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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