#indian

You are not a Hindu

/ nehakumar / 1 Comment

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Where are we going as Hindus ? Our festivals have turned into pompous shows of extravagance. Celebrations with families and neighborhood have been overthrown by the pandals and festival melas, all trying to outdo each other with outlandish decors and loud speeches and celebrities and politicos. The sounds of the bells and the gongs and the conches are drowned by the loudspeakers blaring bhajans to the tunes of Bollywood songs.  Diwali used to be a festival of lights, poojas, diyas and rangolis. Instead we are lured by the mindless pre Diwali sales, the artificial electric lights and the booming crackers. Holi has become synonymous with outrageous songs, rain dances, alcohol and leering. Come Janmasthami, and cash prizes are offered for the dahi handi with many govindas losing their lives, or worse paralyzing themselves, in a bid to outperform each other in the race to climb and claim the coveted prize. Raavan dahan of Dussehra turns into a tragedy for hundreds, as people are drowned in the frenzy while safety takes a backseat. The return of the kaawads becomes a political game with the parties across towns making their shivirs on the roads, blocking main ways and turning traffic into mayhem. And then we take all the moortis and the flowers and the prasad, wrapped in toxic paints and plastic, and dump them into the rivers and choke them.

Why have our festivities turned into circuses of blind faith and tomfoolery and jarring displays of feigned reverence? Does God pick out and award the best ?… the best decorated pandal, the most exorbitantly decorated idol, the best lit house, and the people that promote these antics. Does he reward these picked winners with his grace, and shower them exclusively with his blessings ? Is the surest way of making God listen to your prayers, is to sing songs in his honor over microphones and loudspeakers, and to make them loud and clear for every earthly being living within the ten mile radius ?

What are these religious revelers thinking, if they are, at all, thinking ? …

“ Well, hello, hello. Jai Siya Ram, Har Har Mahadev, Jai Shri Krishna and Jai Mata Di. What are these ridiculous questions ? How can you call yourself a Hindu ? You should be ashamed of yourself. We don’t build pandals, Devi maa gives us sandesh to do it. If it blocks a main street, so be it. Everybody has to make sacrifices.  What traffic are you talking about ? Isn’t there already so much traffic in the city ? One pandal here and there, and it sets the tongues rolling. Bloody heretics ! How can you tell us how to celebrate our festivals ? We will build huge Raavan effigies near railway tracks, and we will burn them to the ground. Come Diwali, we will burn a billion crackers, we will light bombs, and we will fly rockets till kingdom come. Jisko bura lagta hai lage. This is between our God and us. Why shouldn’t we make merry on Holi, and drink and smoke and dance and tease the mohalla girls ? Even Lord Shiva smokes ganja. And what about Lord Krishna’s gopikas ? You talk about the bhajans on loudspeakers. The songs we play are in honor of our Gods. They are loud so that everyone can hear how ardently we love them. Ye bhakton ka zamaana hai. Did you donate for the Navratri celebrations in your locality ? No ? No wonder the celebrations were so lackluster this year. Well, you Madam, are a disgrace and an atheist and you will rot in hell for that. And you are no longer a responsible citizen of this country. You are more concerned about the plants and animals and the environment, than you are about human beings. All this nonsense about Diwali crackers terrifying the animals and the smoke killing the plants. You ask us to care about them when even God doesn’t. If he did, he would have made them humans. You see, we humans are made in the image of God. And we please only him. Rest of the earth gayi tel lene. The rivers  ? What are you talking about ? Ganga Maiyya is self cleansing – the holy water washes away all the dirt and sins. Yamuna ? Doesn’t she drain into Ganga ? You environmentalists have a habit of poking your noses into everything. With the blessings of Bholenath and Mata Rani, our celebrations will continue. And the bhakts will rule the world.”

Incredible India

/ nehakumar / Leave a comment

American flag background for Memorial Day or 4th of July

An Indian parent…

“ Mummy, dekho kutta potty kar raha hai !”

