An NRI in Bharat : A Love Story

So did I tell you about my last visit to Bharat? No? Let me tell you! It was an amazing trip. My god so much has changed in the country since I was there last time, a year back, when I came down to visit my younger brother, after our parents died of COVID due to lack of oxygen. I mean, my god! What a difference nine months make. I could see no queues in the hospitals this time. Except for one public hospital I had to pass by where the treatment is free, but you know, in the lane where my parents used to stay …  It’s a gated community, you know, just like where I live in LA, oh my god, property rates in LA are so bad. I tell you, I had to sell a kidney to buy a small one acre house, so I decided I’ll shift to Android for a while. 

Anyways, what was I saying? Yes, the gated community where my brother stays, not a single person has needed to visit one of those terrible socialist hospitals. I mean, honestly, that’s the old India. But in Bharat, there are these amazing five-star hotels that provide such a great service. What’s that? Did I say hotel? No hospitals, dear. Too bad, my parents did not get a bed there last year, but I got plastic surgery done so cheap, And dental, OMG! Like, in America, no one does dental anymore, they just can’t afford it. It’s dental or iPhone, you know. And you gotta have an iPhone. 

Yes, nine months, oh my god, what a difference. The country was called India then. All that Nehruvian legacy, leading to that terrible system which killed millions, despite everything that the great government was doing, and all the money NRIs like me kept sending! And look at it now!

I was traveling in Uber driven by a B-Tech in Computer Science from IIT Bombay, who quit his job in a multinational (no one in India wants to work for multinationals anymore, he told me) to drive Uber, and the lakhs of rupees he earns per month, he triples it with options trading, he was continuously on an app while he was driving, giving voice commands to execute trades. He told me, every Uber driver in the city is into futures and options these days. And crypto. I was so ashamed of my American counterparts. 

I was traveling to Gwalior, where I had to sell some land my father had bought as an investment. I couldn’t get business class booking. They told me, the airlines, that everybody wants to travel in business class now, so seats are not available. Last time I traveled, the business class was empty. India! But in Bharat, it’s impossible to get business class tickets on domestic airlines. I even tried to offer twice the fare, to a nineteen year old guy with business class seat, as I waited in the lounge, but he said he had to take a meeting with clients – his gomutra beer idea got funded via Shark Tank India, and his company, Sanskari Beers is going public soon –  first thing after landing, and he could not spend two hours in cattle class (you know, cattle, gomutra, reminds him of business too much), before that, so sorry! In India, a year back, I could have got an old businessman in the business class to trade a seat for a couple of twenty dollar bills on the ticket price, I tell you. But not in Bharat!

And OMG, have you seen the mental health scene here? I mean back in India, everyone was stressed. No one would celebrate anything, they were so busy with earning money in a socialist India. But now, everyone is celebrating all the festivals. And that’s why India has no mental health problem! I talked to so many people from the gated community, and no one has ever visited a therapist, forget a psychiatrist. They told me that family functions and meditation cures all mental issues, and in India no one needs therapists. I talked to a couple of therapists, they were ready to talk for hours. Not like in the US where they just show you the clock when your time’s up. They had no business!

When I go back – and I don’t want to, I mean who’d want to leave such a great place, with IIT Bombay B-techs driving Uber, and cooks who have done a PhD in microbiology? But unfortunately, I have to be in the US to be able to send dollars back home – I’m going to connect everyone struggling with mental health there with Sadguru. I mean how cool is he? Dancing and riding motorcycles, and curing depression with a laugh! Only possible in Bharat! 

And did I tell you, there is no house-help in Bharat? Everyone just uses apps and someone comes and takes care of everything. Daily new cook (masters in microbiology, minimum), new driver (who is into F&O), new house-cleaner (those few unfortunate who couldn’t win Shark Tank funding), new nanny (child psychology major), you can even book a person by the minute, to load a dishwasher, or to change diapers of a baby! Unlike India, where house-help needed to be paid a fixed sum, it’s pay-per-use. No use, no pay! And all of these service personnel are into F&O in their spare time, to it’s not like they would prefer a steady job with a fixed pay! My brother’s kid’s app nanny taught the kid how to trade! Now he has a portfolio better than mine. And he’s six!

