Too sexy for your love.

There’s this myth that is been going around for a long time which I will proceed today to dispel.

- Indian men are not sexy.

I have no idea about the origin of this myth but I am sure it’s been around a long time. It was already prevalent during the colonial times and the trip Gandhi made to London in his loin clothes didn’t help the image much either.

Now, that’s not to say Gandhi wasn’t sexy. He was. No man who isn’t sexy can have the confidence to meet the English Prime minister in his underwear. That man was sexy and he knew it.

Thing is, if you actually think about it you will realize how stupid one has to be to believe this biased allegation on my Indian brethrens.

We all know that Indian women are known as the most beautiful in the world. They have won beauty contests, acted in movies and are lusted by men/ women of all races. (My blog is whichever-way-you-swing supportive).

Further proof can be derived by the sheer number of porn sites that will open up if you Google 'desi girls'. I myself have verified this as research for this post.

Now consider this.

Enquire on whom 90% of these Indian women will marry?

Indian men.

Case closed. Bara boom Bara bam.

I know the existence of rumors about the character of an Indian man. I am shocked by the generalization of a whole population due to the flaws of a few. Never the less, let me take the time to make you see it from another perspective.

Rumor 1: Indian men treat their women badly.

This in my opinion adds an edge to the Indian men. We are the Rhett Butlers of the world. Now we all know that women tend to sway more towards men who treat them bad. Don’t ask me why they do it but they do. Ask any of those nice guys who finished last.

Rumor 2: Indian men do not know how to pleasure a woman.

What!? Man, you are talking about the guys how invented sex. We made religions around it. We have even given the world the maximum permutation and combinations possible in doing it. So in the midst of all this wonderful research for the benefit of the humankind, we kind of missed the clitoris and the g-spot. Big deal. The maximum pleasure for a woman is in pleasuring a man. It is written.

Rumor 3: Indian men are all mamas’ boys.

I fail to see the problem with this. The last I heard there’s no way papa can give birth.

Rumor 4: Indian men are horny.

Of course they are. You try living in a country where your women are declared as the most beautiful in the world.

Rumor 5: Indian men lust after white women.

Actually this is true and the blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the western media. Until an average Indian man reaches adult hood, the only naked women he has seen would have been a white woman. This is thanks to the prevalent western porn industry that caters to our collective Indian lust. Moreover our Indian national pledge has made us feel a little incestuous in having any 'dirty' thoughts on our Indian sisters. So that kind of leaves only white women for our fantasies. This problem, however, is normally cured by marriage to a nice Indian girl from a good family selected by the mother.

I have observed, in my years of study on sex and its relevance in Indian society, that there are basically 3 types of Indian men. They can be termed as:

1. T man.

These are the ones who have been stereotyped by all mallu naughty movies as the master of the house or the son of the master of the house who is always staring down the blouse of Shakeela chechi, playing the maid swapping the floor. They can also be recognized by their inability to have a conversation with a woman without their eyes dropping 6 inches below her eyes.T-men are just grown version of a boy who has not been weaned yet. Fascination towards an anatomical part of the female body whose sole function is to provide nutrition to its young cannot be termed in any other way than being the result of an early weaning.

2. A man.

These species can be found in all Indian Public transport services. In their highly active stage they can be found groping, pinching, touching the derriere of Indian women who are unfortunate enough to catch their attention. In their normal stage, these are Indian men whose attitude towards sex are normal and are focused on procreation. They wear their intention on their zip. Women are advised not to drop anything in front of these guys; worse try picking it up.

3. The T&A man.

A balanced individual. Indian version of a metro man. To this man the only criterion is that the focus of his passion just has to be a woman. Nothing else matters. What can be sexier than that?

For the Indian men reading this, a simple test to determine your type:



If you saw boobs, you are type 1
If you saw a half exposed pair of buns, you, my friend, are a type 2.
If you saw a boob and wondered what her arse will be like is a type 3
If you closed your eyes when you saw the picture, then my son, you are way too young to be googling 'Indian cleavage'.

