10 Different Ways Suarez could benefit the world

Following the 34657th time he played with a bite, Luis Suarez, if used the right way could benefit the society, our country and the world.

1. Put Robert Pattinson out of work.

2. Become the first human to do his own stunts in a blockbuster creature feature.

3. Help India's greatest ever tooth powder and toothpaste make a comeback.

4. Reboot India's greatest ever horror TV show.

 5. Become the brand ambassador for the world's most satisfying chocolate bar.

6. Put an end to noise pollution.

7. Increase footfalls at Subway.

8. Redefine the gaming industry.

9. Go Godzilla on India's most unnecessary piece of real estate.

10. And last but not the least...become the silent guardian, the watchful protector...the Dark Knight.

18 inevitable things that will happen if the IPL Dream Team enters the FIFA World Cup

The dream of qualifying for the World Cup will always be a dream. But BCCI has enough money to buy FIFA and a truckload of cheerleaders, so I wouldn't be surprised if we pay ourselves into making FIFA let an IPL Dream Team play the World Cup.

With that being the nation's biggest honour that black money can buy,  the following effects are inevitable.


1. Yo Yo Honey Singh will sing the official FIFA anthem along with Shakira
But is quickly arrested for racist lyrics.





2. Tiger Shroff will be the official referee for all the matches

3. SRK will be detained at the airport...
...And then banned from attending the matches




4. Virat Kohli will get the maximum number of red cards










5. Ashish Nehra will prove his excellent control over his ball once again...um, football. 








6. Sir Ravindra Jadeja will be the first debutante to receive a Lifetime Achievement award
And a surprise Olympic medal.

7. A total of 1459687 footballs will be lost, thanks to Chris Gayle


 


8. Dhoni will be the only goalkeeper to score a goal post 90 minutes..EVERY.SINGLE.TIME.

9. Every kind of pooja will be performed for the victory of our boys
Anything that involves fire = WIN





10. At the closing ceremony, stadium fans will erupt in a mandatory 'SACHIN....SACHIN!' without reason




11. Poonam Pandey will vow to strip to the next level if we win the World Cup
She DID say she'll go all the way.


     




12. Faf Du Plessis will be the only player to be awarded for diving

13. Harbhajan Singh will be charged with multiple harassment cases

14. Preity Zinta will celebrate every single moment of the World Cup...
...Even if it's an own goal.

15. Sharma will be sent as an undercover spy to infiltrate the Argentinian team

  

Close enough.


16. Sidhu will be banned from Brazil for interrupting with absolutely unnecessary remarks.

17. The venue for the finals will be shifted to Chepauk Stadium at the last minute. Because of one man.





18. Arun Lal will once again get too drunk to remember where he is

When Chennai was Madras

On days like today, when the Chennai sky decides to descend to the tarmac as rain, the constant downpour reminds me of an era long gone, when Chennai wasn't Chennai. When the world hadn't entered the new millennium. When I wasn't 24 years old. When I didn't even know how old I was, yet longed and yearned to grow up as quickly as possible.


When there was no Facebook, no Twitter, no Instagram. When there was no internet. Come to think of it, there were no computers either.



This was the time when my brother used to torture my mother, when every other day resulted in a fight and him throwing the food off his plate onto the walls. When my brother used to take sadistic pleasure out of tying me to the ceiling fan and switching it on. When he shot in my back with the new 'air gun' he was gifted. When I had my first accident on the first day of first grade, on the way to school. When we didn't get to use our Fiat Padmini to go to school. When my driver had to ride me and my elder brother on a Hero Honda Splendor to school every day, when riding triples wasn't looked at as an offense. When the bike rammed into an Ambassador and I was sent flying onto a pavement in an Anna Nagar street, with my head meeting the ground and splitting open into a mini-pool of blood. When my brother who I thought hated me, was carrying me in his arms, with tears rolling down his face in the fear of losing me.

When wetting the bed was commonplace. When I shat my pants at school owing to an infection, and was made to wear a girl's uniform, because that was the only spare uniform available. When that was quickly forgotten in a couple of days, owing to the absence of Facebook.

