(The following post was first published on Yahoo! Fit To Post here.)
A message for Ms Julia Roberts on behalf of my fellow Indians: we are cautiously happy that you have embraced Hinduism. According to reports, your family goes to the temple together to “chant and pray and celebrate”. “I’m definitely a practicing Hindu”, you are reported to have said. We may be buying Ms Gilbert’s book and we will buy tickets to your movies, but please don’t expect us to buy your words.
Don’t get us wrong: under normal circumstances, we would have whole-heartedly believed you. We love to include and be included. This is not the most private of our weaknesses. All Indians felt included when Obama said, “We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus…” at his inauguration speech. And not all Indians are Hindus. And Obama was talking about Americans. This trait also shows up when we refer to Indian-Americans as ‘Indians’ when they become famous. We laugh when Russell Peters makes fun of how we wash ourselves, and we grin and bear crappy movies like ‘Lady in the Water’. In American Idol, we wildly cheer for Sanjaya and Anoop, knowing fully well that they won’t get anywhere, except on shows like Survivor. And then we root for them there.
Despite this obvious weakness, the reason we’re not fooled by you is that you are announcing these beliefs at a time when your movie based on ‘Eat Pray Love’ is about to release. This kind of timing seems like, for lack of a better word, movie publicity. Besides, the Hindu identity cannot possibly co-exist with other facets of your personality. We have to work hard to preserve this identity in India where it withstands daily torture from radical, foreign concepts like ‘Friendship Day’, ‘Valentine’s Day’ and pub culture. It will crumble when trying to assimilate with a radical Hollywood star who appeared in a TV series called ‘Friends’, a movie called ‘Valentine’s Day’ and still probably frequents pubs.
Today you may be a Hindu, eat only Italian food and love only people from Bali, but we know that tomorrow if you are cast in ‘Shrek 5: After forever – Why are we doing this to ourselves?’, you will be convinced that ogres exist and fairy tales are the reality we choose to hide from by living our normal lives. (This, in turn, could be a sci-fi action movie with many super-slo-mo shots. Mr Nolan, I’m available to write the script.)
Here’s a suggestion though: if you want to take up Hinduism seriously, you will be subject to the strict standards of its most visible leader. Out of respect I will refer to this leader only as Rajan Zee, President of Universal Society of Hindu-ness (not the real organization name) or as he’s known in lazier circles – the PUSH. After Gisele Bundchen (umlaut omitted to protect privacy) evinced deep interest in Hinduism by saying that she enjoyed Hinduish things like yoga, meditation and sarees, she was offered advice by the leader [1]. You will also need to give a similar opportunity to the PUSH administration, who will ‘be glad to help in your spiritual exploration’, if your journey isn’t already over after reading Ms Gilbert’s book.
Once you become Janaki Rani, do not to expect star treatment in India. We have plenty of good female actors of our own, including the uncrowned queen of vegetarian Ham, Kareena Kapoor. According to the very objective opinion of her cousin and debutant director Sidharth Malhotra, she has surpassed you in a remake of one of your movies. That’s all right, she can copy your roles, but you will copy her religion. And when you do, there’s nothing to fear – if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s being inclusive.
[1] See hyperlink for full story and real name of Mr Zed
Showing posts with label Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Culture. Show all posts
Monday, August 9
Sunday, August 1
Showing respect to families
So the UK has put in place a ban on mini-skirts for customer facing roles. A quote:
My psychic powers sense an internet campaign coming up. #shortskirtquake anyone?
Women can wear trousers, informal dresses or skirts of "reasonable" length, but "not mini-skirts".It's a little relieving to know that we are not the only weird society in the world. I wonder what will happen when the daughters of the families in question come dressed in mini-skirts; will the families be sent back because they're not respecting themselves?
"Please try to dress smartly and thoughtfully, in line with other professionals you come across in your day-to-day work, and in a way that shows respect to children and families ," it said.
My psychic powers sense an internet campaign coming up. #shortskirtquake anyone?
Tuesday, July 13
Bloed, zweet en tranen
Well, what can I say.