“( Name – generally a syllable followed by AAN ) bete, ‘ kutta ’ nahi bolte – ‘ doggy ’ bolo. Say ‘ Doggy ’ !”

“ Mummy, dekho doggy potty kar raha hai !”

“ No darling, not ‘ potty ’! Say ‘ poo-poo ’! …”

“ OK Mummy, doggy poo-poo kar raha hai.”

“ Now say it English.”

“ Mom, doggy is doing poo-poo.”

“ Good Boy !” (Pun unintended)

After a few minutes…

“ Mummy, susu aa raha hai…”

A smouldering glare ensues…

“ Oh sorry. Mumma can I go pee-pee ?”

 

Meanwhile, an NRI parent abroad…

“ Bete, Mummy se bolna kude waala aaya hai ..”

“ Kude – what ?! Dad, say it in English.”

“ Can you tell Mom the garbage truck is here ? (Angez ki aulaad…) ”

Laws of motion of Indian lifts

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download

Dear countrymen…

Lifts all over the world, are engineered only to go up and down. Pressing the lift button repeatedly in frenzy, will neither move the lift faster, nor move it sideways, or diagonally, or in any 4th or 5th dimension.

The lifts are designed to heed to your call when you press Up if you want to go up, and Down if you want to go down. Pressing both Up and Down buttons simultaneously, will not halt the lift in time-space continuum and propel it through a wormhole to open into your floor.

It is unfair to be treated harshly for no fault of yours, but regrettably, the lift doesn’t run a hyperdrive or override module for you.

The people going up in the lift are not anxious for your company, cool as you might be. So if your destination is at the bottom floor, it may be prudent not to press the Up button, lest the lift stops at your feet and you are forced to flash your sexy grin, waving “ Upar jaa rahein hain kya ?!”

If you are not hearing anything on your mobile phone inside the lift, the plausible conclusion is that there is no network, not that you have to shout louder to hear your caller better.

If the lift starts beeping ‘overweight’ after you step in its confines, you – and only you, must have the privilege of stepping out. Not the already present others you are eyeing, premising that they are the cause of the weighty problem.

The footnote of the lift instructions manual alludes to a few suavities, none of which say that it is acceptable to cough in someone’s face or fart in someone’s space inside a lift.

An apparent apparition of an appalling agglomeration of apparel.

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Capture

 

Have you often wondered how the Indian parents unfailingly and unflinchingly, never miss a chance to embellish and adorn your wardrobe in front of others ? It is a known fact that larger the audience to listen to their tribulations, taller are the claims. And the more you deny those claims, the more ridiculous those exaggerations get. So beware and tread carefully and watch out for these weapons in their armoury.

 

Clothes, clothes everywhere, not a single one to wear

This is the time when you have just dropped a hint of an inclination to buy a nice outfit, for an upcoming wedding or a party, and pat comes the whacking wail , “ Har baar kehte ho ki kuch pehnne ko nahi hai. Phir almaariyon mein kya pada hai ? Har das din mein kuch naya kapda to khareedte rehte ho. Wo sab kab kaam aayega ?”

 

Shopper’s Paradise

Try leaving your clothes carelessly in the house. Go for it, give it a shot. Before the seconds hand strikes 12, you will hear a voice booming and echoing across the walls…“ Har kamre mein isi ke kapde hain. Sari almariyaan bhar rakhi hain. Hamare kapde to do khano mein aa jaate hain. Dukaan lagake rakhi hai, dukaan…Ek board laga dete hain ghar ke bahaar – ‘ Kapde hi Kapde : Verma ji and son’.”

 

The guilt

The Bhramastra in the armamentarium. A design to make you realize your sins. “ Jitne paison mein tere saal bhar ke kapde aaye hain na, utne mein to hamaari chhoti car aa jaati.”

