Why Do Men Rape?

Men rape for various reasons. I am not trying to justify what they do, definitely not. All I’m trying to understand is why they do what they do. I will also not venture into the psychological aspect of it. I didn’t go to protest, hence, writing something about it is the least I can do. I guess.

Fact: There will always be rapes.

Come what may, there will always be bad elements in the society. There will always be people who would hurt others. People will always be murdered, robbed, fleeced, and conned. There will be that odd war every now and then. And then there will always be rapists.

In my very personal, humble, honest opinion I do not think we can even dream of eradicating all that is wrong from this world. I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I know it is the ideal scenario that we would want to see in this world but if you think about it practically and objectively, it’s almost impossible.

What we can and need to do is reduce the numbers, the frequency, and the rate at which these crimes are happening. Whereas there is nothing wrong with fixing the deep rooted psychological complexities of these criminals from the root, we must also figure some practical solutions which fix the situation we are in, immediately. Simply assuming that there will always be men who would want to rape women can help us in making this city/country/world a better place.

Why are there so many rapes in Delhi? I think it is because there is lack of fear. These men are not afraid of the consequences. The consequences might or might not be harsh but that is really not the point here. Even if we have capital punishment for a convicted rapist, till the rapist does not fear getting hanged, he will not stop.

It is very simple and basic. Remember, back in school, how it was easy to cheat in a certain teacher’s class whereas much more difficult on someone else’s? Their levels of attentiveness and strictness determined whether a student could cheat or not. Both these factors are equally important. Just being strict (say, capital punishment) isn’t enough because a student would still want to cheat thinking ‘Ahh, I know she’ll beat the hell out of me, but hey, she won’t catch me only.’ Similarly, on the other hand, just being attentive is also kind of useless. The kid would obviously give cheating a shot since he won’t be afraid of the consequences, thinking, ‘Let me try and copy some stuff, even if the teacher catches me, I’ll be let off easily.’

Now use the same rationale for a rapist. Both raping and cheating are wrong, on different levels, yes, but still wrong. Till the Delhi rapist is not afraid of both getting caught and the following consequences, women will keep getting raped. It is as simple as that. So when we ask for capital punishment for rapes, we must also ask our government to ensure that the culprits are actually caught and hanged.

In the meanwhile it is fine to fix the mentality of the people and spreading education and ensuring the problem is eradicated from the roots for a better future. But for a better present, we must take swift actions against these rapists who go on their joyrides raping women without the fear of getting caught.

I’ve only stated the obvious and there’s so much more I’d like to say. But then there’s nothing here that I’ve written which you already didn’t know but I guess I had to document this all.

Much thanks for your time, I hope humour is back into our lives soon. There’s too much darkness around.

Also, a suggestion, we need a little girl to sweetly walk up to the Chief Minister Sheila Dixit and Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and give them a tight slap in full public view. That level of humiliation might affect them; or might not actually.

They’ve failed us. They’ve failed us bad.

Oh Weary Woman

The way you walk; the way you talk

I know men all around you gawk

What you wear; and your hair

Turns them on even more, I swear

This is not the kind of world you deserve

For survival, your kind we need to preserve

People are hell bent on destroying your kind

If it gets too late, there won’t be no rewind

Can’t imagine a world without you, oh woman

Imagine Maine Pyar Kiya without Suman

But if it continues the way it is

There’ll be no ‘Her’ outside the loo, only ‘His’

I’m a guy you can trust, come what may

But there’s only so much I can do or say

But till the time I’m with you, my lady

I’ll protect you from lads who’re shady

Alas, 4 guys will come and kill me first

Then come to you to quench their thirst

It saddens my heart when I can’t do a thing

And the men responsible, enjoy their bling

There’s no way to comfort you, I know

And I can’t help you get over this blow

I can’t ask you to relax, or even chill

It’s too late for that, it’s time to kill

Our own humankind is acting like crazy

An they’re making my vision hazy

If I start thinking about the mess, I can’t stop

I see no solution, and that’s so flop

I’m still fine; a guy does not get raped

And you, sometimes, even get taped

Can’t imagine the way you feel

God you’ve dealt them an unfair deal

There are ways to escape it, ways to avoid

Ways to stay alive, and not be destroyed

But that’s not something that I really want

I want a solution which I could flaunt

I can’t do it alone; I probably can’t do it at all

The one’s who’re supposed to, busy havin’ a ball

So come join hands with me, trust me on that

I’ll help you teach a lesson to each spoilt brat

Is it time for anarchy? For that one last blow?

Or do we just wait and watch? I don’t know.