I’m really proud of all my NRI counterparts who are staying outside Bharat (shouldn’t we be called NRBs, like Non Resident Bhartiyas?), missing on all the great things Bharat has to offer. You stay in terrible homes, without all the apps for taking care of your things, and no celebrations, so that you can send money back to the motherland! Such selfless service. But you should go back to Bharat more often to enjoy all the great things on offer thanks to your money! And write threads about it so that more of us know what they are missing. JSR! 

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Picture Credit (Featured Image): Pranshu Sharma on Unsplash

Harry Putter and Amul Butter

Or another Amul advertisement you’ll never see on billboards:

Nothing royal about it, just regular butter. It won’t embarrass you!

One Amul Ad You’ll Never See on Billboards

Outliers: The Fairy-Tale of Success

Here is a compressed re-write of Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers for dummies (what Gladwell already writes for dummies? double dummies then). I’ve re-written it so that even a child can understand it. It currently has just introduction and epilogue. All the chapters are still missing, but not much is lost, I assure you.

Why I Left Indira (Again)!

The music playing on FM radio, as I drove down Indira’s flat, was “Desi Girl” (literally a song about native girl, and how you won’t find anyone like my native girl, anywhere in the world).

The idea that the nakharas of desi girls are unparalleled in the world is highly suspect. No I wasn’t going back to native charms, I was leaving Uma to go back to Indira who had newly acquired a FB profile, where she was posting her photos in the latest western clothes, updates about her visits to spas, and hair stylists, snaps of pastas and enchiladas she was cooking at home; Indira whose father owned a, now prospering, packaged foods business; and all this with an additional promise of freedom from unmitigated feminism of the likes of Uma.

The New Face of Indian Feminism

The new face of Indian feminism, and whole lot of crabs:

Ah, the prude me! If only I had the guts to substitute the word face with something with more, umm, oomph factor, I guess I’d have made the cut (into the real liberal league, or the RLL for short). I should start kicking myself, and learn to be more liberal (or more real liberal). Bear with me. Bear with me, as you’ve been bearing with me all these days/months/years, the way you bear with any other megalomaniac dimwit (if you’re a first timer, go to paragraph no 31 directly). This time, I’ve an excuse. I’m writing after a long time (unless you count book review as writing). Yes, at times, the anti-constipation medicines might be a little too effective for comfort. So, for the third time, bear with me. I’ll come to the point, later, rather than sooner. Oh hell with it. I’ll come to it anyway. What’s sooner or later between friends?

Yes, I’ve come down from the pedestal already, as some of my regular readers (actually one, unless I count myself), would say (IW, you’re still reading, aren’t you?). I mean, why oh why, am I chewing on a subject that deserves its own share of ignoring? The reason, as I already told you, is this: something is better than nothing. I mean, I’m thirty one plus (not twenty-something, unless 11 counts as something), not getting any younger, definitely not getting any smarter, more definitely not getting any creative (I contemplated if I should add more before creative, but then backed off). My writing career is in the middle of nowhere, since the day I started. Mind you, it hasn’t moved left or right, up or down. It’s right in the middle of nowhere, all along. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that that is where it’s gonna stay. So what was I doing on the pedestal anyways? Smart question. But then, I’ve come down, haven’t I? OK, OK! I promised I’ll get to the point.

Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we, for a change? Let me share all that I learned in the last two hours (I hope my manager, who has the feed of this blog in his reader, and even reads it sometimes, isn’t reading this. He thinks I’m writing a design paper. There! I’ve confessed! Ummm. Sorry, I shouldn’t be jumping the gun). So first thing I learned is: there is a blogger called eM. Damn this new Firefox feature of online spell check. It says eM is a misspelling. I mean, do these guy have any sense of humor? Just because you spell something in reverse doesn’t make it a misspelling! Doesn’t make you ulta either. There! Another red line under ulta. Okay, honest now, I’ll keep it straight. Not that straight, dear. I mean, of course I’m straight. But as an aspiring member of the RLL, I don’t want anyone to think that I meant straight as a value-judgment. The last thing I need is being called homophobic!

