Friday, December 27, 2013

The Terrace Party Guest List

The bathroom is where all the bad-asses literally get swept clean, but the most badass of all parts of a house is the terrace. If there’s one thing a person should learn from it, it has to be confidence. With dirty walls, hanging kachhe-baniyan, black Sintex water tanks and bird-poop all over its face, it is still the most loved part of the house for a party. The evidence for the same is all over my facebook home feed and I’ve decided to reiterate the same by being a host to one at the nearest opportunity.

Organizing a terrace party is easy. The blackness of the night and a bunch of glittering fairy lights from Diwali set the perfect lighting for new flattering profile pictures for all present. Deciding on the food doesn’t require much thought either as long as there’s booze and a dramatic couple on the guest list. This brings us to the most important part: deciding on the guest list. Your terrace party is incomplete without the following people, who will ensure that the event lives up to every minute detail of a typical Delhi terrace party.

The Invite Said It Starts At 8 Guy: Leaving the host’s best friend aside, every other person who makes it to the party before or within half an hour of the “scheduled” time deserves an eye roll for not just presenting himself at a time when the host has not even begun to get ready, but also for leaving open the risk of making awkward talk with the host’s parents that leaves immense scope for undesirable disclosure and hard to imagine consequences. He does not only show his lack of social understanding by reaching the party at such an inopportune time, but also exposes himself to arguments that best explain the concept of generation gap through voices traversing from hallways to awkwardly silent drawing rooms. You must not forget to invite him so as to make your parents believe that you have some “sensible” friends. It comes with the side effect of later being given his example as the epitome of the ideal son. Deal with it.

The OMG It’s So Good To See You Hyper Jump and Screech Girl: Ask this woman about any of your mutual facebook friends and be sure to get a “omg, we’re like best friends” in reply, which is enough for you to know that she uses the word “best friend” as liberally as Siddhu uses the word “haha”. She lives in a false belief of having a wonderful social circle that begins with noticing a name etched behind a DTC bus seat and ends with adding every person with that name on facebook because wow, 2900 facebook friends! You must not forget to invite her because even if the party is actually boring, all present should think that it isn’t so for others. I mean, it will look like at least someone’s having fun.

The FirstName LastName Photography: If you haven’t invested in a DSLR yourself, there is no way that you can miss out on inviting someone who owns one, no matter how much you loathe him IRL. If creativity was his last name, he’d watermark it on his pictures with the word “photography”; but he does enough already to live up to the creative image with a narcissistic facebook page, nerd glasses and a profile picture that is a selfie of him wielding his 30k possession and looking at a mirror through the view finder. You won’t have to worry about putting up pictures, because he will do it for you complete with “editing” which is the one word for crop-deepen-glow. Just make sure to tell him not to add that idiotic watermark. No one’s stealing his work to enter into a desi-dope-scene-photography competition. He can just drop. the. goddamn. watermark!

The BFF Girl Gang: These gals have a post party night-over planned for themselves that shows how thick their friendship is to have survived over six months without anyone getting vocal about the ugly group dynamics. The leader of the pack stands in the centre while the others flock around in poses that would be most suitable during a screen test for the new face of Moov’s Aaa se Aaha campaign. Putting all hands on the waists and more than gently arching the backs to flash their better profiles into the camera, they can also never seem to get rid of the Hyper Jump and Screech Girl, who they will bitch about being chape when the picture is up on facebook. You must invite them to really understand the value of all your friends who you have been taking for granted till now. Zilch, that is.

The Dude Chain: The guest list has to include a bunch of cool guys who look good holding a beer bottle each and just silently observe the girl gang do 'their steps' to 'their song'. This group has nothing much to talk about other than discussing everyone's need for a change in job. It diffuses with one taking charge of DJ'ing on the laptop; another trying to network with all the random faces because that's what parties are for; the third tagging along with his girlfriend because he got invited courtesy her; and the fourth joining the women in dance, thinking of himself as a player despite just having played the trail of aces in being friendzoned.

The Silent Corner: You will have to invite at least one person because he/she invited you to his/her birthday in the third grade; or because he/she thinks of you as a close friend and this is your chance at a guilt-free pass for not feeling the same; or your parents are fond of this person; or you have to invite him/her because others from the same group are invited and it'll be awkward otherwise; or because this mirage called social norm is staring you in the face. If it's a woman, don't worry; she'll find someone who'd try to make conversation with her in order to get lucky. If it's a guy, I feel you, bro.

The Uninitiated Relatives: I know you know it's a bad idea, but you can't fight against your parents' prerogative of inviting some bua’s and chachi’s. It's not generation gap when you can tell that it's not a wise idea, but your parents can't. It's just wisdom of the fact that there will be scandalization of middle-aged peeps who will complain for eternity about today's kids not touching their feet and wearing haaye, besharmi wale kapde. The worst part is how they won't roll their eyes, but stare right at all your friends, further scandalizing everyone else. Judgment Day has a whole new meaning in your life henceforth.

The Cinderella and a Half: This person will make the biggest deal about leaving early so as to make it back home well before her curfew time. But she won't leave in silence. Instead, she'll send the person she came with on a guilt trip because ek toh jaldi jaane ka naatak, upar se doosre pe waapis drop karne ki responsibility is how she rolls. It's just the absolute worst if it's a guy. Back home by 11, my Punjabi patoots.

There may be more awesome peeps on your list, but I assure you that I am the worst version of all the above-mentioned, including being a member of a girl gang and worrying about turning into a pumpkin as soon as the clock strikes ten. That might make you strike me off your next party guest list. But I'd ask you to consider how just inviting one person (cue: me) who meets all the criteria on the list will help you have a very cool, economical party. Aakhir hum jahan khade ho jaate hain, party wahin se shuru ho jaati hai.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Machhi Khaabo Bhaalo Baashi!

Known for having big and beautiful eyes, a Bengali lady never feels the need to ask a man to look up when he talks to her. It’s also reason why Crime Master Gogo doesn’t pick on Bengalis. After all, “aankein nikaal ke shot put khelunga” does not have the same ring as “aankhein nikaal ke goti”. But big eyes are not the only physical feature by which you spot a Bengali. A bangali babu is of a short stature, so much so that it’s never difficult to spot Aamir Khan in a Kolkata crowd. With pale skin and a mustache gently fringing over his upper lip, the bangali wears a bush-shirt tucked in his trousers, hanging almost like he hangs on to a handle in the bus. He has a thin coat of hair on his head that remains stuck to his pate because of a healthy diet of fish and mustard oil. But the love for food doesn’t end there.