Godless in the Gods own Country

You would think at this day and age, people would have evolved enough to move away from religion.

Come on, you have to be really stupid if you think that religion gets you closer to god.

Even if the version of the said god is of a big man in the sky who is partial to a segment of his creation, who is as sensitive to slight as a PMSing girl, who is jobless enough to keep a tab on if or not you have masturbated in the morning and who finds delight if his mad fans kills off some of his creations as a PR stunt to further his name.

Come on. Seriously.

Personally I am of the belief that believing or not believing in the existence of a god is not a necessary criterion for a human to lead a civilized, social life.

By no degree am I an atheist. I am whatchamacallit, a 'who gives a fuckist'.

But it wasn’t always so.

Few know that there was a time when I went in search of an external god and found myself.

I know. Anticlimax.

Sanyaas had caught my fancy. I must be honest enough to admit that the attraction was not due to any spirituality from my side (this is on reflection, though at that time I was under the impression that the brightness of the halo around my head was the reason why people couldn’t stand the sight of me). I was actually recouping from my stint with drugs during college days and like any scoundrels had only two refuges.

I chose the one that involved the least work.

Having crammed my head full of second hand versions of the supposed divinity, I thought I was on my way to becoming the next messiah.

The things people do for popularity!

So one day I found myself in front of an ashram, head shaven, waiting for the darshan of a lady who is called Amma and who hugs every single person she meets.

Why? Well, this was the only thing I could get at such short notice.

Now if you are familiar with religion, you would know by now that it’s an epidemic. Half the state of Kerala was there getting their share of hugs while the remaining half was probably at home enjoying their kappa and fish curry washed down with toddy.

Being a tad bit of a misanthrope, I find crowds unsettling. So I waited outside, until the hall became almost empty. Then, very self consciously ,approached this lady who sat on the dias, wearing a white sari. I couldn’t help noticing that she looked a lot like the maid we had when I was small, Kuttiamma. As I hugged her (again very self consciously), she asked me in my ear almost whispering: What happened to you, son?

It wasn’t a question.

I replied: Nothing.

Then she asked: What do you want?

I replied: To become one.

She told me to sit next to her on the stage. So there I was, sitting , very uncomfortably, along side the God woman and a sundry mix of some 10 or 12 other holy bunch from different sects.

I tried my best to look holy. This involved sitting cross legged, keeping my eyes half closed and ignoring the itch on my nose.

Thus I passed the next hour or so until everyone left. Since there was nothing much to be done after becoming a holy man, I continued sitting there ignoring the itch. I was startled to my senses by someone touching my feet.

I must have jumped about 2 feet while still sitting cross legged. I opened my eyes to find an equally startled man who must have been as old as my father still lying supine on the floor with his hands stretched reaching out to a place on the floor where my feet was about 2 seconds ago.

That’s when I left. I apologized to the man and left.

Who is the worshipper and who is the worshipped? Both are fools.

That in short was, my friends, one of the steps towards me becoming a who gives a fuckist.

But then who really gives a fuck?

Smokin'

Now Iam the kinda guy who will not judge you for your persumed vices. Hell, Iam not even sure which of the things people do are vices or versa (couldnt resist, though it makes no grammatical sense). So it kind of get to me when I see the frantic waving of handkerchieves and opening of windows when I light up my cancer stick, in areas Iam, by law, permitted to smoke.

Hell, it aint fart.

If second hand smoke bothers you, I wonder how you react to a kiss, if you were aware that colds, glandular fever (kissing disease), herpes infection, warts, hepatitis B and meningococcal disease may all be transmitted by kissing.

Remember that the next time you pucker up.

Have you seen the area where a smoker is allowed to smoke?

I mean, heres a habit that brings in millions of dollars to the government, and you would expect some sort of courtesy rather than be treated like some sort of freak show.