So anyways, I was telling you about eM. She has a blog. What did you say? Everyone has a blog these days. Thanks for educating me. But eM has an ubercool blog: The Compulsive Confessor. It deals with: “partying, smoking and binge drinking, along with candid musings about sexual techniques and escapades” according to Telegraph (UK) feature. Oye, where are you going? I haven’t even finished! Good thing I didn’t give you the url right away. So anyways, Telegraph (UK) did a story on her. And what’s more, the story divulged that Penguin India has commissioned her to write a semi-autobiographical book. So far so good. What has it got to do with feminism, you ask? Well you tell me. I wish I knew! Who’s saying anything about feminism?

Oh you mean the title. Sorry. Fooled ya! Ha. Just kidding. I’ll get to that. (No wonder no one takes me seriously).

On Sepia Mutiny — the greatest thing to have happened to Indian Blogdom since Margaret Thatcher (what? what has she got to do with Indian blogdom? I’ve no clue. It’s the first name that came to my mind. It seemed as good as any) — Amardeep did his take on the article, and then Indian feminism was born. Err. Okay, not really. Again, blame it on those anti-blogstipation medication thanks to Amway. I’d have sued Amway, but then my brother will be implicated too. (What I’ve no brother? How did you know? Is there no privacy on net, dammit?)

So we had two of the most famous Indian Women Bloggers (or so I’ve heard) taking up the fight against the patriarchy that was pulling crabs down, and pants up.

What’s wrong with compulsive confessing, Sakshi asked. Well, absolutely nothing, I agree. I mean, just because it’s compulsive doesn’t mean there is something wrong!

Wonder why our society’s philosophy on empowerment starts at providing women with decent education and then abruptly ends when she starts expressing her individuality.

Indeed! With you all the way.

Similarly, many think eM writes solely to attract attention and gain that temporary hype (and therefore she ended up getting a book deal) because it’s difficult for them to comprehend the fact that an Indian woman can also think, write, discuss and not be apprehensive about her intimate thoughts on a public platform

Absolutely. Indian Women rock! Err. I didn’t mean… you know what I didn’t mean.

On the other hand if her writings were preaching the sati-savitri qualities in desi-women, the joys of motherhood, the precious value of an intact hymen – she would be applauded for her thoughts, no matter how farce they maybe in actuality.

There you lost me, Sakshi. Intact hymen? Are there bloggers writing about intact hymen? Where are they? Why are they hiding? I mean, if they’re being applauded, as you contend, surely I should have heard about them. But then, I’m a little hard on hearing, so sorry for asking again. Where are they? I so love blogs about intact hymen.

The only question I have is, where in the blog did Sepia Mutiny/Amardeep actually said she should not express her individuality, or take off her blog/not write a book/do whatever? But asking that question might bar me from RLL. So for the record, I never asked it.

Melody highlighted the Indian Crab mentality with a nice old story. Of course she was being a little judgmental of the crabs but then I’m not a PETA activist, so I guess crabs will have to deal with the damage to their self-esteem on their own. (Comment to the crabs:) Sorry guys. I like you, but on my dish. Lightly spiced, and cooked well. Your self-esteem is, frankly, not my problem. (End of comment to the crabs). Besides, she didn’t really give the crabs a benefit of doubt. Maybe they are pulling the other crab down, because they:

1. Think he might be killed if he goes out, in the unknown world.
2. Like him so much that they don’t want him to go away.
3. They are actually trying to push him up, but are just plain incompetent.
4. It’s not a he crab, but a she crab. And the he crabs surely don’t want to let a her go.

(Note: I’ve implied that the pulling crabs are all male. After all, women crabs cannot be that insensitive!)