The reason why the bangali perpetually carries his roshogulla and sondesh in the mouth is not because it helps him pronounce that his favorite actor on Kophee bid Koran was Sholman Khan, but because there’s only so much you can stuff yourself with till it all brims up to the throat. Punjabis mostly mistake Bhaat, Maachh, Loochi and Jhal-Muri to be names of Monjolika’s children, but they’re only appetizers for a bangali, whose meal also includes a brinjal, half a kilo of peas, forty chunks of paneer and a pitcher full of mishti doi.

Like that wasn’t enough, your bangali will also tell you about another food item that he calls myoojik; because “myoojik is the food for the soul”. The bangali will scoff at YoYo Honey and Mika Singh’s tunes and tell you that Robindra Shongeet elevates the mind. He will talk at length about Geetanjali and a million other literary works that he’d have found time to read, instead of completing his office work. Because Chatterjee, Mukherjee and Banerjee aside, “Layjee” should’ve been added to the list of respectful Bengali surnames as it most accurately depicts the nature of a bangali, who loves to laze around in the beauty of art, literature and history.

The bangali sings praises of the goddess and that’s reason why you use that word for a female with the surname Sen. He fears his wife not only because she stands just as tall as him, but also because it is intimidating to hear a lady shout, “Aey, maachhi khaabo bhaalo baashi” at the top of her voice anywhere in the world. Durga Pujo has always been the bangali’s favorite festival. It ensures that he gets awesome food to eat for a week and also gets to ogle at women dressed in white sarees with red borders, clicking their tongues in celebration of the matriarchy that puts their culture ahead of every other in the country.

The bangali speaks a language that is easy to learn. He sha’s his sa’s and pha’s his fa’s, along with awwing his aa’s, making him the perfect person to make hand hearts and go awww every time that he sees a box that says “consume Bengali sweets on the same day”. He bhaalo baashi’s his lovelies and oodibaba’s the uglies. He khaabo’s the khaana as well as khaabo’s the paani. He calls a kurta punjabi; and a Punjabi he calls kutta. He expresses love in simple ways by saying, “aami tomaar, tomi amaar”; and knows that there are only four seasons: “shpring, monshoon, bintaar and samaar”.

He may come across as a lazy bum and a smoking glutton at the outset, but don't mess with the babu-moshaay because he will own your patootie at an inter-college debate. Also, you might want to get with a lady in his family. Not everyone is as lucky as a Bachchan. Or so did the sixteen year old me believe. 

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Saturday, December 7, 2013

Just Stop It, Yaar!

There’s no limit to which I can sing praises for the brand that is Maggi. The nation owes it to them for helping its youth develop a taste for instant noodles cooked in five grams of turmeric powder, and how! So, as a good financial consultant, I’ll throw some free advice and ask them to charge a heavy amount as license fee from every director who dares to use their tagline, “it’s different” every time that a movie is up for release. It will not only contribute to the company’s turnover, but also remind our very creative Bollywood peeps to shut their trap whenever they feel the urge to use these words, being shamelessly ignorant of the irony of the statement.

The year 2014 opens with another such “different” movie that speaks more about a broken new year’s resolution of making quality cinema than about the “college based romance adventure” that its wiki page boasts of. The description, “Yaariyan is a story of close knit 5 friends who are exploring the best moments of their lives in college, experiencing different relationships and learning new values every day” leaves me so impatient about wanting to know what this movie holds for the audiences, that my sarcasm stands in shame for its forced attendance in the previous phrase.

Yaariyan is the directorial debut of Bhushan Kumar’s homemaker wife, Divya Khosla Kumar, who just proved that the phrase “women can do everything that men can” can actually be taken far enough for even the most serious of feminists to ask her to get back to cooking aaloo-gobhi in her husband’s kitchen while listening to mata ke bhajan recorded on her T-Series cassettes. The movie also marks the debut of actors, what’s-his-face and what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack, who along with their sidekicks are still hungover about Star One’s Remix being the best show to have ever been made in the history of television entertainment.

As the movie plans to set a new benchmark in youth oriented films after Dil Chahta Hai and Rang De Basanti, the makers have roped in YoYo Honey Singh to establish the cult status because wow, so original! The song ABCD opens with YoYo singing, “raat ko hoga hungama, jab chamkega chanda mama”, making the middle aged snap their fingers to the tune in front of their pre-pubescent children till what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack comes on screen and booty shakes the Cyrus out of Miley to prove that the song is no lullaby. The song that could’ve been a horcrux of the ABCD from Hum Saath Saath Hain must, however, be praised for the honesty with which Benny Dayal pleads the audience to come and watch the movie and not be judgmental. The words “A for aao re aao. B for bhaao na khaao. C se chilaa ke gaao. D se daaru peete jaao” also offer a truthful heads up about the movie making sense only to the inebriated. Or maybe, to those who really care for the “kudiyon ka buffet” that Honey Singh is proud to announce.

Sunny Sunny is another beach-party track that puts Baba Sehgal’s twitter timeline to shame for the brilliance in an undiscovered lyricist’s rhyming abilities. Even before one can come to terms with the shot of Honey Singh wagging his forelegs in a swimming pool on a set that looks like the bastard child of Golmaal Golmaal and Lazy Lamhe, the words “aaj blue hai paani paani paani paani paani… aur din bhi saani saani saani saani saani” hit the cerebellum at a speed that would make anyone pronounce Mr. Singh’s name as YoYo Haani Haani Haani Haani Haani. Not aimed at sapiosexuals (that’s right), the song assumes how no one cares for the lyrics as long as you get what-the-holy-cow-of-a-rack to bite into mangoes, watermelons and strawberries while the lyrics go further to say, “ek tu, ek main aur sea side pe paani ka shor… aaja tu paas mere, girl what you waiting fore.

The title track, which is called “Baarish” instead of being named “Yaariyan” seems bearable, but the fact that someone needs to gift a dictionary to the makers to help them define the words “title track” keeps me from speaking much about it.

I am sure of how, one, the post-release movie reviews will be no different, and two, how the term ABCD could be used to call the producer, “Aey, BC Doofus!” Before you blame me for such a forced expansion of the acronym; in my defense, I just wrote about the goddamn movie! The creativity kind of rubbed off.

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Sunday, November 24, 2013

Those are Blue Lenses, Smartass!