Things are taking a turn for the worst

I’m telling you, even my head’s going to burst

Get a knife, get a gun, do what it takes

Carry a cobra, maybe they’re afraid of snakes

Oh weary woman, just try and stay strong

We’ve to work together to right the wrong

All this won’t help either, but it’s just my way

My way to tell you I care and that you must stay

Stay strong and collected; you can beat the heat

Because without you baby, I’ll be incomplete

I write to you simply as a man who cares

You, oh weary woman, into the oblivion who stares

I’m sorry about the world around you right now

I have immense respect for your bravery, here, take a bow

It’s not you, of course, it’s us who’re to blame

I know times have changed, it’s not the same

But I still dream of a better tomorrow, honest

Where we live in city; without the mentality of a forest

Here I sign off, still as clueless when I started

This effort to send out a message is not half hearted

So remember, oh weary woman, don’t you dare

Think that I don’t love you, or I don’t care

Pubic Interest Litigation

“Animal rights NGO files PIL against Salman Khan for Ek ‘Tha’ Tiger. Since it’s in past tense they are talking about a dead tiger and hence promoting killing the few remaining tigers.”

“Fevicol to sue Dabangg 2 producers for using their brand name in a song.”

“A flop dancer in Mumbai appeals to the public on Twitter to force an apology from a leading TV baron who said ‘fuck’ to her father.”

This world is being taken over by idiots. And this world is, apparently, going to end. Co-incidence much? I think not.

The first two scenarios mentioned at the beginning might or might not be true, but the last one surely is. Taking undue advantage of her significant following, a so called ‘Tweleb’ is raging about how her father was disrespected by a respected (or not so much) member of the TV/film fraternity. ‘Apparently’, I say apparently because there is no proof yet, other than her ‘word’, her father was called an ‘old fool’ or some such. This disgrace goes even further when reports surfaced that the F-bomb, which is of course the foulest expletive ever, was thrown towards her father. And to make it a life threatening situation, an incidence which could cripple any man for life, he was shown the finger. Thankfully she did not do katti with him. That would’ve broken his heart then and there.

Who in this world has ever asked somebody to fuck off, right? Have you ever shown the finger to someone? Of course not. And yeah we respect each and every old man in this world so much that we touch their feet at their very sight. This is the world we live in na? How dare anyone even look at that old man in the eye?

Gaah! Give me a FUCKING break.

We all curse like there’s no tomorrow and the middle finger is used as often as we used to use our little finger while at school to tell the world that we needed to pee. Most old people are a little slow and it gets a little difficult for our fast generation to deal with them. I’m not saying that we should go ahead and keep dissing these oldies at will but don’t you dare say that you’ve never cursed, albeit under your breath, some random old man on the road driving his car at 38 kmph. Or that annoying old man who keeps giving you gyaan about life whenever you cross his house.

All our teachers and bosses and seniors and even parents at times have been subjected to incidences of outrage by youngsters who’ve been unable to cope with them. I’m not trying to defend any of these ‘immoral’ activities but then let’s not make a hue and cry about it. We’ve all done it. We’ve all said kya kutiya hai bhancho under our muffled breath to that teacher in school who was very strict. Obviously that translates to what a bitch for all you preppies. I’ve even heard a friend of mine say my dad’s such an ass. Grandparents are obviously worse. It’s a natural progression of life where there is a slight gap in understanding between a particular generation and the one preceding it.

Why go ahead and demand a public apology for an incident as lame as this where an influential and powerful person calling a regular old bloke an old fool. Just try and look at yourself in the mirror first (apne girebaan mein jhaank ke dekho) and picture yourself react when the old guard of your colony fails to recognise you at night when you come back from a crazy party and does not let you enter for a minute or two (before he adjusts his glasses and recognises the cute dolly beti who’s all grown up now) . Or the look you give to an old beggar trying to walk across your car after the light at the junction has been turned green who ends up wasting six seconds of your precious life.

I reiterate that I am not trying to say what happened was right but then raging over such a puny incident is pretty lame. Deal with it; move on. Give your old man a hug of reassurance and tell him that you’ll go and withdraw the money for him instead of raging on Twitter and getting idiotic sympathy votes from your six thousand followers who’ve got nothing better to do in life. In case you want an apology, everybody should first apologise to Tusshar Kapoor for making fun of him. If you can’t make a public apology for making fun of Jeetendra for wearing a white shirt, white pants, white socks, white shoes, a white underwear, a white condom, a white nappy, white teeth, white hair, then bitch, please. 

Open Letter To A Parent Or A Parent-To-Be

Dear Parent/Parent-To-Be

I am writing to express my extreme displeasure about the fact that you had a kid or that you’re going to have one soon. What I am feeling is not without reason, but most of you all’s decision to have one, is.

It’s a fact, face it.

Image credit - twitter.com/blast_famous

Having a kid, especially here in India, is a natural way of life. The majority of us take the beaten down route; study well, get into a good college, graduate, get a well-paying job, get married, have kids, live, laugh, love, enjoy. This is how we are brought up and this is what we do. For some of us, the order of priority might be different, but most of us do end up taking the path one way or the other.