 

The exponential factor

No matter how many clothes or shoes you have – few or many, this number is aggrandized by a variable factor ranging from 10 to infinity, by the Indian parents in front of your relatives or family friends. For instance, “ 200 T shirts hain iss ke paas.. 200. Kali T shirts hi 30-40 hongi. Ek hi rang (blue!) ki kam-se-kam 20-25 jeans..”  While you are left mouth agape with incredulity, overwhelmed by this calculation, trying to wonder where those 200 T shirts are tucked away, your parents have already moved on to how many shades of purple they counted in your wardrobe yesterday.

 

The space constraint and the alternatives

If you have dared to buy new clothes from the mall, make sure you quietly sneak them into the house. Lest you want to hear this – “ Phir kapde khareed layi. Kahan hai jagah iss ghar mein, bataa. Kahan rakhegi inko… mere sur pe ?”

 

Comparative and Superlative

Whether in school or college or work, be it marks or awards or salary, comparing their kids to others is inherent to Indian parenthood. So your wardrobe too, is unlikely to escape the sharp, mindful eye.  “ Behenji,  itne jute hain hamare ghar mein, main kya bataun. Utne jute to Jayalalithaa ke paas bhi nahi the.”

 

Do Jodi Jute

“ Hamare zamaane mein…” is the song of every parent. And it is sung at home at least once a day. So if you have too much footwear ‘for your own good,’ you would know these lyrics by heart…“ Chhatisson prakaar ke jute. Har colour ki sandal. Inhe to jute bhi matching chaiyyein. Hamne to poore college do jodi juton mein hi kaam chalaa liya tha.”

 

The Queen’s obsession

The British left our shores many years ago but this doesn’t stop us from obsessing over their monarchy every now and then. So if your cupboard abounds with apparel, you have a fair chance of being equated to a king or a queen. “ Ek Queen of England hai. Ek hamaari Queen hai. Kapde bhi baraabar ki takkar ke hone chaiyyein.”

 

Calendrical guesstimates

This is borne out of gigantic amplifications matched by an astute knowledge of days and weeks and months. “ Itne kapde hai hamare suputra ke paas, ki har roz agar alag-alag kapde pehnega, to bhi 6 mahine mein koi repeat nahi hoga.”

 

Foreign returned

No one can escape their parents’ elaborate renditions of their foreign travels and the trips abroad. Those accounts can be applied everywhere in their lives, and used to tackle every situation by merely substituting a few words and phrases here and there.  They only have to start off by interrupting any conversation saying, “ Jab main vilaayat gaya tha…” So in the notorious case of ‘your wardrobe situation,’ the blanks will be filled thus – “Jab main vilaayat gaya tha, to ek attaichee thi mere paas. Jitne kapde-jute leke gaya tha, unhi ko teen saal chalaya. Aaj ki generation ko dekho.”

 

Murphy’s law states that no matter what the size of your wardrobe, it will always be the subject of speculation, judgment, exclamation and comment amongst your parents and bagal waali auntyjis. Addition of any item before the stipulated ‘appropriate time’ would land you in the way of stormy questioning and saucy critique. And any attempt to convince the world of your dire need to buy a shirt for your office, or replace your shredded underwear, or purchase a pair of sneakers for the gym, will be pointless and unavailing. There is, lamentably, no escape button, mes amis.

What ails Indian Medicine ? Part one

/ nehakumar / 1 Comment

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Something is ailing in the Indian medical community. We are no longer the ‘respected’ profession, the parents – including doctors, want to push their children into. As 18 year olds, most of us were coerced into medicine by our families, prepared for the long journey in spite of all odds. The light at the end of the tunnel was becoming valued doctors, admired and appreciated by the community and the country. But the odyssey is long and arduous and full of toils and bumps and obstacles. So it takes a decade and some years more, from graduation to post graduation and then super specialization. And along the way, we come to terms with the reality of how, even in our late twenties, we are financially dependent on our parents, unlike our friends from school who are professionally settled and financially blooming. And by the time we join as consultants in government or private sectors, the rat race has begun at full throttle, to make up for the lost time.

