A Little to the Right

Hello internet. I know, I know, I’ve been sorely missed. I was too busy curled up under a blanket after reading the extremely traumatising 1984. Turns out, not all dystopian novels end with Jennifer Lawrence sashaying in and saving the day. Sigh. It’s surprising how much happens when you decide to take a hiatus. The elections are over and as a direct consequence photos of Smriti Irani in shorts are going viral. India, that’s exactly how you are supposed to use the internet, I am proud. This post comes over a month after the election results were announced. The ostensible reason here is that I wanted to give them time to begin work on their promises but let’s make this clear; I’m just too lazy.

The BJP  won the elections and when I say ‘won’, I actually mean “They fucking brutalised the Congress like dayum did you see that shit, it was like the Kardashians fighting over a black dude with bling”. Subtlety aside, we now officially have a right-wing party at the centre (heh heh). However, the Indian political right is not to be mistaken with the American political right. The Indian political right stops its crazy at “Gay people cause floods” and “Ladies, please don’t go out at night with boys unless you’re with boys” . It never goes full retard with nonsense like creationism and ‘Take your guns to mexican restaurants’.

For the first time, the younger generation of the country (No Rahul, you’re not young, you’re practically at the treshold of menopause now) has been actively campaigning for whichever side has catchier slogans.

Person 1: Bhai, dollar ka rate gir gaya.

Person 2: wut.

Person 1: iPhone sasta hogaya yaaaar!

Person 2: AB KI BAAR MODI — 

I don’t intend to come off as skeptical here, but as a member of the ‘young generation’, I can vouch for the fact that most of us are off our rockers. The reason most of us have iPhones is because it’s expensive and we think the in iOS stands for India. In other words, we jump on bandwagons too fast. But then again, do I dare call the right leanings of an entire nation, a bandwagon? I don’t. I’m just as exasperated with the same old people pulling off the same old scams. A new political party ought to infuse some fresh blood and names into the old scams.

Us left leaning ‘liberal pinky faggot-monkeys’ aren’t done yet. We’ll wait for the sheen to wear off, while we bide our time in dark caves campaigning for social issues that no one cares about and blogging about it on websites no one reads. Till then, Ab ki baar, Modi Sarkaar!’




A Comprehensive Guide to Renal Failure

When you spend enough time reading Charles Bukowski poems, trying to figure out what part of the poem is a metaphor and what is not, you acquire a smug aura of condescension. You tell yourself that you have now reached a point in life where no poet is safe from your powers of interpretation. Well internet, I’ve just read 5 Bukowski poems one after the other and it is now time for me to decode the words of one of the most profound poets this century has seen, Lalu Prasad Ya  YO YO HONEY SINGH himself.

Disclaimer: My Hindi is patchy at best, my Punjabi prowess non-existent. The humour in this column is to be derived from my attempts to decipher the unholy concoction of languages that Honey Singh calls “literature” (Yes, he thinks literature is a language. Click on the link to see how a law student spends most of his time on the internet).

Today, we will throw ourselves on the beautiful piece of music, called Chaar Bottle Vodka”.


Chaar bottle Vodka
Kaam mera roz ka
Na mujhko koi roke
Na kisi ne roka.. (x2) 


Here, the Great Honey Singh establishes his ground rules. He maintains very categorically that his daily routine involves 4 bottles of vodka and that no one is to stop him .Why anybody would want to stop an Auto-tune wizard from dying by alocohol poisoning, is beyond me.

Main rahoon saari raat in the bar
Daaru piyun lagaatar
Ek aadhi sab pee lete hain
Main to piyun botal chaar
Chaar bottle Vodka
Kaam mera roz ka
Na mujhko koi roke
Na kisi ne roka..


At this point, I’m not sure this song has much of a point. Honey Singh states that he will spend the rest of the night in a bar, guzzling alcohol non stop. Now Honey adds that he is a generous god who will let everyone drink half a bottle or two, as long as he gets to drink four bottles himself. The last 4 lines are copy pasted from the first verse, which convinces me that the leading lyricist in the industry right now is ctrl C + ctrl V. 

