Male Chauvinist Pig! Who me?

'Male Chauvinist Pig' I have been hearing this term a lot lately, I have been called a MCP 4 times in the last one month by 3 girls. Male Chauvinist alrite, but why a pig? Why dishonour these bovine even toed creatures who contently feed on our garbage. Its not that pigs have always been a symbol of derision, they have seen better times -

• In Hinduism the god Vishnu took the form of a boar in order to save the Earth from a demon who had dragged it to the bottom of the sea.
• The pig is one of the 12-year cycle of animals which appear in the Chinese zodiac related to the Chinese calendar.
• In Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and other older Christian groups, pigs are associated with Saint Anthony the Great, the patron saint of swineherds.

Now, you may ask what did I do to be called a MCP so many times last month. Well, I just honestly answered this question. "Would you be ecstatic if your wife were to earn way more than you?" (Damn, I didn't even take a second to answer this..should have at least pretended that I am giving it a thought). Intrigued by being called something other than a dick, I did a little googling to find out out what exactly does this term stands for -

A male chauvinist pig was a term used in the 1960s among feminists for men, usually with some power (such as an employer or professor), who believed that men were superior and expressed that opinion freely in word and action.
"Chauvinist" means someone who assertively maintains that his or her kind -- usually people of the same nationality -- are superior; "chauvinism" refers to an extreme and bigoted form of patriotism.
"Pig" was a word of derision used by some student activists in the 1960s and 70s to refer to police officers and, by extension, others with power.

After reading this I was quite sure that I dont qualify to be a MCP as my not being comfortable with my wife earning way more than me (that is if somone is crazy enough to marry me at the first place) has nothing to do with 'male superiority over female' garbage. It is plain jealousy, and jealousy is gender agnostic.

We all know that our scoiety has miles to go before women liberation is realised in the true sense of the word. Most women in our stinking society are at the receiving end of appaling and brutal expressions of male assertiveness, something that we need to quell forever. But, are we making the right noises? Are we addressing the right issues here? I dont think so, for all the english news channels debates I have seen on women emancipation have more or less been centerd around -

• Kata laga girl's right to wear a thong and how item girls should not be typecasted
• Complexion debate. you called me kaala kalutha? how dare you?
• Missing out on top civil service berths due to alleged gender bias
• Size Zero Vs Vuluptous figure
• Airhostesses right to bring down the plane with their weight etc etc

But, not even once I have heard these so called ' bra burning feminists' talk with the same vigor about the 'real' problems faced by the women in villages or the ones belonging to relatively poorer sections of the society. Women in such places have no freedom to speak of, and may I dare say lead a life of unimaginable horror. They have always been stuck right in the middle of a voilent tornado encircled by century old superstitions and sick male chauvinism. Unfortunately it dosen't look as if this tornado would subside anytime soon. Thank god for Brits for having conquered us and banning the 'Sati' tradition, for I am sure we Indians blinded by superstition would have never done it.

It would only be appropriate to touch on furore over 'women reservation bill' which proposes 'Reservation for women at each level of legislative decision-making, starting with the Lok Sabha, down to state and local legislatures.' If the Bill is passed, one-third of the total available seats would be reserved for women in national, state, or local governments. In continuation of the existing provisions already mandating reservations for scheduled caste and scheduled tribes, one-third of such SC and ST candidates must be women.

I am not against the bill as such, but am not sure if this going to solve any problems. We have a women president, does that help? hell no! We dont need more women representation in parliament, what we need are massive pain stacking initiatives at grass root level to educate people and kill the century old male chauvinistic attitude. Raise the economice stature of women in the villages by educating them and arming them with desired skills (Few coporate initiatives such as HLL Shakti Ammas haven been a major success). Reservation is never a solution to a problem, its like putting a simple bandage over a grave wound and not treat it properly, this would eventually lead to the amputation of the limb.