Lucky Ali could’ve used a reference to “blue eyes” in his video for the song Oh Sanam, but decided against it for a reason. Knowing how none of the producers could afford to hire Aishwarya Rai for just one shot of cyan eyes, people would’ve definitely confused the person behind the burqah to either be Jugal Hansraj or Adam Bedi. So he let the video be and culled lyrics suggesting the beauty of those eyes lest he sounded like a gay dude. If only the musicians of today could be intelligent like Mr. Ali and realize that the entire blue-eyed population of the country got named right in the second sentence of this post, the Indian economy would’ve saved a pelvic-load of foreign exchange that got spent in hiring Lamborghinis only so that YoYo Honey Singh could pick up a desi woman with blue eyes in a foreign locale without even realizing that she’s clearly wearing colored lenses.

Mr. Singh, I’d have contested the logic in getting hypnotized by two eyes disguised in a fake shade, half a kilometer away through the windscreen of a moving sports car, without even considering the obstruction caused by the Janpath shopped wayfarers and the visor of your cap. But I decided to cut you some slack for having to get through life with an IQ level of a Nokia 1100. However, your lyrics are more pissing than a ninety year old who cries for an adult diaper despite being attached to a dialysis machine. If the lyrics of the song were even half as fun as bolo-tara-ra-ra, I would’ve let the matter pass off in silence. But words such as “champagne ger di hai tune meri pant pe; kehti hai change karlo hotal leke rant pe” do not deserve to be forgiven.

I was amused at how the lady you picked up could not notice the beauty in the way you rhymed rant with pant. Cuz if she had, I assure you of her walking out of that car and going back to her tant. But rabb da banda you are, and also are your women god-sant. Maybe she was impressed with your promise of “pass kara dun phone ghuma ke; teri principal bhi baby YoYo ki fan hai.” I mean, if you could honestly get me to pass my CA finals by making a call to the Institute’s president, I guarantee that I’d have also dressed up in a yellow colored short dress and licked on a red ice-lolly, creating a beautiful contrast with my blue eyes so that you could pick me up on the road. I wouldn’t have cared a hoot about my safety because as soon as you’d have asked me to decide if you should take a “left ya right”, I’d have directed you to the “pillow fight” and then bashed the shit out of you with my dhai kilo ka haath because that is what I use as a pillow at night. And, shut up with the bomb-figure adjective while you dry hump some air in a Justin Timberlake ensemble. It makes you look like a person whose favorite pick up line would be “is your dad a terrorist?”

Honestly, man; I have been a fan of your music not only because it gets me a chance to dance with some pretty ladies at parties, but also because the maximum hits on my blog come from the Google search “honey singh gay”. (No kidding. Google it!) I deleted songs of Coke Studio from my phone only to make space for your music. I also published an in-depth analysis of your success in the Punjabi music industry here. I got ridiculed by the JNU types for my pedestrian taste in music, and I took it all in silence. A lot of us did. But I will not let you take advantage of your non-Chandigarh fans, who I like to believe, deserve to be given something better to help them retain their fan status.

Also, if you say “katal kare tera bomb figure” one more time, I promise to get a suicide bomber from Afghanistan and make your dream come true!


Friday, November 1, 2013

The Bollywood Horoscope Experiment

“Your day will be full of experiences today” is pretty much exactly what my horoscope reads every day. It's astounding how it so accurately sums up my life. My zodiac sign character traits define me to be a person who feels good when happy and bad when sad. I'm amazed at the accuracy of these observations and how they apply so perfectly to not just me, but to everyone else born in my zodiac month.

As much as I'd want to take these zodiac traits at face value, being a rational man having pursued the study of science up till the tenth grade, I want to put these horoscopes to a little experiment for which I would like you to be the subject.

Considering the lack of privacy Bollywood celebrities enjoy in this country, I think it will be best to compare your traits to those of a celebrity who matches your sun sign and then record the results to form our conclusions about the accuracy of these traits. Kindly cooperate.

Aries (21st March – 20th April): Ajay Devgn
The universe may not have blessed you with the best of physical beauty, but it will ensure that you find a partner who complements your visual attributes by being at par with your personality. You might improve on your physical structure by working really hard at the gym, but most of it will go unnoticed as the world does not like taking you seriously.
Lucky color: Dark Brown

Taurus (20th April – 21st May): Shiny Ahuja
You are extremely close to nature and often feel the need to strip yourself of all worldly coverings and engage in acts that can be best described as animalistic. Your animal instinct gives you great passion which often makes you forget about what or who you are doing, and put not just your heart and soul, but a lot of other personal belongings into your object of affection.
Lucky color: Skin color

Gemini (21st May: 21st June): Bobby Darling
Gemini’s are the most unique people in the zodiac and have a wonderful ability of being able to look at the best of both sides in any situation. You yearn for more and do not just settle for what life gives you. It is in your nature to defy nature’s laws, if needed, to achieve what you have set for yourself. People might label you as confused, but believe in yourself, and they will gradually begin to recognize the balance of the yin and the yang that you so beautifully represent.
Lucky colors: Pink and Blue

Cancer (21st June – 22nd July): Priyanka Chopra
A perfect Cancerian often gets confused in life and thinks of following dreams which are clearly not meant for him. You get easily distracted by the things around you, which appear exotic to your inexperienced self. Instead, you should stick to your original pursuits and see yourself rise to the status of not just a queen, but the Begum of lands far and wide.
Lucky color: Black. It’s the Badshah’s favorite, isn’t it?

Leo (22nd July – 22nd August): Sanjay Dutt
A risk taker, you believe in quick action over considerable thought. Your not so thoughtful ways land you in trouble a lot of times, but you come out stronger than ever. You may not have been blessed with a fertile imagination, but you make up for it with your fertile body which is capable of producing offsprings much past the expiry date. The sky is the limit for you when it comes to choosing a suitable career as you are capable of doing every kind of job to perfection, be it the occupation of a gangster, a doctor or a radio jockey.
Lucky colors: White with black vertical stripes

Virgo (22nd August – 22nd September): Shakti Kapoor
A Virgo is known for his passion, and you are extremely passionate about everyone you do. People around you wonder about the secret quality in you that does not clearly show in your personality, but comes out beautifully in your product, which may be your daughter, if not your work. Gifted with a beautiful voice, you are capable of making not only human but wolf sounds. The latter is more apparent from the usage of sounds like 'Aaooo' on noticing people of the opposite sex.
Lucky color: Revlon’s Luscious Red

Libra (22nd September – 23rd October): Sunny Deol
You are extremely calm and soft spoken, but when angered, you literally bring the house down. Your warrior spirit is as strong as seen in the Sikh community, and it brings you immense praise from the people around you. Time is of great importance to you and you get agitated when someone tests your patience by delaying to lend an ear to your concerns, time after time, date after date. Creative pursuits like singing and dancing should be best kept at bay.
Lucky color: Any color, as long as it is the same for the turban and the tie.