But I get the point. Postmodernism is not on offer for the crabs (although crabs are on offer for the postmodernists! What a win-win). Especially not for the Indian crabs. There I almost sound like a PETA activist now (except for that insensitive comment about the dish. But then I really like crabs, when dished out that way). I’ve heard PETA members have a preferential queue in RLL. But then we aren’t reading for any ulterior motives, and just taking the things on face (errr! there again, I lost my second chance. the prude me) value.

According to Melody, its a “very very sad” thing to “diss”(miss?) another blogger, a fellow Indian blogger at that, a fellow Indian Female blogger at at that that (this last I presumed), especially by a group of “desi bloggers”. Doesn’t she get it? There are Indian bloggers, and there are Desi bloggers. Surely, you can’t expect one group to root for the other! But then, I’m with you Melody. We must not ever dismiss anything Indian. Even Shobha De. There, I’m against Sakshi, even. She says Shobha De is a hypocrite! How could she. I mean, Shobha De is an Indian Writer for god’s sake. And an Indian women writer at that. And an Indian women writer who wrote about women taking down their pants (or so I’ve heard), and men too, for it takes two to tango, and in those days when you said two, you said one M and one F, how homophobic!) long before there were bloggers writing about women taking down their pants.

I get it. I get it. Why Shobha De is not kitsch, is that she only wrote about other people taking off their pants. Never about she taking off her pants. But it’s a big mistakes. She never wore pants! So come on now. Let’s forgive Shobha De for her alleged hypocrisy. We must root for Indian feminism, in all shapes and forms. Err… I didn’t mean it that way. You know what I didn’t mean, don’t you?

Shhhhh!t – Episode 2

“How is it, three?”

“To be very frank, four, it stinks”

“Thank gOD for that!”

— The Dialogs of the Third and the Fourth believers (Second-last triplet)

You cannot have your cake and eat it too, says conventional wisdom. But you can eat your cake and shit it too. No wonder the (Shhhh!)It religion has no prohibitions about eating cake, or for that matter anything. So long as you increase the amount of it! in the world, anything is fair. But if there is one thing that the Shhhhh! religion wouldn’t allow — not to its high-priests, not to its collectors (we’ll come to that soon), not to its aam junta — it’s coffee! Coffee, the Shhhhh!tian belief goes, is constipating — and constipation, in Shhhhh! religion, is the number one intestinal sin. But first things first.

Nobody knows how the Shhhhh! religion started. There are a lot of conflicting hypotheses, none of which are supported by any reliable historical evidence. But the Shhhhh! creation myth is well documented, mainly because it’s very short.

“gOD had a chronic constipation, and then it! happened”

Theologians have often debated whether constipation should be considered a intestinal sin or intestinal virtue, for surely if it weren’t for chronic constipation, it! wouldn’t have come into existence at all, but that’s a very recent development. The high-priests of the Shhhhh! religion insist that if there is an original sin (the reason for all the suffering in the world) in this universe it’s constipation. Modern psychologists, who have tried to find a link between constipation and pain tend to support this albeit regressive belief of the Shhhhh!tians.

In a very recent controlled experiment (double blinded and all that) in a sample of eighty seven people who were given constipating medicines, a whooping eighty six of them claimed that they felt unhappy. The eighty seventh person, it was later found out, was a masochist. What is surprising is that all eighty-seven of them were given a laxative, to rule out any placebos, but even the thought of constipating medicine made them unhappy!

However when it was pointed out that coffee actually makes people feel good, the psychologists who conducted the experiment insisted that was because people did not know that coffee is constipating. But then we digress!

The first serious altercation between the Shhhhh! religion and science is known to have happened with the law of conservation of it!, which says, in simple words, that:

It! can never be created, nor destroyed. The total amount of it! in the universe remains constant.