On the 11th of July 2010, I was in a noisy Dutch bar just off Museumplein Amsterdam dressed in orange, screaming and shouting for the three hours leading up to the World Cup finals. The shouting continued for the better part of 116 minutes of the match - standing on a couch in the bar which had a little more space than a peak time Mumbai local.
Everyone knows what happened in the match, so I won't go into the details. I'm no football expert for sure, with my interest only taking off this year after moving to Holland. This post is about the atmosphere of Amsterdam and the reactions and attitudes of the its people.
On the day of the finals, the eyes were saturated with orange and the ears were near-deaf with vuvuzelas and the odd irritating airhorn. When we got to Amsterdam, three hours before the match, Museumplein was teeming with people. (More than a lakh, I'm now told).
Being a drop in the sea of orange was not for us, not just because it was noisy and loud, but because we were too short to even see the screen. Which is logical when you consider the fact that the Dutch are the tallest people in the world. The next best option was to head to a bar, and we walked into the first one that proclaimed "WK Finale" or such like at its doors.
The match was actually quite riveting for us, the battle of wills between two teams was interesting to watch. Some straightforward missed opportunities and some amazing saves by Stekelenburg generated tremendous noise.
The Dutch crowd was friendly and the wife and I had good company. There was a young guy who turned his flirtatious energies from Girl 1 to Girl 2 because he saw Girl 1 kissing another guy. This guy also bought us a couple of beers because he spilled two drops of water where we were sitting. Then there was a wise, older man who educated me with:
The real irony of it is that the Cup was won by a country that is quite divided. Not everyone in Spain was cheering for the team, and some were even betting against it. On the other hand, almost everyone in the Netherlands was dressed in orange, hoping to prove Paul the octopus wrong and make the most of their World Cup finals appearance after 32 years. I still think their achievement of reaching the finals is commendable considering how small the country is in terms of sheer numbers.
In contrast with the pre-match din, there was a murmured silence after the goal in the second half of extra time. Unlike India, where the silence manifests only in the stadium where Sachin Tendulkar gets out or the opposing team hits a boundary, this quiet was present in the bar, on the streets of Amsterdam and followed us onto the train, all the way to Utrecht.
People kicked the odd beer can on the street, complained about Webb and looked despondent as they held their heads in their hands, sitting by the streets. But the silence was not accompanied by any aggression. I didn't hear anyone shouting or making a nuisance, and that was a nice thing to see.
Somewhere in the middle of the match a beverage influenced Dutch fan asked me, "Have you ever seen an atmosphere like this?" I answered his rhetorical question with a quiet "Yes", thinking of the recent IPL. A tinge of homesickness surfaced as I reminisced the days when my brother, father and I watched every single ball of a test match. Come to think of it, my answer probably broke the man's heart; but for him and the millions of Dutch fans around the world, there was much more to follow.
On the 11th of July 2010, I was in a noisy Dutch bar just off Museumplein Amsterdam dressed in orange, screaming and shouting for the three hours leading up to the World Cup finals. The shouting continued for the better part of 116 minutes of the match - standing on a couch in the bar which had a little more space than a peak time Mumbai local.
Everyone knows what happened in the match, so I won't go into the details. I'm no football expert for sure, with my interest only taking off this year after moving to Holland. This post is about the atmosphere of Amsterdam and the reactions and attitudes of the its people.
On the day of the finals, the eyes were saturated with orange and the ears were near-deaf with vuvuzelas and the odd irritating airhorn. When we got to Amsterdam, three hours before the match, Museumplein was teeming with people. (More than a lakh, I'm now told).
Being a drop in the sea of orange was not for us, not just because it was noisy and loud, but because we were too short to even see the screen. Which is logical when you consider the fact that the Dutch are the tallest people in the world. The next best option was to head to a bar, and we walked into the first one that proclaimed "WK Finale" or such like at its doors.
The match was actually quite riveting for us, the battle of wills between two teams was interesting to watch. Some straightforward missed opportunities and some amazing saves by Stekelenburg generated tremendous noise.
