Here is the cover. *Drumroll*

It’s a dream coming true. I started writing the book in December 2010, but made real progress only in 2012, when it went through about 23 million rounds of edits over the year. The last time i wrote about the book here, i was going through phase II of the journey – finding a publisher. Thanks to Random House for agreeing to publish the masterpiece.

Here’s the official blurb.

Akhil Arora, a young, dorky engineer in Delhi, cant wait to get away from home and prove to his folks that he can be on his own. Meanwhile in a small town in Punjab, Jaspreet Singh, aka Jassi, is busy dreaming of a life straight out of American Pie. As fate would have it, they end up as roommates in Florida. But the two boys are poles apart in their perspectives and expectations of America. While Akhil is fiercely patriotic and hopes to come back to India in a few years, Jassi finds his Indian identity an uncomfortable burden and looks forward to finding an American girl with whom he can live happily ever after.

Laced with funny anecdotes and witty insights, Amreekandesi chronicles the quintessential immigrant experience, highlighting the clash of cultures, the search for identity, and the quest for survival in a foreign land.

Through the contrasting personalities of the lead characters, this book talks about how different people behave when they cross Indian shores to travel to foreign lands. Of how Indian people complain of racism abroad when a Punjabi and a Bengali can’t tolerate each other in the country. Of the lives of Indian-Americans and how Indian parents the world over have the same fears and insecurities for their children. Of young Indians who travel all the way to the US and try to adapt to the changed environment where people suddenly have different priorities, the girls are pretty and temptations are aplenty.

I shouldn’t boast, but the people who’ve read it so far have all loved it. It is witty, it is insightful, it goes into the minds of people living abroad, and raises some pertinent questions about the Indian and American societies.

Reading the book will increase your chances of getting into IIT. It will help you win Roadies. It will help you get an American visa. It will help tone up your abdominal muscles**, in turn leading to lesser weight, increased confidence, and overall success in life. Scrubbing your face with the book’s specially created pages will also lead to a fair skin, and don’t we all know that it helps you clear job interviews, get modeling assignments, and get married?

The book is already available for pre-order on various websites. Here are the pre-order links:

Order from Flipkart

Order from Infibeam

Order from Crosswords

GO ORDER IT NOW.

There will be a launch event in Delhi some time after the release. For people interested in coming to an event, getting signed copies, and earning some solid karma points, can you please vote in this poll i created on Facebook to gauge interest across different cities?

[POLL] In Which City Would You Like To Attend A Book Launch Event?

As for me, there’s so much to do, man. I need to practice giving autographs to the millions of fans who are going to mob me for the rest of my life. I need to practice smiling for a thousand cameras while walking the inevitable red carpet. I need to practice throwing stuff at my personal assistant when he does something stupid, like agreeing to a dinner with Katrina when i am going to be away for a luxury vacation on-board my yacht. Phew. Being famous already sounds so hard.

But you – why are you still reading? Did you order the book yet? Come on now. Don’t you want to win Roadies?

** provided you read the book while doing crunches.

[UPDATE: Setup a subdomain dedicated to the book. Check it out for links to reviews, how to buy, a book blog etc]

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Amreekandesi – The Book About AmreekanDesi Mallika Goes To America

Boss, you’ve done it. You’ve shown India that there was a reason the world didn’t end last year as predicted by the Mayans – because we had to see your magic before the world meets its maker.

I have to tell you a story first. My maid came to me yesterday and said she wants a 20% raise. I said ‘Bhai, what happened suddenly? What will you do with so much money?‘ She said that she wants her kids to become pilots.

I said ‘Boss, that’s not gonna happen. Becoming a pilot takes too long, you’ll need a lot of money, and they will teach him how to drop mail from the plane.  What if a large parcel lands on top of your jhuggi? Do you want to make him a pilot or a murderer?‘

She looked at me with a bemused expression and said, ‘Sir i just wanted a simple answer‘. I laughed loudly at the ignorant woman. She has yet to realize that we are not China, for there to be simple answers. We are a complex nation of complaining people, which also explains why she cribs so much about her salary (3000 per month) being too less. Next she will ask for Starbucks coffee as the Diwali bonus. Not gonna happen.

I think THIS attitude is our problem. Our people are too naive to understand the complex environment we live in. They complain, but about all the wrong things. No electricity. No water. No law and order. Dals being too expensive. Potatoes being Rs 15 per kilo. The latest iPhone being launched in India a few months after the US launch….

Boss, aise to kuch nahi ho sakta. Our people need to rise above these trivial things, and complain about bigger things, like improving our image in the eyes of MIT grads or making the Chinese feel frightened of our INSAS rifles and Arjun tanks. Instead, they keep harping on about imaginary scandals and scams that TV channels keep making up.

They don’t know that our power is already out there and getting appreciated in yoga studios and chicken tikka masala servings. That India’s power is shining off the Oscar statuettes won by Slumdog Millionaire. They won’t even appreciate that the western world has moved beyond its perception of Indians going to office on elephants now, and have realized that we also have cars and scooters.

Don’t care about these people, yaar. They are all probably jealous because you are the youngest 42 year old to become the Indian almost-PM, while they are just busy changing diapers on their crying babies.

You know what, I’ve had my share of frustration as well, but hearing you this week has changed it all. You were such a picture of poise. That shiny kurta pajama stood out like a shiny beacon of peace and hope amidst tie wearing suited-buited business people. So resplendent. So smart. It was like witnessing the two Indias come together seamlessly to combine their energies. I am seriously considering going to work in kurta pajamas from now on. Comfortable, light, and white (the color every Indian body part aspires to). Perfect for IT guys who spend their nights in the office. Great for sleeping through boring meetings.