When Spencer Plaza was the coolest place to be at any day of the week. When Spencer Plaza was the only place to be. When malls were called 'plazas'. When Shanthi Colony didn't exist. When OMR didn't exist. When Wednesday, Friday and Saturday nights were spent driving to Elliots Beach, with songs from 'May Maadham' were playing out of the speakers, with the windows down, with me and my sister occasionally sitting in the boot wide open. When we spent hours hanging from monkey bars that magically grew out of the sand, with my mother running behind us to feed us rasam saadham. When Milky Way in Egmore was the best place for ice cream. When T Nagar was the only place to buy new clothes for Diwali. When Liu's Waldorf in Adyar was the only place to have Chinese food. When we spent every Tuesday and Saturday eating in style in our car at the drive-in Saravana Bhavan in R.K.Salai.

When there were double-buses on Mount Road. When we looked for the colourful, transparent buses that Prabhu Deva danced on in Kadhalan.

When the good folks from Milo came to our school to let us try refreshing glasses of cold Milo. When I didn't know that was just a marketing strategy. When my most prized possession were my Action shoes, with lights flashing from the sole with every step I took. When my second most prized possession was a white Lion King jacket, which the whole quarters at SAF Games village was jealous of. When a 'friend' of mine kicked me in my face because I called him a dog. When days were spent playing the little cricket I knew, evenings were spent playing a little more cricket, and nights were spent playing Hide n' Seek until my mother came running for me and dragging me home because it was 8:30 PM already. When we looked forward to participating in the quarters' annual Fancy Dress competition. When I was still lazy, and went dressed as a Malayali, which I was even without the 'fancy dress'.

When Pepsi was Lehar Pepsi, and had just started to become everyone's favourite drink. When Nike, Adidas and Reebok followed suit, and none of us could afford the shoes so we satisfied ourselves with free Nike stickers and posters. When Cadbury Perk was so much bigger than it is right now. When all of us kids used to run behind the ice-cream man, one of the few Gods we really believed in. When he gave us Max Orange ice cream for Rs.5. When the walls of my brother's room were adorned with posters of Michael Jordan, Guns n' Roses, and a grey-eyed starlet called Aishwarya Rai. When I wasn't allowed to stick posters in my room. When the inner compartments of my cupboard were secretly adorned with stickers of God...I mean, Rajinikanth.

When Rajinikanth became an auto-driver, and every auto-driver wanted to be Rajinikanth. When I lost my mind over watching Baasha for the first time in Devi Theater, cheering for him when he walked in his trademark style, laughing with him at every ridiculous joke he cracked, crying for him when the villains tied him to a pole and beat him up in front of his family into the night. When my brother took me to Satyam theater for the first time, when it wasn't called SPI Cinemas, when we could take our own snacks inside the theater without the fear of being frisked. When my mother took me and my sister to watch Rangeela in Melody Theater when we never understood Hindi. When my father took me and my brother to watch an effeminate-looking Bobby Deol in Barsaat, the only movie my father ever took us to. When my mother started taking us to every single Shahrukh Khan movie that ever released in Madras, as a result of which we started picking up Hindi based on what was going on on the big screen. When we discovered what a drive-in theater was at Prarthana Theater, looking at the T-Rex jump out at us through the windshield.

When there were audio cassettes in every corner of every room, and every single one of them being an A.R.Rahman album. When me and my sister spent hours listening to the 'Jeans' soundtrack. When I knew the lyrics to every song in Kadhal Desam, singing my heart out while adoring Abbas and Vineeth dancing like there's no tomorrow, wearing clothes that noone would ever wear.

When my mother used to buy my sister also a cake when it was my birthday. When she was allowed to cut the cake too. When they left me back weeping my heart out in India and took a trip to Singapore, because I had to write my second grade exams. When our VCR got spoilt right at the time when VCD players were released in the market. When me and my sister spent hours at Burma Bazaar, fighting about which VCDs to buy. When she got all the VCDs she wanted, and I was jealous because I didn't get to buy Terminator 2.

When all we had to look forward to was going to Spencer Plaza in the evenings or the Egmore Museum after dark. When the streets used to get flooded with a light drizzle. When our biggest problem was getting tickets in black to watch a Rajini movie. When we had little dreams, and bigger hearts. When there were lesser modes of communication, but a lot of time to communicate. When life wasn't as complicated as it is now.

