10 Very Good (And Highly Speculative) Reasons Behind J.Jayalalithaa’s Publicity Gimmick


Because frankly, with all the self conceited astronomical splurging of the taxpayer’s money by our very own behen Maya ‘Douchebag’ Vati up north, and with Mamata BANnerjee’s refusal to co-operate with anything living, dead  dying or in a vegetative state (aka the ‘Manmohan Singh syndrome’) due east, the women politics’ scene badly needed another angle. With Jayalalitha back in the scene, the situation has surely got the much needed edge. I’m pretty sure there is an edge. Just might have to dig through kilometer deep layers of fat to get to it though.


Because unlike others, Jayalalithaa’s government is the most efficient, most corruption free, most achieving and most important of all, most concerned with people’s interest. Or so Miss J. wants us to believe through her full frontal scenes. *Pun strongly intended*


Because no available technology/software could fit J.Jayalalithaa into a smaller space.


Because in the long, incessant war between the North and the South over who is the more ASSorted part of India, this is a battle won for the Dravidians. What better a smack than wiping out pages of a leading northern daily with your southie government’s anniversary celebrations. Hurray! Go Amma!


Because it is TOI- The Trash of India. The advertisements somehow always make more sense than the news in that newspaper.


Because Mr. A Raja finally needed to be told to stop hogging the limelight like a week old hungry pig suddenly released in the cellar of a 5-star hotel. Somebody needed to stand up and tell him that he cannot just expect to make it to the front page every-fucking-time. DAAAYYYM bro, that ain’t happening no more ! AIADMK 1. DMK-0.


Because NEVER is the number of times that the Indian print media would get enough of revenue from advertisements.  Newspapers are the only example of human-controlled black holes, devouring any ad space-buyer that chances upon their way. I’m sure the day is not far when the hawkers delivering the newspapers would also be tattooed with advertisements.


Because when Silk Smitha got to walk away with all the tinsel town attention, Miss. J must have felt ignored like hell. And that’s how the Big Mommy replies!


Because this is India. The national goal of 21st century India is to be remembered in the future as the diarrhoeal asshole of the world. Both literally and figuratively. How else could you explain our population rate and shit-piling of the finest order like this one?


Because when you are Jayalalitha, size is the only thing that matters.


Labour Day Revival: Where the fuck was I and what the fuck was I doing!

Dear Readers,

Okay there’s no excuse for depriving people of there regular dose of off-the-roof humour and scathing sarcasm for almost one-fourth of the calender year! ‘People’ in the above sentence includes both people who have loved this blog and people who have hated this blog.(FYI Buddha lied. There’s no middle path. Not with The Pyjama Warrior at least. You either love it badly or hate it even more badly.)
People who’ve adored me with ‘awesome’, ‘phaadu’, ‘baap’ and other cool tags and people who’ve called me things I didn’t know even existed. Eg: ‘The shit from a dead spineless chihuahua’!!! Girls who asked me out(very very rare) and guys who threatened to cut off my Johnny and throw it to the vultures(very very frequent). People from all corners of this country and from many countries of this world. People without whom this blog would be in a very neglected and dismal state, pretty much like all the Indian sports except cricket. In fact cricket too!

And now that I’m done sucking your scrotum, let me get back to what I’m very very good at!

January was going to be a critical point in my professional life! Wait, I just made it sound a lot more critical than it was! 😛 It’s just that CAT results were going to be out, and it would pretty much decide whether I was going to be on my way to achieve the stereotype that everyone in my near, distant and extremely distant family had dreamed of since my birth or whether I was going to slog it out for an MNC in Bangalore! So, from my perspective in either case I was not exactly going to do what I wanted to do. Anyhow, I scored a measly 97.42 and  before you go ahead and bash me for my nerdiness, let me get your facts right.
Fact 1: This is India we are talking about people. A country full of kids who’ve spent their childhoods and teenage towards the sole purpose of achieving higher marks. They compete with each other and when they have no else left to beat, they study the shit out of themselves!
Fact 2: For anyone born before 1980, MBA in India implicitly means MBA from an IIM,preferably from the older ones(BLACKI). So if you are looking for a ‘socially acceptable’ MBA degree, and a good spouse later on, you have to slug it out for a 1000 odd seats with lakhs of those nerdy-self-destructing kids mentioned above. And 50% of those seats are already ‘reserved’.
Fact 3:  Suddenly from this year, MBA colleges decided they were going to play hard to get. The words ‘general’, ‘male’, ‘fresher’  and ‘engineer’ actually turned out to be the four horseman of apocalypse!