Scorpio (23rd October – 22nd November): Tusshar Kapoor
Extremely close to the women in your family, you see your support system in your sister. You will be blessed with abundance in your inheritance, but the planets will deny you the gift of gab. It is best to make the most of what you have by showing continuous affection to your siblings and engaging yourself in work that requires you to do minimum talking.
Lucky color: Any kolor with the letter K, e.g. pink

Sagittarius (22nd November – 22nd December): Govinda
A joyful person, your personality can be best described as colorful. The way you look at all colors with equal importance also shows your non-judgmental nature. Easy going and flexible, you go with the flow of the moment, and so does your body. You believe strongly in the power of self confidence and believe yourself to be the 'number one'. A true friend, you never leave the side of people who you consider close to yourself, and always prefer working with the same people.
Lucky color: Multicolor

Capricorn (22nd December – 20th January): Salman Khan
Like a hunter, you aim high and mostly achieve what you set your eyes to. However, you find it really difficult to find true love. Nature compensates for the pain that you endure in your search for love by giving you the love of the masses, where admiration for your panache trickles down to the lowest stratum of society. You may often get confused about the linguistic background you belong to, but accept the ways of speech of the country you live in and look at your confusion wither away.
Lucky color: White with “Being Human” text

Aquarius (20th January – 19th February): Abhishek Bachchan
You are born with a silver spoon in your mouth, which you refuse to take out even when you grow up, thus projecting the image of a child in want of attention. The universe will bless you with a love life much beyond your imagination. People will see you as a reflection of either of your parents, but remember to not believe them. You will see a lot of ups and downs in your career, which will bog you down at times; but you will find real peace when you surrender your current pursuit to basic ones like eating, sleeping and leaving the rest of the world alone.
Lucky color: Whichever you can spell

Pisces (19th February – 21st March): Aalia Bhatt
Born to family members known for being eccentric, it is difficult for you to think rationally. You may often find yourself confused either because of your inexperience or because of the Freudian values that you have been brought up with, complete with forced, often unnecessary innuendos. You have immense potential to rise up in life as you have been blessed with the charm of a person capable of generating paedophilic tendencies in those around you.
Lucky color: Baby Pink with a Hello Kitty Sticker for good luck

Disclaimer: Complaints against the exclusion of Shah Rukh Khan, Hrithik Roshan, Amitabh Bachchan and Katrina Kaif will not be entertained. There’s only so much that a Horoscope reader like you can ask for.

This piece originally appeared in the humor and satire column of Taleport Magazine's October 2013 issue. You can check out the magazine's latest issues and archives here.

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Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Open Letter to Ted Mosby

Dear Ted,

While you sit there, telling your kids the story of how you met their mother, I think you seem to have forgotten that a huge population of the world has also sat through your narration for almost nine years now in the belief that your experiences make for a nice sitcom. Shocker, right? I thought so. Or how would you have not realized by now that the only humor in the situation is that you haven't aged even a day through all these years? Now before you start blushing like a little girl and say, “thank you”, continuing further to tell me about why saying “thanks” bastardizes the magic word, I should stop you right there and ask you to hear me out first.

I am ok with Marshall looking like he is living on a perpetual diet of 15 rupaye wale chhole bhature outside Karkarduma Court. I have no complaints against Lily's need to pout at a steam iron in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles around her lips. I am willing to forgive the fact that Barney still dresses up like Mike Ross, when Harvey Specter's suits look more dapper. And I am ok with not hearing anyone exclaim, “Bhai, yeh toh bilkul Katrina lagti hai” on checking out Robin for the first time. But the fact that you are exactly the same even after nine years shows that you have had absolutely no character development. I guess we seem to have discovered your superpower. It being that your body ages with your mind, and well, we can clearly see how your brain hasn't matured even a bit after all these experiences. Elaborate, I shall.

So you almost got married to Stella, had to break it off twice with Victoria, fell in love with the Captain's wife and have had countless other flings when you said you had finally found the one. Good job. The men of the world are proud of the wonderful women you've managed to get with. They try to be like Barney, but realize that they relate more with you because the only time they can actually use “wait for it” is when they're about to fart after a huge serving of kadhi pakoda. You give Indian men hope to move on and find “the one” after every heartbreak. But as soon as they manage to get a girl to reply to their facebook messages, it dawns on you that you still have feelings for Robin, which makes all my brothers believe how they will never be able to get over that one woman they were once in a relationship with. I mean why would you do this to these people! The Hindi movie industry has anyway been feeding these peeps nonsense on the lines of “pehla pyaar kabhi bhulaaya nahi jaata”. Why do you have to reiterate it again and again, godammit! Set a good example for your bros and move on. Let them drunk dial their exes, pronounce a few cuss words and move on to comment, “hiiiii...... vry prty!!!!” on someone else's profile picture.

Also, your friend, Barney, deserves a hi-five on his face for letting you be such an influence on him over the years. The guy used to be such a player and look at what you've done to him in the past three seasons. The world rejoiced when he fell in love with Norah, thinking how this was the perfect ending that Barney's ba-donka-donk streak could be given. But no, he didn't stop. He then fell in love with a stripper, and proposed to her too. It seemed sweet. But no! Then he decided to get married to Robin! Great build-up. Not! I mean what have your writers been thinking? As the ping pong ball metaphor is too old now, let me ask you to not treat Robin like the diamond shaped pillow in a DDLJ inspired game of passing the parcel. So much for hating Canneda, you guys!

The ninth season is six episodes down and apart from the fact that it is just as interesting as watching Cook it Up with Tarla Dalal, you haven't even met the mother yet! I'm assuming the writers don't want you to romance Cristin Milioti even close to as much as every Punjabi hunk does with Mallika Sherawat on the Bachelorette. Why, oh why? Your gang's antics have been getting really lame for the past two seasons and going by how the current episodes are progressing, I think an additional season was added only because the UPA government gets some kind of commission for every episode made.

While we're on the topic of writing, I'd also request you to stop giving life lessons that seventeen year old girls can Google with the search query “Shitty Ted Mosby Love Quotes” and put up as their facebook status messages. It makes you look like you just walked out of a Thought Catalog article on twenty-somethings. Great taste in literature, right? Right?

I hope you realize that maybe your kids have just been humoring you for years now despite knowing that they're adopted. There's a possibility that you could be an American version of Ajay Devgn from Main Aisa Hi Hoon and your children just sit through your stories because your therapist prescribed family time for a person with special abilities. Whatever be the case, if you don't give this show the ending it deserves, know that I will get a dadi for you from India who will milaao your patri with her mandir-saheli's daughter and then harrow you to give her a par-pota to play with. Phir rakhiyo karva chauth ke vrat chhani uttha ke!

