Shoddy Intimidation

A blogger Chyetanya Kunte has delivered an unconditional apology on his blog to NDTV and Barkha Dutt for criticizing their coverage of the Mumbai attacks and quoting Wikipedia on their role during the Kargil conflict.

However, just a glance at the post [Google Cache] should convince any right thinking individual that the blogger never intended to defame the said media house, but was merely giving an opinion. And how much does the opinion of a single individual even matter to such a revered corporate entity? In truth, not much. Blogs have a lesser reach, inarguably.

In fact, that is what makes this case even more outrageous. To silence a person who is plainly excercising his fundamental right and offering views of what he felt during the time is unconstitutional. What use is the Constitution if the flag bearers of one of the enlisted rights do not respect opinion - praise, criticism alike - driven at them?

Read others: Retributions, Vimoh's Open Letter to NDTV, Shripriya, Prem Panicker, DesiPundit







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All-India Institute of Perverts

About Us
Founded in Mangalore, the All-India Institute of Perverts is a pioneer in promoting the erosion of all morals from within the human brain, and specializes in debauchery. The AIIP has been known to produce world-class debauchees who are well versed in being radical sensualists and masterful hooligans.

Admission
Aspirants for a seat in the AIIP require the following basic qualifications-
1) Age – No limits
2) Sex – Male (Females are allowed, on the criteria that they will have to be experts in wrestling against their own sex)
3) Know how to say Jai Sri Ram and Girls are like my sisters and make them appear completely genuine
4) Be fundamentalist
5) Detest Valentine’s Day (and hence detest red heart-shaped balloons, greeting cards and Archie’s Gallery)
6) At least 1 year experience in destruction of furniture and pub/club hoardings.

Courses
- Masters in Moral Policing
- Masters in Moral Policing (Extra subjects: HOW TO 1) Slap a woman, 2) Tangle her hair in an attempt to make her bald, 3) Hold a woman by her head with both hands and fling her hard onto the ground)

Apply Fast. Limited Seats. And don’t forget to bring along a saffron robe.







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Just another Day

Ah! There it is. A day off from work. A day on which one can sleep away into the afternoon. Aday for multiplexes to cash in on Friday openings of Raaz 2, irrespective of how good/bad the movie is. A day on which Bollywood actresses appear one by one dressed up as sati savitris on various channels wishing viewers a happy day and also reminding them to keep watching that particular channel.

A day for youngsters to head out to picnic spots with their yaaron ki barat. A day on which TV channels, including Zoom TV, can embolden their logos with the colours saffron, white and green. A day on which city-based newspapers overflow with advertisements flashing special discounts and rush-in-before-it’s-over offers.

A day on which wearing a kurta is a little smarter than wearing a My-Dad-is-my-ATM T-shirt for men and wearing a salwaar kameez is more pleasing than wearing a What-are-you-staring-at? top for women. A day for “kewl” hunks to romance “kyuut” chicks behind trees and bushes in gardens. A day on which you can say “Valentine’s Day is coming”. A day on which wives can pester their husbands with “Aaj chhutti hai. Bacchon ko bahar khana hai.” and get an “Ok, baba” in return.

A day on which patriotic songs are played by FM radio stations, at least for a few hours. A day on which special offers are available at restaurants, decorated with tricoloured balloons and waiters dressed in traditional clothing. A day on which the Indian tricolor, the Rs. 2 one that street children sell, is found in the skies at dawn and on the streets at dusk.

At the same time, it is a day on which India became a Republic. A day on which the Constitution was adopted by the people a couple of years after independence. A day on which the idea of India, and the power, is demonstrated with grace and honor in New Delhi. A day on which the national anthem is sung with a tranquil mind. A day on which the tricolor should be saluted, and then stored and kept away safely. A day on which the Indian cricket team WINNING matters more than any other ordinary match day. A day on which the finger just doesn’t move towards the remote to change a channel playing an India-themed movie. A day on which everything pales into insignificance. Or at least, everything SHOULD pale into insignificance.

Happy 60th Republic Day.

Stay proud.

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Awards acceptance speech

[Mike check 1...2...3]

[Clears throat...]

[Smiling]

Thank you, dear bloggers. Thank you for showing faith in my dementia to consider me intellectual and lovely enough to be rewarded. I humbly accept whatever has been conferred upon me, with the deepest gratitude for one and all.

First of all, I'd like to thank Blogger.com for hosting me.

Secondly, I'd like to thank my clothes for bearing the real me, my shoes for walking me and food for feeding me.

Thirdly, I'd like to thank my family, friends, hot female admirers, Trailblazer-tattooed-on-their-back models, cool kids shouting their throats out over TCGH and me, exhaustive shoppers for official Trailblazer merchandise(including Trailblazer lipstick in 47 flavours honourably selected by BJP vice-president Mukhtar Abbas Naqvi and Trailblazer condoms in...err...a few flavours selected specifically by Mallika Sherawat and Rakhi Sawant).

Fourthly, I'd like to thank my well-wishers, deep well-wishers, well-wishers trying to force me into a deep well and other well-wishers from across the border.

Fifth, I'd like to thank ex-President George Bush, Lalu Yadav, Mayawatiji/Behenji, Arundhati Roy, General Kayani, related state/non-state organizations and the gun-trotting folks from Muridke.

And finally I thank all those working effortlessly to convert India into a Hindu Rashtra or an Islamic Mulak. I hope your labour meets its right ends.

Thank you for your love.







(In response to Catwampusme, Smitha, Kiran and AmreekanDesi's felicitations.)







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Thoughts on Slumdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionare. Ah!

Talk of tinsel town, Mumbai’s dirty underbelly, Winner of 4 Golden Globes, Oscar potential, Danny Boyle, Amitabh Bachchan. What else? Yes, dirty shit, ugly trash, child prostitution, bogus orphanages, black money, anti-Muslim riots, organized crime, underworld, mafia, real India and a racist, abusive Kaun Banega Crorepati host to top it all! Mr. Boyle should have just blown the kid up in a terrorist strike to keep up to the film’s compulsive and streamlined portrayal of what India is and isn’t. It would have made for some climax.

My God, can any ordinary human being survive in India with this kind of exploitative, abusive, terrifying atrocities committed on its people day in and day out? Yuck, my respect for India is down in the dust and I have decided that I will pester any one willing to be pestered, to get me out of this hell. Starting with the passport office, of course. And then the embassy. And then finally off to a new country.

No. Wait. I’m right here. Sure there are problems but I seem to see a lot of people smiling around me, living a happy life with a blossoming family, enjoying with friends, working for a decent wager in the Third World. Sure I’m not a “slumdog” but even slum children will not be facing up to the over-hyped, over-the-top atrocities depicted in SM that only ONE single child faces. Escapist? No. Realistic? No. Realistic escapism? Hell yes.

Whenever a reality check is undertaken, then it is very wise to not lose track of the core concept of such a check - reality itself. Because depiction of in-your-face hard-nosed reality is one thing and blowing reality out of proportion to portray all the “evils” of India at one go is another. And Slumdog Millionaire has conveniently opted for the latter at the expense of the former and hence feeding on India’s magnified sorrows has given the movie Oh-my-God applause that it doesn’t really deserve.

Thank you Mr. Boyle. Next time, we expect better. Or at least a package that is nigh closer to reality than perennially escapist Bollywood. And Slumdog Millionaire.







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