I wanna hangover tonight
I wanna hangover tonight
I wanna hangover tonight
I wanna hangover tonight

Char bottle Vodka
Kaam mera roz ka
Na mujhko koi roke
Na kisi ne roka.. (x2)


I’m a teetotaler myself, but I’m pretty sure that is not how hangovers work. For starters, the hangover is the consequence, not the act of drinking itself. But hey, Honey Singh’s probably into some niche masochism that the world is yet to learn of. Also, kindly note the great artist at his poetic best. Nothing says art like one sentence and one copy-pasted verse that is not even the chorus. I am still tring to make sense of the first four lines. It’s highly unprofessional of Honey Singh to give up on his alcoholic adventures this early in the song. Tsk Tsk Mr.Singh, everyone knows a true rap star drinks Dom Perignonn all the vodka he promises to.


Saari raat daaru, subah nimbu-paani
Party karne waalon ki hai yehi kahaani
Pet bhar ke jitni bhi pee lo
Kisi ki bandi ko bhi hello
Hello baby how do you do?
Ek minute ko khad jaa tu
Pata ni mujhe yeh samajh ni aata
Mere saath kabhi koi club nahi aata
Apne palle se koi ni pilaata
Main pee loon zyada phir koi munh ni lagata
Kyun ki, kyun ki, kyun ki, kyun ki..


I don’t think we even need to interpret any more lyrics. Only Honey Singh can write an entire song about why he sucks and then mope about the lack of anything even vaguely feminine in his life. This right here is the motherlode of every song ever. Honey Singh wonders why no one one wants to accompany him to the club. Afterall, he is only guilty of:

  1. Drinking till he can’t drink anymore
  2. Hitting on people who are definitely not single
  3. Using the phrase “Hello baby how do you do” in the 21st Century
  4. Wanting to kiss people when he’s up to his elbows in alcohol.

This, Mr.Yo Yo, is a mystery we can never solve.

Tribulations of Turning Eighteen

Birthdays are overrated. There is absolutely nothing enticing about a full-sized person having cake mashed on their face. However, adulthood is the most overrated phenomenon of all time and yet people can not get enough of it. As far as I am concerned, the only thing that changes when you turn 18 is that one can legally watch Ragini MMS 2. Well excuse me, I’d rather shoot myself in the face. You know the movie’s going to be bad when the tagline is “My eyes are up here”.

I digress. But if 5 blog posts have taught me anything, it is that digression is the only way the blog might survive. I turned 18 last week. Thanks for all the gifts I am absolutely certain are on the way. Birthdays are weird on Facebook. People suddenly remember you exist and post things on your wall like, “Party hard”. Hey, look, I get that this is a social obligation and whatnot, but do NOT ask me to party hard. That just goes against natural law. My definition of a party is to fall asleep peacefully with a book in hand and I have no clue how much more hardcore it gets. Also, you look at people posting wishes on your wall and you’re overwhelmed by this emotion I like to call ‘Who-is-this-person’. Obviously they’re thrown off the friend list.

The fact that you’re now an adult just sucks the joy out of too many things. I watched an IGN video that asked me for my birthdate. I realised with great sorrow that it accepts my actual birthday (I did enter 1909 just to screw with it anyway). I’m not saying being an adult sucks, but I’d much rather be an armchair intellectual with pseudo-statistical viewpoints on politics than actually vote. Children grow up expecting Adulthood to be all rainbows and unicorns and Narendra Modi’s Gujarat, but in reality I can’t even grow a beard without it looking like the fuzz on a peach.

Worse, people use words like “Responsibility”. Personally, I do not roll with the whole responsibility concept unless there’s web slinging involved. As if all this pain wasn’t enough, my mum walked up to me yesterday and asked me to make my own bed because I am “an adult now”. The horror. As is usual when faced with dire circumstances, I curled up into the fetal position and covered my face with a pillow decided to look at the positive aspects of turning 18. Turns out, you can get an empty bank account all for yourself. Oh the joys of being an adult are endless.

Kashmir tu, Mein Haryanvi.

Hello internet-diary-that-is-public. WordPress keeps reminding me to make a new blog post every week. Extremely flattering, but I do not respond well to orders, message-bot. I’m only writing this because I want to. I’m back from a trip to Kashmir, exhausted from all the sleeping and playing in snow. Kashmir is like the poor man’s Switzerland. There’s snow, there’s skiing and the locals don’t want to take sides in any war (reblog for the horrible joke).

For a Haryana dweller like myself, going to Kashmir is a culture shock. Half an hour in the city and no one had insulted nobody’s parentage/ancestry/postman/garbage-collector. I’m not saying Haryanvis swear a lot, but if your sister isn’t insulted 15 times in 5 minutes, you’re not in Haryana. I realize this post could offend people from Haryana, but so can a gaseous cow, so let’s not go there. Kashmiris are calm, cool, collected and basically not Digvijay Singh. This does swing into the creepy side at times. Our car was hit by another from the behind, upon which our driver promptly alighted, shook hands with the other driver, blamed the snow and waved goodbye. Here’s how this would have been handled in Gurgaon:

Car gets hit.