Yours truly,

Sarthak WaitedEnoughForIt Ahuja

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Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Radio Roti Roadtrip

Your dad wakes you up at six, which was supposed to be your planned time for departure, but no matter how seriously your parents tell you on the previous night that they want to leave for that road trip early morning, they're just as habituated as you when it comes to hitting the snooze button multiple times on an almost winter morning. As you take a hurried shower, you know that your mum is either making toasts in the kitchen or neatly rolling aaloo paranthas in aluminium foil. A quick wash later, you get out to dust the car and place the bags into the boot. While you wonder how calling shotgun is never an option for you but only your mum’s prerogative, the others rush out soon enough and the engine grunts a good-to-go.

You thought while in the shower that you'd catch up on some sleep in the car, but you blame the constant shaking for your inability to do so and decide to read a book that you picked up for the road as the radio plays a morning Kishore Kumar song. As your eyes glance up from the words for a moment, you notice how pretty the city looks in the morning. The India Gate through a light mist and the surrounding grass fresh from the dew seem more interesting than the book in your hand and you get a feeling that the day will be just as relaxing as you wish for it to be.

While the eyes go back to tracing words on a page, you realize a few minutes later that the words entering your ears no longer sound like a Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas. You look up to notice that you've almost exited the city and the radio blares something about a person whose name rhymes with saliva doing the Lungi Dance.

Mumma, song change kardo.
“This isn't any better. Play 95 FM.”
“Just go through all the channels once, then I'll tell you.”
*click*... *click*... *click*
Haan, woh last wala sayi hai, 93.5

While the sister orders the mother to change channels one after the other, making her stop at a station that plays her favorite song, your father complains about how the lyrics these days make absolutely no sense. He switches the channel to something that plays a Mohd. Rafi song and you join your sister in telling him that you don't want to listen to boring songs from a dadaji generation. Kishore Kumar's good, but that doesn't mean one has to play tunes from the sixties for six straight hours. The mother gets irritated and gives up on the chore of switching channels, and you wonder why you always forget to get an aux cable for your stupid car stereo. More so because the holy mother leaves the radio at 102.6 FM Rainbow and there's nothing you can do about it. Ironically, the song that perfectly fits the situation at that time is “Aey Aaay Aaaaar. FM radio. All the taaa-ime.”

Staring blankly into the moving fields outside, you look back in when your mum hands you a rolled up parantha that leaves your mouth feeling dry immediately after. Not a good sign. You know it's never a good sign because it requires you to balance the water bottle with both your hands and ensure that you don't spill any water on your clothes. You keep sitting with your mouth open, gathering the guts to tilt the bottle enough to pour out water that would fall directly at the back of your tongue. A speed bump, and you lower the bottle only to try again ten seconds later. Eventually, no matter how hard you try, you have more water on your clothes than what went through your throat and the ten minute exercise feels like a waste. You normally boast about being sober even after four drinks; and here, just holding the bottle makes you act inebriated.

You take your arm out from the window and feel the wind push it backward. As you open your mouth just a little to taste the air, you feel a tickle down below. A pair of efficient kidneys and a cool wind almost always aggravate the need to relieve oneself. After a few minutes, you can't control yourself and voice your concern about badly feeling the need to take a leak. The car will be stopped at the next petrol pump or dhaba, you're told, but the lack of a Vaishno Dhaba for the next five kilometre stretch makes you want to give up all shame and stand anywhere on the road side.

Just stopping on the road side doesn't help. When you finally find the perfect bush to water after a ten minute search, you end up standing at a place from where the only thing in view is a sarson ka khet with a wall that reads the advertisement, “Dr. Sheikh: gupt rogi yahan milen”. You could've been lucky and seen an Ambuja Cement ad instead, but there's only so much that a man with a tiny bladder can ask for.

You get back to your car to notice your dad buying two kilos of amrood and a dozen bananas from the fruit vendor standing close by. “Who's going to eat so much fruit”, you ask your mum, and then don't care to pay attention to the response. You know it's to keep you from complaining about being hungry till your parents discover a nice place to eat right in time for lunch. If nothing else, a Verka booth would be enough to keep you happy.

While your sister gathers the courage to demand a change in radio station again with the excuse that the network is getting crappy, you know that you'd have managed the song situation pretty well if you were behind the wheel. The sister knows it's only a false belief because the mother freaks out if you try to touch the radio while driving, especially when she already complains about you being a rash driver even at the speed of fifty.

You get back to reading your book, take off your shoes and put your legs up on the seat. You notice the neat lines that slice acres of land into little square farms, the trees whizzing by, a hand-pump somewhere, a solitary tree in the middle of a farm and dung cakes that remind you of the time you asked your parents how cows could defy gravity and poop on the walls. Road trips with friends seem to be more fun, but they don't let you hold a book in hand and enjoy the sights of the countryside like one with your parents. Also, the fact that you never have to worry about paying for a wonderful meal that comes with sirke wala pyaaz through the whole trip more than makes up for the radio, the bottle and the susu, while guaranteeing a second smirk at Dr. Sheikh’s gupt treatments.

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Friday, October 4, 2013

Open Letter to Kapil Sharma

Dear Kapil,

It's not been very long since you started your television career, but you've entertained us so immensely over the past few years that I thought it's about time I wrote you an open letter. After all, I don't want to give you a chance to complain about Mr. Raghuram Rajan getting love letters in the Economic Times, while all you get is the Babaji ka Thullu.

As a member of the metropolitan generation which stopped watching television since the day Sarabhai vs. Sarabhai was pulled off air, I always fancied situational comedies set in NYC more than Raju Srivastav's brilliant acts on weddings and villages. While The Great Indian Laughter Challenge opened the urban youth to primetime Hindi comedy, it was your presence on Comedy Circus that really made us overlook all the slapstick performances that preceded your well timed acts and admire a Hindi comedian so openly on the social media, a space that we had earlier reserved only for mentioning Russell Peters. It's liberating to admit to the brilliance you have brought about in our (or my, if I should only speak for myself) otherwise heavily Americanized, often pseudo-elitist, taste in humor.

Your self-production, Comedy Nights with Kapil, is enjoyable beyond what words can express. For once, there's a comedy show on which I do not mind Navjot Singh Sidhu's laughter because there's enough for him to genuinely khadkaao his hahakaar at. While your interaction with the audience remains my favorite part of the show, there are a few things that I'd request you to improve on at the earliest.