But in this case, one may argue that a larger women representation in the parliament would bring these issues to the forefront and accelerate the healing process. If so, then bring it on!

Unlucky Number Thirteen

‘13th May 2009’ is right up there and a strong contender for the ‘worst day of my life’ award in the lightweight category (Heavyweight category includes terribly bad days such as the day I was born, the day I commenced my graduation course…pretty much the days when I took decisions about my career). So, allow me to unravel the events that unfolded on ‘13th May 2009’ for you in a chronological manner.

5.00 am : My phone attempted to wake me up by incessantly vibrating beneath my pillow.
5.01 am : Thought of waking up and studying crosses my mind.
5.02 am – 6.30 am : I was like ‘what a fucking joke’ and got back to the game. I was on strike and Kings11 needed 13 runs to win of 1 ball. Malinga bowled a no ball, and I whacked it outside the park. “What a shot! What a shot! Mr Singh came dancing down the track and whacked the balls out of that ball …he is whacking the balls so hard that mine are begging for an elaborate security cover…People are dancing on the isles… it’s an absolute carnage over here...Malinga has dug his team’s grave here…” yelled Tony Grieg fanatically. Now, one ball is left and 6 runs are needed. Whack!!! the balls sails high over the midwicket and out of the horizon. Now, Preity Zinta is running towards me and looks like today I am gonna get a lot more than just a warm hug! Damn the earth starts shaking, it’s an earthquake!!! People are running helter skelter, I lunge forward to protect my darling. Thud!! I roll off my bed and fall flat on the floor. That earthquake was probably my 6.30 am alarm.

6.40 am : I start reading the ‘Times of India’
6.40.30 am : Move to Delhi Times and scan it for good 15 mins
7.30 am : Walking towards my bus stop
7.32 am : Running towards my bus stop
7.33 am : Missed my bus!
8.00 am : Decide to drive down and endure the hellish traffic
9.30 am -5.30 pm : Chatting, Copy Pasting, Chatting, Copy Pasting….
6.00 pm : Just few minutes in to my journey back home, I realized that I am not carrying a single penny. Fortunately, the realization came a few seconds early and not in the toll booth (the unruly crowd would have eaten me raw!). I gave my friend Mr Bhallu a call and offered to drop him home in lieu of some money.

6.06 : while I was on the phone, someone knocked hard on my car’s front left window. I turned and was terrorized to see a thulla there. In the moment of shock, I didn’t even realize that my cell was still kissing my ear. “ Tane pata hai na ki gari chalatay hue fone say na baat kartay!” yelled the cop. ‘”Aaa….ooooo….Sorry…galti ho gai….aaaa..ooo” I responded. Hearing this, he realized I’ll be an easy game for him. He got in the car and told me to take a U- turn and stop. Take this! I am broke and have a thulla sitting in my car waiting to get bribed. In keeping with the tradition, he starts by threatening to cut a chalaan and asks me to show my driver’s license, car’s RC etc etc…then eagerly waits for me to offer him a bribe of Rs 500. When I told him that I don’t even have 5 paisa, he got so upset that he started farting. Unable to bear him any longer, I told him that my friend is waiting for me near my office and that I’ll pay him there. Thankfully, he agreed and somehow with Bhallu’s financial aid of Rs 500 I bribed him away.

6.30 : Ranting of the great bhalu begins. “Because of you, I had to do something unethical today…I bribed for the first time in my life” thundered Bhallu. This was a prologue to a two hours long third degree punishment. Spending the night in the jail would have been better than subjecting my self to this discourse. He bombarded my brain with everything he had got “ Yaar my three years stint at XYZ company really changed me…I was shy in front of girls earlier but now I am very comfortable, the other day when a girl said hi to me I didn’t start flushing like a potato…blah blah blah”. “Drop me over here on the left side” the final words which Bhallu spoke that day in my car bailed me out of the 2 hrs long misery. “This is it… the worst is over” I told myself and for the first time in the entire day felt elated.