The Dutch crowd was friendly and the wife and I had good company. There was a young guy who turned his flirtatious energies from Girl 1 to Girl 2 because he saw Girl 1 kissing another guy. This guy also bought us a couple of beers because he spilled two drops of water where we were sitting. Then there was a wise, older man who educated me with:
- The Dutch translation of "He is a duck penis", every time a Spanish player took an Oscar-worthy dive or Mr Webb decided to exercise his arm.
- Andre Hazes and the song that is the title of this blog post.
- The fact that the Dutch national anthem (the oldest in the world) actually honours the Spanish king. (Video below)
The real irony of it is that the Cup was won by a country that is quite divided. Not everyone in Spain was cheering for the team, and some were even betting against it. On the other hand, almost everyone in the Netherlands was dressed in orange, hoping to prove Paul the octopus wrong and make the most of their World Cup finals appearance after 32 years. I still think their achievement of reaching the finals is commendable considering how small the country is in terms of sheer numbers.
In contrast with the pre-match din, there was a murmured silence after the goal in the second half of extra time. Unlike India, where the silence manifests only in the stadium where Sachin Tendulkar gets out or the opposing team hits a boundary, this quiet was present in the bar, on the streets of Amsterdam and followed us onto the train, all the way to Utrecht.
People kicked the odd beer can on the street, complained about Webb and looked despondent as they held their heads in their hands, sitting by the streets. But the silence was not accompanied by any aggression. I didn't hear anyone shouting or making a nuisance, and that was a nice thing to see.
Somewhere in the middle of the match a beverage influenced Dutch fan asked me, "Have you ever seen an atmosphere like this?" I answered his rhetorical question with a quiet "Yes", thinking of the recent IPL. A tinge of homesickness surfaced as I reminisced the days when my brother, father and I watched every single ball of a test match. Come to think of it, my answer probably broke the man's heart; but for him and the millions of Dutch fans around the world, there was much more to follow.
Wednesday, June 9
The touch of India
An ancient Indian saying goes: What thou shalt not take to heart, thou shalt take in your hand. And it's true. We have never shied away from the sense of touch. Around the world, millions of westerners are only now waking up to our ways.
The recent revolution, of course, is due to a fellow whose surname is Jobs. This man is making billions off a simple human need - the need to touch. It's what we Indians have always done. When we eat our food, we touch it. When Zakir Hussain plays his tabla, he touches it. When we want to show respect to our elders, we touch their feet. Even when we wash ourselves after our morning jobs (no pun intended), we clean by touch. The average Indian has no problems touching food, assorted body parts or percussion instruments.
However, the poor, deprived western world envies our ability to touch. After their capitalist companies forced them to buy toilet paper, spoons, forks, drum sticks and plectrums, their innate urge to touch now manifests itself in the latest technological breakthroughs.Jobs can't get enough touching
(Image credit: via @dhempe on Twitter)
They envy us in general, I think. When we were winning at hockey, they made the pitches turf. Now that our guys are killing at the spelling bees, they want to simplify spelling. The iPods, iPads, iTouches and iMats threaten to steal from us our touchy feely culture. (Aside, iNamitha is now on Twitter RT'ing intense stuff about people giving up drinking because of beggars. Now if that isn't touching, I don't know what is.)
But we are not to be outdone easily. Our march on touching shall not be stopped by a few phones and pads. Where they fail, we will make up. Our young men will continue to touch women as (in)appropriate. We will now regulate our touchiness to the extent that one of our major states is going to have a 'culture policy' that will define what is too touchy to be touched. Heck we'll even be a little contrarian in our greeting. If they shake hands, we will touching and say 'namaste'.
If you think I'm going a touch overboard, sample one of ToI's best headlines in recent times: Fans touch Big B, star touched by fans. You can't expect any better from an ordinary blogger like me.
As the ancient Indian saying goes, 'Dil pe mat le, haath pe le'. Stay in touch.
The recent revolution, of course, is due to a fellow whose surname is Jobs. This man is making billions off a simple human need - the need to touch. It's what we Indians have always done. When we eat our food, we touch it. When Zakir Hussain plays his tabla, he touches it. When we want to show respect to our elders, we touch their feet. Even when we wash ourselves after our morning jobs (no pun intended), we clean by touch. The average Indian has no problems touching food, assorted body parts or percussion instruments.