So the measly 97.42 raised a few hopes and a lot many eyebrows. The next 8-10 days were spent in damage control- explaining to every uncle and aunty on this planet how the ‘system’ works, detailing all the options I had in sight (running away being one of them!!). I ingested a lot of belittling and farted a lot of frustration during that period. But ultimately in my foresight I could see that all this would seem okay in hindsight one day.

The CAT fiasco took a back seat and I celebrated being 23. The celebration was actually a ‘pain in the ass’, both literally and figuratively, if you know what I mean. And streaks of gray hair have started making their presence felt (damn!). But then unlike growing old, growing up is always optional!

If January was a downer, February turned out to be a complete bitch! With the writer’s block aggravating with each passing day, I could now sense the impatience that was building up inside me. I just wanted post something. But thanks to all the fans and their expectations, I would press the delete moment right before the last paragraph. You see, nothing short of amazing for you, sires and ma’ams! On the other hand, one of the silliest ‘Day’ on this planet was lurking around the corner. I can’t ever reason out why anyone besides greeting card companies, jewelers and condom manufacturers should be so upbeat about a day that claims to have brought upon mankind it’s biggest plague-love. Anyway, V-Day came and went, the only thing I felt bad about was not getting laid when even my hostel dog Sheru made it out with the bitch that lives in the slums behind the college! Guess that the proverb ‘Every dog has it’s day’ is really exclusively meant for dogs! The old bastard had been eyeing her for quite a while now, and finally, probably over some licks of beer from the trashed Tuborg cans and some canine vows of ‘forever together’ (in canine years) made his move on her. Attaboy!

The later half of February and the entier March were spent in the ‘Great MBA affair’! Interviews, interviews and then some more interviews. In this period, I made several visits to Kolkata, my favourite city! After my previous post in which I poured my heart out about Bengalis, I was afraid I might be stabbed at the Howrah station itself, or thrown off the Howrah Bridge into the river. Hence, I made it a point to keep all my visits under tight wraps! (I shall be writing about these trips in detail in a later post.)

April 3 needs a special mention now. On this day, I achieved what I had been vying for for the past 1 year or more. A seat at the prestigious Mudra Institute of Communications Ahmedabad. And so finally, I’m en route to to realizing my dream of being a kick-ass ad-maker! Cheers to that!

The rest of the month was spent in (not) preparing for the last engineering based exams of my life! I (did not) study with utter determination and concentration and I (do not) hope to come out with flying colours. Yeah right, like I give a fart to that!

And now here I am. Finally, coming back to what I really enjoy! With a hell lot of spare time ahead, and some big plans about the future of this blog up my pyjamas, all you readers can really expect a great reading experience in store!

Yours sarcastically,

The Pyjama Warrior.

Travelling with Bengalis: The Diary of A Victim

July 19, 2008 (Delhi to Dhanbad)

As I write this down, my hands are still trembling. I never knew one train ride could change my life forever.  Today, at 0730 hours, I boarded the Kalka Mail for Dhanbad, my home for the next 4 years. Nervous as I was, the sight of the train was in no way comforting. At first I mistook it for a freight train. There seemed to be more luggage in the train than people. But when the train finally stopped at the platform, I realized this was it. It was really happening. In a few minutes, I was going to travel with Bengalis. Lots of Bengalis!

A very large woman in her 40s warmed me up for the ride by crushing my feet with her even larger suitcase. I could judge from the strength of impact that she was probably carrying blocks of lead in it, though I couldn’t exactly figure out why. After battling my way into the compartment aisle, which by the way is not a very spacious feature in Indian trains, I realized what I had seen from the outside was the tip of an iceberg. There were bags everywhere. American Tourister trolley bags, VIP suitcases, Harrison Trunks, Jute bags, XXXL polythenes. It seemed like bags were travelling with people and not the other way round. It was like every non-resident West Bengali had suddenly been ordered to relocate back to West Bengal with all their belongings. What other possible explanation could be there for a man who was carrying 2 ceiling fans and a bunch of tube lights over a distance of 1200 kilometers?

My mom had told me to keep my luggage close to me at all times. She would have been really happy that night as I was so close to my luggage I had to even sleep with my bags on the 2 X 6 berth.