Driver 1: Ye kya kiye tune *********

Driver 2: Teri maa  *******

Driver 1: *Shoots Driver 2, the car, a nearby homeless dude, two pigeons in the sky and then himself in the foot*

Yeah, that’s enough racism for one post. Click the subscribe button for more outrageous posts on how Indians react to day to day affairs. My point is, Kashmiris don’t seem like people who’d pick a rock and throw it at anyone, much less set fire to buildings. And yet that’s what’s happening there. The amount of anger that must be needed to ignite such passion in a Kashmiri must be immense.  I’m hardly an authority on this matter, but hey, it’s blasphemous not to post unfounded opinions on the Internet. Those people were promised a Plebiscite and they deserve one. If the people don’t want to be a part of a country, so be it. But then again, is it too late for people to become part of a new country? Such deep questions are beyond the purview of this blog.

All I know, is that Kashmiris are amazing, polite people who give out free biryani and- yes, they give out free food and that is all that should matter. Yet, they’re in constant anguish and I do not pretend to know what the solution ought to be. Maybe give them the independence they desire, but allow them to come back if they so wish to?

For the time being however, it is good to know that the Indian Government will not, under any circumstance consider the annexation of a section of one country by another, acceptable.


It’s that time of the year when the nation descends into chaos with crazy fanatics assaulting each other, sparing no man, woman or child. Now that we’ve addressed the trauma that is Holi, let’s get to the actual point. Yes ladies, gentlemen and Arnab Goswami,  it is time for the inevitable politics post. As opposed to my last three posts which were about the Congress and Aam Aadmi Party. Come on, I said ‘politics’, not ‘publicity circlejerk’.

The election dates have been announced. The Aam Aadmi Party went berserk and its supporters took to the roads to protest the absence of the true democratic process of dharna in selecting the dates. The Congress meanwhile, booked tickets for 4 to Italy. With the elections just around the corner, it is time to arm yourself with a political opinion and pepper spray. Being a college student, pseudo-intellectual discussions about politics is inevitable. And political discussions are like the Harlem Shake. It starts off with a normal group of people but thirty seconds in, everyone is thrashing around like drugged eels making no sense and flopping all over one another. Also, every idiot who can use the internet joins the bandwagon to look cool.

Person: “Arey did you see that Rahul Gandhi interview? What a chutiya yaar. ”

Me: “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was that ba-”

*Person promptly starts clapping hands violently and dancing around, all the while screeching “YOU WOMUN EMPOWER HOMO FAGGIT”*

Me: Karan Thapar.

*Person leaves room never to return*

So much for having an opinion in this country. But not everyone is an armchair intellectual. His Learned Dharnaji Arvind Kejriwal recently took it upon himself to travel all the way to Gujarat and debase Modi’s claims of a developed Gujarat. Kejriwal needs a road trip  to prove that a politician is lying? What a noob. The last time a politician was honest was when Meera Kumari said baith jaiye and promptly ran out of the Parliament yelling blue murder.  If you can’t spot the truth in that sentence, it is because politicians don’t- you get it. Once Kejriwal reached Gujarat, he was promptly taken into custody, causing AAP supporters to go berserk (seriously, there seems to be a pattern here). Mr.Kejriwal attempted to justify the actions of his party workers by offering the following deeply philosophical statement: “Bjp made us do it”. This is plain absurd. Stop blaming Modi for everything Arvindji! Next thing you know Modi might be accused of being involved in the 2002 riots. Idiots. Arvind Kejriwal has a very detailed travel plan which includes important steps such as:

  • Use Wagon R
  • Count potholes
  • Dharna in said potholes

If that isn’t an accurate method of measurement of development of a state, I don’t know what is. In the words of AAP party senior leader Kumar Vishwas, “Investment statistics is for pussies. Black people are- “. At this point, he was promptly beheaded.

Politics is overrated. Every few years, the country assembles to give a select few the power to make merry with your taxpayer money. And yet, having a strong political opinion is important. Like, “I have a strong feeling the XYZ Party will swindle up to 13% less money. Let’s give them a chance.” It’s almost time to vote, ladies and gentlemen. As election day approaches, it is now time to take a decision. Which tv show to binge watch on April 7?