The Bua

If you must do just one thing to improve the show, please cull the character of bua. There's a limit to which one can go on and on about not getting married. I think it's about time you realize that Upasana Singh's picture deserves a position in the Oxford Picture Dictionary, right next to the definition of annoying. It was a pain to watch her go “Abba Dabba Chabba” in Judaai, so you can imagine how much Tiger Balm it would take to relieve me of the headache that her hundred word script can induce. There's no need to think of another character for the actress; just let her go. I was feeling guilty about being so harsh, but I got over the feeling as soon as I realized that “twanty too years old, hawt and saxy” is how I literally describe my patootie, and I would not want to see images of it on national television.

The Dadi

Ali Asgar has had so much screen time in a drag act throughout his television career that Bobby Darling's existence finds it difficult to compete with it. If there's one thing funny about his portrayal of dadi, it is being called “buddhan” and being given a kick on his butt in every second episode. He looks nothing less than a Saroj Khan duplicate in sneakers, and I think his imaarat's buniyaad clearly needs some pest control for continuously acting like some cockroaches crept up his salwar.

Please take a hint from Akshay Kumar when he said that he would rip his wig off and throw him away if he dared to kiss any more people on the show. Kissing Shahrukh Khan and Ranbir Kapoor is one thing, but planting his leech of a mouth on Tusshar Kapoor is just mean. I mean, at least let the poor kid get some real action in life first before he is teased by a red lipped drag queen originally born out of Kahanii Ghar Ghar Ki.

To be honest, I can still bear his idiocy as long as the bua doesn't enter the same frame. If I were to choose just one, get rid of the bua already!


An extremely underrated actor, Sunil Grover has never enjoyed the respect he deserves probably because all the original talent has mostly gone unnoticed behind his small mimicry stunts on Indian television. His portrayal of Guthi and some other recent characters has salvaged the image that he carried into the show in some of the initial episodes. I would love to watch him perform more on the show, provided he does not overdo what he is already doing up to a level of perfection, beyond which looms a saturation point.

The Question and the Thullu

Humor lies in the unexpected, which you so wonderfully exhibit every time a member of the audience puts up a question. It's hilarious to see you pull off the brat attitude with such innocence. However, it is now getting a little disappointing to see that your first question to every guest boils down to asking them how they feel on having finally made it to your show, after you mention all their well known works one after the other. It's been repeated as many times as the number of episodes, and I can see through how it ends even before it starts.

Babaji ka Thullu has undoubtedly been the biggest contribution of the show, as it finally gave the country a phrase to replace “ghanta” with. All of us are guilty of using it in our everyday lives now, complete with the little naag gesture. But I hope you will give us more such things to laugh about in our lives before Troll Punjabi's Thullu internet memes become too much of an inspiration for people to visit every meme generator, post Asaram Bapu's image and make jokes about how the babaji ka thullu is still in perfect working condition despite the age.

The show is undeniably the most entertaining on present day Indian television and deserves all the TRP's that it's already getting, and more. My only concern is that it might slowly lose its charm if the characters try to constantly stick to the same eccentric traits or jokes time and again, one episode after another, only because they worked wonderfully in a few initial episodes. Constant reinvention of the characters might break the repetition which is slowly beginning to cause monotony in the humor.

I am only a lowly mortal and probably not someone with enough credibility to make any suggestions to your highly acclaimed work. However, you may give the advice some heed, if you so please.

Irrespective of whether this letter reaches you or not, there's a hope that you will stay just as entertaining as you are, because without Kapil Sharma's “oh mayi goad”, all that my cable connection can provide is no more than a Babaji ka Thullu that looks like a designer blouse, a minor bride, or a lady on a Laado murdering spree.

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Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Kurta Phaad Ke

So you decided to wear a kurta to college today! Very good decision, I must say. Who said only the street play guys could pull it off? They don't own the rights to the style, and neither do those who plan to pursue their post-grad from Jamia. Nor is the kurta the apparel just for Diwali card parties and mata ke jagran. You're looking great in it, and there's no denying it. I just hope you don't feel too much of a need to go to the toilet today.

So you'll walk straight up to me and start talking about how the politicians of the country are abusing the socio-economic diversity of the nation to build a vote bank for the upcoming elections! I know that you're wearing a kurta, and it probably suits your personality to prefix “socio-economic” before anything today, but it's making me uncomfortable. I'm a t-shirt wearing guy whose knowledge of politics is limited to as observed in the college fest organising committee. I feel uncomfortable standing here, having nothing to say. My opinion of the next Prime Minister is heavily influenced by the social media and I fear looking like a fool if I take any names in front of you. But in my silence, I'll nod with whatever you say and pray that you don't feel the urge to go to the toilet today.

So you'll wear your kurta and still drop words like 'dude' and 'bro' after every sentence! I hope you're not trying to live up to your Fabindia label with wooden buttons et al., looking down on the Hindi speaking nukkad-naatak team, which wears its plastic buttoned Khadi. I know guys studying English literature and Journalism wear kurtas too, but c'mon, Hindi sabhyata, man! You can drop the angreji attitude just for today and let it look more authentic, while I wish for a toilet free day for you today.

So you'll steal all the female attention away from me because of your kurta today! I can see how one pretty lady complimented you on the color that you're wearing, while another was amused by your decision to support the cottage industries of our country from today. I know my jokes will not match the charm that your kurta plays on the fairer sex today, and there's nothing that I can do about it. But anyway, let's drink to your kurta; a bottle of Coke each. Treat's on me today.

So you want to rush to the toilet to pee! Now you'll have to lift up your kurta and hold it between your chin and your collar bone today. I know it'll make you look like a villager trying to save your kurta from the trajectory of your aim, but considering the length of your clothing, it seems to be the only option you have today. You'll have to constantly look down while you pee, courtesy the kurta that you clench with your neck. You'll see yourself aim at the naphthalene tablets that sit right next to a chewed piece of gum that someone spat out into the urinal. If lucky, you'll also see the torn off corner of a pan masala sachet. You can thank the kurta for these sights today.

While you take a leak, be sure of having a fellow classmate enter the washroom and push you closer to the urinal just for a little fun today. As you'll try to pronounce a few words of praise for his sister, moving your upper jaw, while the lower stays stuck to your upper chest, prepare yourself for another little nudge. You'll probably lose hold on the kurta by then, letting the stream make a shapely parabola right in the centre of your kurta, all the way to the bottom. Thank the kurta for teaching you, through a simple experiment today that a straight shooting liquid does not act like a laser on an opaque surface.