11.30 pm : I won the toss and opted to field.
Ravi Shastri : “ So why did you opt to field”
Me: “Think there is some juice in the wicket and ball should move around a bit early on”
RS: “Any changes in the team?”
Me: “Yes, David Hussey plays in place of Dada”

David Hussey, Dada?? wtf?? Gripped with fear I looked at my jersey…it was black and golden and had “NOKIA” embedded in the middle.
11.31 pm : I was like “What a fucking joke” The worst was not over yet. In fact, the Knightmare had just begun...

Breathless!!!

My cerebral circuit has gone haywire; infinite, erratic electrical pulses are charging both the lobes at an alarmingly high voltage, catapulting an avalanche of random piercing thoughts. These acerbic thoughts - some about my childhood, some about my not so distant past, some way in to future and some plain delusional - are eliciting a weird cocktail of emotions, a cocktail which is making me angry, very angry; I don’t why, but it is! Its consumption has lead me into a fit of sorts. Even though I am sitting comfortably in my seat, I feel as if I am trapped in a coffin, planted some 50 meters below the ground. I am gasping for air and yearning for space. Time Space continuum cease to exist in this coffin, it's all just a morbid flux. A flux which is crawling through my body, the more I despise it the more it spreads.

Allah kay naam par Vote de de baba - not a politician begging this time!

You are voting tommorrow right? asked an unruly character in my office for the 100th time. I tried my level best to put up a smile and nod, where as actually I wanted to show him the finger which may get inked tomorrow. The fact that some people can assume the right to tell you what to do and take a call on whats right /wrong vexes me big time. They are the bovine farts who are as hollow as the rest of us .Their only claim to righteousness being lighting two fucking candles in their vernadah after watching "Rang De Basanti" for the zillionth time. Don't mistake me to be a radical! I am not saying dont vote, it is none of my business to do so; if you are old enough to vote then you are surely wise enough to know how to exercise your right!.
Lets take a step back here and figure out why these useless sacks around us have suddenly turned into activists (namesake). Its probably because they think it's 'COOL' (the 'in-thing'). And why do they think so? because this is what the TV journalists, our role models (Read actor, actresses - no pun inteneded here!) have been babbling lately, this what the most read newspaper 'Delhi Times' has been trying to shove down our throats. They are doing the right thing in encouarging people to 'excercise their right to vote', by excercise I mean doing the proper due dilligence figuring out who the candidates are... what they have done so far etc etc...and then judicously using the sacrosanct right. But, oblivious of these things, chintus, bittus and mintoos want to vote and force others to vote because doing so makes them look 'HAAP', the louder they are in asking someone to vote the 'HAAPER' they are.
We have become the 'India TV' generation. We embody the key charcteristic feature of 'India TV', the very channel we love to hate and that feature is ' Nautanki' , jitni karwa loo hum say kam hain. "Yaar pata hain kal India TV main kya dikhaya....(why the hell do you watch it if you think its that frivlous...does Rajat Sharma give you a bamboo if you dont). So all u "Barkha Dutt" acolytes out there who indulge in such fake activism to gain acceptability, kindly jump of our butts and let us make up our mind for ourselves. If I have to choose between 2 scoundrels, I am gonna choose none! I am not going to walk to the election booth and favor one a hole over another, I'll rather watch 'RDB' and light candles at home!
Seedhi baat, no bakwas...clear hain??

Ollay Ollay

Ollay, Ollay, Ollay! I am in office and have shit load of work to do, but all I am doing is huming this crapy song from some old Saif Ali Khan's movie. No wait a min, now I am thinking about Jennifer Annistion and trying to remember what was her hair style like in season 6 of Friends...also was wondering what the outcomes of upcoming matches need to be for KKR to get a berth in semi final slots. Oops, some senior person in my team just walked past me, did he/she see spot me blogging. What if she did? Will she escalate it? If she does, then would they ask me to provide them with an explanation? If they do, then what would I say? What if I dont say anything? Will my silence infuriate them further or pacify them? What if its bugs them further?.........................................Koi na I'll sing ollay, ollay, ollay, ollay!!