420 shades of Brown

Admit it, the only reason you’ve been able to sleep tight for the past month or so is because of the new vigilante in town, Somnath Bharti-Man and his motley crew of henchm- er, assistants. However if your skin is two shades darker than Mr.Bharti approves, you might have to occasionally pee in a cup to make sure you’re free of drugs and capitalism, no biggie. Dignity is a small price to pay to- ok there’s no payoff here. This is particularly worrisome for me because I’m a South Indian (we’re dark skinned) and I prefer to do my business in my own bathroom, preferably with the lights off. 

Before you can begin to deal with the fabulousness that is Somnath Bharti, there comes along His Hilariousness Kumar Vishwas. Quick background review: Mr.Vishwas is an Aam Aadmi Party Minister of Affairs of Shady Nature member, who thinks nurses from down south are, to paraphrase him, fugly and strictly raakhi material only. It is reported that as soon as these words left his mouth, the irony hit him so hard that he now wears L-Guards all the time. You see, Vishwasji himself looks like some deviant crossed Rakhi Sawant with Kamaal R. Khan and promptly disowned him. Rumour has it that Mr.Vishwas is set to replace Kajol as the brand ambassador for Olay (7 signs of aging and all your melanin and hair follicles gone in 7days).

If you haven’t noticed yet, the theme of this mid-week post is Racism and yet two paragraphs in, we’re still discussing the AAP. Troublingly, racism is the least of the ugly pustules breaking out on the surface of what seems to be a rapidly disintegrating political party. The subtext is that the AAP is indulging in some A-grade buffoonery and has quite a few scathing blog-posts in the works. Politics is a beautiful subject to discuss, because you get to shove your opinions down everyone’s throats and scream slogans. Or as Arnab Goswami calls it, “The truth”. Ah, I have digressed.

Back to racism. For all our claims of western influence destroying our society, we’re surprisingly shallow. It’s 2014 and we still have a huge market for fairness creams that in all probability gives you skin cancer or worse, Katrina-Kaif syndrome (it’s like Kristen-Stewart syndrome, but with less glitter). This obsession with looking like the offsprings of Donald Trump (dat hair) is a worrisome new trend. In the good ol’ days, if you went up to your mom and asked her why you weren’t fair like the kind British gentlemen raping a woman down the street, she’d whack you right in the face and have you exorcised. Sometimes society goes backwards with time. Sigh. 

Why do we have to pick on the people who are different? That was rhetoric. These people get picked on because they’re different. The Africans in our country get picked on because Somnath Bharti watched Pulp Fiction and decided he was having none of that. The North Easterners get picked on because they know how to use hair gel. The South Indians get- nopes, we’re badass, we don’t get picked on. In a country where ridiculous stereotypes like “Sardars are loud and brash” ( Manmohan you let down your entire community) exist, it’s no surprise that seeing a person with a different shade of brown shocks the living daylights out of these bigots. Hypocrisy everywhere! These are the same people who think Gandhi rode a T-rex into battle and singlehandedly killed George Washington to reclaim India from the goras. India is the only country where you’ll find that one dude in Rayban knockoffs dissing White, South-Asian and South Indian people in the same sentence while chewing paan with extreme zeal. 

“Awareness” isn’t the answer. No matter how many rallies you take out, there will always be people who throw around the word ‘chinki’ all too casually. I say, let’s pack off all the bigots to the hills. This brings us to the question of the day, mostly because I have no clue what the solution to racism is; Are bigoted Indians racist or simply retarded?

Rich, Reserved and Ridiculous

“There should be no doubt or ambiguity on the stand of the Congress on the system of reservation for SC/ST and OBCs. They were introduced by Congress, they have been strengthened by the Congress and they will continue to be championed by the Congress,” – Sonia Maino Gandhi.

Yeah, I was surprised too. Congress says no to ambiguity?!

Every (General) Indian worth his Arnab Goswami is incensed to no end about reservation. And why not? We’re being discriminated against, are we not? The Congress likes to justify Reservation. And the CWG Scam. And the 2G scam. And Robert Vadra.  But then, it is perfectly understandable why the Congress party would support something that has dynasty at its core. In India, there are two ways to get into a college.

  1. Work hard, study all night, sacrifice your social life, slog for two years, get a 97% and manage to scrape into a Government college.
  2. Are you from a minority? You’re good to go.