However, the poor, deprived western world envies our ability to touch. After their capitalist companies forced them to buy toilet paper, spoons, forks, drum sticks and plectrums, their innate urge to touch now manifests itself in the latest technological breakthroughs.Jobs can't get enough touching (Image credit: via @dhempe on Twitter)
They envy us in general, I think. When we were winning at hockey, they made the pitches turf. Now that our guys are killing at the spelling bees, they want to simplify spelling. The iPods, iPads, iTouches and iMats threaten to steal from us our touchy feely culture. (Aside, iNamitha is now on Twitter RT'ing intense stuff about people giving up drinking because of beggars. Now if that isn't touching, I don't know what is.)
But we are not to be outdone easily. Our march on touching shall not be stopped by a few phones and pads. Where they fail, we will make up. Our young men will continue to touch women as (in)appropriate. We will now regulate our touchiness to the extent that one of our major states is going to have a 'culture policy' that will define what is too touchy to be touched. Heck we'll even be a little contrarian in our greeting. If they shake hands, we will touching and say 'namaste'.
If you think I'm going a touch overboard, sample one of ToI's best headlines in recent times: Fans touch Big B, star touched by fans. You can't expect any better from an ordinary blogger like me.
As the ancient Indian saying goes, 'Dil pe mat le, haath pe le'. Stay in touch.
Wednesday, June 2
The straight, single Indian man and Bipasha Basu's boobage
I am a straight Indian man, lucky enough to have a great wife who loves me. But I know numerous other dudes who have recently been finding the going a little tough. They are constantly being maligned by the women of my country. So today I write a plea on their behalf.
Dear Indian woman, why do you snub us so? Is it because we don't make outlandish gestures such as this when we want to marry you? Anyone can organize a bunch of dancers, but if you asked that guy, he would agree that much more courage is required in getting his parents to talk to her parents. And let's face it, if you were that chick in the park, you would have said, "I need to ask my grandmother" instead of saying yes. Imagine the embarrassment you would have faced. Moreover, if it was close to Valentine's day, we would just be putting you in mortal danger with a bunch of sena / sene 's hovering in the area. We care more about your life than some stupid romantic gesture. We are practical like that.
Or do you snub us because we have small penises? (Note: here I can speak only of averages). But really now, it's not the size, it's how you use it (and it wasn't even us who came up with that line). And boy, do we USE it. After the Chinese, we have the most documented success with it. First we practice alone for years. Then when the time comes, we don't use it selfishly only to please the parties involved, but the results of our efforts please our uncles, aunts, distant cousins, passed on ancestors and parents - on both sides. That's got to count for something, right? And all this culture compliance in a matter of minutes. You'd be a fool to label these qualities as shortcomings. In the traditional sense of the word anyway.
If your complaint is about our moobs, let us explain. We make the sacrifice of cultivating those because we want you to experience pleasures from both sides of the fence. So many qualities in one partner that you never feel like you are missing something. We are the only men who actually give up our bodies for their women. Why mock us for something so benevolent?
So why do you snub us? Especially Indian women like Sania Mirza who goes off to marry a Pakistani cricketer when India has so many mooby ones of its own? And Bipasha Basu whose first topless appearance in an ad was for New York Lotto. Seriously, what's up with that? Why not for Gujarat tourism? What is wrong with honest, vegetarian, teetotaling businessmen? Or you could have lent your boobage to the campaign for 'God's own country'. The foreigners would have come flooding for Ayurvedic massages of all kinds. You could have helped your country. But no, you chose to reveal in an ad for the lottery of a city which already has a TV series that equates its name with the act of sex. Good job Bips. You're going to stand out like hay in a haystack.
Therefore dear women of India, I urge you to be a little more understanding. There are many eligible single Indian men out there, and not all of them are only interested in your fraandship. Seek and you shall find a wonderful man whose flaws you can look past. Our hope be with you.
(Proposal and NY Lotto ad links from Gautam John's Twitter feed which really has much more interesting stuff than this post suggests.)