I still long to go back to that era gone by, when I wasn't 24 years old. When Chennai wasn't Chennai.

When Chennai was Madras.

There's a bit of Chicken 65 in all of us

Flashback. Cut to 12th Grade. Chemistry class. The teacher started a new chapter about 'medicinal drugs'. The moment she wrote 'drugs' on the blackboard, almost everyone in class turned towards me and started calling out my name, leaving the teacher dumbfounded. Later that evening, I was summoned by the same teacher along with another preacher of a teacher for an intervention. Apparently, there was a rumor going around school that I used to use drugs.

Rewind to 11th grade. Someone apparently 'saw me' make out with my girlfriend in class. This, in a school where girls are allocated a separate row to be seated. Agreed, we used to sit in adjacent seats. But that's about it.

Fast forward to a few months later. Someone says they heard that I had sex in the car. Yes I was never allowed to drive a car until 1st year in college, but what can I say?

Fast forward to 1st year of college. Someone said that my Dad is a politician who was a part of ADMK. This was 2008. My dad passed away on August 19, 2006. So unless my Dad was a RAW agent who faked his death to work as an undercover politician, I don't understand how this is possible.

There are a few more stories about myself, and a lot more shocking stories I've heard about people close to me. Every time I heard one, I've never known how to react except express shock and anger. Anyways, I'll get to that later.

This ambrosial work of art above, fondly known as the 'Chicken 65' is the biggest breakthrough when it comes to South Indian cuisine. It is probably the most loved entree, appetizer, 'side dish' and also whiskey's best friend. Tender, succulent, juicy fried meat, waiting to be devoured. A universal favourite, the Chicken 65 completes the menu of every non-vegetarian South Indian joint and loved by every one who has ever heard of it or laid their eyes on it.

However, like every legend, there are a million stories surrounding the genesis of the Chicken 65 and its name. And everyone has their own version of it. After all, why the fuck would someone name a dish as Chicken 65?

Believed to be created in 1965 at Chennai's Buhari Hotel, the Chicken 65 is probably the most controversial dish of all time, owing to its mysterious title. Among the many stories shrouding it, here are a few:

• It takes 65 days to prepare the marinade for the dish.
• Another account reveals that the dish contains 65 chili peppers.
• No, it's because the meat comes from 65-day old chickens.
• That doesn't make sense, does it? The number 65 comes from the time when many North Indian soldiers stationed in Madras came to Buhari for their meals, and because the Tamil names of the dishes couldn't be read/pronounced by them, the menu was written in a series of numbers, with each number corresponding to a certain dish. It so happened that this dish was 'number 65' on the menu, and the soldiers asked for this dish by its number. Word spread, and there it was: the genesis of Chicken 65.
• But that doesn't have any scientific explanation, does it? Believers in science suggested that the dish was invented by a culinary-minded electronics engineer whose work involved designing batteries from Terbium, an element whose atomic number is 65.
• Why would a dish have any scientific explanation, some asked. They then explained that the creator of the dish required chillies from Doddabetta, the highest mountain in Tamil Nadu. However, a pack of vicious dogs were known to roam the Doddabetta. The chef sent many men to the Doddabetta to obtain the chillies yet no one returned, unable to climb the treacherous mountainside, or falling prey to the pack of dogs. Eventually, the 66th man went and was able to retrieve the famous chillies. The chef decided to honour the 65 men who had given their lives for the vital ingredient and named the dish Chicken 65.
• No, that's a bullshit story, said the other mythologists and respected elders. A popular story told by elders to children about the dish is that it originally came at the time of Mahendravaram I, a Pallava King who defeated the Kalabhras. Mahendravaram I is seen as a hero by many in the Tamil Nadu district and legend has it he himself slaughtered 65 enemy soldiers and upon victory ordered a grand feast. His personal chefs took the remains of the 65 slaughtered and cooked them such a way that all were awed at the fantastic taste of human flesh. Since then the main ingredient has changed to chicken following the demise of cannibalism, yet the precise spices and cooking method remains the same. Chefs decided the name the dish Chicken 65, as the original dish contained 65 corpses.

As I said, everyone has their own version of the story. Unfortunately, the founder of Buhari Hotel and the dish, A.M.Buhari is no more to explain the true story of its genesis, while millions spurn their own yarns about its history.