Note to self- Indian Railways should take a cue from aviation sector and levy charges on excess baggage. Record profit from East-Central Railways guaranteed.

March 3, 2009 (Dhanbad to Delhi)

I am still getting used to the space issues. It is not only the volumes of their bags but the volumes of the people themselves are intimidating enough. Which is not very surprising given that one-third to one-half of their luggage is food. I have never seen any Bengali individual or family finishing up all their food during their journey. Which leads me to believe that Bengalis are always on the travel and hence the stockpile of food. The fact that no matter how early I try to book my ticket, I see ‘W/L ***’ everywhere also points to the same.

No, they never offer me anything. Unless of course I am sitting near the window in which case they frequently hand over peelings of fruits, wrappers and packing foil to me, and I dutifully throw them out. The phrase ‘being somebody’s bitch’ has started making sense to me.

Note to self- No window seats.

January 8, 2010 (Delhi to Dhanbad)

‘Loud’ seems like an adjective with a complimentary connotation when you are sitting in a train with Bengalis. It has been over a year now, but my ears are still not able to adjust to the 150 Db+ conversations happening in the compartments. Sometimes even the rattle-tattle of the train becomes inaudible, giving me a 1AC feeling while being in Sleeper. Talking of sleeper, I want to kick Shashi Tharoor in the ball sack for his ‘cattle class’ remark. Cattle don’t make this much of noise. And cattle certainly don’t travel with excessive luggage. You bastard, why did you defame poor sheeps and goats?

I have stopped purchasing magazines also. I cannot read amidst a medium scale riot that lasts for around 18 hours, if the train is on time (which is hardly the case ever). They say ‘Time flies’. To me time looks like a tortoise that has lost 2 of its limbs to paralysis.

Note to self- The superlative form of ‘vociferous’ is ‘Bengali’.

October 14, 2010 (Delhi to Dhanbad)

More than two years but I haven’t yet got a glimpse of the fabled ‘Bong beauty’. I have travelled in different trains at different times in different classes. It’s not like I am dying to meet a girl. But somehow I do believe female company would be way better than grumpy oldies or pesky Bong minions who want to see Kung Fu Panda on my laptop. One thing about the former though, every one of them looks like a CPI(M) politician. It might be my imagination but they just look like hardcore leftists, trust me! I cannot make a word of what they are discussing, but it looks like they are mostly talking about communism et all!

Maybe I need to see a shrink. That is for later.

This time I am glad to see an F-21 just below my name. Her name is Aparna. Typical Bong,eh? I got to my seat and she was already sitting besides mine. I broke the ice by asking her if she was going all the way to Howrah. She nodded in the affirmative. It was mostly a night journey. (I had made it a point to try to travel at night. That was the only time Bengalis don’t talk. Yup, these guys love their sleep. They want everyone to be on their berths and the lights out at 10, even if it means you have to sit in the dark at the upper berth and eat your food. Still, it was a better option).

So, we didn’t talk much. But I noticed she had those Bipasha Basu type eyes. Nice! I dozed off around 11 only to be woken up an hour or so later by a shrill, part-laugh part-shriek. It looked like one of those scenes from Mahest Bhatt movies where they apparently try to scare you by blocking your sense of hearing. I looked down and I saw Aparna on the phone. Somebody on the other side, not hard to guess, had apparently cracked a joke which had invoked the witch in her.

I covered my face with the blanket and tried to sleep all the way to Dhanbad.

I still get chills down the spine when I remember those long hairs, those eyes glowing in the dim light of the cellphone and that laugh.

Note to self- See the shrink. ASAP.

Diary discontinued….

Kab, Queue, Kahan: India’s fixation with lines and gender parity!

Of all the things I hate (and there are many!), having to go to a sweet shop in festive season surely features in the Top 20. Being born in a country obsessed with food, sweets in particular, comes with its own set of problems. Festivals don’t really get their culture and traditional factor pumped up unless there has been a royal exchange of sweet boxes for every single one of the nC2 combinations, ‘n’ here being the number of relatives and friends one has. And ‘n’ being a very generous number for all of us, it is imperative that nC2 gives us hell and makes sure that one third of our time is wasted in purchasing sweets, another one-third in distributing them (and getting stuck in traffic jams), and the leftover in wondering what to do with the Giga tons of sweets that have taken over our living rooms and kitchens.