You'll have to be quick with your thinking and splash water all over your clothes to camouflage the wet patch today. You can either thank the kurta for an unplanned shower from the wash basin in the men's room, or thank yourself for not wearing a pajama in place of the blue jeans today.

I'm sure you must've considered using the cubicle today, but remembering the time from school when you held the door shut because it wouldn't latch, while two boys kicked at your door and laughed, you decided to stay away from aiming into the un-flushed squat style pot today.

So you thought you could make me feel uncomfortable with your pseudo-intelligent talk, look down on the street play society and steal my thunder with the ladies today! I could still pray for you to not have another trip to the toilet, only if you're up for a round of Mountain Dew with me today.

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Thursday, September 19, 2013

Shakti Shakti Shaktimaan

Men are like wine they say; they keep getting better with age. But if you've been brought up on a diet of pizza, burger and every other type of double-roti made out of maida, there's only a limit to which your body allows you to be a superhero. This explains why the face of Superman, Spiderman, Batman and every other idiot who has to suffix the word “man” to his name to establish his superiority keeps changing face every few years. Before you think that the reason I made a subtle dig at the concept of male superiority is to hit off well with the lady readers of the blog, let me tell you that the attention will get diverted from my feminist points of view as soon as I pronounce the name of Shaktimaan.

There are a number of reasons to why Shaktimaan is by far the best superhero not just in the world, but the whole frikkin' universe, Krypton included. To start with, he got his superpowers not because of some stupid radioactive insect bite, but because he did yoga for centuries and could play with the seven chakras in his body. Now, this could mean that Sherlyn Chopra can get superpowers too if she continues selling her aerobics/yoga videos, and plays with the chakras on her body like she normally does. But as long as she's keeping herself away from covering her body from neck to toe in maroon fabric, we can be sure of not having her rise as competition to our beloved Indian superhero. Also, it's not just the yoga that helped Shakti boy maintain his position for so long, but also a daily dose of Chyawanprash, Zandu Pancharishth and Parle G, which our heroes from the west haven't even heard of.

One doesn't need to look at Shaktimaan jump off under-construction buildings owned by Robert Vadra to know about his superhuman abilities. Our lowly daily wagers do that every day and miraculously do not appear in the papers either. The mark of a true superhero lies in wearing just a maroon panty-hose without any shoes, and risking his little toe to hit bed-sides all day long. It also saves on money which would have otherwise been spent on seven trouser top underwears for each day of the week. Money saved superhero style in a plummeting economy. Shaktimaan > Raghuram Rajan. Shobhaa De can finally move on.

A modern, metrosexual man, Shaktimaan does not wear Spandex on his skin like his international competitors. He exudes class by donning the soft touch of velvet, custom fitted with gold embellishments made out of material used to manufacture the heavy duty KKR helmets. Extremely hygiene conscious, he also wears gloves to avoid the ordeal of shampooing his luscious knuckle hair more than twice a week.

While the west fears to pronounce the name of the dark lord Voldemort, Shaktimaan battles the likes of Tamraj Kilvish, who is not just evil like Volde-Baldy, but also breathes out evil powers through his pointy nose, a feat that the bad guy from the west cannot even perform. There's Dr. Jackal too; the guy with so much power that it literally overflows from his mouth every five seconds. Batman's Joker had to say three words to freak people out. Jackal just mispronounces Sharad Pawar's last name and people from Punjab lose their shit thinking that he has been causing all their power woes, consequently bringing Parkash Singh Badal for a second term. How frikkin’ politically scheming badass is that!

Superman was incapable of taking up the responsibility of protecting India. Only the Americans are dumb enough to not recognize the similarity in Clark Kent's and Superman's face. All Indians, barring Anushka Sharma (who cannot even tell her husband when he shaves off his mustache) are intelligent, and cannot be fooled by such a ridiculous attempt at disguise by putting on a pair of glasses and tidying the tuft of hair that puts Himesh Reshammiya's hairstylist to shame. India needed a hero who could disguise like a master illusionist. Shaktimaan took up the challenge and wore buck teeth to win the approval of the Board of Superheroes. What a brilliant idea to distract the Indian population, I must say! The little addition to his teeth makes all men above the age of thirty call him Tinu Anand; those below thirty, Darsheel Safary's future; and the women just get really happy and say things like “Awww, bunny wabbit”. And just in case his false teeth ever fall out, he can also say his name, “Pandit Gangadhar Vidyadhar Mayadhar Omkar Shastri” in James Bond's signature style of going last name to first name, rinse and repeat, for twenty minutes to distract the audience.

Even though Shaktimaan is a lover boy extraordinaire, he has never crossed his limits with his love interest Geeta Biswas on screen. In fact, he is a man with high moral character which also shows in the “Chhoti Chhoti Magar Moti Baatein”. Teaching Indian kids to apologize for their mistakes by saying “Sorry, Shaktimaan”, he has changed pretty much the entire population of the country for better, barring a few people like Mika Singh. I literally became a Shaktimaan fanboy when in an episode, I watched a thirteen year old boy trying to clean his ceiling fan with a jhaadu. The dirt from the fan fell into his eyes and he started rubbing them. Immediately Shaktimaan came to his rescue with a “Thehro” and lectured him about the bad habit that is “aankhon ka masalna”. Can you even imagine Spiderman being so worried about the children in his neighborhood? He himself needs a slap on the face for leaving all the jaala around. It'll take just one rap to elicit a “Sorry, Shaktimaan” and set him straight.

While you read this, Shaktimaan is slowclapping at “Spiderman Spiderman, tune churaya mere dil ka chain”, giving a week's supply of Vicks ki goli to Batman, delivering a lecture on the drawbacks of a skewed sex ratio to the Fantastic Four, advising the Silver Surfer to invest in gold during times of recession, rubbing Iron's Man's face on his neck to cure a bee sting because someone said, “loha mal le, theek ho jaayega”, and dancing to Chalo Ishq Ladaayen Sanam with Geeta Biswas, all at the same frikkin’ moment! Please rise and put your hands together for the grand daddy of all superheroes, the aaloo de paraunthe loving Punjabi pattha, the elder brother of Gurdas and Harbhajan Mann, our beloved Shakti Mann.

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You should also check out this really cool piece by Khamba: Why Mukesh Khanna is the Greatest Human Alive 

Saturday, September 14, 2013

The Delhi Metro Bevkoof

Get frisked and feel like someone just wiped his dirty hands all over your fresh shirt. Flash your card at the entry gate… no response. Rub it on the receptor… Flip it around and rub it… Take it out of the wallet and rub it... No response... Try at the adjoining entry gate. Get notified that the card is out of balance.