The fact is, people LOVE stories. Some like to make them up to entertain others or keep themselves entertained. Some to make a difference, some to construct chaos. Whatever the reason is, people love creating stories and more of them like sharing them. The repercussions might be good or bad, but by the time we find out who started it, there are a thousand more people who know about it. And we have no idea who is listening.

I know I've indulged in quite a bit of digressing, but the fact is that whether good or bad, a typical story can be created within 10 seconds. The moment you share the story with someone else, and that person shares it with someone else and so on and so forth, the content gets tampered with, diluted, altered for mostly wrong reasons. And that, results in a series of mostly irreversibly permanent repercussions that someone else has to deal with. Some of those repercussions that I've personally witnessed, are scary to say the least. 

Speaking of repercussions, I was never into drugs. Hell, the first joint I ever tried was during my 2nd year of college. I never made out with my girlfriend in class. Neither did I have sex in the car. Nor was my father a politician or James Bond. Nor was a girl I knew a slut who slept around with 7 guys. Nor did another girl give her boyfriend a blow job in a dark Anna Nagar street at 8:45 on a warm Wednesday evening. And yet, me, you, that girl, and the other girl have all had to deal with a million questions, a million judgements and a whole lot of other bullshit on a daily basis.

Like the Chicken 65, we all have our own mysteries, our own little idiosyncrasies, quirks and several other traits that are unique to us. That is what makes us human, even if it is the starting point of a totally random and unnecessary conversation between two people distantly related to us. Don't believe or even listen to a story unless you know the person yourself. More often than not, you would be pleasantly surprised at the total falseness of the stories surrounding that individual.

So who cares about the stories? Enjoy the fucking dish, people.

Bon appetit.

The True 'Lier' of Pop Culture: Vennu Mallesh

Every other day there's a new brand, a new product, or a new star, vying for our attention. Marketers try to come up with new catch-phrases, 'revolutionary' ideas and campaigns to stand out from the crowd, but continue to add to the clutter. While everyone is trying to the best, there are a handful of geniuses who believe in creating something so bad, that it's good. And there you have it, the genesis of 'Very Good Bad'.

It must suck to be Vennu Mallesh. Or so we think. If you don't know who Vennu is, I seriously don't know which planet you are living in. If you still don't know, Vennu Mallesh is the genius behind probably the greatest song ever composed about life, 'It's my life what ever I wanna do.' Vennu became an overnight sensation with his profound video crossing over 3 million views on YouTube. You've really seen nothing until you see this:

Shot in the same style as Dhanush's 'Why this Kolaveri Di', this song changed the lives of millions of people all over the world, with its heartfelt lyics such as 'I always search good in bad...I also search bad in good' having a much deeper meaning than 90% of song lyrics these days.

On the surface of it all, there are about a 1435672 grammatical errors, sentence formation errors and spelling mistakes. Above all, the song doesn't make any sense. But wait, neither did 2001: A Space Odyssey or any of David Lynch's movies. However, both of the aforementioned works have a very niche audience who appreciate experimental and symbolic film-making. The rest never gave a fuck. So how exactly did Vennu manage to go viral and get the entire world to sing his song?

Yeah. That happened.

To explain the Vennu phenomenon, you must understand the concept of marketing and the 'culture code'. The concept of a 'culture code' was devised by Clotaire Rapaille, one of the world's most renowned marketing specialists. He is known for advising the world's biggest politicians, advertisers and brands on how to influence people's unconscious decision making.

Rapaille, based on his highly secret methods of consumer research, comes up with a 'code', maybe a word or set of words that have the power to subconsciously influence people's decisions. Instead of asking  what people want, he focuses on the why. He identifies a 'collective cultural unconscious' that consists of unstated needs and wants of people in a certain culture, and provides the code that will sub-consciously force the consumer to desire and want the particular product or service that the code is meant for.

Trying to follow Rapaille's footsteps, most advertisers and marketers have fallen flat on their faces with dismal failures. However, there are a very few set of people who have been successful. Vennu Mallesh is one of them. Hell, he's probably the most successful of them all.