Anyway, coming back to the point, it was Diwali time and I was at Bikanerwala. Apparently, this guy is like the Jim Morrison of the sweets business, and everyone wants a piece of his stuff (no pun intended)! The scene was frightening, to say the least- Baffled uncles running around with lists, aunties yelling at the staff for cheating them of their pieces of Kaju Barfi and kids squealing and jumping around. I mentally replaced all the sweets with fire and Jimmy’s staff with devil’s imps and I could very well visualize what hell would look like!

Amidst this entire hullabaloo, in one corner of the shop, there were two neatly formed queues for billing- One for ladies and one for gents! I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw this. Apparently, India has a huge obsession with the 2 queue system. From the long ‘l’ shaped ones at railway stations and government offices to the wavering horizontals at Gol Gappe/Tikki joints, queues in India always exist in pairs. Like the poles of a magnet. Many theories have been propounded to explain this phenomenon. The most prominent ones include the Theory of Equality of Women, Theory of Convenience to the Fairer (by which they mean weaker) Sex, Theory of Hypocritical Display of Gender Parity and the Theory of Touchy Feely. And so it had come to this? Purchasing sweets had also become another variable in setting the male-female equation right? Pardon me for my naivety if I am unable to figure out the relation between gender parity and (purchase of) Gulab Jamuns! But, in a country obsessed with proving it has the largest number of morons, this seemed to be another feather in the cap of the supposed guardians of female rights. Really?

Sisters, mothers and others, if you really believe that most men of this country will not ogle at you if you stand in a separate queue, that you won’t be mentally undressed by most of them if you stand 5 feet farther, and that this virtual sexual assault is not as bad as actual physical advances, please do form a separate queue.

Feminists, women’s rights activists and promoters of equality of women, if you think that a separate queue is a possible cure for all the ills associated with gender disparity, think again. Whenever any uncle tags along an aunty with him to a railway reservation counter, hands her the money and the form and places her in the ladies’ queue, he not only makes her look like a puppet but he also makes all of you look like a fool. I feel the purpose is defeated every time that happens. And isn’t the provision of separate queues based on the fact that some people here actually believe that women aren’t strong enough to bear the inconvenience of long queues? That they are weaklings who deserve some leverage? So, doesn’t that make this whole thing self-contradictory? And if this whole system exists to provide some extra convenience to women, aren’t you tilting the balance against the Martians? Trust me, it sucks to be a man when you are standing in a kilometer long queue for hours and suddenly some girl walks right up to the counter, utters the magic words ‘Ladies line hai’ and voila, her work’s done. It hurts. A lot.

Lawmakers and public administrators, you are assholes. Instead of putting up ‘Ladies queue’ boards at every public office, try getting your law and order in order. Prevent crimes against women; give them equal education and employment opportunities; make legal inclusions for them in bureaucracy and government.

Men of this country, don’t think that giving women some space at counters is all that you’ve got to do on your part. Give them space elsewhere too. You know what I’m trying to say. So, let’s just all try to be decent enough and broaden our perspectives. If your thoughts promote equality and respect, your actions will reflect them.

Meanwhile, back at the sweet shop, an uncle tried the old trick of making a puppet out of his wife. Some others followed suit. An elderly fellow raised questioned the morality of this act. A verbal argument ensued and finally it was mayhem at Desi Jim’s Diwali concert!

Queues are made to be broken, eh?

India Needs a Revolution, Not a Revolutionary

Enough has been said, heard, written and read on the now ubiquitous Jan Lokpal Bill and Anna Hazare. For the past year or so, the nation has witnessed and participated in the moment that has been slated as ‘the end of corruption in India’. I have often wondered why all this time I never wrote anything on the issue. Going by the amount of related data currently circulating on the internet, especially social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, anything I would have written would have had an ephemeral lifetime and then it would be lost in all the brouhaha.

Why now? Because now I am starting to see an equilibrium being initiated in an otherwise unilateral agitation (movement, if one wants to call it that). The haughtiness of the campaign leader(s), which had been carried over to an extent in the followers, is now finally giving way to the much needed reasoning and a reasonable dialogue between the people and the government. Now is the right time for showing the other side of the coin.