Talking of energy, i was fascinated by your comment about our ancestors worshiping rivers to get their energies. It just makes sense, but i am a bit scared of getting near the water of the Yamuna. It is dirty, and devoid of any life. Plus i am worried that i’ll pass out from the terrible stench of untreated sewage in the river.

Which is just so sad. Here you are giving clear ideas on what needs to be done, and i am so utterly incapable of doing any of that. I think I may just be everything that is wrong with the country. It’s all my fault. We are supposed to be a bee hive of energy, but we just behave like bees on our roads, which are buzzing with road-rage. Just yesterday, i got rear-ended by a biker who made me apologize for coming in his way when he was talking on the phone.

But i think i am doing some things right. I listened with interest when you talked about Indians being optimist, even  when living half a dozen people to a single room. Boss, optimism is everything. I am an optimist. My optimism is what allows me to leave the home every morning knowing that i have a long commute ahead, and our roads are so unsafe. Optimism makes millions of people watch Uttaran every night hoping for something happy to happen on the depressing TV show.

But you’re right. We can not expect a man on a horse to come in and solve our problems. Nobody rides horses anymore. Unless you were talking about someone riding two horses together, in which case i always knew that Ajay Devgun had something special about him.

This is so exciting.

Another great point you raised was about opening up the voice of the people to see what comes out. Clearly a reference to Twitter. Indeed, it is awesome. Did you know that you were trending for a few days after your speech? Just a one-hour speech and you trend. And to think that there are lesser people who live their entire lives in the hope of trending one day. Stupid, but optimist. Halfway there!

Chalo boss, i’ll have to signoff now. Take care of those dimples, and try shaadi.com. Who knows you might find a worthy life partner who’ll spur you on to bigger things. Because boss, how else will you understand the complexity of millions of married men and women in our country?

- A fan.

[PS: Full text of the historic speech is available here. You can also watch a video here]

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Every generation has a rockstar. Our parents had Rajesh Khanna. Our grandparents had Bhagat Singh. Today’s kids have weird Japanese cartoon characters. But my generation, the one of gruelling IIT coaching and campus placements, might have just found its very own hero.

You. Your highness. Your awesomeness. Your amazingness.

Look at what you did with Sanjay Dutt. Smashing cover drive to the boundary. I mean, the courts may have sentenced  him to a five year imprisonment for the petty offense of possessing advanced rifles and hand grenades. Bah. Such a kiddish mistake. How old was he when he did it? 33? In the scale of the universe, 33 is not even a rounding error. At that age, many men of my generation may have receding hairlines, but at heart we are all kids, aren’t we?  What will they do next? Start sending toddlers to jail for hitting pedestrians on the head with water balloons on Holi?

Besides, how could they overlook the fact that he had acted in such an awesome movie like Munnabhai MBBS where he played a kind-hearted man who kidnapped people for ransom, and ran a fraud hospital. He may have made it glamorous to cheat people, but at least he made us laugh. Besides, his jaadu ki jhappi is the most revolutionary advance of medical technology in the last 10,000 years. But trust the world to not recognise talent in time. They did this with Alexander the great, Edison, Vinod Kambli, even Kangna Ranaut.

It took a man of your sharp intellect and past background as an esteemed judge of the Supreme  Court of India to point out his suffering by virtue of having been married for many years and having a couple of kids, in addition to the dilution of his crime because he spread the message of Gandhigiri in his second Munnabhai movie. Surely the man has suffered a lot, and deserves no more punishment. I hope the governor of Maharashtra makes things right by invalidating the separation of duties of the executive and judiciary our civics books used to tell us.

I also loved how you went the other way in an opinion piece where you declared your dislike for that vile chief minister of Gujarat, the man who keeps winning democratic elections like they are a joke, and thinks that economic development will make his crimes go away. Who cares if the courts have not found any evidence against him so far, when the court of your heart is convinced of his blame?

I think this is the right time to move justice out of courts and into social media. The French came to their senses very soon once the public started making meatballs of their heads. Khachak.

Wikipedia tells me that you come from an esteemed family. Your dad was a judge in the Allahabad high court. Your granddad was a freedom fighter, chief minister of MP, governor of Bengal and Orissa, and the union cabinet minister. An uncle of yours was the chief justice of the Allahabad high court. No wonder you are such a genius.

Our country is screwed, as we all know. But then what else should we expect, given 90% of us are idiots? Or when we all vote like cattle? (And here i didn’t even know that cattle had elections. Guess i am also in that 90%).

People may say that you are a bit of a loose cannon, even (lord bless their soul for the travesty) suggesting that you are just an attention seeker who has an outlandish opinion on everything, even if it conflicts with your position as a former judge and current chairman of the Press Council of India. Idiots, again. Please don’t bother about them.

We clearly need some guidance, and it is India’s good fortune to have you volunteering to help. The judicial process is also obviously flawed, as people keep saying. I think it would help if you could prescribe a set of guidelines that help improve our pathetic lives. If i may take the liberty of extrapolating your thoughts, here’s a few suggestions:

• Anybody who has had a spouse for more than five years be deemed as having suffered enough, and a year of their sentence be deducted for each year of being married.
• Kids are torture, especially with 90% of them being idiots. I propose five years to be docked from all sentences per each child that the accused has.
• Playing god or any member of the Gandhi household in a play, movie, or TV serial exempts one from any punishment for ever.
• Similarly for fighting the Pakistanis or Chinese in a Bollywood movie. (which means Sunny Deol gets lifetime exemption from any Indian prison)
• Given that 80% of Hindus and 80% of Muslim are communal (another of your profound observations), let them only marry each other in a manner that ensure that communal Hindus marry secular Muslims, and vice-versa. After a few generations, the problem will be wiped out.
• Let all disputes be settled via Twitter and Facebook. The party whose plea gets more RTs or ‘likes’ wins the case. Simple, efficient, democratic, cheap, and fast.
• Any traffic accident involving two idiots to be settled by having them run their vehicles over each other. The one who dies is the guilty party, and should be tried in court.

