We Can Leak

This is a guest post is written by Aashish Aryan who is a well acknowledged writer at News That Matters Not. He blogs here.

And this time around we decided to give some competition to that white guy (do we sound racists?) with a knack for disturbing world leaders… Julian Assange. Wait, we are not going to open another website or go to the jail or encounter a rape case either.  We did our own share of leaking things and chanced upon a little bit of a “private” conversation between Harvinder Singh and his victim Sharad Pawar. Hacking into the MTNL’s telephone cable is not a big deal of efforts. This little conversation happened when Shard was at some cricket stadium and his arch-nemesis Harvinder Singh in the jail. Since MTNL’s line had a heavy disturbance hence entire conversation couldn’t be recorded. Excerpt from the conversation is as under.

Harvinder: Hello Saar. So, how are you doing now? (imagining Pawar’s left cheek). I heard some fan also went down quite close to you.

Pawar: Don’t you frickin'; dare to talk to me. Who asked you to slap me so hard? Ouch! It still hurts. Ouch! And then that brandishing knife and all. You think it was fun, huh?

Harvinder (chuckles): I wanted it to look as real as possible, man! This is what the script demanded. Moreover, people living a virtual life can be cynics. I had to do it. Also, as the treaty goes you have not even got me Sunny, you promised me! It has been days singe the hand-on-cheek incident. (Well do we need to explain it, Which Sunny?)

Fading Festive

Google Images

It was the eve of Independence Day; 15^th August. World was a beholder when world’s largest democracy cherished its 64^th year of emancipation. I was trying to rate my patriotism. Has it increased by few folds or has it decreased by few notches. I don’t fly kites anyone, has the patriotism inside me died? I don’t wear Khādī has the patriotism dried?

While rating I realized; why only Independence Day, has my interest dipped for every festival or occasion celebrated in the society? I grazed for a while and realized—it is not only me. I don’t see sky full of kites anymore. I don’t see enthusiasm in 15^th day of August anymore. Does my enthusiasm lies only in a single day of a year? Doesn’t my actions rather than flaunt works for the benefit of my nation?

|Does patriotism only means “that”? Can’t patriotism be not downgrading own country?

My teacher accused me of being driven by the western cult. The one who’s trying to get himself to a Canadian university as a professor warned me for not wearing Capri. Where is the love for India, I bet it is in Canada, no? So how am I supposed to make myself patriotic? Any idea? I can paint my face with tricolour and run around the streets, I can loudly sing Vande Mataram to show my patriotism is above all. Won’t my subtle actions help in progress my nation?

I do not stalk any tourist neither I ask them for their names out of blues. Doesn’t this makes my nation a little above than it actually was for tourists from abroad? I do not spit out venom, unnecessarily. Last time I travelled in DTC I heard intellectuals’ above 50’s overly ranting the nation. A little contribution can help but who cares? Rants are much easily availing medium.

| What I believe is – not making it worse is a part of not degrading.

I do not write on ancient monuments “♥ I love you Shreya ♥”. Monuments are tourist venue and give a great deal of moolah in Indian economy. I don’t write on them hence I do not degrade them. Doesn’t this indirectly say I’m helping my country? Perhaps, I am not economically strengthen enough to contribute in country; oh come on, I’m still a student. I see no reason to crib excessively about the ill-condition of country. Did country asked you to rape it? Excessive crime rate. Did country made you bankrupt? Betting on India-England match did. Did country made it the way it is now? Earlier it was centre of excellent monumental display and now it is all tobacco and pisses marks and smell too. Stop raving when you cannot. (FYI: Yes, this paragraph was meant to hurt.)

A Desktop Affair

In the human life of 60 years, well almost, there comes a time when he has to believe what he sees. Perhaps, what he is seeing is too enigmatic to apprehend but he cannot complain; life has to throw lemons at him according to the rules and going by the SMS he has to ask for Vodka. It is a metaphor by the way but can’t help if you have already started drooling. What if he flunk to firmly grasp the opportunity? His chance to win free Vodka will be spilled on the floor. He will see someone else relishing it—the exotic mocktail now. He gets irked more because GoI had hiked the price of all alcoholic beverages by 15-20%. This is life, sedate but full of camouflage dwelled marvelously with euphemism. It is trivial to resist the impetus; it just burns him from inside.

Life taught me a new lesson. Methodology adopted was next to bizarre. Life dwells in every single thing, literally. I was about to type down my views on the current Indian scenario on my MS Word when it refused to accept the word Suresh Kalmadi, vague of the cause I tried to write it down again but a warning message in display frown me. Any further attempt will lead to corruption in Windows. I rubbed my eyes until I was sure what I am reading is what I am really reading or what I am reading is not what I am really reading but really is. So, MS Word is Kalmadi repellent now, more like Mortein. I expected life to throw something tangy to me. *Sigh* Thinking of the dementia eased my head. Perhaps, Word is afraid of dementia. It can be communicable sometimes, no? I left the word Kalmadi and began with a new post, afresh, with a sole purpose to mock A. Raja and wow his astutely earned few lakh crores. Another warning flashed breaking me into sweat. Word refused to take A. Raja as a word too. What the hell is wrong with MS Word? Reinstalling MS Word too didn’t helped. My desktop has been infected by them and their likes. 