Apart from the obvious fact that it went against the creation myth of the Shhhhh!tians, this really got the theologians who also made and sold cakes very upset (In those times the Anti-trust laws were almost non-existent, so the theologians did not have to disclose their businesses even if there was a provable conflict of interest. Even the office-of-profit bill is very recent in origin — and even that didn’t last long!). Surely if it! cannot be increased, you cannot insist that people eat cakes! The theologians got angry and stopped making cakes. This made experimental psychologists very angry, because their mice preferred cakes to virtually any other food item, and suddenly stopped ignoring all stimulus. May be it’s this old indirect rivalry between the scientist and the psychologists that might have resulted in the psychologists siding with the high-priests of Shhhhh! religion on the matter of constipation, but then we’re not into constipation theories.

When asked if he could explain the wondrous workings of the universe in simple words, a famous scientist is known to have answered:

“It’s a piece of cake”

He wasn’t even kidding!

[To Be Continued…]

Shhhhh!t – Episode 1

[Note: This series is a scholarly study of a fringe religion that’s lost to anonymity, although evidence of its one time existence is undenying. To some people, especially those who tend to regard only the mainstream religions as religions, this writing may sound offensive, or even making fun of religion. Stop right here, if you’re one such person. For I don’t want religious bigots to read my writings, it’s an affront to my religion and hundreds of fringe religions that have been ignored/denied by the mainstream all these years. This is no parody, and branding it as such will be taken as an offense by many. Holy Shit!]

“Shit happens” — Vincent Vega (pulp fiction)

The custodians of the Holy Shit got it all wrong — no not the shit of course, that’s one thing they got dead right. But they didn’t know what they were supposed to do with all that shit. It was way before Television was invented, forget Internet, and it still kept coming!

And it so happened that one day, Nishchit, a very sincere follower of a then new religion (which soon vanished into oblivion, as its high priests went on a long trip to find the *it* (or it!) that so eluded the humans, never to return) stumbled upon the custodians of the holy shit, as they were contemplating the nature of the holy shit.

Hard of hearing, Nishchit thought he heard the phrase “the holy it”, and that really got him interested in the conversation. There aren’t too many accurate historical parchments that have survived, but it’s known that the dialog went something like this:

“Do you know anything about *it*?”, Nishchit asked.

Not knowing how to answer a direct question about the world’s best kept secret at that time (according to all the historical accounts of that time, which are now mostly destroyed) the custodians decided to play it safe.

“It’s unknowable, you gotta experience it!”

“And what if you don’t know how to”

“Oh! You better know. No shit!”, one of the custodian said, with a relieved smile.

“He knows no shit”, he whispered to his colleagues, who tried not to laugh out loud.

At this point Nishchit, more confused than before, decided that religious philosophy was out of his reach. It was a good thing, as far as his wife was concerned.

A tribute to the true fans of India Cricket

[With due apologies to Dylan for trivilazing the song]

How many flops must a fan play down
Before you call him a true fan?
Yes, ‘n’ how many surrenders must he witness
Before sense seeps into his mind?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times must the paper tigers fart
Before they’re forever shunned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many times must a fan look up
Before he again looks down?
Yes, ‘n’ how many tears must one fan shed
Before he can manage one smile?
Yes, ‘n’ how many matches will it take till he knows
That too much hours have been spoiled?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many years can a hype exist
Before it’s busted once and for all?
Yes, ‘n’ how many years will the icons exist
Before they’re shown to be made of sand?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times can a fan turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

The Huddles and the Chockers

‘The time has come’, the Walrus said,
‘To talk of many things:
Of contracts — and BCCI — and sony Max —
Of Ferraris and Pepsis
And how Mandira was more hot
And whether Tendulkars serves chicken wings’

‘But wait a bit,’ the Oysters cried,
‘Before we have our chat;
For some of us have bad breath,
And none of us have close-up teeth
‘Go hurry!’ said the Carpenter, ‘Or you’ll miss the comercial’.
They thanked him much for that.

‘A streak of luck,’ the Walrus said,
‘Is what we chiefly need:
And a track that turns only when they bat
And yes, rains just when we need —
Now, if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can watch the farce.’

‘But they must not win the toss!’ the Oysters cried,
Showing off his little blue cap.
‘After such a trashing, that would be
A dismal thing to do!’
‘The lady is a riot,’ the Walrus said,
‘Do you admire the view?’