Why on earth would anyone ban smoking in a coffee shop? Or for that matter in a pub?

I mean people who goes there already give two fucks about living life like an organic pumpkin, they live like a real human should; dangerously.

How in hell does someone drink a coffee or a larger without the accompanied toxic intake?

Thats like having Pamela over for dinner and deciding to spend the night watching porn together. Hey, Iam sure that works for you but why dont you sit at home to do your stuff?

What I dont understand is why can't we have coffee shops and pubs that has licence for smoking , while others that caters to moral sniffles can have establishments which do not allow smoking?

There! That my friends, is called liberty, pro-choice, anti- putting-your-finger-up-my-nose-to-pull-out-your-snot kind of freedom.

But nooooo. You will sue the shit out of the smokers joint because you want to sit amid smokers and want us to respect your bubble of air. You , my dear, are like what we mallus call a dog that lies on the haystack; you wont eat it and you wont let the cows eat it.

Let us get the logic straight. When you walk into Dam Square at Amsterdam, you are going to be confronted with ladies in various stages of undress standing behind windows . Now if this bothers you, theres the Van Gogh museum nearby.

What I mean is, certain things go hand in hand.

Pubs and coffee shops goes well with cigarettes. Let it be.

If the smoke bothers you, go outside. Iam sure we can arrange service there for you. But wave another handkercheif and it will be you that goes out of the window.

Look, like I had told earlier in some long ago post, Iam all for raising hell against the moron who lights up in an elevater or in a train. Infact I find the fucks who smoke in public transports and public places needs to be put in their place; outside. But I draw a line when someone tells me I cant smoke in a coffee shop or a pub.

Now you are pissing on my territory.

So heres what I will do. When you come to my house, I wont give a rats arse if you are pregnant, have an allergy, wants to die with a lung as pink as a salmon or that you just cant stand the filthy habit. I will light up.



So there!

Photo courtesy : http://mathurakalauny.blogspot.com/

Props to help you through another day.

Its been a month. Another year has been ushered in.

Actually I think the year tends to come in irrespective of whether we usher or try to shoo it away. Damn the fucker.

Anyhow; 2011 is upon us and while the world has been making resolutions or making resolutions not to make any further resolutions, I have been trying to live with the resolutions I have made in the last 41 years.

Recently I was part of a conversation with a married couple who was talking about how they should have just kept at having a live in relationship instead of tying the knot.

Translation: I want to wake up with someone else.

I mean what the fuck is the difference?

Being Indians, Live in relationship still does not mean that it will be just the two of them. There will always be 'the' families or 'the' friends. All relationship comes with a whole string of genealogy.

Of course, there will no longer be any of those stupid invitations to your niece's birthday parties or the mother's 60th birthday. If you do make the effort to connect with either of your families, you are going to be a source of embarrassment to all those born on the wrong side of the century and an envy to everyone on this side.

What’s the big deal in a live in relationship? For that matter what’s the big deal in a marriage either? The only difference seems to be in how fast one can get out of it.

So when couples say that they wish they never got married, what they mean is, they just don't want it with that person they are married to.

Yep. You heard it here first.

What’s with couples and the constant berating up of an institution like marriage? Personally I am not much into any type of institutions but I am not burning any bras over marriage either.

Living with a woman is hard enough without having to try deciphering the relationship. My antidote to an early visit from the grim reaper is not to wonder about a woman. You are never going to figure it out and even if you do, there’s no one there to verify if you are right.

Yeah, you try getting a woman to say, 'You are right.'

So among the other pertinent questions like; does the tree that fall in a forest, with no one to hear it, make any noise? Or do dog dream in color? Or is what I see real or just a neurotic translation of something else? ; I bury this deep.

Now those that have the misfortune in knowing me will be aware that I am a cheerful person.

Really.

You guys just happen to catch me in a bad mood.

All the time.

Make you wonder, doesn't it?

Thing is, off late, I am not finding too much to be cheerful about. So I decided to make a list of things to do this year.