I don’t have a problem with people taking the path, it’s safe, it’s reliable, and you know others who’ve taken it and you feel comfortable on it. Fair enough. What I have a problem with, is, you, who has taken the path, looking down upon the ones who did not. Or could not. How or what makes them wrong is something I fail to understand, because it is not right to pass your own judgement and call them wrong. Hence I fail to understand it.

An unmarried 38 year old woman in India can easily be tagged a good-for-nothing frustrated soul who ‘could not’ get married. Her life’s a disaster and ‘OH-MY-GOD-I-DON’T-WANT-MY-DAUGHTER-TO-END-UP-LIKE-THAT-MUST-GET-HER-MARRIED-RIGHT-AFTER-COLLEGE’ is the attitude you will carry towards your own daughter. A 40 year old single man is obviously a drunk. Even if the said bachelor/bachelorette is NOT crazy, over time, the world makes them go mad. The woman stops taking care of herself and the man takes up boozing instead of eating. A once bright dream has now turned into a dark and depressing reality for them.

Tell me, who are you to say that a couple is ‘incapable’ of having a baby if they haven’t conceived even after 15 years of their marriage? Not having a baby at all is something most of us can’t even think of, can’t even consider. Sooner or later you have to get married and similarly sooner or later you have to have a kid; is how we roll. Have you ever thought about why you want/wanted a baby in the first place?

Oh it’s a magical thing they said; oh it’s an experience everyone must have they said; oh it’s so beautiful to hold your own baby they said; it’s the purpose of life they said.

It’s just overrated bullshit, tell them I said.

Just because we can have sex and we can procreate does not mean we have to. My definition of happiness does not include me having a baby with my partner. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure if you give it a thought, you would be clueless as to why did you have that kid (or going/planning to have one soon). There’s no good reason other than simply following the norm and the mumbo jumbo of a beautiful and a magical experience.

In today’s times, things are much more complicated; life is much more complicated. There’s so much more to do and people’s lives are becoming busier by the day. In spite of knowing all this clearly, we still end up adding more to the existing chaos. We decide to have the experience of a lifetime and have a kid. Bite me.

We won’t think about the fact that our lives will be finished (you know what I mean). Our individuality will die and we’ll happily cremate it. We’ll live on believing that now our kid is our life and that is how it is supposed to be. All our happiness and joy and adventure shall now revolve around the kid. We’ll take them to movies and annoy the fellow patrons; we’ll go to five-star hotels and let them jump around the posh restaurant and hide under tables while they play catch-catch; the mother shall stop working just so that she could raise her own flesh and blood in her own hands because she dare not keep the kid with some alien of a babysitter. No sir, we live for the kids, and that is how it is supposed to be.

We won’t care if our marriage is unhappy and the kid will have to endure it all and get affected by it when it grows up; we won’t care about the crazy times we are living in where the crime rates are increasing at alarming speeds all across the world; we won’t care about the fact that we can’t fend for ourselves because we’ll share that one roti three ways instead of two after having that god’s gift called a kid.

Right now, I don’t think I want a kid anytime soon. There are things I want to do and then there are things I don’t want to do. Is it so difficult to understand? I don’t want to have a kid. Simple. Why would you want to convince me otherwise? I’ll take my chances of living a lonely life when old but I don’t want to screw my youth because of that. I believe with the energy, effort, money and time I save by not having a kid; I’d be able to do a lot of other cool things and be a much happier person. It is a risk and I am willing to take it and I shall stand by my decision till my last breath.

I might change my decision tomorrow; I might never change it. Either way, I’m entitled to do what I want without you giving me that nasty look of how I’m going all wrong about my life. You’re nobody to say that. It is my life and I shall do what I want with it. You can give birth to a litter if you’d like, I shall make do with loving a dog, so to say.

Good luck to you and your kid or the future kid that is on its way. Be warned, it’s not going to be easy. Think about it while there’s still time.

Anyway, don’t tell me that I’m wrong for not wanting a kid. There are plenty of people in the world, there’s plenty of love around.

Quoting a Queen song I love – ‘Too much love will kill you.’ 

Sincerely,

A confused but an honest soul.

The Night I Spent In Tihar

The image of her lying next to me kept flashing as I tried sleeping in that 6x6 cell. I still didn’t know where I was, I wasn’t fully asleep neither was I awake. I was somewhere in the middle, a trance, but a really disturbing one. I kept turning and twisting trying to figure out the mystery of how I’d landed on this cold rough floor in this tiny, stinky room. I tried to wake up, tried to get up, but fell on the floor with a bang and I blacked out. BOOM! BANG! I remembered how it all started.