Dear Indian woman, why do you snub us so? Is it because we don't make outlandish gestures such as this when we want to marry you? Anyone can organize a bunch of dancers, but if you asked that guy, he would agree that much more courage is required in getting his parents to talk to her parents. And let's face it, if you were that chick in the park, you would have said, "I need to ask my grandmother" instead of saying yes. Imagine the embarrassment you would have faced. Moreover, if it was close to Valentine's day, we would just be putting you in mortal danger with a bunch of sena / sene 's hovering in the area. We care more about your life than some stupid romantic gesture. We are practical like that.
Or do you snub us because we have small penises? (Note: here I can speak only of averages). But really now, it's not the size, it's how you use it (and it wasn't even us who came up with that line). And boy, do we USE it. After the Chinese, we have the most documented success with it. First we practice alone for years. Then when the time comes, we don't use it selfishly only to please the parties involved, but the results of our efforts please our uncles, aunts, distant cousins, passed on ancestors and parents - on both sides. That's got to count for something, right? And all this culture compliance in a matter of minutes. You'd be a fool to label these qualities as shortcomings. In the traditional sense of the word anyway.
If your complaint is about our moobs, let us explain. We make the sacrifice of cultivating those because we want you to experience pleasures from both sides of the fence. So many qualities in one partner that you never feel like you are missing something. We are the only men who actually give up our bodies for their women. Why mock us for something so benevolent?
So why do you snub us? Especially Indian women like Sania Mirza who goes off to marry a Pakistani cricketer when India has so many mooby ones of its own? And Bipasha Basu whose first topless appearance in an ad was for New York Lotto. Seriously, what's up with that? Why not for Gujarat tourism? What is wrong with honest, vegetarian, teetotaling businessmen? Or you could have lent your boobage to the campaign for 'God's own country'. The foreigners would have come flooding for Ayurvedic massages of all kinds. You could have helped your country. But no, you chose to reveal in an ad for the lottery of a city which already has a TV series that equates its name with the act of sex. Good job Bips. You're going to stand out like hay in a haystack.
Therefore dear women of India, I urge you to be a little more understanding. There are many eligible single Indian men out there, and not all of them are only interested in your fraandship. Seek and you shall find a wonderful man whose flaws you can look past. Our hope be with you.
(Proposal and NY Lotto ad links from Gautam John's Twitter feed which really has much more interesting stuff than this post suggests.)
Tuesday, March 9
Drinking culture
'A drink a day may keep women's weight gain away' claims Hindustan Times.
I await a repartee from these guys now. What fun it will be!
I await a repartee from these guys now. What fun it will be!
Monday, January 18
Temperature tantrums
All said and done, the human body is a completely arbit work of art.
Take this for example: the temperature rises to 7 degrees Celsius in Utrecht, Netherlands and I see the first set of people in t-shirts. Back home in Chennai, the temperature dips below 30 degrees and invisible ear muffs become all the rage to fight the 'cold'.
As Amit Varma would say, such it goes.
Take this for example: the temperature rises to 7 degrees Celsius in Utrecht, Netherlands and I see the first set of people in t-shirts. Back home in Chennai, the temperature dips below 30 degrees and invisible ear muffs become all the rage to fight the 'cold'.
As Amit Varma would say, such it goes.
Wednesday, December 23
Media couples that can never be
News channels / publications are making a conscious effort to brand couples by combining their names after 'Brangelina' took off like wildfire. A recent one I saw was Saif + Kareena = Saifeena. Unfortunately, Saifeena sounds a little too much like a muscular lady with a severe facial hair problem. But that's not all.
Imagine some couples out there who just can't be because of this new fad. Some are:
Imagine some couples out there who just can't be because of this new fad. Some are:
- Fardeen Khan and Trisha (Far-t)
- Tushar Kapoor and Eesha Deol (Tush-ee)
- Perizaad Kolah and Younis Khan
- Chunky Pandey and Rambha (Chunky Rambha)
- Diya Mirza and Hrithik Roshan
Sunday, November 1
Final destination. Err... almost.
