That Irritated Feeling.

I have got it.

It’s a blisteringly hot day in Delhi… the birds are croaking, the frogs are sizzling, and people are getting on each other’s nerves. I had stepped outside to get a haircut but instead, found myself being lured into a shady cyber café by the decadent charms of an AC. After the traditional staring-at-the-screen-willing-myself-to-think ceremony (A regular write of passage, you might say), I have decided to type out whatever crap comes to mind. Some of it is profound. Some of it is mundane. Most of it is retractable without apology.

Was Jinnah secular?

Was your Grandfather’s barber secular? Did he brush his teeth? How the hell does it matter? What kind of stupid f***s can’t get over the Partition? Firstly, Pakistan is in way more shit than India, so if there hadn’t been a partition, we would have had all their problems, secondly, even if there was some big emotional ripping apart experience, it was 58 years ago. I feel really sorry for the poor guys who still wallow in the tragedy that was The Partition. Get over it You Morons! Some people have REAL problems; if you are such a big nationalist do something about that.

Is Ideology greater than an Individual?

My ideology is that it’s not. Sue me.

Is there a God?

Man created God. You can pick your answer.

What do Women want?

To be respected and dominated at the same time. And it’s not as contradictory as it sounds. (That’s what they want from a guy, don’t ask me what they do in shops).

What’s the Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything?

A wise man (even though he was in love at the time) once told me: “The funny thing about life is that we live it in one direction and understand it in another.” Whatever other profound implications that has for philosophy, it certainly means one thing: There is only so much time you should ponder over a question. You can never know anything for certain. You can back up everything and question everything.

So, in effect… 42 is perfectly fine.

What do Women want ?

See above.

What is it like to be an adult? (or is Tarantino a good film maker?)

I liked Pulp Fiction… it was funny and violent and well done. Kill Bill, however, sucks. One of my cousins was staying over last night. She turned on the TV late last night. Just the kind of a thing I’d do. She changed channels in rapid succession. Just the kind of a thing I’d do. And settled on a scene in which Uma Thurman is smashing a bad guy’s head between a door and the edge of the doorway. Normally, I would not have minded seeing such gratuitous aggression but in this case I felt a sudden urge to plonk© (All Rights Reserved.) my cousin and ask her to watch something more placid. A good old saas-bahu drama perhaps, wherein the height of aggression is a “One Tight Slap”, which leaves a woman and her illegitimate son with no choice but to destroy the aggressor’s family. I was even willing to watch some idiot of a singer getting orgasmic while expressing his love for Sonu Nigam. I realized at that instant what my parents go through each night and why, despite the fact that logic always seems to be on my side in the ensuing argument, I should listen to them anyway.

Note to self: The spoiling-my-kids-rotten plan might need some reconsideration.

Why can’t trees move and speak? (or What is Childhood?)

The first memory that I have of school is getting thrown out of a class play because I had the nerve to walk amongst the rest of the characters from Old McDonald’s farm and try chatting with them. I was repeatedly warned of course, but no one really explained why can’t I have lines simply because I was vegetation? Hell, even my brother had a cheep-cheep here and a cheep-cheep there.

Here’s what is wrong with the world? It misplaces importance. Childhood is when you have your priorities right.

…I have a lot of Final Solutions lying around but not enough time to write them right now (Look Ma! No commercial breaks!)… Do mail in with questions I might have missed, suggestions to be coolly ignored, checks to be cashed in immediately, and comments that amuse me into writing.

Yours Faithfully,
Till Death do us Part,
Etc etc,
And all that Jazz