Hopefully some of these suggestions can be implemented to make it a better world.

PS: Just so you know, i am following your 2009 idea to accept all suggestions of the wife, whether they are sensible or not. The amount of peace this simple statement has caused is alone enough to merit a Nobel peace prize for you. I bow to your genius.

Warm regards,

A humble devotee.

[Image courtesy: The Hindu]

[Editor's note: It is good to be back to writing a piece here after a gap of a couple of months. For those of you wondering where i was hiding away, it was to complete work on my fiction novel 'Amreekandesi - Masters of America'. It is out in stores in a month's time. Watch this space for further updates.]

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This winter I have spent a lot of my free time sitting in front of the computer thinking of writing, but just haven’t been able to take my hands out of my pockets. It’s been so damn cold. Entire weekends have been spent doing nothing. I’ve felt like a lazy babu at a government office. Or a policeman. I mean, these days my hands are so cold most of the time that I could instantly freeze a glass of milk with a mere touch. It’s like a poor man’s version of the Midas touch.

This may be the severest cold wave in a long time but the horrible weather does spark off an innumerable number of excellent possibilities. If one thinks about it, the biting cold is awesome, as long as you can manage to not die from it.

Imagine you are traveling in rush hour traffic, listening to a nice, classy Bollywood song like Fevicol or Chikni Chameli on the radio, the heater is blowing heavenly, warm air in your face, when suddenly there is a loud sound and a car crashes into yours. Your normal instinct is to get out of the car, grab the offending driver by the collar and beat him up while singing praises of the ladies in his family, before eventually shooting him dead. But you don’t do that. Why? Because who will get out in this bitter cold and risk getting frozen to death instead? You just happily show him a finger, and move on. The road-rage problem solved in an instant. If we could have the cold persist for the full year, there would be no more violence on our roads. I say this alone makes the cold a strong contender for the Nobel peace prize.

Another great thing is all the layers of clothing most of us are wearing these days. A warm inner-wear. A shirt. Two sweaters. Maybe three in some cases. A thick jacket. A muffler. This is great on so many levels. First, it helps our textile industry. Second, all that cloth could easily act as bullet proof armor, just in case you end up getting shot by a neighbor over a parking dispute. Also on the theme of crime, as many of our leaders would tell us, with our women fully covered up in layers of clothing, instances of sexual violence would reduce dramatically. Pondicherry was already thinking of making women wear overcoats as a rape deterrent. Last, and most important, nobody is thin or fat anymore. We are all equally hidden under the layers of warm clothing. Our men and women can eat freely. No more gyms. No more worrying about looking like Kareena or John Abraham if we all look like Sajid and Farah Khan. This is like socialism for our bodies.

Thanks to the cold, there is no need to take a bath everyday, which is great for young boys and bachelors. Win-win situation overall, as it promotes sales of deodorants, thereby giving a boost to our industry, and we also end up saving previous fresh water. Another industry that benefits is the medical one. This would be a good time to invest in stocks of companies that manufacture cough syrup and antibiotic medicines.

This weather is also great for husbands, because if the wife asks them to do anything over the weekend, saying that it is too cold to go outside and breaking into a shivering spell produces great results. You can happily laze around watching WWE or History channel all day and the wife won’t take you to task.

The weather works well for our politicians as well. Who will go out to shout slogans in this cold? No more protests on the streets. No more need to shut down Delhi metro stations. I suspect their cold weather is the reason Canada is one of the most peaceful countries in the world. Then there are easy points and photo-ops for the taking, for resourceful politicians. They just need to buy a dozen blankets, distribute them to some homeless people and win instant points for the next election. Works out much cheaper than strategic projects to reduce the number of poor and homeless people that would cost much more.

Now if only we could get mangoes in the winter, there would be no need for summer anymore.

[Image Courtesy]

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The world did not end. Thank you for nothing. Actually, thank you for giving us the biggest disappointment since Tushar Kapoor. I mean, what the hell? Do you know the damage your miscalculation has caused us humans?

The world will end. The world will end. The world will end. Been hearing this nonsense for many years now, and just when we had started to believe it and had prepared ourselves for the upcoming devastation, what happens? NOTHING. Forget a Tsunami, there was no water in our house all day on 21st December. Water, water, supposed to be everywhere. Water, water, bloody nowhere. No earthquakes. No volcanoes. No massive comets hitting the earth, and i spent the day staring at the sky hoping to be the first to post pictures on Twitter when it started. Waste of time.

 You just can’t make us rush with our preparations for the end of the world, and then suddenly extend the deadline. What are you, the income tax department?

Do you seriously even realize the importance of what you’ve done? High in confidence of the world coming to an end, people had been living like there is no tomorrow. Stupid jokes on the apocalypse. Grotesque crimes committed in the hope that there would be no need for court hearings. Many others blew up their life savings on travel, buying BMWs and Audis, including the more adventurous ones who first bought iPhones and then spent the week using them on a prepaid data plan.

