My Encounters With The Third Kind

So I met a snake today.

No not the fake snake from ‘Anaconda eats Hippo WATCH THIS Vedio Lulzz’ on Facebook, but a real goddamn snake. And of all places I had to meet it in the lane that leads to my house, on the corner of my street.

Now the thing with the lane is that it is so well-lit that you can mistake an elephant chilling out in the lane for Baba Ramdev and ask him about the discount offers on sarees and salwars at Pantaloons. I don’t think Baba Ramdev would particularly like that. I am certain the elephant wouldn’t like that either.

Anyway, so that’s that. My lane is the poor man’s 'Cabinet of Dr. Caligari'.

But the snake was totally cool and mistook my horrified pause in the midst of my iPod-induced dance-walk as a cue for a hi-five. And it waited and stood there in its nonchalant poise like a North-east guy.

That got me thinking (and sweating, but fear is the heart of love) – What if the snake was from the North-East? Why I could totally ask him to come home with me and checkout my wardrobe. And help me be cool, like him. And go out with him to the Tantra and then get laughed at by my friends, courtesy the tilted hat and the low-waist jeans that lets Raju peep out of the closet. That would probably make me mad and I would beat the shit out of the chinki snake and you would all call me a racist bitch.

So yeah, no can do – the snake wasn’t from the North-East.

But, but it was blocking my way. Like a fucking Bong on ‘path oborodh’. Whazza? What if the snake was a Bong? Why then I could totally invite him home for a cup of Darjeeling tea and a debate over why the Communists got their ass whooped in the Elections. And then things would get all heated up and the snake would probably bite me in the face and I would die panting, all Red. That would be ironic, yeah, dying with a stupid Commie color on your face.

No can do boss! The snake can’t be a Bong.

The snake was Black! Oh yeah, as black as 50 Cent would be. I thought of inviting it to a pub, but his Nigerian friends had spammed me long enough to make me think twice about getting drunk in front of Black snakes. Or winning a lottery. Whatever comes first.       

And then the snake spoke. Oh yeah bitchezz…he spoke.

Snake: Hey Pal! What up?!
Me: Why, how do you do Naagger? (What? What? That’s wordplay raa, not racism!)
Snake: Heard chicks were checking you out? I came to verify.
Me (elated): Yeah man! I mean that fair one was go…..
Snake: Imma letchu finish, but yeah rumors were right. You are ugly as fuck. KThnxBai!

And the snake slid away into the grass. Probably to mate till kingdom come. I went home to sleep. Alone.

Right! That snake is one lucky animal!

[Addendum: The snake just said Hi from the window. It insists that it is a reptile, and not a fucking animal! Wokay, boss. Added this. Be at peace.]

You are still reading this shit?!   

THE DAY WE DANCED TO BLUES!!

I CANNOT DESCRIBE WHAT I AM FEELING RIGHT NOW! 

A DAY LIKE THIS TAKES A LIFETIME TO ARRIVE UPON, OR PERHAPS EVEN MORE. I HAVE BEEN LUCKY, ALONG WITH 1.21 BILLION INDIANS TO WATCH THIS DAY HAPPEN! 


THE DAY 1.21 BILLION INDIANS CAME TOGETHER! THE DAY 1.21 BILLION INDIANS CRIED, LAUGHED, JUMPED, SHRUGGED, BELLOWED, ABUSED, MEXICAN-WAVED, GRUNTED, HOWLED, WHOOPED & FINALLY WENT INSANE TOGETHER! THE DAY WE DANCED TO THE BLUES! 

THE DAY WE WON THE WORLD CUP!! 1.21 BILLION INDIANS & THEIR 15 MEN IN BLUE! FUCKYEAAAAHHH!! WE WON THE FUCKING WORLD CUP!!

EVERYONE IS CELEBRATING! THE COBBLERS, THE RICKSHAW-WALLAHS, THE DUKAANDARS, MY COLLEAGUES FROM THE IT-SECTOR, THE UNEMPLOYED TAPORIS, THE UNTOUCHABLE BABES, THE KIDS, THE 1983-ERS -- EVERY-FUCKING-ONE IS CELEBRATING!!  TOGETHER!!

CRICKET - IF ONLY YOU WERE A POLITICIAN! 

LOVE YOU!! :-)

Chandrakanta ki Jawaani..

My name is Chandrakaantaaa. Chandrakaanta ki jawaaani. *Ahaa Ahaa/Cheap Indian Bhangra rap* I am too sexy for you. Mai tere haath na aani. *Ohoo Ohoo*.

That’s exactly what Chandrakaantaa sang to Doordarshan 15 years back in 1996, when after a bombastic run on the national TV channel for 3 years, DD did a Kalmadi on the show’s producers and pulled it off air – almost a year before the scheduled contract ended.

WAIT. If you are leaving because you think this is another shitty essay on how private channels & the corporate media have killed off a thriving DoorDarshan, come back. Because this post is not about that. At all!

We all know that DoorDarshan did not have the ‘door darshan’ to effectively counter the powerhouse packaging and CWG-scale marketing of cable TV. And as an obvious result, they were relegated to hosting boring quiz shows & singing competitions where the ladies dressed in salwar kameez or churidaars. Dude. Cable TV had Divya Dutta & Shikha Swaroop in mini-skirts. You could have had your women in a pair of jeans at least? Anyway point is, they effectively won the ‘Paidh pe Kulhadi’ award and fucked off into obscurity.