It’s not a bucket list. The way things are going and the absurd sense of irony the universe seems to have, I am probably going to survive 2012.

No.

This is just 10 things to get done this year. And if I accomplish all of it, I plan to consider the year as a successful year.

I even made the rules:

The list should contain:

- Something foolish
- Something dangerous
- Something new
- Something considerate
- Something naughty
- Something painful
- Something scary
- Something bad
- Something life changing
- A good deed for a total stranger without his/her knowledge.

I got my list ready about 7 days ago and I have already stroked off one. Only 9 more to go.

The things we do to wake up every morning!

As you are aware I am a very goal oriented individual who’s planning ahead span is about 12 hours. This means that I get through the day with the thought of spending the evening with my friend JD.

Now, for the ones who are shaking their heads and saying, that’s no way to live one’s life, I would like to politely ask; why the fuck not?

Thing is off late I am getting kind of tired of this blog. I feel like I have compromised. Like I have chickened out. I feel I am writing all this with the (2) readers I have in mind. I feel I have been diluting what I want to say. Sugar coating it.

This is why no one knows the identity of the Vendetta. He’s not like the wimp Spiderman who gets his tights laundered by Mary Jane. Vendetta dies unknown and therefore he can do what the fuck he wants. Say what the fuck he wants. Be the fuck who he wants.

When I started this, I aimed to laugh at everything. I wasn’t looking for friends. I was looking for people who will smile and say 'he’s got a point.'

I think I let them down (not that I care too much for that). More than that I feel I let myself down (this bothers me).

Truth is important to me. And I like it neat.

So thats how its going to be from now on.

So thats 2 things off the list now. Only 8 more to go.

In the end

Few things in life can give you the satisfaction of a job well done than passing out in a party.

The above sentence have no relevance to anything you are going to read further. I just felt that I should impart these nuggets of knowledge to you folks.

Lets call it enlightenment capsules.

My wife decided to have a small get together at home this Christmas eve. As long as there is alcohol, Iam kinda okay with any kind of gathering. The day Mac Donalds introduces the Mac JD Splasher in its beverage section, is the day Iam going to start attending my sons birthday parties.

There are few things that is more tortureous than attending some ankle biters 3rd birthday do.

I should know.

We had thrown one for my son, and I lost half my friend circle, which for me is practicaly the whole lot. I have been thereupon , rather unsuccessfully, trying to convince my wife to celebrate only the significant years in our childrens' life.

Celebrate birth,after which the next party should be when the child is 5, after that give it a long brake and give the key to your apartment and your booze cabinet and leave the city for the child to celebrate his/her 18th birthday. 21 should be celebrated as a 'get out of the house' party.

4 parties. Out of which for 1 you dont even have to invite any of your friends. Think about how fondly you will be remembered.

There are few things in life that will mean nothing to you in the end but for which you have lived your life, than being remembered fondly.

Anyways, back to the Christmas party.

I like celebrating a dead man's birthday. I mean we have been doing it for the last 2009 years and who am I to change the tune? My theory in life is not to fix anything that isnt broken. I also have great regard for a man who held the job description for just 3 years , the result of which changed human history.For the better or for the worse is anybodys guess. You need to admire that. I do realize that if this man takes a look at how his words has been interpreted , he would nail himself down on that cross again.

Fuck religion.Lets get on with the party.

Wife had, very intelligently , invited an ecelectic group of known suspects. There was my elder brother and family, and then 2 other couples where the respective wives were my childhood family friends, which in India makes them my cousins.

For an Indian, a cousin denotes any relationship with a member of the opposite sex whose respective families are close. This is the term used for giving the said relationship an innocence that it might not always deserve.

One of my 'cousins' is married to a guy who does holistic healing ( Yep, you know the kind), the other is married to a guy who is in the Tourism business. Then there is my elder brother, who is fondly known in close circles as Atilla the Hun and his wife. Finally theres me and my wife. Iam leaving out all the kids because they are not important in a Christmas party other than being recipents of gifts.