Coming back from work with Rita, we were travelling in those shared autos which can seat up to 8 people but the guys manage to get in 15 just so that they could get in some more dough. She never really did like travelling those bloody things but we didn’t really have a choice.  Strapped of cash, struggling to make ends meet, this is what we had to go through every single day. I got a seat in the middle amongst the labourers, while she always preferred to sit at the door so that at least one of her sides wasn’t rubbing against a stinky, cement clad man smoking a bidi.

It was a Sunday, we had some students coming in for an extra class at the music school we used to teach at, and in return we were getting a day’s salary extra. Fair deal, I’d thought. We got free at noon, and were heading back home, hungry as always. It was a particularly special Sunday for us as today was the night of the Khyber Music Fest where we’d met for the first time a year back. Although it took me a while to actually ask her out, but I still remembered that magical night like it’s happen just last night. There was excitement on the road; people from all across the country had come to witness this grand event, today being the final day.

Amongst the merrymakers were these young kids in a car who I’d noticed drinking while we overtook them. We made slight eye contact and I noticed how they kept driving around our auto for no reason. I wasn’t too worried since they even had a girl amongst them, seemingly not forced, chilling with them and even enjoying a beer herself. Even I’d done all this crap back in the day. Life moved on.

As we were about to reach home, stuck at a red light, I was just staring into the oblivion wondering why life was so tough. I kept telling myself I’d be happy tonight and not let gloom take over, but frankly, it was difficult. Completely forgotten that there were people around me, lost in my own thoughts like I’d always be, I suddenly heard a loud cry and I snapped and looked on my left where Rita was sitting. It was all slow motion after that as I saw the same black Swift in which those kids were travelling parked right besides the auto on the other side. Before I could jump off from the opening on the right side, they’d forcibly taken Rite in the car with them and sped off. I tried to run behind them but all I could see and hear were cars from all sides honking at me as I stood there like a lost puppy in the middle of the intersection.

I rushed home and made some calls to a couple of friends who instantly came over for help. I was sweating although it was December, and fairly cold. I couldn’t stop shivering, or smoking. We were still trying to figure out who they were or why they’d kidnap Rita, if that’s what they did. The kids looked completely harmless when I’d seen them earlier. I was in shock and couldn’t think straight. It felt like someone was playing a game with me. A game I wasn’t enjoying much.

One of my friend suggested we should call the cops but I didn’t want to get into the hassle of dealing with the corrupt cops here and get Rita into more trouble. We were all divided by our opinions but in the end it’s me who had to decide since Rita was my girl. And we decided to deal with this ourselves and give it a shot before we called the cops. I knew where those kids were headed so we took off for the Khyber Music Fest.

Armed with leather belts around our waists and leather boots on our feet, we were on our way to the hippy fest to look for Rita amongst the 10000-odd strong crowd there. Rite loved dubstep so we headed directly to the dub arena on the terrace where there wasn’t much crowd as the genre still had to catch the fancy of the masses. All 4 of us, me and my friends, stood at the entrance and scanned through the crowd to see if she were to be found. I tried hard to remember those kids’ faces and started walking towards the DJ console. We all spread out and as I slowly neared the main stage, I saw her, I saw her giggling and laughing with the kids who’d apparently ‘kidnapped’ her. I stood there in astonishment and couldn’t move. Everything and everyone got blurred except her. She was laughing like a child, her hair bouncing as beautifully as ever. I hadn’t seen her this happy in quite some time. For a moment I thought I should let her be and just walk away. She seemed happy, after ages. But, alas, love wouldn’t let me do any such thing.

I marched right towards her, my belt in my hand, ready to hit the kid who was driving the car and who was now sitting next to Rita, his arm around her shoulders, both sipping beer, something me and Rita hadn’t done in so long. I got close, Rita still hadn’t noticed me and I wacked one at the guy. The music stopped, everyone gasped and I hit him again. On the floor, writhing in pain, he cried for mercy and I stopped and shifted my attention towards Rita. She was just standing there, beer bottle still in her hand, aghast. As I took a step towards her, a few hands grabbed me and pulled me back. Everything was a rush after that.

A huge ruckus followed with people from both sides trying to maintain the peace. We found out that those guys were her college friends from where she studied and had come to town for the fest. This was all just a prank for them and they’d though they’d have some fun with the boyfriend. I tried to comprehend how kidnapping someone I loved a prank!? Rita had taken their side which had completely destroyed me. She said I didn’t know how to have fun anymore. This whole thing was still beyond me as this was a grave crime and ideally I should’ve called the cops. They still didn’t want to understand what I had to go through and they maintained that I was a sour loser. I had agreed to let it all go and did what the authorities there had asked us to do, leave. They had instead threatened us that they’d call the cops if we didn’t leave that very instance. I’d reached the exit gate but I stopped and looked back at Rita once. She had gone back to being happy like this had never happened before. As I wiped a tear off my face, I turned around and saw a cop standing right in front of me. He hit me with a stick and slapped around a couple of times before handcuffing me. What had started off with Rita being the victim and me considering calling the cops, the tables had quite turned. They dragged me away and as I got a last look at her, I saw her smiling viciously towards me and showing her phone to denote that it was her who had made that call to the cops.