I will begin by asking one simple question- What is corruption? We have all heard this word over a zillion times in the last few months, and every time we do, we instantly declare how much we hate it, how eager we are to get rid of it and that there need to be stricter laws to deal with it. I would like to know, is corruption an individual? Or a group of individuals? An institution or perhaps an organization? No, it isn’t. Corruption, like all other social evils, does not have a physical entity. Corruption, like dowry, domestic violence, honour killing, gender discrimination and female foeticide, cannot be tried in a court of law and punished. The accused- the corrupted- can be punished, but saying that it will lead to eradication of corruption is akin to believing that a sinking ship can be saved not by repairing the hole but by drying up the ocean. We all know it can’t be done.

And I have examples from both distant and recent past to demonstrate this fact. Fully competent laws exist against dowry and domestic violence. I take them into consideration because these are the two most widespread, deeply rooted social ills, which also happen to be the most under reported crimes. Thus, these two resemble corruption the most in occurrence and treatment. In the recent years, there has been an increase in the number of cases pertaining to domestic violence and/or dowry being bought to light all over the country. However, two things worth mentioning are- The number of reported cases constitute a fraction of the actual number of happenings and that the urban-rural divide can very well be seen here too. The former can be attributed to the fact that no matter how much developed India claims to be, women are still supposed to play second fiddle in a largely male dominated society. It is expected from them to be forever obedient to their halves and it is imperative that any nay-saying or straying from the usual course would be meted out with punishment, even physical abuse. As far as dowry is concerned, in many parts of India it is still seen as an integral part of  the ‘culture’. And so is ‘Sati’, against which people have been working since the time of Raja Ram Mohan Roy. All these maladies are more prevalent in rural areas, where education levels are low and people are still chained in dogmas. Today, Gram Panchayats, which were supposed to be the epitome of grass-roots governance, have their integrity in question because of a plethora of cases of the panchayats in Northern India supporting and even participating in honour-killing.

The fight against these evils has tilted against us. Why? Certainly not because there aren’t laws to deal with them. The crude, and cruel,  fact is that the guilty here is the mindset of a majority of Indian population. And the errors in mindset cannot be corrected in a court of law. The questions of morality cannot be answered by looking up the tomes of IPC. No doubt, laws need to be there against every possible form of violation of the ethical and moral code of conduct expected from an intellectually and morally developed society. But what if the morals are flawed, or worse, what if the necessary morals are missing?

I don’t see any reason why the fight against corruption will not meet with the same fate as the fight against domestic violence or dowry or Sati. My pessimism (if you want to call it that) arises from some very simple observations. Most of us treat the traffic and safety rules as a choice instead of following them sincerely. We simply don’t care about helmets, seat belts or signals. And when caught, 5 out of 10 times we will bribe a traffic police cop to evade penalty (I’m being very modest here because actually it should be at least 8/10). And then we blame the ‘system’ for the accidents and the traffic jams. Many of us will get railway reservations through agents and will be more than happy to pay ‘commission’ in exchange for a few minutes of hassle saved and a confirmed ticket. And whenever we are at the receiving end of this malpractice, we would either simply blame the ‘system’ or worse, try to bribe the T.T.E. Wherever it is possible to get the work done by showing some greens, we will happily take the detour.

And then we have the guts to blame the ‘system’ while sipping coffee and munching biscuits on a Sunday morning. The system needs reforms, agreed. And we are a part of it too. Hell, we are the system! A Tata Tea ‘Jaago Re’ ad campaign or a video of a chocolate-boy-turned-rebel-without-a-cause and claiming his ‘Haq’ raises only ephemeral social activists and brings only insignificant changes. The fight against corruption requires all of us to change the way we think. Permanently. This change won’t come in a day. You can initiate the process with the formulation of necessary laws. But it will still be the case of a paper tiger that will get its teeth only when the aam aadmi, in metros as well as in villages, realizes that a billion dollar scam is as bad as a 100 bucks bribe and that illegal mining of coal does as much damage to the country as the illegal consumption of electricity in a locality.

I was surprised when comparisons were drawn between Anna Hazare and Mahatma Gandhi. Both because of the similarities and the contrasts between the men in question. Anna tends to overshadow the entire campaign, much the same way as Bapu overshadowed the Freedom movement. I do not question his contribution, I simply want to point out how other people’s contributions was diluted because of the undue focus on one man. History is repeating itself here again. Somewhere in the chants for the leader, the cause is getting lost. People are awestruck by Anna’s ironclad image, forgetting he is but the face of a team that has worked for years without rest to formulate the JLP. He is not the answer to corruption. He is just one of the many of us who are seeking an answer to corruption. In a movement of this proportion, someone will naturally emerge at the forefront. And with the timeline, he might be replaced by someone else.