Some where along the conversation steered towards the 2012 . The holistic chap is convinced that theres going to be a change because we are going into some sort of age. We are now in Iron age, which is not that great because quite sometime back we were in the Golden Age. Its almost like the Pakistan cricket team. Human kind has been declining. According to him , these few years are to force us to change. As you know nothing motivates change than the threat of total annihilation.

The tourism guy says that nothing will happen and the whole thing will be like the Y2K thingy ( remember that?). Holistic says that is an ostrich approach. Tourism says that is called hope. My elder brother thinks we should make a plan to celebrate the ending, because either way the party is bound to be a success.

My take is why bother?

Each day we get up not knowing if we are going to see the end of the day. Life is a fragile thing. Easily begotten , easily forgotten. However we choose to see life; as a gift or as an incident or as an accident or as a natural cause when all the necessary requirements are in place; the end result, we all know, is that this will come to an end. Iam not interested in this deathless part of us which we claim to exist because my knowledge of it is second hand. I know I exist. I also know that what I call I is a thinking,walking, talking ,breathing animated bundle that is a culminated result of everything around me.

Iam the result of you.

If it was possible to peel away the layers of influences, experiences, exposures then perhaps like an onion you might end up with naught. This bundle has an expiry date. It ceases to exist one day. Period. No after life for Tys. Whatever that exists after that, if at all it does exist, will not be tys.

So why bother?

You know what I will be doing on the day the world ends? The same thing as Iam doing today. Living it in a very ordinary way.

But for those who wants to be prepared, please go here.

A very merry christmas

I turned 41 sometime back.

Have you noticed how when you are in your teens, your future plans are in the span of 30 years or more?

By the time I reach 40s, I will be a millionare and would have screwed half the state of Kerala.

The planning years keep coming down as you age. In your 30s, it is about 15; by the time you hit 40s, you are down to 5. My cousin who is in his 50s confirms that it stays at 5 for him also. My father who is in his 70s says that for him it is about 1 year.

Age is inversely proportional to mortality, even the hope of it.

Did you hear about the new fad that is taking over the Dubai roads?

Its called chucking a live cat out of a speeding car.

Why would anyone want to do that? I mean this is cats we are talking about. They are as good as dead even when they are alive. The only signs of life I see in mine is when I pour Whiskas into its feeding tray.

How on earth does someone throw a cat out of a car? Actually dont answer that. In a world where rape and genocide exist, working out a system for disposing live cats out of automobiles will be a walk in the park for us.

Since another year is coming to an end, bringing the inevitable 2012 even closer, let me regale you with the random snippets of my life which has stood out among the utter ordineriness of my day to day existence.

I had told you earlier that I was caught by cop ( Iam not sure if he really was one, but he flashed me a badge which could have been an Airmiles loyalty card for all I know) for buying booze from Ajman ( where it is sold legally) and bringing it to my home in Sharjah ( where alcohol is prohibited). I had also told you that I was sure I was being scammed and therefore refused to bribe the said cop who there upon informed me that he can make life miserable for me by saying that I bad mouthedhis religion. Whereupon I requested him eagerly to lead the way to the nearest ATM.

Well, what I havent told you was that the same guy caught me another 2 times in the course of this year.

What can I say, Iam consistent.

The second time he caught me, I reminded him that this has occured about 1 month back and that he can have the JD but I will not give him any money. He then looked at me very closely ( we must all look the same ) and then recognition struck and he graciously let me off the hook with a warning.

The third time, I actually caught him before he caught me. I kind of saw him waiting so I stopped the car, got out ,went upto him and said hi. My son was with me and was impressed that I had a local friend. He was very uncomfortable and took off pretty fast.

I have never seen him hence.

Iam still drinking so I guess our path is bound to cross again. I think I will invite him home.