I had never been betrayed like this before. Even the cops wouldn’t listen to me. I begged my friends to get help. They dragged me inside the police van and beat me up again. Next thing I saw... was the dirty floor. I could taste the sweat and blood and the dirt on the floor. My head was hurting so bad, I kept coming in and out of consciousness. A blur, the day had been. Last thing I remember was the nasty smile she gave. I knew it would be etched in my mind forever. And I fainted... Again...

Lights, is what I saw next, and a comfortable bed is what I felt. My baby lying next to me, in my arms, it all looked unreal. A few seconds I took to see what was happening, and I saw my own room. Floyd was still playing on the system and candle was still lit. I got up a little, slid my arm away from under her head, and lit the cigarette. Resting my back up against the wall behind me, I took a long drag and looked at my baby. I felt a tear roll down my eye. But this tear was no tear of sadness or grief. I was happy because it was all a dream.

In The Name Of Religion, Culture, And Crap

I live in East Delhi, close to a naala, and there’s nothing to hide about that fact. That naala is apparently some tributary of a river, probably Yamuna. Which, in turn, is a site for some religious fanatics to celebrate the Chhath Puja around. By celebration I mean, them being a menace, blocking roads, playing music till late at night, night duty for policemen, riding around triples on motorcycles helmetless and generally thinking they own the world. All this while not giving a fuck about the world around them and ensuring the ones around them notice their so-called-merriment.

Why are we so afraid of such religious nuts? Why can’t the government, law, policemen, or the general public do something about it? Why do we let these fanatics do as they please, which involves troubling the whole world in the name of religion? How is this atrocity allowed? Why do these people go unpunished when they clearly break all laws known to man? It’s not just killing and raping and drunk driving that’s a crime. But no, we’re a tolerant society, more like a fattu society which dare not touch any ‘sensitive’ issue lest increase the chances of a riot. I only have one word: BANJO!

Take Shiv Sainiks for instance, their leader dies, they shut the whole city down. They own the cops, the politicians, the actors, the bigwigs, the industry, the commerce, you, me, and UP ke bhaiyya Amitabh Bachchan as well. Their spokesperson would come on TV, talk a load of crap on the news, assure that they’re a peaceful unit, and that the world is paying respect themselves. Haven’t we seen enough movies to know that it’s all crap? This sort of politics can’t be happening for real, but, sadly, it is. Meanwhile, us citizens just sit idle complaining or feeling helpless and eventually frustrated about the whole situation. Although a couple of us young unlucky girls get arrested for a wall post on Facebook and for ‘Liking’ it. For heaven’s sake, weren’t Hitler, Osama, Saddam enough?

In the name of democracy, secularism, tolerance, freedom, what we practice is utter crap. A farce, is what our country is becoming, in ways which are not good at all. In those certain respects, it’s getting worse by the day. Appalling are the things that are happening, and shockingly, it’s being carried out by the same people we vote for, same people who are there for our protection. If the system is screwed, who do we go to? Who do we protest against? The cops, who’re already a corrupt bunch of men in uniform who can’t really do much even if they wanted to? The law, where people spend half their lives fighting off a simple case of robbery? Or just sit around India Gate holding a candle light vigil? I say, what this country needs is, a bit of extremism, a bit of idealism, and fanaticism. Fight fire with fire. Go and do a Rang De Basanti and hope the world sees you and takes action.

Unfortunately, everything goes unheard. Even if they listen to you, action is seldom taken. In the rare event that some action is actually taken, nobody follows up. Our victory is celebrated at the first hint of some progress. This can be seen everywhere, in our lives, at our workplace, in schools and colleges and definitely around all the issues plaguing this country. We suffer from this mediocrity, being happy, or at least satisfied with what we have. We’ll dream of a better future but won’t do anything about it. Not saying that we don’t try, there are indeed a lot of screw ups about which we can’t do much. You think we can change the ‘system’? I don’t.

This country needs a radical change. Enough of being ruled by a bunch of dictators disguised as a part of a democratic government. If need be, this country needs a new war of freedom to rid us of these inefficient, dishonest, corrupt Indians who have the power to bring about a change. They need a mutiny? Give it to them. How better are we than how we were when being ruled by a ‘foreign’ country? Just because we can go to a pub with a girl, get a job where we want, wear the clothes our cousins are wearing in the US, does not mean we are truly free. Girls still get beaten up for wearing short clothes, the government offices are still full of people who take undue advantage of their job and harass the common man, and 21 year old girls still get locked up for expressing their opinions on Facebook. Fuck, this freedom. Sab naatak hai saala.