One of my friends emptied his bank account, encashed all of his Fixed Deposits, dug up the family treasure hidden under the kitchen floor, bunked his office for a month and went on a world tour. The guy covered 20 countries, stayed at the poshest hotels, drank the most expensive wines, and maxed out all of his credit cards, happy in the knowledge that it will be okay. The poor guy is now applying for a job under NREGA. Every time I talk to him he bursts into tears before placing a hand on his chest and chanting ‘All Is Well’. It clearly isn’t; the poor guy is ruined.

Rahul Gandhi campaigned, and won, just 8 seats for the Congress in Gujarat. If he had only showed up in the other constituencies, it might have been game over for the BJP. But guess he also got taken in by your hype, and took it easy. Dear Mayans, i am beginning to think you were actually a right-wing conspiracy to make sure Narendra Modi won the elections in Gujarat. This is very disappointing.

Not cool at all.

And now look what you have done. Just look at the newspapers and bow your head in shame. All this crime. Such grotesque actions by people against hapless men and women, mostly the latter. A government that responded to a democratic protest with lathi-charges and teargas. This is what happens when something that is supposed to happen doesn’t. This is a world past its expiry date. Have you ever eaten an expired aspirin tablet? They don’t taste well, and you get an enema.

Even Pakistan, that miserable excuse of a nation, is going offensive on us. No, make that barbaric. A country that is pretty much a failed economy, kills two Indian soldiers and decapitates one of them? In a logical world, this would never happen. Never. Isn’t India like the hottest nation right now – emerging economy, spending lakhs of crores on defense projects, getting FDI by IKEA, and all that? Our men aren’t safe. Our women aren’t safe. Our soldiers aren’t safe. What is your point, man?

Add the bitter cold, and it’s just like we are living in a hostile post-apocalypse world. A world where everybody spends their time fighting everybody else. Where if the cold doesn’t kill people, an illegal handgun does. Where everyday is an adventure in survival, only we didn’t even get the courtesy of feeling cool about surviving a dramatic end-of-the-world event. We still need to go to office, brave the commute, pay high prices for everything from milk and petrol to Jack Daniels. This was not what we had in mind for 2013. Life after the apocalypse was supposed to be a nature-show out of National Geographic channel, not a particularly freaky episode of CID.

I think this also explains the cricket team’s performance of late. They seem to be losing to anybody who asks. Surely they are also feeling the stress of having to perform at a time they hadn’t planned for. Perhaps this is also the reason Tendulkar retired from ODIs, disappointed that he was still expected to play at an age where most others spend their evenings completing their children’s homework. And only you are to blame for all of that. Well, besides the batsmen, bowlers, the weather and the pitch.

It is very depressing for the people looking forward to the apocalypse to go back to their normal lives now. Back to the rat-race. People will need to return to driving like jerks on the road. Our MPs will need to attend more Parliament sessions, shout for an hour before the house gets adjourned. Our good PM will need to face more criticism, and respond to it by, well, his silence.

Do you know how disappointing all of this is, when we had made up our minds otherwise?

Don’t do this the next time, ok? Or be prepared to face Arnab.

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But let us not fault them for it because what gives us hope this time is that our people spoke up against government inefficiencies and societal hypocrisies, and that has made a difference. I have gone from saying “Fuck India” and “I am sorry/ashamed to be Indian” to being proud of all those who braved the tear gas and water cannons, and to questioning myself what we as individuals, whether in India or on foreign shores, can do in our little ways to keep the movement in progress.

I had a moment of epiphany on these lines just last week. It so happened that my partner and I boarded a bus one evening in Singapore – where we live – to find it unusually noisy; a couple was blasting out music at full volume on their mobile phone. We glared at them to express our displeasure before we took our seats by the door, a little ahead of the noisy couple.

“I wish I had “Who let the dogs out?” on my phone,” my partner said. “I would have played that in response.”

“Why?” I demanded to know. “So you could piss them off and end up brawling with them?”

“This is not acceptable behaviour, and someone has to let them know,” my partner reasoned.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” I hissed.

The music grew louder at this point, and we turned back to glare at them. They stared back at us stonily. The man looked unquestionably like a brute, his face unpleasant and mean, his glare callous and menacing.

“He seems to be the trigger-happy sort,” I said to my partner. “Don’t mess with him.”

My partner was not pleased.

Moments later, the twosome trundled past and stationed themselves by the door, right in front of us, the music from their mobile phone sounding more and more cacophonous. As the bus skidded to a halt at the stop, the man scowled at us, spat on the floor of the bus, glowered at us some more before stepping off the bus.

Now if you know anything at all about Singapore, you’d know spitting in public is a sacrilegious thing to do here. “What kind of a bastard was that?” I muttered.

“If you were so upset, you should have told him off,” my partner replied. “It is because people like you keep quiet and choose to ignore these things that people like him do as they please and get away with it.”

It is as simple as that. Looking at the state of affairs in India, and in any troubled society in general, we must be fools to believe that our government would hand us a safe society on a silver platter. Sure enough, stricter laws and regulations would be announced but with no guarantees of effective implementation. Why else are we dealing with dowry deaths in this day and age, half a century after the legislation was enforced? Changes in societal mind-sets will take a couple of generations or even longer to come about.

A safe society is something we now have to earn, create and nurture for ourselves by refusing to tolerate misdeeds of any sort.

If someone gropes you in a crowded bus or train, yell for help. Don’t keep quiet just because you don’t want to create a scene. Keeping mum is passive assent. You may need to do a knee-to-the-groin manoeuvre to get the message across, but don’t let that stop you. Reach out for help. Keep looking until you can find someone willing and able to help.