So after some dillying and much dallying, the wife and I have arrived in the Netherlands. There was much consternation on the way here what with me misplacing my documents and losing access to my Forex card pin, all of which I had neatly placed in the file of 'most important documents'. This file I promptly left at the Chennai airport, making the 'safe file' the single most foolhardy concentration of risk in my life.
In the weeks leading upto the trip, I was convinced many times that I was not supposed to arrive here. A-la the 'final destination' series, the signs were there all over the place. An autorickshaw driver almost getting me killed by going the wrong way on a one-way flyover, the Lufthansa person at the counter asking me to lose the luggage to arrive at the right weight, the attorneys screwing up my visa application, and upon arrival a coin being swallowed by a hungry phone machine when I tried to call the driver who hadn't arrived were just some of the events that had me convinced that this was not meant to be. Heck, every time there was a little turbulence, I found myself thinking, "This is it." However, wonder of wonders I have arrived to new experiences and challenges.
First impressions. Autumn is on. (View outside my house)
This place could sure use some of the Chennai sun. Heck, even 1% should do the trick. I was admonished by some of my friends here when I turned the heating in my home up to 26 degrees. They complained that my house was an oven and visiting us made their baby sick. And here I was thinking that 26 was cool, prime weather. Need to get the Chennai out of me very quickly.
Second impressions, there was most excellent girl-girl action at the airport arrival, and there are numerous porn channels on TV and nudie books on sale at the supermarkets. Yes, yes, there may be a lot more to experience in this country, but what to do, my mind is like this only. Also, people are generally cordial and everyone seems to have a dishwasher. Whether these two facts are related, I do not know.
Thanks to friends' advice, so far I have discovered gorgeous stroopwaffels and an awesome Italian place with the most indulgeous ham, egg and cheese pizza you could ever imagine. I intend to try the cumin cheese some time which, I'm told, rocks. Also, I have been warned of the perils of walking on what are dedicated 'cycling paths'. (There are no hawkers on the pavements!) I know, how stupid, right? I mean, you just cycle anywhere you want where I come from, and we fear not death, because travelling by any mode of transport is dangerous enough.
So anyway, I have now somewhat settled down and I will be kind enough to provide my reader(s) with some more of the entertainment that they have suffered from in the past. Heck, maybe I might even be regular. Who knows? It's a brave, new world.
In the weeks leading upto the trip, I was convinced many times that I was not supposed to arrive here. A-la the 'final destination' series, the signs were there all over the place. An autorickshaw driver almost getting me killed by going the wrong way on a one-way flyover, the Lufthansa person at the counter asking me to lose the luggage to arrive at the right weight, the attorneys screwing up my visa application, and upon arrival a coin being swallowed by a hungry phone machine when I tried to call the driver who hadn't arrived were just some of the events that had me convinced that this was not meant to be. Heck, every time there was a little turbulence, I found myself thinking, "This is it." However, wonder of wonders I have arrived to new experiences and challenges.
First impressions. Autumn is on. (View outside my house)
This place could sure use some of the Chennai sun. Heck, even 1% should do the trick. I was admonished by some of my friends here when I turned the heating in my home up to 26 degrees. They complained that my house was an oven and visiting us made their baby sick. And here I was thinking that 26 was cool, prime weather. Need to get the Chennai out of me very quickly.
Second impressions, there was most excellent girl-girl action at the airport arrival, and there are numerous porn channels on TV and nudie books on sale at the supermarkets. Yes, yes, there may be a lot more to experience in this country, but what to do, my mind is like this only. Also, people are generally cordial and everyone seems to have a dishwasher. Whether these two facts are related, I do not know.
Thanks to friends' advice, so far I have discovered gorgeous stroopwaffels and an awesome Italian place with the most indulgeous ham, egg and cheese pizza you could ever imagine. I intend to try the cumin cheese some time which, I'm told, rocks. Also, I have been warned of the perils of walking on what are dedicated 'cycling paths'. (There are no hawkers on the pavements!) I know, how stupid, right? I mean, you just cycle anywhere you want where I come from, and we fear not death, because travelling by any mode of transport is dangerous enough.