A rant, this is. Useless, I am. Crippled, we are. 

An Ode to Old Monk

A winter night in Delhi without a peg or two of our most beloved dark rum is like sleeping naked in snow. Even summers are incomplete for a few without having some Old Monk with chilled water and a lot of ice cubes popped in. But suffering from the myth that rum is supposed to be had in winters only, the real season begins when the air conditioners are switched off in Delhi households. And that time is NOW.

The single malt of rums; is what I personally like to refer to Old Monk as. Talking about whiskey, you’ve got your desi stuff (8 PM, Bagpiper), you’ve got the better desi stuff (RS, RC), then you’ve got the entry level scotch (Teacher’s, etc), obviously the slightly higher level ones (JW, Chivas), and well there’s always the Glens and the single malts of whiskeys. There’s a lot of variety, which is good, but then it also leads to a lot of confusion.

From what I’ve heard, the desi whiskeys that we have here in India are nothing but flavoured/coloured rums. I personally despise anything that’s not scotch. The standard whiskeys here taste weirdly plastic and give you a bad hangover. Scotch, is something I still can’t afford to have on a regular basis, which is fine by me. I have my Old Monk.

Old Monk is as cheap as the entry level whiskey and as smooth as single malt. If you get used to it, there’s nothing like it. It’s safe, it keeps you warm, it helps you deal with your daily frustrations, it’s there when you want to celebrate, it’ll help you get that random chick, it’s not too LS that makes you looks like a chindi neither is it too upmarket to make you look like a snob. It’s just perfect, right where it is. It fits in wherever you are, be it at Jama Masjid while you’re having ‘bade ke kabab’ or at Hyatt for Dum Pukht. Old Monk bridges that divide between rich and poor, classy and desi, Hindu and Muslim, circumcised and Christians, fat and obese, cricket and football, and my left testicle and your right moob.

It can be had with water, it can be had with cola, it can be had with a girl and it can also be had as a shot with the standard salt and lime. It can be had with friends while you’re playing cards at home this Diwali, it can be had with the guy you want to slap who beat you at poker on Diwali the night before, it will be needed while you’re masturbating on the terrace while checking out your neighbour trying out her new sweater and it will be there for you when you’re left beat up by the side of the road in Manali when you’ve had too much to smoke and you just ended up with the wrong bunch of firangis.

I got a little carried away there probably because I’m on my 4^th peg of Old Monk. Winter is coming. I have an excuse to drink legally at home on a daily basis. I need this to keep me warm. It doesn’t look too cool when you balls are the size of a peanut because of the low temperature of Delhi. You need to Monk to keep ‘em balls warm. And ladies, there ain’t a hotter woman than the one who can drink the Monk like and man!

So here’s to Old Monk. The healer, the saint, the fighter, the quaint; the modern, the master, the warden’s party blaster.

Cheers to each and everyone who drinks and enjoys Old Monk. Give me a shout out if you want a free drink. Maya Bar is always open and the Old Monk never runs out. Ahoy mates, this journey has just begun. HIC!

PS – This is not an ode. See, I fooled you. Better go have that peg of Old Monk right away I say. 

Durga Ma Ki Jai

I can feel it in my fingers. I feel it in my toes. Okay, maybe not the toes but I do feel Durga Puja all around me. From Chitaranjan Park to Model Town, Mayur Vihar to Pashchim Vihar, pandals are being set up, boards are being put up, and there's this sense of excitement in the air. This 'pre-buzz' phase of the oncoming festive season is the perfect build-up ever. Period.

There's a change in the air, it's much cooler now. People are falling ill, including me, but not complaining as they all know it's thanks to the change in weather. A change that is good and most welcome by any Delhiite, who, by the time it's October is quite sick and tired of the heat and is really looking forward to the chilly weather that accompanies the 3 months of November, December and January.

Having lived in a Bengali society aptly named 'Anand Lok' as a kid I've had the best times of my life during this very period where Durga Ma and Kali Ma become more important that our actual Ma. The kids, especially, are the ones most looking forward to those 5 days of merriment that ensue from Panchami to Navami (hope I got that right). Starting with Anand Mela, it goes on to 3 days of cultural festivals in which a number of those very kids participate in and make their parents proud other than just having fun themselves. The slightly elder ones have a reason to stay out till late and enjoy beers in parks and whatever terraces they find open. The uncles and aunties get to dress fine and meet up with their peers over scotch and gossip after each gala night of plays, dances and music shows. Durga Puja really does cater to everyone.