Mesmerizing Mysteries of History

Yup you are thinking right this heading is as meaningful as the phrase- ‘aabraa ka dabraaaaaaaa’…but it does sound catchy and intellectual, and thus serves its purpose. Well, now I am gonna scribble few pages boring you guys with my new found passion- ‘History’.
It all started with excessive boredom, which pulled me out of my bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon and nudged me in to my car and thereby out of my oh so sweet Noida. Crossing the toll bridge really depresses me; broad clean roads of Noida give away to narrow shanty roads of Ashram. If that’s not bad enough, I have to skip one flyover in order to steer in to the horrifying gulis of Lajpat Nagar. This place is a mini Punjab in itself, here you’ll find people of all shapes and sizes, doing all sorts of things right in the middle of the roads. And, how can I not mention plethora of cars, rickshaws, scooters, bikes which grace the 5 meter stretch of road, a part of the complex nervous system which connects Lajpat Nagar and takes me to the place of my good old friend – Mr Karan Gupta.

Karan Gupta is a rebel, a lady killer, a look alike of Imran Khan (Jai Singhania of Jane tu… fame) and god knows what all. This is how Mr Gupta would have liked to introduce himself, but sorry buddy I am gonna write my story my way. So let’s start all over again…Karan Gupta is an egoistic prick. Shitty ideas, theories and misconceptions swirl around in his little pea sized brain, as a result of which it smells of fart when he talks. Believe me he is one stubborn ass, who is obsessed with doing stuff that is “cool” according to his numerous lady friends ( How he made so many lady frnds? well a whole shastra of Chal , Kapat and Kaminapan can be written on that…lets reserve it for future scribblings). But, despite his idiosyncrasies, this ludicrous, nymphomaniac is a good lad (I am very economical with my words, when it comes to hurling praises).

Sorry where were we…hmm so I reach his home and gave him a customary call “ki sahib taxi neeche aa gayi hain kripa garib par daya kar ke neeche aa jain”. Few minutes later, Mr Gupta dressed in his only pair of blue jeans and some rose colored pink T-shit walks towards my car. Through the glasses of little imagination, one can easily confuse him for a high society call girl, for he is as white as Priety Zinta’s teeth. But, as he comes nearer, even your glasses of little imagination can’t help you from noticing those pimples, loads of them on his right cheek, extending right down to his neck (that’s as far as I can see, don’t how further down they go...yuck!!) littered like city names on a map. “Saale Kamine yeh koi time hai aane ka …tera kaminpan nahi jayenga Kutte” yelled my polite friend and I thumped my accelerator and couple of minutes later we were out of the Punjab Nightmare!

Traffic as usual is unrelenting, and we have managed only 5 kms in past 30 minutes. Meanwhile, my friend was leering at the Delhi girls wagging his tongue out of the car like a dog eyes popping out as if he his crack got sealed and he was full up-to his neck with his VX poisonous gas. Take it easy man! I shout. He retorts calmly in his own usual way by yelling back “are you gay? ”. A hot babe – so hot that if I even dare to pen down any details of her fabulous body, my god damn laptop would catch fire - crossed the signal walking hands-in-hands with a boy whose face reminded me of sufferings in places like Somalia and Darfur; and on looking carefully I could even spot letters like L, S, R, E, O written all over his face. Seeing this “Baap of irony and injustice”, even the traffic light couldn’t help turning green with envy. Vrooom…we were out of there only to get stuck in the next.