While Rapaille comes up with one 'code word' in order to lure potential consumers, Vennu's sensational single has code words in almost every sentence of the lyrics. What might appear as ridiculous is sub-consciously striking a chord with our Reptilian Brain, the home of all of our intrinsic instincts. Take the following excerpt of the lyrics for example:

'My teacher scolds me that I neglect education,

She don't know I collect real education.'

Each and every one of us has always felt like 'another brick in the wall' because of high school education, or even college for that instance. The society, including our teachers, relatives and above all our own parents for that matter continue to drill it into our system that a traditional education is mandatory to be successful. But how does that explain the fact that most successful people are school dropouts? Vennu says it as it is, with pathetic yet honest choice of words. But that's exactly the point, the poor English is another sub-conscious effort to attack your Reptilian Brain. And admit it, it's worked like a charm. Every. Single. Word.

Or sample the penultimate verse, with profoundness in every single word:

I always search Good in Bad...
I also search Bad in Good.....

I have no words. How can two simple sentences with incorrect English have so much depth in them?

Much like his legendary predecessors such as Sam Anderson and T.Rajendar, Vennu is often misjudged and mistaken to be retarded. But go through his Facebook posts, and you'll know that he's a highly intelligent, culturally aware, no-nonsense individual with influences deeply rooted in pop culture.

Do the words seem familiar? They're a rehashed version of the tagline of 'Social Network'.

If this man writes his own copy, Ogilvy should hire him like right now. And it's an honor to know that he is inspired by one of the greatest TV shows ever made, Breaking Bad. Or should I say, #BreakingGoodBad.

And the world goes crazy:

Sometimes, it is difficult to explain these intangible forces that surround us, influencing us every now and then without us even knowing that the forces exist. We might make fun of Vennu, call him an inbred or a retard, a mutation, but we're the ones getting fooled. It's like he's The Dark Knight, inflicting pain upon himself, sacrificing everything for the sake of a greater good. You can love him, you can hate him, but you can never ignore him. 

I believe Steve Jobs said the following words just to describe Vennu Mallesh:

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. But the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

PS: Don't believe me. I'm a true liar.

I am the Pseudo-Middle Class.

I was never poor. Neither was I ever rich.

I am a child of the working class. I am the one with a childhood spent on convincing my Father to buy me a tennis ball. I am the one who failed most of the times due to unsatisfactory persuasion skills.

I am the one who grew up listening to The Backstreet Boys, then Blue, then Linkin Park and Eminem and delved into Metallica, Eagles, Cream, Led Zeppelin and saw the rich kids listening to lyric-less Disco music. I am the one who watched them buy the iPod, when I had saved enough to buy a cassette-playing Walkman.

I am the one who wasn't allowed to go for movies with my rich friends till the 10th grade. I am the one who had to lie in order to do the same. I am the one who got caught, and slapped across the face for aspiring.

I am the one who watched a rich friend of mine gifted a cell phone in 2000 when I thought it was only for aristocrats who attend weekly business meetings overseas. I was the one who asked my parents for a cell phone 5 years later and got laughed at. And then glared at.

I am the one who could not study what I wanted to. I am the one who fell into the engineering trap, like so many of my brothers. I am the one who stuck through it all and spent years trying to fix those years of obsoletion. I am the one who watched scores of others who were rich enough to study what I wanted to. I am the one who watched them flush double the amount of educational funds down the drain where my dreams went downstream.

I am the one who watched peers who hardly passed any of the college courses, who knew hardly any English, go on to study further in London, Manchester, Rochester, San Francisco, Austin, New York, Los Angeles and even Miami. I am the one who asked the same people the capital of The United States and watched most of them answer incorrectly. I am the one who still can't really afford to study abroad. I am the one who watches pictures of distant friends on Facebook going to Mardi Gras without being able to pronounce it.

I am the one who tries saving up for NH7 Weekender and fails, and the one who watches people flock to a Deadmau5 concert, pronouncing it as 'Dead Maw 5'.

I am the one who tries to peer through dark tinted windows of the Jaguars and the Audis and the BMWs while sitting on my 125cc motorbike, being punished by the Sun for not being rich.

I am the one who marvels at brilliantly made iPhone commercials on Youtube through the cracked screen of my Micromax that has a mind of its own. I am the one who tries to place the charging point of the phone in a particular 33-degree angle, because it won't charge otherwise. I am the one who can't afford to buy a phone at the moment.