Diwali might be a bigger festival for Hindus but the only problem is that Diwali is, at max, a 2 day event. Whereas Durga Puja, including the preparations, feels like it lasts for a month. And that's where Durga Puja takes the cake when it comes to enjoyment. People around you are generally happy. Uncles don't complain when they see you smoke a cigarette. Aunties are more than happy to see a drunk you dancing after the Dhanuchi performance, and the ladies adore the attention they get during Dandiya. The kids, on the other hand, enjoy every little thing about this time. Be it a quiz competition, painting competition, 'lemon-on-spoon race', musical chairs, magic shows and what not, it's as if the kids are in Disneyland for those few days.

Tambola (Bingo) at night is an experience they never forget and chilling at the pandal till midnight gives them a feeling that they've finally grown up. This is the time when kids actually hit puberty and not when they get their first hair down there. All this happens without a hint of religion being forced down on anyone. Apart from the morning and evening aarti, there's hardly anything that would make you feel that anyone's trying to promote their own religious propaganda and promoting anything in the name of God. In fact, a lot of good comes out of it too, like the daily bhog in the afternoon where, in the olden days, people used to actually sit down on tables with the whole colony and eat together. And all the kids would proudly serve everyone before they had a bite themselves. Things might've changed now, with the buffet system and all, but the essence still remains.

Durga Ma is probably the most fun Goddess of all time. The only competition she has is Ganpati, who, again, is a cute looking God who probably loves to have fun. I might not believe in any religion in particular but that does not stop me from enjoying Durga Puja one bit. Also, I'm not a Bengali, and that's the beauty of it, really.

So here's a big shout out to Durga Puja and all the happy times that are about to come. Brace yourselves, Bengali's are going to wake up from their slumber and get in action for this annual event.

Bolo Durga Ma Ki Jai!

PS - All image credit to Surabhi Chowdhury.

Tu To Mera Bhai Hai

If you’ve ever been drunk or been around a drunk then I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase “Tu to mera bhai hai!” This phrase is commonly used when a person is intoxicated and is in the company of humans, dogs, chairs or mice. Any living or non-living thing becomes the most beloved in front of a drunk who’s full of love. But then there are the depressed drunks too. And equally menacing, the frustrated drunk.

Why does the common Indian man drink? Is he a connoisseur? No, he probably cannot spell it or even pronounce it correctly. Does he like the taste? Probably not, since he makes that weird face after every big gulp of the 8 PM whisky that goes down his throat. Is it a cultural thing? Definitely not, in a religious country like India drinking is more or less considered to be sin. Although that does not deter even the most pious of followers who duly spill a cap full of Old Monk on the floor and dedicate it to Bhole Nath.

The extremely average Indian man drinks to get drunk. That is the one and the only reason why he heads to the ‘theka’ after a hard day’s work and buys his favourite Green Label (not Johnny Walker, but Gilbey’s) and heads home to a drunky night before he snores away to glory. And then there are the more sophisticated ones who go to their favourite ‘watering holes’ and bathe in Mojitos and LIITs till they’re drunk enough to be talking to random women at the bar. Or aggressive enough to be driving over the poor sleeping on pedestrians on Marine Drive or Ring Road.

“Bhai 17 pack peene ke baad bhi main seedha khada tha banjo!”

“Saale kabhi hamare saath baith ke piyo, hum sikhayenge kaise karte hain hold the drink.”

“Dude I know this guy who’s like this tanker man. I mean I shit you not but he drank 11 bottles of beers in front of me and he was still fine.”

We’re a proud lot. We might not be proud about a baby girl being born or the fact that we have one of the richest cultures in the world but we sure talk with pride when it comes to the amount of booze we can have before we pass out and sleep in our own puke. We’ll go on binges of the likes never even seen in Scotland or Holland. We’ll put to shame the biggest drunks of Ireland and smooth-talking-vodka-drinking Russian ‘Zaars’. From Mallus to Punjabis to Bengalis to Marathis; we’ve all got stories of those few good men who drink like there’s no tomorrow but still manage to wake up solid as ever. And if rumours are to be believed, Gujarat, a dry state, consumes the maximum about of liquor in this country. It won’t be too surprising if this statistic is true.

Sadly, for the common Indian drunk, this specific culture is not particularly embraced by the common public here. In lands outside of India they drink wine when they eat, they consider scotch to be a religion, cops drop the drunks to their home safely and women probably don’t get raped all the time by tipsy men. The situation in India is quite the opposite. Drunks here are a nuisance. Drunks here are ‘over-friendly’ to the extent that they molest women to show their love. Drunks here are looked down upon even if they are good drunks and become happy high after a few drinks. Drunks are not welcome here.

Our philosophy is simple. We drink to get high. We love to get drunk. We feel that it’s a waste if we drink and not feel out of our senses. That’s what our real thoughts are when it comes to drinking. And for some reason we’re quite cool with it and don’t see any reason to change.