“Yaha say right lay lay short cut hain” said Karan Gupta beaming with confidence. His expert advice, which in hindsight I shouldn’t have followed, led us to a Woodstock of sorts, where millions of automobiles had gathered. Each one trying to honk a better cacophony then the other; constant hurling of abuses (teri maa ki, bahan ki , iski uski…) provided the much needed bass support and the battery of beggars made a formidable chorus. Atmosphere turned electric, and the concert was in full flow…”teri maa ki honk honk …road tere baap ki hain honk Slap honk Slap..paison de do subah se kuch nahi khaya honk honk do rupaiya de de tera pappu khub saal jeeyenga” ( now that alarmed me , but I was wrong “by Pappu she meant Karan”, which makes it even more embarrassing!) . Oblivious of all this, KG was gyrating to the peppy songs of the movie ‘Partner’, which were streaming out loudly from his newly brought Motorola V something model.

Passing many such Woodstocks, we finally managed to reach PVR Select City Mall, a good 1.5 hrs after my friend had dashed in to my car. Our sojourn to select city mall, was a part of our customary weekend drill to kill boredom. KG and I are off to swanky malls every weekend to catch the latest flicks, talk trash and admire beauties.

As no good movie was playing, we decided to go window shopping. While I was standing in the queue in Lee showroom to try on a pair of rugged blue jeans, I saw a beautiful angel. She was standing next to a trial room holding heap of clothes, wearing a bright yellow tank top, maroon aladdin pajamas and an endearing nose ring. And she was not with an ugly looking loser! Seeing this Thakur (sholay movie dude) popped in my mind like a Microsoft desktop widget and yelled” Loha Garam hain maar do hathora”. Then, suddenly, the doors of the trial room splashed open “Damn, What do I do now? Should I go for the girl or go for the jeans?” To solve the dilemma I quickly calculated the probability of the hot chick being there when I came back from the trial room (P – being the probability that she’ll stay, Q – being the probability that I’ll buy the pair of jeans. Assuming that it will take me 10 mins to try the jeans) P came out to be 75%. Good enough, I told my self and hopped into the trial room. When I came out nor was the hot chick there nor did the pair of jeans fit! As usual, I fucked up the probability question again. We searched the entire mall twice, but were unable to spot her; dejected we walked in to the ‘Crossword’ bookstore. There Mr. Gupta started frantically searching for a book called ‘In Xanadu’ (written by William Dalrymple) apparently it was his crushes’ favorite book. But, to read a travel book tracing the path taken by Marco Polo from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem to the summer capital of King Kubla Khan was little too much even to impress a girl. But, as I couldn’t find anything better I bought it. And my purchase transcended me in to the magical world of William Dalrymple. Arguably, the finest travel writer of the century, he made me fall in love with history be it the ‘era of Mughal dominance in India’ or ‘era of Marc Polo and John Moschos’. More on his books later…adios for now.

Taliban Within

I saw this brilliant movie 'Firaaq' the other day. It is set one month after the ghastly Gujrat carnage in 2002. This theme sets it apart from the previous movies based on the same subject and makes for a riveting watch. Nandita Das (Debutant Director) without the aid of any graphicaly voilent scenes manages to keep the tone extremely tense; tensions, anger, vulnerability and fear of the protagonists - who represent a diverse demographic including poor muslim autorickshaw walah, a middle class gujju business man, an english speaking mixed religion couple - stirr your soul catapulating feelings of shame, guilt, anger, frustration and disgust. And the emotional atyachar continues long after the endcredits.

All you want to do after watching this movie is to fucking chop of the nuts of crazy hindutva fanatics who indulged in this pre-planned genocide. I just wanted to kill them! Once the infernal noises within me calmed down, I realised that I was reacting no differently than how these dogs reacted to Godhra massacre. And thats where I guess the problem lies, that voilent retribution ends up becoming a self fulfiling prophecy, as voilence justifies voilence! No, I am not condoning these riots; I dare not! All i am saying is that 'cause and effect' theory applies here, effect being the riots and it has been the case for over thousands of years now, because as I mentioned earlier voilence justifies voilence. Gujrat carnage is not governed by this theory, as there is evidence that it was not an instantaneous outburst of anger but a well planned state sponsored pogrom. For his indulgence in racial cleansing, Modi was rewarded a successive term in the chief minister's office by people of Gujrat...TBC

Save The Real Tigers!