From The Diary of a Bullied Husband

17^th June

Dear diary,

Today I am celebrating 2 years of my marital status. For days, I have been conglomerating my thoughts in you. Most of them being rants and ordeals, but from tomorrow everything will change; I will rebuke, and will fly out of her dark and snobbish aura, which had been excruciating me and even my solace for years. Therefore, I will jot a synopsis of my journey from where it all started for the very last time. I am thankful to you for being a mute spectator and listening to me as a friend with a deep sympathy.

Anecdote 

I was an astute man before I got married, I lost all my sharpness; rusted and ditched, “queen of astuteness” bestowed over me. I remember she asked me, “Can you cook?” in our first meeting, what I never knew was; my answer will be taken too literally.

Deceptive

It was a fugitive delight when I got married. Did you notice the word “fugitive?” Soon we moved into our new home that I bought. In addition, that was the time when se unearthed her real self. She was not a zombie but something much more horrific than a zombie is—a sweet talker, aka manipulator (Said in a slow trembling tone) *Heavy Sigh*.

Cliché 

Making me clean the untidy dishes after working for nine straight hours is the most generous act according to her morals. She soon demanded to relinquish my control on the capital expenditure, a full share in my salary. I thought it was a good thing but sending me office with just Rs 200 as a pocket money; what in the world does that means?

I am always treated like I am a Congressmen even though I cast my vote on the name of Behen Mayawati.

Emancipation Seized

Soon she learned how to drive my car; I was force to commute via cycle to my office. She uses car for her own purpose now—parlours visit, stalking Sheila’s (Resident in the adjacent block) place, discovering new malls with 40-60% off hoarding, spa, bakery, etc.

Bollywood Ishtyle

After living in a country which has strived for almost two decades for something "cool", I have realized the true imitation potential of its citizens. Some choose to go public and some practice covertly. It isn’t easy to implant hypothetical genes of your favorite chocolaty actor or curvy actress inside your chromosomes. It requires a lot of practice, dedication and hard work but after you have successfully copied and created an identical ABC actor or a clone within yourself, now comes the time to flaunt your blatant act publicly. (But if implantation jeopardizes  the end results can hang you between bizarre and WTF is this? I'm not accusing Rohit Bal in any case here.) Assuming that majority have successfully completed the positioning of "alien" genes into their cells, it is now time for spectators to witness this turmoil (the exact word, though less brutal). The copycats always prejudice their AoI (Act of Imitation) as an unmatched manoeuvre, this momentarily happiness and modesty doesn't allow the "normal's" to break the jinx.

I never knew Chopra Uncle; my neighbor, was such an obsessive imitator of "Vijay Deenanath Chauhan." He would always croon his Father, Mother and Village name and his exact “age.” Apparently his DOB is his Facebook login password. I once saw him in a chat with Shobha aunty; Durgesh uncle's wife. But that is an off topic discussion. Chopra uncle has successfully managed to turn his family to a new and most widely practiced religion in India; bollywood. His wife had lately emerged as a strong Madhuri Dixit worshiper. She always seems to crave for a perfect day and every year selects holi to be the D-day for display of her AoI. Chopra aunty is found draped in a green Saree. When the maximum crowd is ogling her she start dancing on “Hum pe ye kisne hara rang dala.” Saree in his daughter’s wardrobe dictionary is an obsolete. According to her virtues; "draping self in a saree is so-not-like-Katrina" (Said in a fake UK accent). 

The Great Comedy in Indian Shows

India television has been marked with eras. People go along the flow, entertainment is the basic entity. It doesn’t matter what kind of entertaining is being piled. Since I am a child of 90’s, the decade where India finally met and wed the globalization. A decade when Chetan Bhaghat was just an engineering aspirant, a decade which was marked with the release of the movie Border, a decade in which neither Uday Chopra nor Abhishek Bachchan thought to debut as a newcomer. As the time progressed TV shows categorized themselves—

Era of एकता में अनेकता 

Ever since I gained my cautious for the television, one, and the only name making headlines was Ekta Kapoor. Her reel dramas soon turned into real dramas. Time was not far when Indian husbands got severely retarded with the buckets sitting along the sofas to catch their wife’s precious tears. Mihir made a benchmark and Tulsi was making a perfect brain wash. Wives calling husband as “Mihir” created a perfect name jeopardy. “Suspecting husband” aka The Fa Deodrant effect also made  its place in the household works. Along with it brought handful amount of daily soaps which constraint housewives from cleaning entire house to only sofa and television set.

She (एकता कपूर, Sister/of तुषार कपूर, Daughter/of जितेंदर) ruled the world of drama for a long reign and finally her episodes started dying and eventually died (Law of Nature – Something which is born is ought to die). Women showed their great dismal, husbands now were getting breakfast and dinner on time, sons and daughter’s school visits were no longer procrastinated. Everything came back to normal (Women shares a different perspective).