And you, if you see someone being harassed, don’t be a mute spectator. You can no longer afford to say, “It’s not my problem” and turn a blind eye to the scene or walk away with a shrug. Don’t just slink past. Don’t become a hostile witness. You could very well be the next victim.

Of course, there is a significant element of risk. Risk of bodily harm to you, your partner, your friends, to anyone who dares get involved, either at the hands of goons or the government. But that is the price we are going to have to pay, sooner or later. Our freedom fighters did it all those decades ago; it is our turn now.

Not all of us may want to be front line soldiers. And if bodily combat is not up your alley, there are countless roles to choose from. If you are a blogger, blog about it. Tweet about it. Facebook it. If you are witness to a misdeed, take a photo, post it online. Don’t keep mum. Make a noise. One miscreant caught and condemned is another one discouraged. Create works of art to spread the word. Take those raw emotions and convert them to art like this and this. Volunteer towards social causes – not because the deed will boost your resume but because it is good for the society and for your soul. Or donate; fund those who are willing to help. Do your bit instead of throwing up your hands and saying “What can I do?”

But whatever you choose, keep at it for the long run. Because what ails the society is now your problem too. And there are no quick fixes to this one.

[Guest post by Ann (not her real name), who is as disturbed by the recent events as millions of Indians, and hopes things will get better from here.]

[Image courtesy]

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Now we know the usual drill. Something terrible happens. We outrage on Twitter and Facebook. The politicians shed some fake tears, announce a bunch of half-measures hoping we will forget about it soon, we soon forget as expected, and life goes on.

Let that not happen this time. Let us not forget what happened to her. Let this outrage not die down. Let this case serve as a constant reminder of what all is wrong with our society.

Let our government remember that we have had enough. It is time they move beyond half measures, such as claiming to cancel the permit of the bus which didn’t even have a valid permit, or passing the buck across governments or departments, to actually doing something to improve the law and order situation in the country.

Let the government remember that one day the outrage will spill over, and no number of water cannons or expired teargas shells will be able to stop it. Let our leaders realize that they cannot get away with making stupid statements in public, such as Abhijit Mukherjee’s ‘dented-painted‘ comment, or the TMC MP’s comment about a gangrape victim being a sex-worker, or the various comments that try to attribute blame on the victim’s dress, character etc. You are our leaders; show us it means something to you.

Let the police be more sensitive. They are our protectors; let them behave like one. Let the judiciary become a deterrent to stop crime, not a deterrent to citizens who fear spending half their lives enduring court appearances. Let us stop saying that justice delayed is justice denied and do something to make the legal process less cumbersome.

Let our politicians move beyond myriad scams and divisive politics, and start doing something for the people who brought them to power. Show us once again that democracy was not just a theoretical concept; that our democracy is not on life-support. Let them serve as role models, and not people for whom the Parliament is all about shouting slogans and getting the house adjourned. Because you are thwarting the democratic process by doing that.

Let the media remember that sometimes it is important to think beyond TRPs, and show some sensitivity. For god’s sake, don’t throw a camera in the face of a grieving relative, or show the live telecast of a funeral procession. Give people some space. Set some boundaries.

Let this also be a reminder to the Indian people that blaming the government for everything will not do. Because it is people from amidst us who are committing these crimes, and getting away because we Indian people have become so insensitive.

Let this be a constant reminder to us that women are to be respected, not groped or molested. That it is us men who need to behave ourselves. That it is not ok if we have our boys playfully make comments about their GI Joe toys raping the girls’ barbies. That we need to get over our sexist attitudes and give women some more respect. I have personally seen educated men working in elite companies make remarks such as ‘women are just show-pieces’ or something even more crass. If this is what education does to us, then it is all a sham.

Let us teach good values to our kids, for they are our future. Teach them the importance of respect. Teach them that everybody is equal. Teach them that life is not only about ‘I, me, myself.’ Teach them that no means no.

Let us try to be good citizens and take more ownership of our cities. Small gestures help. Be nice to your neighbors. Don’t threaten to shoot them over parking disputes. Don’t drive like maniacs. Be courteous to fellow-drivers and try not to run over pedestrians. Don’t litter. Don’t try to bribe your way out of fines. Pay your taxes. Good begets good.

Let us NEVER forget this incident. Let us keep up the outrage, if it helps improve our society. Let us talk – talk about ways of improving things, talk about what we can do to help, talk about the ways for getting us out of this mess.

Let there never be another such case again. Because a part of mankind dies every time a girl suffers a fate this gruesome.

[Image courtesy]

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“I miss India. Lets just book our December trip now.” She says.
“Yes me too. Tickets should be reasonable this far in advance, right?” You reply.

Four months pass. Work priorities take over. The tickets and trip are forgotten. It’s summer in London – the sun sets late, the restaurants are buzzing and the summer sales are in full swing. You find yourselves eating out most nights. You need shirts for work, jeans for play and apple’s new gadget to breathe apparently. Both sets of parents take it in turns to visit – more restaurants, shopping and entertainment. You make weekend trips to Europe and before you know it, its time for your annual holiday in Greece with friends. Your credit card account though is bursting at the seams. You consider cancelling. But, your Greek friend has just had a baby and other people are flying in from as far afield as Canada.

“I think it will be rude if we pull out. Plus, the parents have just left and I need to relax a bit.” You plead.

“Hmm ok, but please, lets just take it easy when we get back. No more eating out!” She says.

You nod.

It’s early September now and the ticket prices are £600 each.

“Are we going to India this year? We should really book our tickets now. The prices are increasing. I thought we were going to do this in March!” She yells.

“Have you seen the credit card bill, my dear?! We need to wait for the next cycle. We can’t afford to buy them this month!” You fight back.