Courtesy: blessinsblogcenter.blogspot.com

The contrast I mentioned is in the situation. Bapu fought against a monarchy. Anna seems to have confused a faltering democracy with an autocracy. His methods are not suitable in a parliamentary democracy. No matter how dysfunctional the government is or has become, democracy demands that the people and their chosen representatives solve problems through a sustained and sustainable dialogue . Anna’s haughtiness and lack of willingness to listen to others is frightening. I cannot even imagine what will happen if every one of the billion Indians sat on an indefinite hunger strike to bring the government on its knees and get their demands approved. I am not ready to believe that all the people sitting in the Parliament and all the bureaucracy are corrupt. And unfortunately if I’m wrong, I have every reason to believe that 9 or 10 ombudsmen that come into force with the Lokpal will also be corrupt. In which case, the present situation would only worsen, maybe beyond repair. When recently Anna’s integrity was questioned in a TV interview, a member of Team Anna( why not Team Jan Lokpal?) said nobody’s perfect. That’s my point too. Nobody is perfect. So when the ombudsmen will falter, who will ensure they are checked?

I am in no way averse to the entire Jan Lokpal Bill campaign. What bugs me is that people tend to believe that the fight against corruption will end with the successful introduction of a Bill. Ironically, the fight will only start after that. I would love to see people’s faces when they will be required to report a relative involved in a corruption case. I would love to see the choices they will make. I would love to see morality and rationality beating dogmas and injustice, for once. But until that happens, I would be contended with correcting my own flaws and making sure I do not mock the very system I am fighting for.

Drunk Delhites vs Harmless Amplifiers

If you have no clue what the title suggests then you probably have the genetic constitution of a chihuahua and were probably jerking off to pornos all Friday afternoon and evening and would have carried on till late night if it wasn’t for biological constraints.

Anyway, before I continue, let us take a look at this…

There are two dominant communities in India- Vandals and Vegetables. All of us secretly wish to belong to the former, but most of us end up being the latter. Friday belonged to the Vandals though. They reaffirmed the world’s image of India as a trash can. So let us have a round of applause for those brave men!

Now the common excuse floating around for yesterday’s mayhem is that the organizers, DNA networks played foul with the audience. That Metallica didn’t want to play in Delhi in the first place itself. That this was all a part of a conspiracy to screw the Dilliwallahs and rob them off their money. My advice to all these dumbnuts is that they should make a roll of all these conspiracy theories and shove it up their butt holes. So much farting from the mouth has rendered them useless anyway!

Read this post and you’ll get an idea how fucked up the average Indian’s thinking process can get. Seriously, the guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. So better don’t read that post and continue reading this one.

This was certainly not the first time in the history of the world that a rock show was postponed at the 11th hour due to a technical glitch. These kind of things happen all the time. The excuse that the Metallica crew’s insulting behaviour triggered the reaction from the crowd is stupid. You seriously want me to believe that a generation that has grown up on adopting cuss words from all languages, a generation where mothers and sisters are referred to in every other sentence, a generation that makes a movie like Delhi Belly a runaway hit,  got offended just because a firangi allegedly used the F word while addressing them? Horse shit would taste better than this crap!

Neither Metallica nor the organizers had asked the crowd to get high on dope and alcohol. They didn’t ask the Gurgaon police to stay a zillion light years away from the venue either. And yes, neither of them instilled the I-can-trash-anything-coz-I’m-a-fucking-angry-Delhite attitude in the crowd. And those of you who are complaining that the security at the venue was low, it was a frigging rock concert, not a UN Convention on International Affairs, you moron! If you can’t manage yourself, don’t expect others to change your diapers for you.

Guys were throwing amplifiers off the stage and then thumping their chest like king-fucking-kongs! The crowd was leading them on with chants of ‘Drop,Drop,Drop’! They were ripping off the wires, stands and paraphernalia worth lakhs and somehow in this entire process they attained a sense of satisfaction. And revenge. And paisa-wasooli too, which by the way is one of the prime principles of the Indian way of living. Nobody seems to notice that. Everybody is saying the people got screwed, the junta is the victim. What kind of victim trashes its victimizer? Those guys were enjoying what they were doing. In fact it looked like they were happy things turned out the way they did. Because had Metallica actually performed, they wouldn’t have understood a word of it (being oblivious to English) but now they got to do all the good things in life- dope, riot and later on banging their arm candy chics!