Did you know that probability of you being struck by lightning in a wildlife sanctuary is more than that of your spotting a tiger there! And that the recent dip in sharemarkets dosen't look so bad when compared to the alarming rate at which Tigers are evaporating in India. Guess, its nothing new and most of us are aware of this travesty, whats strange is that this issue has never really evoked strong reactions from us and nor does this topic ever figure in our daily animated conversations. Slightly strange for a society which suffers from severe verbal diarrhea, and has an opinion on almost every conceivable thing ranging from serious issues such as terrorism, poverty, globalization etc to frivolus ones such as India TV news, Rakhi Sawant and star rivalries. Then, why is it that the tragic state of our national animal escapes our collective conciousness, it's probably due to our lack of awarness on this topic. May be we just dont know or realise how bad things have really become. To emphasise on the severity of the problem, presented below are few statistics I stumbled across recently -

• At the current rate of poaching and habitat loss, it is estimated that tigers in the wild could completely disappear within the next ten years
• Poachers killed 29 tigers, nine out of 16 lions fell to poachers and of the 272 elephants killed since 2005, 72 were killed by poachers. These 29-39 tigers are just the tip of the iceberg. If 29 tigers have been killed by poachers and their carcass found, it means at least 200-250 tigers have been killed by poachers.
• According to the last official census in 2005, India had 1411 tigers in the wild but wildlife experts say the real number could be anything between 800-1000.

We are staring at an imminent extinction of our national animal in next few years time. Damage being done is irreversible, and no stimulus package would be able to bail us out of this crisis. The very fact that the number of paper tigers like me is on the rise and that the real tigers are left to die, says a lot about the civilized, liberal and rational society we all are a part of.

Sorry Tigers, all we can do is offer you our sincere condolences. We would have loved to prevent you from becoming an extinct species, but amidst election season, IPL 2 and global economic slow down, haven't quite got the time to do that. But let me promise you, we wont let you fade away from our memories, we'll watch your footages on the Discovery channel and may even make a movie on the lines of Jurrasic Park. Your precious skin has graced our sofas and the bodies of hot models for years now, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for that. You have also been the prime source of livelihood for poachers, giving those lads a steady source of income. We are rapidly turning your homes into concreate jungles , rendering you folks homeless, and you never seem to complain. Yes, some of you do end up entering our premises and then end up getting brutally killed, but such intermittent stray incidents shouldn't come in way of our friendship. "Yeh dosti hum nahi toren gay, extinct ho jaon tum magar hum poaching nahi chorengay"

Nomenclature

This blog has nothing in common with the book 'White Tiger' mainly because author of White Tiger won a booker prizer and author of this blog hasn't won a thing in life. No pity or sympathy is welcome as the author is mediocre but arrogant.

Namkaran of the blog was perhaps the hardest part of opening this blog. I needed a name which would epitomize my journey so far. 'Loser in a one mans race', 'Dreams or Shackles' , Incarcerated' were few options which popped up in my mind, but none of them seemed right. But, one day i stumbled across the term 'Paper Tiger' which is a literal English translation of the Chinese phrase zhǐ lǎohǔ (Chinese: ??????), meaning something that seems as threatening as a tiger, but is really harmless'. Eureka! this was it, it was as if some chinese fellow in Xang dynasty saw me coming back then in some crystal ball and coined the term 'Paper Tiger'.
Drunk in the success of my discovery, I screamed out loud to the world announcing my new name. 'You are not a paper tiger, you are a toilet paper tiger' thundered a friend of mine. And so i agreed and so i named the blog. Stay tuned for the adventures of this tiger...