Check wallet and see that there isn’t enough money for a recharge. Run to get a token instead. Buy token. Be asked to get yourself frisked again. Think to yourself, “Now, c’mon! I did not just get an AK 47 from the token counter. Wardi pehni hai toh chaudh mein aa gaya. Bloody unreasonable, time-wasting, khaki colored bevkoof!”

Try to peep into the computer screen of the man who x-ray scans your bag. See green, pink and blue outlines of your stuff lying inside. Feel happy for no reason.

Hear the sound of a train entering the station. "Train with destination towards Rajiv Chowk is going to enter platform number 1. Please stay behind the yellow line." Run up to your platform. Notice the train on the opposite side. Bloody uncoordinated, computer recorded Metro announcer, bevkoof!

Check time for the next train to come. Stand at the spot where you know the train will be slightly empty. Cross the yellow line. Hear the guard's shrill whistle. Look in his direction to see him gesturing you to move back. Bloody seeti bajane wala bevkoof!

Try to get in. Get pushed out by those de-boarding the train. Have your earphones stuck to the bag of someone rushing out. Freak out for a micro-second and then pull the earphones back in time. What a frikkin' bevkoof, man! Push against the person standing right at the centre of the door and squeeze yourself in. Have your backpack’s strap stuck between the two doors. Pull hard from inside. Breathe. Well, try to.

Hold your breath and pull in your stomach. Try to reach the pole in front of you before the next station arrives. Instead, have your nose rubbed against an armpit that barricades you to where you are. Bloody unbathed talcum powder using bevkoof!

Get pushed out at the next station... “Utarne ki jagah toh de diya karo! Saale, darwaze ke aage khade hain!” Climb back in again. Bloody insensitive Hindi cusser bevkoof!

Hear commotion behind you. “Haath jagah pe rakh le.”.. “Dimaag na kharab kar.”.. "Tere se bol raha hun kuchh?".. Wonder why some idiots have to fight; the train isn’t crowded only for the two of them! Bloody short tempered bevkoofs! Think about how Indians are always so interested in watching others fight. It makes for a good joke on stereotypes. Haha. Bloody over-inquisitive frikkin’ bevkoof, sab ke sab!

Feel a tap on your shoulder. “Bhaisaab, Rajiv Chowk utarenge?” Nod in agreement. Get pushed out by fifty people. “Pehle utarne toh de, phir ghusiyo.” Save self from tripping after stepping out at the platform. Take half a sigh of relief. Bloody uncouth frikkin’ stampeding bevkoofs!

Walk towards the platform for the yellow line. Get stopped and asked about which train to take for Uttam Nagar. Give directions. Rush to your platform. Late karwa di, bevkoof!

Notice the long queues at the platform. Squeeze through the end of each queue to the spot for the second last coach. Wait. Get pushed by those passing by. Bloody overpopulating, unaware of deodorants, bevkoofs!

Look at the guard. Look at the arriving train. Notice the queues converge into a cluster of sweating bodies as the doors open. Look at the guard getting pushed away by the crowd. Haha, badi chaudh mein khada tha! Bloody dedh-pasli, whistle-blowing bevkoof!

Look at forty year olds rush to grab seats. Wonder why the adults in our country act like children. Notice a person trying to squeeze in between two. “Bhaisaab, thodi jagah bana do.” Know that everyone hates an uninvited huge butt squeezing in and half sitting on the co-passengers’ thighs. Bloody overweight, samosa eating bevkoof!

Notice a lady standing in front of a seat not "reserved" for ladies. Observe how not even one man gets up. Tell yourself that you’d have definitely stood up. Pray for more people to get a convent education. Bloody uneducated bevkoofs!

Count the number of stations to your destination. Multiply the number by two. Feel proud of knowing the time it takes to travel between stations.

Walk towards the vestibule and lean against the side. Feel the synthetic rubber walls gyrate behind your back. Fight the urge to slowly slide down to the floor. Feel the floor shake beneath you. Wonder what would happen if the two coaches broke away at the line of contact.

Look at a guy wearing a checked shirt, skin tight jeans and canvas shoes that read Relaxo. Notice his highlighted hair, locket and a Samsung Galaxy bigger than your phone. Listen to him tell his friend, “Bhai, merse kehti number dede. Maine ka bhaad mein ja. Hyahya, saali.” Smirk at being able to tell through the lie. Bloody sadak-chhaap bevkoof!

Close your eyes and try to concentrate on the song playing through your earphones. Open your eyes thirty seconds later to see the checked shirt wearing a pair of glares and his friend clicking a picture. Roll eyes. Model banne chala hai bevkoof!

Notice a pretty girl wearing orange pants. Look at her white BlackBerry with a pink silicon cover. South Delhi; addicted to BBM; next purchase will be the iPhone. Think how she seems to be the only person in the train that you could make a conversation with. Notice a few men staring at her. Ladki dekhi nahi, taadne chale. Bloody desperate bevkoofs!

See someone reading a book. Tilt head diagonally downwards to see the cover. Revolution 20-20. Bloody pseudo-intellectual; pedestrian taste in literature, saala bevkoof!

Walk towards the door two minutes before the arrival of your destination. Mentally recite “Agla station Vishwavidyalaya... hai!” Smirk at the pause before “hai”. Tubelight kahin ka, bevkoof!

Peep from the corner of your eye into the phone of the fat girl standing in front of you. Notice her scrolling through her WhatsApp screen. Look at her type, “i luv u 2 baba” followed by a heart. Almost barf at the state of the world. Question self about why every ghee-smeared retarded bevkoof in the country has a relationship and a Samsung Galaxy.

Listen to an uncle talk on the phone. “Hain? Samajh nahi aa raha… Metro ki basement mein hun.” Notice that he has a black BlackBerry Curve. Run eyes over to his balding head, grey hair and plastic bag in hand. Hmm. Refrain from judging him. Feel proud of having respect for elders. Nahi toh aaj kal ki youth ko dekho, bloody uncivilized, disrespectful bevkoofs!

Look at a guy with his middle finger inserted into the hole above the doors. Chhed dikha nahi, ungli ghusa do bas. Such a bevkoof!

Wait for station to arrive in less than a minute. Cross both arms and wait while trying to balance self as the train makes a jolt. Get out and stand on the escalator. Walk towards the exit gate.

Flash card… no response… Flip it around… Rub harder. Realize you’d bought a token. Fish for token in your pockets. Irritate everyone behind you.

Bhai, pehle token nikaal liya karo.”… “Kaun hai saala bevkoof line rok ke khada hai!

Feel your cheeks flush. Insert token. Exit. Avoid all eye contact.

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