Now before I offend anyone anymore, I’ll throw in a disclaimer; I’m all for reservation. If there are people who were denied an opportunity before, it is but right that they be given an opportunity now. But I swear to God, if you drive up in a Mercedes to the university I couldn’t get into simply because your inherited caste somehow gives you a sense of entitlement, I will at least puncture your tyres. If you get three square meals and 4 packs of cigarettes a day, you’ve made it to the top of society and don’t need any help from the Government, you lazy SOB. Vote bank politics decide too much in our country, resulting in the majority having to suffer so that the powers that be can appease the minorities. The Congress is like a hypocritical teenager who just jumped on the feminist bandwagon; they can’t differentiate between equality and superiority. Trust a political party to over-complicate something as elementary as social uplifting.

The majority of the population in our country does not enjoy the benefits of Reservation. Yet, speaking out against it is a treacherous terrain to tread (hah alliteration).  As a society, we’ve become too sensitive. Or maybe the minorities feel insecure about their undeserved benefits? It is hard to criticize a deeply entrenched institution without resorting to heavy rhetoric, mainly because the entire ideology of Reservation has been built upon heavily embellished rhetoric. Here’s a scenario that should put reservation is perspective:

X is an average student. Y is a mediocre student at best and thinks “sTudIES R 4 nUrdzZ”. Both X and Y’s dads earn the same amount of money and are well off. Both of them give a Law entrance exam (Y attempts the exam because “meIN LaayEr baNUnga lolz”) and X gets almost 50% more marks than Y. However, Y gets the seat while X now has to resort to studying History Honours and not get a job  look for an alternate course to study.

X is from a  ‘General’ family, Y is from an ‘SC/ST’ family.

You see, when people come out on the streets and protest against ‘the system’, it’s not about the CWG or the CoalGate scam. It’s because they are subject to discrimination by their own Governments.

The problem with ‘the system’ isn’t corruption; it’s that the Government doesn’t think that the Majority is a vote bank.

New Chapter, Empty Book.

Hello internet. Cue applause.

I’ve seen YouTuber vlogs. They’re fun and you can smell the desperation in the air when they try to make you laugh, while trying to come across as casual at the same time. I can identify, seeing how I stared at the screen for a good five minutes before realizing I had words to type; funny words. There is also this empty realisation in my mind that at present the only person who will read this post is myself (does my mom count?). But the world runs on hope, aspiration, dreams, water-powered cars and other empty promises, so I can’t help but imagine a day where I have 28,03,996 followers (lucky number), all scrambling to read the first post in the greatest blog of all time. This post is meant to introduce me to the world; to anyone who reads this. I guess my objective will be accomplished, if at the end of this post you feel that you know me so well that we’re practically married.

As far as introductions go, I suck. So, I’ll not bore you with details like my name (I’m Sriram btw), or my age (17 right now) or what I do (law student, chronic sleeper). Instead, I shall reveal facets of my life that should be insightful. Or disturbing. Mostly disturbing.

I have my clothes arranged according to size. I hate Apple a lot, they’re friggin capitalists man. Capitalism is the new fascism, unless you’re Narendra Modi in which case Aamro Guajarat saras che #Development. I own an iPad, make of that what you will. If you are a potato on principle, you will find me relatable. If you’re a sane person, you’ll find me wacky. If you’re a Chetan Bhagat fan, screw you, Stephenie Meyer ftw. I like to think of myself as a politically aware person. If you track me down in college, you can find me intensely and passionately trying to stay awake in class, and that’s my way of expressing solidarity with Lalu Prasad Yadav.  A month back I would have inserted a Kejriwal joke here, but he’s taking care of the mockery part himself, so that’s one less sentence I have to type. I live in Gurgaon, which is a fancy way of saying I have 3 cars and the latest iPhone ( 2 and a Galaxy Note. I’m South Indian. Madrasi). I’m too cheap to pay for my Whatsapp and live in constant fear of being cut off from people I don’t talk to in real life. Laziness in inherent in my soul. I’m that one person who’s too lazy to yell “Yes Ma’am” in class during roll-call. I also wear the same shirt twice because taking it off is too much of a job to actually do.

And yet, here I am at 11 in the night, typing 469 words (Holy mother Hubbard how on Earth did that happen). You see, I don’t quite understand myself. I’m a speshul snowflake; unique and heat-fearing. And no, Unique is not my stripper name. It’s ‘flamboyant-flamingo’. The very idea of doing something productive goes against my grain, but for reasons unknown, I actually enjoyed writing this. So, dear reader, I am now off to publish this post, copy the link and spam every person who was unfortunate enough to add me on any social network. Advertising is the new- ok no, I’m all out of anything even remotely funny.