And as for a concert, the usual Mika gigs happen all the year round. What’s the big deal?

The latest news is that 4 of the organizers have been arrested on charges of cheating. What about the vandals? Those ass wipes have tarnished the image of the Indian rock fans all over the world. Who would like to perform in a country where people need an excuse to start a riot?

Those that were present at Leisure Valley Park yesterday were not metal heads, they were shit heads! And shit heads deserve no rock concert.

The Cracker Pistol

I believe it’s a common feeling that nostalgia hits you the hardest when you are away from home during festive season. So, even though the intensity of celebrations in the part of India I am in right now are more than enough to conjure even dead souls, I am unable to feel the fervour; the warmth being eaten away by ice cold wistfulness.

The memories of the Dusshera fair are still vividly etched in my mind. Me and my sister used to wait impatiently for the fortnight long festivities to start. I remember how,while going to and returning from school, I would watch men erecting the structures for joy-rides and would pray for them to do it as quickly as possible.I would come home and tell my mother about the progress of those men.In the evening, me and my friends would discuss our plans for that year’s fair.

I am sure those unfinished structures would still evoke that same feeling they did years back…

I remember how we used to wait impatiently for our father to return from office and take us to the fair once it had started. There was a bit of luck involved in that too. We never went to the fair everyday. There used to be a random pattern. Sometimes it would be every other day. Other times it would be every third day. In the later years the frequency gradually decreased till we went to the fair only once or twice. I never really understood the reason behind that pattern, although I believe inflation was the culprit. Middle class families saw the fair as an expensive affair, something that ought to be spent upon the least.

Most of the times mom would not go with us. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to;but accommodating four people on a Chetak was a task in itself. I had to stand in front and slightly bend down to let my father see the traffic. My knees used to get slightly bruised from the continuous brushes against the scooter’s basket.

But it never bothered me. The fair seemed to provide a vacuum that sucked up all those little pains. It was a wonderland for the Alice in all the Indian kids-the poor, the middle class, even the rich ones. The joy rides, game stalls, toy shops, the Well of Death (aka Maut Ka Kuan) and the food stalls seemed so overwhelming once I got there. Most of the times I would be pleasantly bemused; it became impossible to decide what I wanted to do first.

I remember how every year I would buy an ancient weapon toy and a mask(most probably a Hanuman mask) and would come back home to play my own Ramayana game! I remember eating candy floss after being scared to death in the Giant Wheel which, thanks to my sister,I had to ride despite having acrophobia; mom and dad were not interested in the ride, and they couldn’t let my sister sit in in with some stranger. While I used to dig on the floss, my sister would have coconut water or the indigenous fruit ice-cream which was prepared on a rotating cylinder. I remember buying that small cracker gun afterwards, which served as a precursor to the actual Diwali cracker shopping. For the next few days, I used to roam around like a cowboy with that gun and my limited rolls of ammo.

I also remember how my mom used to haggle on every purchase we made in the fair, saving every penny she could.And how she used to get vicarious pleasures from my endless toy purchases and my sister’s numerous turns at joy-rides.

The fair never changed. Every year it used to be exactly like the year before. Even the positions of the stalls, the joy rides and the hawkers were fixed. The only thing that changed were the prices. Looking back now, I realize maybe it was this static nature of the fair that appealed to all and sundry. In an otherwise ever-changing world, the fair provided the perfect getaway from worldly affairs- an ephemeral escape from reality.

Yesterday I went out with my friends to a local fair near my college. It was nothing compared to my city’s fair in scale. But, the awe and the amusement it seemed to generate in the locals was just the same. Once we got there, I could see how each one of us let loose of the kid in them. It seemed, for a few moments, that the old times had returned.

I saw a toy shop and went up to it instinctively. I asked the vendor for a cracker pistol and he showed me a nice piece. He even rolled in the ammo and fired off a few shots to display its finesse. I asked for the price and he told me it was worth 30 bucks,plus 10 for the ammo.

I told him it was too expensive and moved on, hoping my mother was there to haggle with him…