 

There is nothing wrong with the race to the top. We are professionals, and unlike what some people may think, we have families and we’d like to be paid for the hard work, thank you very much. But unlike other professions, we deal with human lives – in sickness and in health. Ours is not just a shop to run, or a business empire to expand. Ours is not a profession to lure customers, away from the competitors into our lair. Which is why, it is disheartening to see doctors undermine and belittle their colleagues and competitors – in front of the patients and in public.

 

Professional jealousy, ego, business rivalry or the number race – no reason can justify this atrocity. Saying “ That doctor ruined your case !” or “ That doctor is a fool and knows nothing !” or “ That doctor is a fraud. He cheats his patients,” may earn someone brownie points, with the patient who has come to his clinic after a tremendous amount of doctor shopping, but disgraces medicine, and the medical community as a whole. How can we expect a patient to respect medical professionals if we don’t respect each other ? When we are out there, at each other’s throats determined to bring each other down at any cost ? How will the people trust doctors, if we ourselves, are giving them reasons not to. One doctor is trashing his rival and him, vice-versa. And the karma is turning around a full circle and giving it back to us, beating us down multifold. The irony of it all, is that the only time we seem to be standing together and watching each other’s backs, is when a few disgruntled relatives turn hooligans and thrash one of us down.

 

All of us our different, some may be more skilled than others, some may be more competent than others, but we can all agree that almost all of us strive towards a common goal – patient care. And none of us, to our knowledge, are unabashedly evil. One doctor’s approach towards a patient’s condition may be different, and what he or she did, may not be what some other doctor would do, but that doctor still acted in good faith and to the best of his or her ability. So it gives us no right to be self-righteous, and shout from the rooftops of how our ‘competitor’ mismanaged a case, and how things would have been so much better, if only the patient had come to us first. If unity binds our community in times of ordeal, when one of us has been horrifically treated by members of the public, or elected representatives thereof, the same thread should bind us in each day of our professional lives. Because though the practical world is all about the competition and the bad mouthing and the shrewd business and the numbers to show it, we are better than that.

 

Red red, Susu ahead.

/ nehakumar / Leave a comment

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In a land, rich, vibrant and diverse,

Have you noticed an ammoniacal aroma perverse ?

And tried to trace it with your nose,

Whiffing and squinting, to see how far it goes,

Only to find a splattered parapet wall,

Or a soiled tree trunk enveloped in that misty aerosol.

 

The fragrant remains of the river that once ran,

Emanating from the insides of the proud Indian man,

For he, you see, couldn’t be gladder,

To let go of the reins, and relieve his bladder,

The mantra being, to hydrate, librate and liberate,

And never shy away, from an opportunity to publically urinate.

 

Is it the love for living au naturel, and pooh-poohing the lavatory ?

Taking a leak and thence marking his territory,

Or is it likely a Mard thing ?

And a display of manhood to the traffic, makes his heart sing.

Is the Indian man on a philanthropic mission ?

Cleaning the city, without inhibition,

Helping out, in the time of water scarcity,

With a jugaad to water the plants, witty,

And shoo away the notoriety under the flyover,

With the superpower of his pee pee spillover.

 

Perhaps it is a medical condition,

And a weak bladder is my suspicion,

So the sphincteric attrition,

Forces the open micturition,

Or it is an olfactory bulb dysfunction ?

And the mard can’t tinkle and smell in conjunction,

So he’s oblivious to its odour, is the claim,

And you can’t put him to blame and shame.

 

Should we put up a pee resistant wall ?

That would, the incoming jet, stall,

Deflect it into a urinary waterfall,

And douse its human into a squall.

Or in the potential susu targets, instill,

A freezing agent, to cool the stream into a chill,

Ice it all the way up, along its course,

And glaciate and benumb the source.

 

Maybe we should create a distraction,

Click snapshots of these men in action,

Paste them on the very walls they wet,

And exhibit their manhood, lest they forget.

