Sunday, December 30, 2012

Being Sardar, Bruaaaaah!

Being born a sardar comes with some lifetime benefits. You never have to think twice before planning a foreign holiday as you always have a family of relatives staying in each continent of the world; barring Antarctica, actually. But it’s ok. Don’t take it literally. More than ninety nine percent of the Manmeets & Kuljeets forget about this continent after passing 9th grade, and the remaining one percent of the Montek Singh Ahluwalias know that Antarctica is too chilled out already, and doesn’t require a visit from the Singh clan to make it cool.

Being a sardar, you can wear magenta party shirts to your office and be sure that no one will judge you. Hell, being a sardar you don’t even care if someone does. You can be sure to land up with a sardarni who’s had guys ogling her through school and college. You can get married to her on any friggin’ Sunday. And well, on any given Sunday, you can be sure to wake up to a breakfast of aaloo ke paranthe, a lunch of rajma chawal, and a dinner of dadaji ka special chicken. You can then rub all the oil off your hands on to your beard, give it a little shine, and burp your signature Punjabi shankh to mark the end of a meal.

You can be sure of your career. You can easily pick and choose from being a property dealer, having a car accessories shop in Karol Bagh, or if you’re one of those with exceptional entrepreneurial skills, you can open a fancy restaurant in Rajouri and call it Punjabi by Nature, if you want. Or if all else fails (though I doubt anything does when done by a sardar), you can give a funky shape to your beard, glue a strip of diamonds on your patka, and bruaaah your way to stardom.

You can party in your ghar ki lawn by opening a few bottles of whisky, popping namkeen kaju, and gorging on mummy ke special chicken tikke. Or if it’s one of those non-non-veg days, you can dance around a bonfire, pop some popcorn (haha, paaji), eat lots of gudh wali patti and call it Lohri, if you want. You can raise your hands up without needing any khote da puttar Eminem to ask you to do so, and do Gangnam with your legs to the dhol beats. When a Delhi snob points out that you’re doing a Gangnam, you can say: “Paaji, gaane nu gangnam bulaande ho? Haha, bade mazaaki ho!” and then just make funny hand movements with half your fingers folded to show that you can rap, before he can even pull a confused face.

Being a sardar, you literally know how to let your hair loose. You can untie your mane every weekend; shampoo it with peeley wala Sunsilk, bask in the magnificence of letting it sun-dry while reading HT City Sunday Edition, and greeting your neighbors with “Hor ji? Wadhiya?” from your balcony. You can enjoy a Simco free day and let only your leg hair tell the neighborhood kids that it is sardarji uncle and not some hot girl that they are looking at from behind.

You can be sure of having not just matching belts and shoes, but also matching shirts, ties and turbans. You can be sure of never running out of perfume and deodorants. You can be sure of having more personal care products than the Hindu girl you have a crush on. You can be sure of never needing a moisturizer, thanks to the frequent trips to the gurdwara. You can be sure of being ready for a party at short notice by using Garnier Ultra Strong gel in place of Simco, and avoiding the hassle of tying a handkerchief around your face.

Being a sardar, you can be sure of never crying when drunk. You can narrate any incident from your day without even using the names Santa and Banta, and be sure that it will crack not just your friends up, but also ten other people passing you by at that moment. You can send your kid to school and be sure that he will tell his classmates that Santa Claus looks like his dadaji. You can give him the best Christmas present by telling him that he’ll turn into Mr. Claus one day; and be sure of getting a better Christmas present back when he says: “Papa, mennu Santa ni ban-na, mennu te twaade vargah ban-na hai.” You can be sure to not shed a happy tear after that, but take your family out for a celebratory dinner to Pind Balluchi.

Being a sardar, you can find a brother, a paaji, anywhere that you go. You can be sure of enjoying food cooked with love by one of your unknown relatives at a local gurdwara. You can be sure that no guest ever leaves your house without wanting to use your toilet at least once to make space for more snacks. You can be sure to never expect someone to call you his “best friend” before you do something for him that he calls a favor. But you can still never be sure about how many of those people would love to call you not just their best friend but a brother.

Barney Stinson may be awesome, but he’s still not what the world calls a sardar. I’m just so proud of being born a Punjabi, because being Punjabi is almost being half a sardar.

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