely necessary?

My phone will remain silent and dead to the world for ages and ages. Then, just as I am about to go and kill myself from boredom, it will mercifully ring. And then, before I have spent two seconds talking to the person who has called, I shall start getting those insistent beeps which mean someone else is trying to call me. Subsequently, as I hastily cut off the first conversation mid-way and launch into the next, those beeps will sound again meaning a third person has now joined the queue of those who would gladly chop their arms off into little little pieces without the aid of aneasthesia for a chance to talk to me RIGHT NOW.

Oh, and sometimes in the middle of all this my landline will also ring, meaning my mother has chosen this moment of all others to order me to send 5 SMSs to some TV program to help a girl from Jamshedpur I've never seen in my life win some crazy talent show.

And then when I have managed to juggle all the conversations and given Airtel the chance to rob me a bit more by calling back what feels like scores of people, my phone will fall silent and remain in that state for the next five hours.

Do tell me it's not something I have done to upset the universe?

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Love ke liye sala ... kuch bhi karega !!!

I was working out in the gym next to this very hot girl and her very hunky friend. Hunky and Chunky got talking.

Hunky: So what's the deal with you and Jason?

Chunky: I guess I love him.

Hunky: What? I thought you guy's were just f**king around.

Chunky: Yeah! That too (and starts laughing).

Hunky: I don't get it. How do you know you love someone?

Hunky and Chunky kept talking and I kept eavesdropping. But that's not the point. In between his inclined press and pull-ups, Hunky had actually raised a very pertinent question. How do you know that you love someone?

The question made me think and I figured that most people somehow associate love with exclusivity. If there's any one person who you enjoy talking/sleeping/dancing most with, you somehow get the feeling that you are in love. Yup! Love=Exclusivity and that is very strange. All our childhood (and now in Potter's latest exploit) people told us that love is one of the most beautiful emotions and somehow, in a very strange way, this is the emotion we are most selfish with.

Try telling your wife, "Honey, I really love you. I love you a lot. Just as much as the house maid." Do you think your marriage will last another day? I doubt it! You'll soon find out that you and missus weren't maid for each other :) But the question is - WHY? If love is such a wonderful feeling, why would it irk your wife to know that you love someone else too. If helping multiple people equally earns you the title of a Samaritan then why should loving multiple people equally make you an unfaithful bastard? Socho Socho! Bolo bolo!

And No! I don't think that this is a sexual thing either. Try telling your parents that you love them just as much as the milkman and they'll surely think that you are an ungrateful wretch. Now tell your milkman that you love him just as much as his pretty wife and you'll probably be inviting some frequent visits to the bathroom after next morning's tea. On the other hand, if you tell someone that you hate someone else just as much as them, they'll actually feel better; coz now they have someone else to share their woes with. The same thing holds true for anger. I'd rather have my class teacher get angry with the whole class than just me. But with love, the wonderful soothing love, we somehow expect exclusivity.

I find it strange but then there are people who find me strange.

So what's your view?

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Proof by Obscurity !!!

I don't know if this is common but I meet a lot of people (and have started indulging in it a li'll bit myself as well) who try convincing you things by citing obscure references.

What, there is a car that runs on soda?

Yeah! They had this French magazine. It's very big in ... err ...hmm ...

Southern Europe. For some reason you don't get it here. My uncle has a copy. I saw it there. Runs on soda. They say it's All Fizz and No Gas.

Can you argue with such logic? Impeccable.

You've eaten ice creams with chilies in it?

Yes. You haven't? You should seriously go to this town in Madhya Pradesh. It is famous for it's Chili Ice Cream. It's hot and cold at the same time.

Are you sure it's not Chilly Ice Cream.

Dude, have you been to this town? No.

Then why are you arguing.

... people can just go on like this. In my field I meet several people who start their statements with "I don't remember which magazine I read this in but ..." or "This is classified information, so it's still not published but ...". You can never prove these people wrong and have to just quietly agree to whatever they let out.

I shouldn't complain. I've started using this technique myself. Every time my wife wants me to go for a movie that I don't wanna watch I'll say, "Oh I saw this review on a film show in ... hmmm ... can't remember the channel. They said it's overrated. Do u still wanna see it?".

Chah! I feel bad, but then it works. Don't believe me? This is a proven theory. You can check out this book by an Indian author ... hmmm . I forget his name ... but he shows it conclusively :)

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Remembering the 80s !!!

Its been a while i have written on Hindi Movies... I was reading a few blogs yesterday relating to this Hindi Cinema. Now, I speak the language filmeese quite fluently too, and wanted to add my 2 cents on this topic. The 80s in Hindi movies were, to me, "different" aka "hatke". I grew up watching Dharmendra bashing up alleged dogs and Jeetendra inadvertently advertising detergents for their sparkling ability. So I just reminisced abt movie moments from the 80s that faded from silver screen and lest they fade from common memory, this post was made:

1. The bad father-in-law: I can't believe that the heroine's father is no longer the villain in Hindi movies. Remember the 80s when every movie had the heroine's father indulging in all sorts of notoriety. The fallout between the hero and his damsel would always take place when the hero accused the heroine's father. The heroine would then shun the company of the man who pointed a finger at her dad. But soon she would find out from a secretly heard telephone conversation (I guess cell phones killed this concept) that her dad was indeed an animal (read darinde) and all peace would be restored. The part that used to shock me the most was the calm demeanor of the girl in the climax when her father would get killed. Very disturbing. But now they are gone. Hmmm!