I did tell you that I had this bad case of a nerve disease with a long name. Well I went to the dentist for a dental xray he discovered that my molar was split down the middle. He treated it like some medical wonder since he had xrayed it a week earlier and have declared it as healthy. So he extracted it and kept it in a bottle. I have no idea what gets dentists off. What he didnt know was that I had been biting down hard to bear the pain that I ended up spliting the tooth.

Great news is that with no tooth there to bite down , I think the nerves felt a little betrayed. So nowadays when it makes it presence felt, I treat it like an old friend who calls in once in a while to say hi.

With indifference.

Philosophicaly I have hit rock bottom. The older I have become the more Iam beginning to realize how little I know. Stupidity is hard earned.

Greatest news I have heard in along time was that Harley Davidson has come to India. It has been a dream of mine to bike the whole of India on Harley with Mads. Looks like Iam one step closer to realizing that dream. Now all I have to do is make up my mind and make the time.

And perhaps inform Mads.

Life, I have come to realize ,is pretty good. Of course there is enough to crib about but there is also a shameful knowledge that you yourself got you here which helps curb any such venting. I have long ago let god and other such things off the hook for the state of things. How long can we keep finding scape goats for our own mistakes?

Talking about scape goats, Merry Christmas.

Show me the money! *

The craziest thing in the world is where , you give your money to someone to hold and then you pay him money everytime you want to take some of your money back from him.

There must be an ancient mallu proverb that wraps up the situation aptly but I would rather go with : What the fuck!

Welcome to the world of banking.

I had opened up an account with Mashreq bank in their easy saving scheme, which is a lot like tying up your saving in a sack and then dropping it into a well. There is no ATM cards, or cheque books. So the only way you can get at your money is by climbing down the well. In short, I will have to go to the bank and withdraw it personaly. Being a lazy bum, with a dire requirement to save, I decided that this is a great option.

So each time I wanted to dip into my honey pot, I had to go to the bank, write a slip and have the teller do a third degree on me to check my identity ( as if god would dare to make someone else in my image) , ending with some money in my hand.

It worked for me.

Thats untill a few days back.

I wanted to go skinny dipping in my honey pot again and was confronted with a sign in front of the cute teller that said the bank will be charging aed 100 for every withdrawal that is less than aed 9000.

This is to supposedly encourage people to withdraw using their atm cards.

Did I tell you that my account scheme does not provide me with an atm card? I did , didnt I? Now its like paying the ferry man after you die. Raw deal.

Tell you the truth I was amused. I first thanked the universe for finally giving me something to rant about, then I called forth the manager.

So, if I want to withdraw AED 100 from my savings, do I give the bank 100 dirhams and they give me 100 dirhams, or do they take my 100 dirhams and then thank me, leaving me empty handed and puzzled?

I dont know.

Anyways, to cut a long story short, I withdrew my entire savings. I think its wiser and probably safer to just keep it under my pillow.

Truth is I dont know much about the world of banking. I also think not many people in banking have any clue what the whole shit is about. I once spoke to my brother and he told me that money is no longer valued against a country's gold reserves. Infact the value of money today is based on what some guy in some bank decides it to be.

I dont understand money. As long as it can buy things Iam kind of okay with it. But each time I look at it, I cant help but wonder that , fuck, its just paper. All this fuss for something which actually will have no relevance if found by some alien archeologist 50 millions years hence.

I think, Zerco, these primates used to eat this. Thats why they have so much of it and every fossil we unearthed has this on them. This was their food.They survived on paper, which they made , perhaps more palatable by putting designs on them. Perhaps these design has some religious significance. The face of the primate on these papers, must be their way of imbibing the soul of their leaders each time they ate it. The numbers on it must signify their calorie content.

Hmmm, Chirco, I believe you have a point. Lets call these species, Paperophages. The paper eaters


Come to think of it, they wont be that far from the truth.


* The title is in honour of Tom Cruise who is currently in my city doing some Mission Impossible sequel. He should have just tried getting home every evening on Sheik Zayed Road.