Or aggarbatis with a urinary bouquet, make,

Stuff them under their noses, for them a whiff to take,

A remembrance of what they splash the city with,

And shock and awe the Bhartiya mard monolith.

 

All hail the peeing Indian man,

It takes spunk to do what he can,

No sidelong glance or a jeering jibe,

Could lessen the zeal of his tribe,

Neither an angry lady’s frown,

Nor an outcry for modesty, would put him down,

For the whole world is his toilet,

And no behest or a public convenience can spoil it.

 

 

* susu : Hindi slang for urine;  * mard : man;   * agarbattis : incense sticks

A pinky nail inquisition

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Riddle me this, my thinking hat ;
Why do Indian men, keep a long pinky nail like that ?
Is it to better scoop their ear wax ;
Or to better pick their nose boogers with ?
Is it a spoon to sprinkle the salt ;
Or a knife to cut meat like a paleolith ?
Is it to scrape off their grimy scalp ;
The muck and the mites and all such menaces ?
Or is it a jugaad for a toothpick ;
To extricate plaque from the corners and the crevices ?
Is it a screwdriver to fine tune their gadgets ;
Or a weapon to gouge someone’s eye ?
A contraption to crack open an egg ;
Or a key to a secret closet, lest their wives should pry ?
Is it to better scratch an itchy bum ;
Or to stress that they really need to pee ?
And to top it all, they adorn it with nail paint ;
For women to chuckle and giggle with glee.

A classic conversation in the life of an Indian female doctor

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Doctor

“Sister!”

(I am not responding.)

“Ai … Hello sister!”

(Seriously, this is how you address people ?!)

The guy now confronts me face to face.

“Sister, main aapse baat kar rahan hun.”

“Main sister nahi hun.”

“To kya ho ?”

(Kya ho ? I am not a ‘thing’, for starters…)

“Aap hi soch kar batao bhaiyya.”

“Mujhe nahi pata.”

“To mujhe roka kyun ?”

“Arey, aap to bura maan gayi, didi.”

“Didi ?”

“Ab sister nahi to didi hi bulaenge na.”

“Bhaiyya, main aap se pehle baar mili hun. Zahir si baat hai, main aapki didi nahi hun.”

“Uff, to kya bulayen ?”

“Socho. Thoda dimaag par aur zor lagao.”

“Behenji…”

“ Behenji ?….Behenji ?!! Main tumhe behenji dikhti hun ?”

“Accha …Sir. Ab Sir to theek hai na?”

“Pata nahi. Mujhe to lagta tha ki ‘Sir’ sirf aadmiyon ke liye use karte hain.”

“Oho, acchha chalo Madam… khush ?”

(Well done !…you are getting there. At least ‘madam’ tak to pohache.)

“Haan, batao.”

“Hamare mareez ki pishab ki thaili bhar gayi hai. Usko khali karna hai.”

(Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Ommmm…..)

“Bhaiyya, us counter par sister baitheen hain, unko bata do. Wo orderly ko bol dengi.”

“Accha, ek baat aur. Hamey woh doctor saab keh rahe the…”

“Kaunse doctor saab?”

“Arey woh doctor saab…” and he points to a male resident in the ward.

“Acchha ! Woh doctor hain, to main kya hun ?”

“Main kya janu ?”

“Kyun, ladkiyan doctor nahi ban sakti ?”

“ Ji TV par dekha to hai. Banti hi hongi.”

“Maine bhi safed coat pehna hai. Mere gale main bhi aala hai.. aapke doctor saab ki tarah.”

“To?”

(Okay, I give up.)

“Main bhi doctor hun.”

“Accha, aap bhi doctor hain ? Batao.”

“Haan bhaiyya batana hi pada.”

“Arey koi baat nahi daactarni, bura mat mano… Philhaal, hamare mareez ka saline bhi khatam ho gaya hai, aake badal do.”