Silence and grumpy looks for the rest of the day.

Then, it’s your birthday. Another expensive month. The following month, the weather in London takes a turn for the worse. You have not seen the sun in three weeks. Your moods are darker than the skies above. You rent ‘Vicky Cristina Barcelona’ and no sooner has the movie ended than you have booked a trip to Spain.  One more month, one more credit card cycle.

It’s late November now and the ticket prices are at an all-time high of £900! Each!!

Shit shit shit! The prices have gone through the roof and the credit card must be replaced as the magnetic strip has worn out from all the swiping.

“I have had enough of your procrastinating! The tickets are going up by the day. I am just buying them today!” She is livid.

“Do we really need to go this year? I mean, the parents have only just left and the expenses…” you begin to protest.

She shoots you a look that says ‘carry on with this and ALL privileges will be withdrawn, buddy boy’.

Later, when things calm down, she comes to you and says “Don’t worry sweetheart, we won’t shop much this time. Plus, we are staying at home – so hardly any expenses. We are saving money really, if you think about it. We would have spent much more over Christmas and New Year’s if we had remained in London.”
You scratch your head.

The credit card is replaced, the tickets are bought and the bank account is now in overdraft. Meanwhile, there’s less than a month to go and at least six kilos to shed before the trip (you have been having day-mares about aunties coming up to you, pulling your cheeks and saying “Healthy boy! She is feeding you well in London, hain?”). Three of those excess kilos are on your face and perhaps two are made up entirely by your double chin. A beard is the only solution, you decide. You start to grow one. Your colleagues, your client and pretty much the entire tube compartment is suspicious.

Mid December – it’s T-minus-three days and counting. The packing begins. Baggage allowance = one bag, 23 kilos each. At T-minus two days, you are at two bags, 37 kilos each with one suitcase devoted entirely to gifts for friends, extended family and their pets. Another suitcase is for the many lists that have been sent through by close family. The rest of the baggage is mainly made up of her seven options for each night including roughly 33 pairs of shoes. As the trip, in its entirety, including fog-delays, will last two weeks max, you can do nothing but continue to scratch your head and pack the half handbag that is available for your stuff. You decide to carry just enough underwear for one week with an internal agreement to ‘flip’ for the second week, should suitable washing facilities not be available.

You arrive at T3, London Heathrow and are reminded instantly of what you have let yourself in for – a goat-rodeo. The lines, composed almost entirely of desis, are snaking their way outside the building. You join the end of the queue, behind a fellow countryman with five unruly children, nine bags, four trolleys and a disarming smile beneath a thick, bristly moustache. His wife, who is wearing a sari, Nike sneakers and an oversized eskimo jacket has a baby in one arm, a toddler in the other, a bag over her right shoulder and is yelling at the other three kids to stop running. The husband continues to smile and says something to you in Malayalam. As you ask him to repeat himself, you realize that he is actually speaking into a miniature hands-free kit that is inserted neatly into his other ear that you cannot see. An hour later, you are checking in and like everyone else, opening your bags at the counter and re-packing to reduce weight. You can only watch in horror as you realize that only three of your undies have now made it into the final consignment headed to India.

Upstairs, before heading to security, she stuffs all the items that were removed at check-in into both your handbags.

“Nobody weighs them anymore.” She says grinning. You are thankful that you now have a full complement of underwear for at least one week.

On the flight, your clever choice of emergency exit seats has placed you next to a six-month old, perpetually-cranky-baby and hysterical-mother combo. She (your wife, not the hysterical mom) is lightly snoring as soon as the flight takes off leaving you to deal with the stress of working out how such a big metal tube packed with so many people and bags is managing to stay airborne. Your faith in the almighty has been renewed as you find yourself praying whenever there is turbulence. You try and peer out of the window but it is being blocked by the overweight, incessantly talkative, Punjabi man seated next to you. His strong musky aroma is mingling with the smell of the seventeen aloo-parathas, (in silver foil) that he is working through with determination, to produce a heady mix.

“You want sirji?” he offers, grinning ear to ear. You politely decline.

You arrive at Indira Gandhi International Airport. She is fresh, having only woken up twenty minutes before landing. Between the screeching baby, the hysterical mother, the talkative Punjabi man and having to keep the aircraft flying with your thoughts, you feel like a zombie. To add to your woes, you are at the back of the ‘foreign passport holders’ immigration queue / fan formation. This used to be the shorter line, you recall.

As the customs agent hunts and pecks on the computer keyboard with one finger, asking inane questions about why you switched your nationality, you have an urge to reach across and gently stroke his chin fat (which seems to jiggle with every key stroke). Then he smiles in that genuine, desi way and you feel guilty. Collecting your bags you head out into an impenetrable wall of people from within which both her and your family magically appear. Its tight hugs all round and much back-slapping and kisses. She is crying, her mother is crying and you are near tears with exhaustion.

Not wanting to offend anyone, she travels with her family and you with yours. Their car, as always, is a riot of gossip, emotion and loud voices. Yours is understated – mainly quiet discussions on the state of Delhi, work and life in London. The formation makes its first stop at your house.

“So, what’s the plan?” Both parents ask in chorus, once inside.

All eyes are on you and her. A trick question for which, over nine years of marriage, you have come to devise a cunning strategy. The plan, which can never be spelt out explicitly but must be followed to the tee, involves spending the first night at yours, the final night at hers and spacing the others equally across the two homes. During the day, the team is split with her spending time (i.e. shopping) with her parents and you gently snoozing with yours in the terrace. That’s the idea anyway. Reality though, as with most things in India, is a little more colourful.