I am the one who is awestruck watching continuous episodes of Mad Men, in the hopes of becoming a tenth of the person Don Draper is. I am the one who tries to crack the code in advertising to make someone else rich. I am the one who makes just enough to make ends meet, and I never do. I am the one who gets stuck with 400 bucks for the last ten days of the month. I am the one who tries to crack a marketing campaign based on my situation, again to make someone else rich.

I am the one who buys the cheap whiskey. I am the one who can't afford a drink inside a club on a regular basis. I am the one who wants to lose weight but can't afford Subway more than once or twice a week. I am the one who cannot afford a decent gym membership.

I am the one who is directly affected by the price rise. I am the one who cries over paying 12 bucks for a 10 buck-Coke, because I want to enjoy it cold.

I am the one who looks down upon the poor, but become one of them by the 25th of every month.

I am the one who wishes for more hours a day to do something productive. I am the one who watches others while away their days in lounges and bars and video game parlours or under a tree getting stoned throughout the day.

I am the one who watches the rich pay dowry equal to the combined net worth of five of my lifetimes. I am the one who watches the rich fight in bars. I am the one who watches the obese kids order a Happy Meal with a frown on their face.

I am the one who watches old classmates celebrate their birthdays in yachts in Bombay and on cruises in Bangkok. I am the one who saves up for 2 months to backpack across one of the poorest countries in the world.

I am the one with the dreams. I am the ones with the aspirations. I am the one who wants to be. I am the one who wants to do.

I am the Pseudo-Middle Class. The Working Class Hero.

And I might be able to become like you. But you'll never become me.

A Homosexual's sincere apology

Disclaimer: Please note that the following is a letter written by a heterosexual individual, re-imagining himself in the shoes of a homosexual one. I repeat, the author is not homosexual. Even if he was, it's not like he gives a fuck about what you think.

Special thanks to Greeshma Rai. Hopefully this does some justice to what you believe in.

Dear fellow homophobes and heterosexual countrymen,

I write to you with deep regret and shame, on the account of being a homosexual individual. After all, that's what you want me to feel for being the person I am, right?

I was silent during all those years of being targeted, all those years of stereotypical insults and being ridiculed just for growing up in the same society as you. The same society that upholds the caste system, turns a blind eye to honor killings, kills the girl child at birth, and blames its women for being too 'astray' when they are raped. The same society which gave birth to the Kama Sutra, enjoys watching Sheila and Munni dance ever so conservatively on screen, watches porn movies in the Parliament, but considers sex as taboo. Yes, I should be ashamed of being myself in this glorious society. But for different reasons altogether.

I'm sorry, I don't know why I am this way; I really wish I did. I'm sure you have a very logical explanation of how you are straight and 'normal', but I'm sorry that I don't. I can assure you that I did not 'choose' to be this way. For the sake of my relatives, acquaintances, the Government and especially YOU, I wish I could become 'normal'. Unfortunately, I am not exposed to such advanced technology which could help me switch my sexual orientation. I've tried all the electronic stores, research centers and even Flipkart. But no luck.

I was born just like most of you, out of a mother's womb as a result of sexual intercourse between two completely heterosexual individuals. It just so happens that I turned out to be homosexual. If I ever have children, it isn't completely necessary that they will be homosexual too. Yes I really wish they are born 'normal' and 'cultured' like all of you, but I wouldn't be angry with them or hurt them if they happen to be homosexual like me.

Now, I understand you've watched Dostana, which is a profoundly accurate depiction of homosexuality and corresponding behaviour. However, there are quite a few ways in which I am different. First of all, I do wear colors other than pink, though I admit that I have quite a flair for fashion and know how not to dress like a homeless person. Secondly, I don't really like flowers. Yes it might appear so because I'm obviously delicate and fragile and therefore must like flowers. Sorry to disappoint you once again.

Thirdly, it's true that I like men. But it doesn't mean I jump on the first man I see on the road and start humping him. I believe in this little thing called 'mutual consent', which I'm not sure you're aware of. I agree, you're one step ahead of us, with all the groping and eve-teasing and raping. We might be lagging behind you in this department, and I don't think we'll ever be able to catch up to you.