So anyway, I have now somewhat settled down and I will be kind enough to provide my reader(s) with some more of the entertainment that they have suffered from in the past. Heck, maybe I might even be regular. Who knows? It's a brave, new world.
Thursday, July 30
We can't handle the truth
From the moment I first saw it, I always wished that the 'Moment of Truth' was brought to India. And my wish came true a few weeks ago. The Indian version called 'Sach ka saamna' that airs on Star Plus has caused quite a furore in the general public and even some wise MP's have asked for bans. But some of my favourite quotes in the whole episode comes from the High Court Bench:1. Switch off your TV, Mister, if you don’t like it, or change the channel. Moral policing is not our job.
2. We don’t think our social values are so fragile that one TV programme will
damage them.
The contestants come of their own volition, have a choice to discontinue at any point, and if they lose their jobs or their wives so be it. They are mature adults and cannot be told how to act by other, more mature adults.
I have a feeling that the actual reason for demanding a ban on the serial is that we are unable to accept a different opinion or behaviour and we want to believe life is dandy and perfect. Ain't that the truth?
Image courtesy: dishtracking.com
Monday, February 16
Friendly neighborhood barber
He is easily accessible and has a personality that contrasts his run down shop. He makes up for the lack of air conditioning by making you feel warm and welcome, he makes up for his 'uneducated' hands with experience and the shrillness of his radio set is offset by his constant chatter, the poor lighting is illuminated with his bright smile. He is the friendly neighbourhood barber.
In the post-liberalization era when RoI-seeking big corporates have added a professional edge to the business and modern salons with 'educated' 'hair dressers' seek to garner market share from small-time barbers, the friendly fingers, the clicking scissors and the free one-minute massages are on the brink of being wiped out by forces of evolution. Fancy devices, unnecessary hygiene and all too scientific methods are on the verge of replacing the hair-filled floors and 'free combing and mirror' services that the barber shop used to offer.
These were the places our fathers used to go to when Gillette Mach-3's and aloe-vera based shaving foams for super-sensitive-skin were not available in retail stores, but were luxuries purchased occasionally by your 'abroad' relatives. These men trimmed nose hair and shaved armpits without a second look. They stocked cheesy film magazines, titillating enough for adults, but safe enough for the children who cycled to their stores after school. They didn't color their own hair or wear it in a special way, and often were the epitomes of lack of fashion sense. The walls displayed charts with numbered hair styles, and you thought to yourself, "When I grow up, I will have style no. 17."
As incomes rise and people switch to the large air-conditioned saloons, one looks back at the neighbourhood barber shop one last time and feels sad to watch it slowly disappear from one’s life, alongwith the many little secrets and tips their owners passed down through generations. The next urban generation may not give a second look to these places as they drive by.
However, as we move forward into a brave new India, let's spare a thought to these 'small' people who made our lives so special for so many years. These men who trimmed the hair of bawling infants and walking-stick wielding octogenarians alike; these men who were part of our culture, a term that was not as abused or misused in those days, men who in their time made the word 'barber' anything but derogatory.
In the post-liberalization era when RoI-seeking big corporates have added a professional edge to the business and modern salons with 'educated' 'hair dressers' seek to garner market share from small-time barbers, the friendly fingers, the clicking scissors and the free one-minute massages are on the brink of being wiped out by forces of evolution. Fancy devices, unnecessary hygiene and all too scientific methods are on the verge of replacing the hair-filled floors and 'free combing and mirror' services that the barber shop used to offer.
These were the places our fathers used to go to when Gillette Mach-3's and aloe-vera based shaving foams for super-sensitive-skin were not available in retail stores, but were luxuries purchased occasionally by your 'abroad' relatives. These men trimmed nose hair and shaved armpits without a second look. They stocked cheesy film magazines, titillating enough for adults, but safe enough for the children who cycled to their stores after school. They didn't color their own hair or wear it in a special way, and often were the epitomes of lack of fashion sense. The walls displayed charts with numbered hair styles, and you thought to yourself, "When I grow up, I will have style no. 17."
As incomes rise and people switch to the large air-conditioned saloons, one looks back at the neighbourhood barber shop one last time and feels sad to watch it slowly disappear from one’s life, alongwith the many little secrets and tips their owners passed down through generations. The next urban generation may not give a second look to these places as they drive by.