You spend the first week acclimatizing, which is odd, given you grew up here. Whether sleeping at the in-laws’ or out-laws’, you invariably wake in the morning to find a steaming cup of sweet, elaichi chai and parle-g biscuits waiting for you. Your dirty laundry magically disappears from the basket in the loo and is replaced by neat bundles of washed, ironed clothes each morning. You are not used to being waited on hand and foot but are not complaining – no sir. Wearing ironed underwear is what real men about town do, you tell yourself.

Bed tea is usually followed by a heart-attack inducing breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, cheese and white buttered toasts. Sometimes there are dosas and at least twice, there are aloo, paneer and gobi parathas. Belching and burping your way through to the afternoon, you barely ask for heartburn medicine when lunch is served. By the evening, you are nursing a mild stomachache but for fear of causing offence, you eat again.  When you stop, your plate is automatically filled, twice.

By the end of the first week, you have attended in excess of nine lunches, twelve dinners and several farmhouse parties. Your favourite show on TV is Splitsvilla, you enjoy Arnab’s nightly grillings and find the news channels hugely entertaining compared to the responsible journalism you are used to from the Beeb. Your stomach has, at the same time, expanded to accommodate the seven meals a day you are consuming, your arteries have begun to clog, your jeans are tighter and you have started asking for “chhota ones” at parties.

“You know what. It feels like we never left. I could actually imagine myself living here again. I love it.” You say while sipping your tea on the first day of the second week.
She shakes her head, turns and drifts back to sleep.

An hour later, you are keeled over, clutching your stomach while sat on the throne. Yes, Delhi belly has struck and both your stomach and your anus are on fire. After the seventh time, you crawl back into bed and groan. Meanwhile, she is getting ready.

“Am off shopping with mom. Will you be ok?” She says, still looking in the mirror.

“I thought you said you won’t be shopping this time?” You ask in a feeble voice.

“Oho! Just chill – mom wants to buy me some stuff. And, if I spend a little, is it really that bad? We have already saved so much by being in India last week!” She answers.

You do some quick mental math but the numbers don’t add up.

“But all those restaurants we went to last week…” you begin. She has however already gone and its time for your next visit to the loo.

This second week is different. It begins with Delhi belly and ends with the flu. You grow more and more irritable as the week progresses. There are people everywhere and they are constantly invading your personal space. You are sick of being Sir’d all the time. You cannot walk around in boxer shorts at home for fear of morally upsetting the maid. The news channels are ridiculous with everything being branded ‘breaking news’. The questions and unsolicited advice at every party are beginning to get to you.

“Achha, London? Is that London proper? My cousin is also in London, you know.”
“Where in London, aunty?” You ask wondering what ‘London proper’ means.
“Manchester.” Aunty answers.

“Arre what are you doing in rainy London yaar? The money is here doood! You should move back. Europe is dead. I am making ten lakhs a month. Just bought a Merc last week yaar. Cash down! Seriously, come back man!” Your high school friend slurs placing his arm around your shoulder. His breath smells of whisky – several of them, actually. You control the urge to knee him in the gonads.

“9 years? But no kids? Why?! Bhai – give us some good news, no?” Uncle 1 says.
“If there is a problem, tell me – I know a really good doctor.” Uncle 2 mock whispers. The two of them guffaw loudly while elbowing each other.
“Yes, the problem is that I had my…you know…surgically removed last year.” You answer pointing at your crotch and cupping your hand to indicate balls.
There is no reaction – they continue to smile while shoveling butter chicken into their mouths.

Then, its New Year’s Eve and you have driven around for three hours trying to find the perfect party. You wish each other and the driver a very happy new year while stuck in a traffic jam on the Ring road.

The day after, its time to fly back and at this point, it could not have come any sooner for you. You are done. At the airport, after much confusion, you are turned back as there are fog delays. You return a few hours later to learn that the flight has in fact been cancelled but you were not informed. You are now on the flight that leaves the next day. You can’t complain- there is no one to listen.

You come back the next day and thankfully, the flight is on time. However, the previous night’s farewell Indian-Chinese meal has caught up with you and suddenly, you must go. You run to the loo and are pleasantly surprised to find plush, modern facilities. This is nothing like the squatters you remember from when you were growing up. You open the first unlocked stall to find an elderly man with his phiran hoicked up to his ears, washing his nether regions with the little shower by the side of the WC. You hurriedly exit apologizing profusely. That image haunts you to this day.

You approach the second unlocked stall with trepidation now. Do they not believe in locking anymore, you think. Luckily, there is no one inside. Just as you are about to sit down, you notice shoe prints on the rim. Yes, the previous occupant, it seems, has squatted on the WC rather than sitting on it like a civilized human being. As there is no TP in the stall, you pull out a roll from your bag (oh yes, you were prepared for this) and wrap the rim three times over. Then you do your business and after a brief wait in the lounge, you are several thousand feet above the clouds, leaving India safely behind.

Landing at Heathrow airport and once outside, you take a deep breath and heave a huge sigh of relief. Its cold but its clean, the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day.

“Back to civilization, eh?” You remark.

She shakes her head and looks the other way. She has only just stopped crying. It’s this special mother and daughter bond you don’t seem to understand.

A few months pass and before you know it, it’s March again and spring is just around the corner. The tickets are only £450 each.

“I miss India. Lets just book our December trip now.” She says.
“Yes me too. Tickets should be reasonable this far in advance, right?” You reply.