However, like an ice-cream trolleywalla who doesn’t come around the neighborhood anymore because of the ‘Mama Mia’ counter across the street, DD has left behind thousands of kids who still pine for Chandrakanta & co.

For what you knew but couldn’t confess for fear of being shunned in the age of MTV & FTV, a million kids grew up on DD – and built their lives around it too. And like they say, the child was the mirror to the man. For what DD will never apprehend, is that, in spite of their obnoxious production values & packaging skills, they had managed to inspire and engross today’s Indian youth when they were still teenagers.
  

DD. Facilitated Day-Dreaming

 
We learnt the art of geekdom from Captain Vyom, Knight Rider & Captain Samurai Cyber Squad. We shot imaginary AK-47s in the air & wanted to go Virender Sehwag on terrorists from Sea Hawks. We learnt the art of subtle, black comedy and satire from Dekh Bhai Dekh & Flop Show. We wanted to be globe-trekkers and go on world tours (on company reimbursement of course!) from Surabhi. We became fans of The Dark Knight from Shaktimaan. We knew how to track down the guy who stole stationary from our cubicles at work from Byomkesh Bakshi & Raja Aur Rancho. And we learnt about a lot of family-unsafe stuff from Chandrakanta & Chitrahaar!

Oh. We did learn about politicians and the Parliament too. From Duck Tales & The Disney Comedy Show (ft. Mickey, Goofey & Donald).

You see, it was not the cable TV that killed DD. It was us. We loved it and learnt from it. But like the neighborhood ice-cream trolleywallah, we left it when better stuff came along. We did not go out to buy Boroline as advised by DD anymore, for SRK’s snarky comments about DishTV's superiority seemed more important to tend to now. 

Not fair at all. But that’s life.

Chandrakantaa is turning in her grave now because of this shit Blog post that did not do justice to her awezomeness. Not fair, she says.

But that’s life.


P.S.: A big shout-out to Didi, who inspired this post.

Image courtesy – AbhiSays.com

Heavy Boots & The Alarm Clock

It was a hot summer night.

Even the crickets and the fireflies seemed to be tired from the heat. Silence mingled effortlessly with the sweat of the farmers that still had the fields wet. And scraping, half-crawling through the mud was a young lad of about 20.

The full moon reflected on his face – blackened hollow eyes leering eerily into empty darkness. The iron chains on his feet stopped him from standing up. His face, arms and bare back glistened with blood, oozing out with every movement of his muscles, from deep lacerations made by a thousand hits from the whip.

The whip that dangled like a snake spewing venom.

From the hands of one of the dozen men wearing heavy military boots. Thud after Thud, they followed the crawling, half-dead corpse. Like wolves following a dying foe.

“That is his fucking village, alright”. “Ji, Saheb.”

The village courtyard had been swept clean. Only to be dyed dark red as the boy panted onto it, muddied by the boots following him. They stood there – 12 men and a half-dead corpse, waiting for a door to fling open and a woman shrieking out to comfort her son.

Nothing happened. Except that the crickets were awake now.

The Brit officer was losing his patience. A four-mile walk through muddy paddy fields and mosquitoes for nothing. He whipped the boy hard on his back. Half the whip hit the ground, producing a weird ‘Crack’ that mixed with the boy’s gurgled shriek.

“Motherfucker.” 

“Water.” The boy half-whispered into the night.

You could almost see the dozens of pairs of eyes flinch shut from behind the boarded doors and windows. Yes, they were watching. The whole village was watching their son. Dying, under a full moon night.

“Show us the house. And you shall have water.” The boy spit blood onto the brick floor of the courtyard, “Ha. Ha. I sure will.”

The second officer kicked him in the head. The boy writhed in pain.

“Bloody Fucking Natives”.

Inside the second house on the left lane off the courtyard, someone moved.

“Ma, please. Let me go. Dada will die.”
“NO. Please Reema. He killed Inspector Sands. If they know that this was where he was hiding, they will burn the whole place down”, the mother knew she had to choke her tears, if the village was to live.  
“But Ma..”
“NO. Give that glass to me. GIVE IT TO ME..”

*CLAANKK*!! The bronze glass landed with a thundering clatter on the windowsill, and rolled off onto the floor.   

The sound echoed around the village courtyard like a giant bell ringing to the chimes of death.

Was that a smile curling up on the corners of the Officer’s mouth? Was it failure that now shone through the eyes of the battered lad? Could this be the end of it all…

*TRRRINGGGG*

Oh fuck! It is 8:00 a.m. already. Yours truly is going to be really late for office today. Damnation be damned! I leaped off my bed and ran towards the bathroom, grasping the day’s paper on the way.

Waaaait a minute. The big tri-colour on the front page could only mean one thing! It’s Republic Day.

Haha. Fuck you Alarm Clock. I am going back to sleep! Yaay!

What? What happened to the young lad and his village? Who cares?

They probably died. Trying to get us our freedom. To sleep.

I mean what else could you do on a boring holiday, right?

What are your plans on this Republic Day by the way?!