However, as we move forward into a brave new India, let's spare a thought to these 'small' people who made our lives so special for so many years. These men who trimmed the hair of bawling infants and walking-stick wielding octogenarians alike; these men who were part of our culture, a term that was not as abused or misused in those days, men who in their time made the word 'barber' anything but derogatory.
Tuesday, February 10
Monday, December 8
Homer classics
I've always been a HUGE fan of the Simpsons from the time they debuted on the erstwhile STAR Plus. Given that, it makes reading this article a fascinating trip down memory lane. Interesting factoid:
Some Homer classics below:
Picture courtesy: The Daily Mail
In 1992, Elizabeth Taylor voiced the first (and almost only) word ever spoken by baby Maggie. Aptly enough, it was 'Daddy!'
Some Homer classics below:
Picture courtesy: The Daily Mail
Thursday, November 6
Yo momma!
Just when I thought the most exciting thing on TV this evening was and ICL match featuring something-heroes versus something-champs, I happened to chance-surf upon a show called 'Yo momma' on VH1. More than the show itself, what was fascinating was the evolution of street culture into an art form.
As an Indian, it particularly struck me how other nations permit art forms to grow organically without censorship or protest. We are still in the stage where our artists have to apologize for being culture-sensitive. Is that why most developed nations tend to move away from organized religion?
One would think those countries need CRAP man.
As an Indian, it particularly struck me how other nations permit art forms to grow organically without censorship or protest. We are still in the stage where our artists have to apologize for being culture-sensitive. Is that why most developed nations tend to move away from organized religion?
One would think those countries need CRAP man.
Tuesday, May 27
Thursday, May 22
CRAP Chronicles - 1
CRAPMan Log May 21st 2008:
Cricket is very cultural to me. But this IPL is only after making money which is very bad. It is like vomit on a lovely Cultural programme. It is like Cola in my Chaach and rock music on AIR. Since starting only, my CultureSensetm is tingling pleasurably err... uncomfortably seeing many cheeringleaders with lots of skin. Normally, even seeing naked ankles is infusing wrong feelings in me. I am never seeing such things unless it is these internet websites which is also by mistake sometimes.
Using my psycho Culture powers, I sent a subliminal Cultural Message to our cheeringleaders in politics. Glad to see it is working. That is me, CRAP man, always working.
Next target: Handholding in public.
Wednesday, May 21
The legend of CRAP Man
Little Hagannath was born on the 14th of February. He first noticed how cultureless India on his 6th birthday. His uncle Ramu didn't make it to his birthday party. After the party was over, his mummy told him that Ramu uncle was in a park. With some aunty. That night little Hagannath dreamed that Ramu uncle was in the park with some other aunty doing dirty, dirty things. It might have been the result of watching a Rishi Kapoor movie earlier in the day, but it opened his eyes.
It was out of this crisis that a hero arose. He would weed out public hand holding, hugging, Valentine's days and other Western influenzas with his superpower: CultureSenseTM.
With this awesome ability, he set about the task of protecting his nation from falling in to chaos. An IT recruiter by day, by night he is Culturally Righteous Assisduous Policeman - CRAP Man.
Watch this space for more CRAP Man adventures...
[Sketches of CRAP Man solicited]
Friday, February 15
CultureSense
My CultureSensetm is tingling. Irfan Pathan wished people a Happy Valentine's Day. He wants lots of roses. Things are going to get broken. Random people, beware of injuries to your constitutions. How dare that cultureless matchwinner! Why did he have to hurt my veryverysensitive feelings? My CultureSensetm is already having visions of an IOC poster with his picture being blackened by similarly culture-conscious friends. Deserves those guys right, to be in such huge losses. What do they expect after having such an uncultured brand ambassador? Why don't people follow the Handbook of Culturally Correct Things to Do and Say? It's simple enough - shut up and do nothing. We will make him apologise, wait and watch.
Meanwhile, my CultureSensetm continues to tingle...
Meanwhile, my CultureSensetm continues to tingle...
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