2. The multi-colored smoke bomb: I don't know how many of you remember this one. It used to be a stock moment in 80s daku-based movies. They had these bombs that would explode and there was no fire - just a lot of multi-colored powder that would be shown. If you can't remember what I'm talking abt, try imagining a scene where the hero is riding his motor bike (yeah, cars were expensive then) through a series of explosions - none of which remotely hurt him, coz none of them were explosions in the first place, but just red-brown dust instead.

3. The two-villain-vamp dance - Remember vamps? Not the Helen-who-we-all-know vamp BUT the 80s "dance in mini-skirt shaped saree" and "appear in only one cheesy dance" vamps? And they always had two villains (one of which was always Ranjeet) who would suddenly join in for an impromptu shake-a-leg move. Karan Arjun was the last movie where this stock situation was used before killing this trend. Why why?

I can just go on and on and on - the helpful dog, the "sister who gets married to a bad guy and hence hero cant beat the sh!t out of her husband", the evil munim-ji (played by Kader Khan) who was both a comic relief as well as the villain's right hand (literally) man - but I have work to do now. So peace!

Sunday, May 18, 2008

And now you are Pissed Off!!

Ok! A word to the few women who read this blog - you'll probably NEVER come back to read it again. I'll miss you all. And just to let you know - this post is not supposed to be gross AND you can ask your male friends that.

I've been wanting to write on this topic for a while now, but it's just that work and other stuff kept me busy. I wanted to write abt the phenomenal tension in a men's urinal. Seriously! I've never been to lady's urinal BUT from what the ladies tell me, it's supposed to be well compartmentalized; a place where individuals get the privacy they need; a place that I believe even plays host to some very interesting conversations. In contrast, men's urinals are a very disturbing area. Read on!

For starters, men have to stand and get their business done. So this is what you do. You face a wall and wait and wait ... and then you get done and then you run (not before washing your hands though). This period, when you face the wall and do your stuff is nerve wrecking. You have to either look at the wall or look down. Now obviously it's better to look into the wall. But I don't have to explain that, if you do this pretty regularly, it gets quite monotonous. Come on, you can't just look at the wall and not think of anything. Every man, I believe, has his special bathroom thought. My thoughts normally include tunes of songs (not Hawa Hawa) or finding patterns in the tiles of the walls. I'd be happy (actually NO) to know what other people think abt.

The next big thing is to avoid any kind of eye contact. Any kind. As men, we are taught to think that nobody else is in the bathroom when we are finishing business. Unlike women, we don't socialize in the toilet. It's never "Hey man, what are you doing here?" for us. However, every now and then, the moment gets the better of you. You hear the new entrant enter and you give a quick look. Under normal circumstances, the new entrant too is careful to not make any eye contact. BUT on a highly chance driven instance - EYES DO MEET! And then ladies and gentleman, you get the most awkward smile exchange ever!

The final thing that I wanna discuss on this issue, is what many might consider gross BUT I have to say it - it's the peeing sound. Some are noisy pee-ers, others like to be discreet. Yet others are situation driven i.e. when left alone they go on a roll BUT in the company of others they learn to control the volume. What is really disturbing is when two people land up next to each other, in an otherwise silent zone, and the only sound they hear is ... you know what. Can you imagine the amount of judging that can go on? "Is the other guy thinking that I'm too loud?" ... "Man! He is soo loud. Does he have no control?" "Wow! He is really quiet!" ... and the likes.

There's so much more that can be discussed on this topic ... but I don't want to piss you off any more :)

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Ctrl + S Private Ryan !!!

For the few kind ones who enquired, I've been amazingly busy with my lumberyard office and will continue to be busy for the coming few weeks. So my posting habits may become more irregular. Blah blah. Yanyway! Blogging is a good relaxation and let me indulge in it a lil bit now.

Think abt this. One of my dear friends is walking the arranged marriage route. But you know what they say - "arranged marriages are so passe". Nobody agrees to having an arranged marriage these days. They're all like "oh we met over the net and then we fell in love and then we married" - all in 30 days and under the constant regulation of doting mothers and over-inquisitive aunts :)) Yeah sure! Yanway, like always, I digress again.

Wouldn't it be nice if like most computer applications we could have a Ctrl+S option for relationships? This very dear friend of mine is doing the whole "My name is so and so and my favorite actor is so and so" followed by "what are your future plans" followed by "I'm doing this because my mother asked me to" routine - aka the "babu steps to arrange marriage". It's the first time he's doing something like this, and boy does he feel the pressure. You spend 12 phone calls just to reach the comfort level where you can finally tell her "You know what, I'm a graduate student and I frankly don't make as much money as you think I do" and the next thing you know is "Accha, I don't think this thing is working out bhery well. So let us be just friends." So my friend wants to know - what then? Will he have to start afresh again? Start from scratch? Again call up some random stranger and say "My name is ... I went to school in ... My father has a blah blah figure salary ..." I feel for you dude. I seriously do. The Ctrl+S option would make it really cool where you could save definitive romantic states and the next time around just start from there.

Save romance. Save love. Save a poor graduate student's marriage dreams.

My Body.......My Choice !!!

WHEN I STAND BEFORE GOD AT THE END OF MY LIFE, I WOULD HOPE THAT I WOULD NOT HAVE A SINGLE BIT OF TALENT LEFT, AND COULD SAY, " I USED UP EVERYTHING YOU GAVE ME "