Also, I do not hate women. On the other hand, I love and respect women a lot. I might not be able to always beat their offenders to pulp, but I know I will always stand up for them. With all that's happening in the country, they might not be as safe with me as they are with you, because you all really know how to make a woman feel safe on the streets, in the night, in the buses, in the trains, in the schools, colleges and every other public place.

Many of you might believe that I'm against God and that the 'western culture' has influenced our choices and thought process, and is the reason of our homosexuality. I try not to make it obvious or evident, but I go to the same churches, the same mosques and the same temples as you do. And unfortunately, I don't have the power to spread my religion like you do and get more followers under my wing. We haven't come up with an effective conversion strategy as of today.

A lot of my countrymen work in call-centres and BPOs, often pretending to be Americans with a completely genuine-sounding American accent. Some of them go club-hopping every night without knowing what music really is, some of them want to splurge in Las Vegas without knowing the state in which it is in, some of them swear by vegetarian hot dog and hamburgers, and some of them use no other phone other than an iPhone as it takes 'awesome pictures'. Indeed, all of these and so many other instances are not at all influences of Western culture. Me and people of my kind are the ones extremely influenced by it and we try everyday to rid ourselves of this transformation. We rinse ourselves everyday with Gangajal and chant hymns and prayers to cleanse our impure souls and I believe we're making progress.

All I ever asked for was to be myself in my own country, to be able to love and be loved and to uphold my identity. How would you feel if you wake up one day, and suddenly it's a crime to be a heterosexual individual? What if someone tells you that it's a crime to love a person of the opposite sex, that you could go to prison for having sex with someone you love? You have been brought up and been living a certain way all your life, and suddenly it's all a lie. Suddenly, you no longer know who you are and you begin doubting your own identity. People like me have already been living in the fear of coming out, the fear of not being accepted by all of you. And a couple of months ago, it has suddenly become a crime to be ourselves. Our beloved Supreme Court which has always been spot-on with regard to delivering judgements on time, stayed true to the current year of 1860 and reinstated the glorious Section 377 rule. While some of the political parties among you have expressed an opposition to this judgement, it is surprising that the most probable candidates for Prime Minister-ship have adopted pure golden silence. The ones who hitherto grab every controversy by its head and publicly declare their opinion, now suddenly have nothing at all to say. A lot of you even want the leader of this party to be the next PM, and according to his promises and his stature, he is expected to come in support of minority groups, especially ones like mine. This says a lot about our next PM, and all of you who believe in him. It says a lot about our democratic nation, where everyone has the freedom to do, say or express anything. Agreed, I am asking for too much when I want to be physically intimate with a man, which would result in the horrendous act of anal sex. While many of you occasionally enjoy raping your children, stick metal rods down a woman's vagina which results in her death, put your penises inside a baby, it is indeed unfair of me to express my love to another man. After all, it's all about sex, isn't it? I sincerely apologize and vow to never indulge in such acts, even within the privacy of my bedroom and the beautiful hotels and well-lit lodges of our democracy where no one can see me. I know you're watching me and would never take the risk. As mentioned earlier, I'm sorry because I spoke about sex even after knowing it's such a taboo in our democracy.

My fellow countrymen, please understand that it has been a very long struggle for me and people like me to come out of the closet, to our family and friends. As much as try to avoid it, there are some things which we can't keep within us for too long in the fear of us exploding/imploding. Not just the people we know, but even some of the political parties have tried to help us and warn us about our disease and have prayed for us to be cleansed. Yes, there are many ways to try and eradicate our disease but they have hence proven unsatisfactory, or resulted in people like me committing suicide. We are tired of asking to be accepted. We are tired, but again we are just getting started. All we ask for is our basic right to survive and co-exist, if not be accepted immediately. As weak as you consider us to be, it wouldn't take us a long time to form a rebellion and force you into giving us our basic right to live. It wouldn't take too long to procure weapons from your arms sources or wield swords and hunt for your blood. It wouldn't take long to throw down a Government or wreak havoc and riots on the streets and destroying public property as well as innocent lives. It wouldn't take too long to step inside a heterosexual and 'normal' zone and beat the fucking shit out of every one present there.

But then again, we are not like you. There would be no difference between you and I. I know, we can never be equals, anyways. And in this context, I will never aspire to be the same as you.

Jai Hind.