We, the average Indian drunks, don’t want to grow up. Even 10 years from now we want to pee in our pants, drunk dial, get in car crashes, hump street dogs, and wake up with no memory of the previous night whatsoever. That’s who we are. And that’s who we will be. Always. Proud.

I’m getting a little high as I end this here so all I’d like to say is “Tu to mera bhai hai.”

Blame It All On The Woman

Women are supposed to be women.

Firstly, if you find out through a scan that you’re having a girl, get it aborted. In case a girl is born, just drop her in a drum of milk and let her die in peace. If you can’t kill her then, let her grow up and ask her to wear a nice black dress and go to Gurgaon after 8. She’ll get raped AND killed. If she doesn’t die, get her married to a Jain. Or a Marwari. Or any orthodox Indian man actually. Don’t give a dowry. They’ll burn her in the kitchen and say it was an accident. In case that doesn’t happen, in the hope that she would produce more sons for the family, ensure that she delivers a girl child. Either they’ll bribe the doctor to get her killed during childbirth or else keep blaming her for the rest of her life till she commits suicide. A woman is not supposed to live in this country. Even if she is allowed to live, she can’t stay happy. Those are the rules. Either accept them or you better end this miserable life of yours.

Who ever gave women the right to be born in the first place? This country does not need any women. All it needs is strong and power hungry men who will fight each other for the smallest of things and feel good about themselves. Women have no right to be educated. All they need to learn is to how to cook food, keep the house clean, pleasure their men and breastfeed their kids among various other random activities. Women shouldn’t work. Women shouldn’t wear modern clothes or go out drinking. Heck they shouldn’t even be allowed to drink unless their drunk husbands force some desi liquor down their throats just to satisfy their own wild fantasies. Women can’t go eat good food outside, or eat from a fresh clean plate. All they need is some leftover crap which they eat from the used plates of their men. Forget about a sweet dish or a cold drink. That’s what men consume. Women only cook and serve. That’s what God made them for. That’s all they need to know.

Men are animals. And it’s a good thing. It’s just the natural order of things. Women are the prey and we are the hunters. If a woman is walking on the road at night, any man has full right to rape her then and there in full public view. He does not do it too often during the daytime, not because he is scared, but because there’s no ‘feel’ of having sex with the lights turned on. So they prefer to abduct them inside a car if they find a good one during daytime. It’s comparatively darker inside a car and there’s natural stimulation thanks to the potholes. Women are NOT supposed to travel or anything. They just need to step out of the house only when necessary. For example, when the groceries need to be bought, or milk or bread. And the shops should not be more than a km away. They should avoid talking to other random men as much as possible and come back home directly without even looking at anyone else.

If men see a pair of boobs it is their birthright to go and press them for amusement. That is what boobs are for primarily. Only when women have babies do boobs have any other purpose. Although, men again have full authority to drink human milk in those days and let the kid cry of hunger. Man does what pleases him. That’s the law that is followed in this country. Be warned.

This is not it. There’s more but I don’t want to gross anyone out even further. Or get into much crueller details and scenarios. I have proven my point.

Now tell me, why in God’s name would I want to have a girl child in this kind of an environment? When we live in a world like this, why would you want to spoil another human’s life? Why would you endanger your daughter’s life (and izzat) by bringing her into this hellhole of a world? I wouldn’t. Fix the mess, then talk. Till then, let me fight the system till I can. Let me fight for women’s rights. My sexist jokes will one day bring justice to all you women out there. And that’s a man’s promise. Yeah, because man always fulfils his promise.

Bitch, please. If you don’t get it. Get a life.

Asli Mard Kaun?

Remember the time we used to make love, 

It was the most beautiful time of my life, 

And now you've moved on, 

And become someone else's wife. 

I walk around aimlessly, 

And I see you at every turn, 

And I just wish to god then, 

To hurt you and your guy just the way i burn. 

Oh we used to be so happy,

I'll never know what went wrong, 

You turned out to be such a bitch, 

You even stole my thong. 

So that is what was troubling you, 

That I used to cross dress at times, 

And enjoy a dildo up my ass, 

Now baby thats no more a crime. 

Just because I wore make up, 

And skirts I loved to wear, 

Didn't make me a bad person, 

Neither did waxing all my body hair. 

So yeah pink and purple looked best on me, 

And g strings looked so fine, 

But come on baby I was still a man, 

Even your clothes I used to design. 

So what if he's got a six pack, 

And what if he's super rich, 

He can't understand your feelings like I do, 

Stayfree or whisper I know better is which. 

Come back my sweety pie, 

You know who's the real man, 

I'm wearing your favourite pink pyajama's, 

I'll role play barbie and you be kan. 

Muah! Kisses XOXO XDXD. :-* BT.