[Guest post by Chetan Chhatwal.  He tweets as @chetan_chhatwal  and can be found on Facebook here . His first book, ‘55’, an irreverent, witty, coming-of-age story about a South Delhi brat, is out in Jan 2013. A nervous flier, his hobbies include researching terminal illnesses and facebook stalking. He works as a Management Consultant in London and observes India’s progress from a distance.]

[If you would like to write for amreekandesi.com, please read this first, and shoot me a note at contact@amreekandesi.com]

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That was all obviously a lie. Most of our current leaders neither seem to have any sense of moral uprightness, nor are any scams big enough for them to take ownership of their mistakes and step down, as if stuck to their seats by Fevicol. The moral high ground is clearly fenced with double barbed wire and out of bounds for them.

While Indian politics have broken all records of pettiness in the recent few years, this past week has been a new low. While our political parties were falling over each other in passing the new reservation bill for promotions, a girl in Delhi got brutally raped. The incident was so shocking and so horrifying that one shudders just reading the details. The case sparked off a massive outrage across India, culminating in a few thousand people gathering around India Gate and Rashtrapati Bhavan in protest. What did they want? Some answers. Justice for the poor girl battling for her life in hospital. A reassurance that steps will be taken to improve the law and order situation from here.

What did the government do to calm down the disgruntled people who wanted to see the perpetrators brought to justice and steps being taken to improve the law and order situation in the country?

Lathi charge.

Tear gas.

Water cannons.

Allegedly, even rubber bullets.

Precisely the way a democratic government in a country that gave the world Satyagraha should treat its citizens. Not.

Here we have a government that has leaders who will go on TV, shed a tear, and go back to their NSG commandos, while the common man goes about sruggling to stay safe. They gloat about the police doing an excellent job of nabbing the culprits in two days, but somehow avoid asking themselves how such a ghastly crime happened in the first place. If this is what happens to a woman who was traveling in the capital, escorted by a male friend, in what was ostensibly public transport, is anyone safe anymore?

Crying on TV is not enough. Shahrukh Khan does it in every movie. It’s time we got something more than tears and false assurances. Here’s an example. While the government has promised setting up fast track courts for rape cases, there are news of the same government shutting down 1700 odd such courts last year, for lack of resources. From where would these new courts be setup then? Why do we even need fast track courts? Why should the other cases languish for decades? Why should going to court be something of a minor torture for the so called common man?

How long will our leaders rely on the people’s short-term memory to keep them safe? Soon we will start remembering, and that will be a difficult day. By the way, I still remember Bofors, CWG, 2G, Coal gate, and the various other scams that are still awaiting closure.

There’s a good chance that once the immediate outrage dies down, we will hear the same excuses. She must have done something. Why was she out at night? She must have been wearing western clothes. She probably smokes. She must have been drinking. She must have shown some skin, which is like an invitation card for amorous men on our streets. Please, for god’s sake, don’t. There are no excuses this time.

This case is just one instance. There have been sexual crimes against 3 year old girls, pregnant women, senior citizens; it’s like no one is out of bounds anymore. While we were promised an India that moves into the 21^st century as a developed nation, we’re now closer to a lawless, Banana republic, while the Parliament spends most of its time in an adjourned state. This wasn’t the democratic process our NCERT Civics books taught us. Maybe even that syllabus needs to be updated, along with all the hitherto harmless cartoons that are being removed from our textbooks.

In a democratic institution, we expect some accountability from our leaders, not silence. We want to be heard, to be acknowledged, to be reassured that our leaders actually care for the nation’s people. We want our leaders to talk to us, tell us what they are planning to do to correct the state of affairs, tell us we are not just votes, to be approached before an election and wooed by promises that may or may not be fulfilled. Like a protesting girl spoke on TV from India Gate today, ‘we don’t want reservation. We want to be safe.’ We want to live healthy lives. We want our children to be safe.

Is that too much to ask for?

Things seem to have reached a tipping point now. The people are upset, and getting increasingly vocal about it. If our leaders continue to ignore them, things can only get worse from here. Everyone fantasises about a revolution, but that will not be pleasant. Anarchy will be even worse than what we have right now, for everybody involved.

Can our real rulers please stand up and show us that we didn’t make a mistake by getting them to power? Or just change those civics books so we understand the concept of democracy better.

[Image courtesy]

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Today’s newspaper was full of fliers. There were the usual property dealer ads, fancy gyms that offered to make you lose 50 kg by burning money instead of fat and the chamatkari baba who promised to solve all problems, from getting a wife to a US visa. Then there was one more that caught my eye. Apparently the neighborhood Bablu Sweet Corner is holding a New Years’ Eve gala night with a DJ, drinks and eat-all-you-can Chicken Tikka. I wonder where he would find space to host a party, but whatever. I had totally forgotten that I need to finalise my New Year plans. For most people these days, that would be a mini-disaster.

There used to be a time when we would bring in the New Year watching the annual special telecast on Doordarshan. The entire family cozied up under a rajai, anxiously waiting for the show to start from about 10 pm odd. There were no Britney and Bieber then, but we had Sharon Prabhakar and Jaspal Bhatti (God bless his soul) and other stalwarts in tacky clothes performing from the DD studios. The current crop might find the presentation dated, but we loved it. It was so simple, yet so awesome. Mom would cook nice food and our entertainment-starved generation would watch the TV in amazement. The next few days would be spent discussing our favorite moments of the show with friends at school.

Things changed eventually. We got Cable TV. Internet followed thereafter [Yes, dear young people. There was a time when there was no Internet]. And worse of all, we grew up. Before we knew it, New Years’ had to be at a fancy party. There had to be expensive food, dancing, and champagne. Staying at home and watching TV was for losers. You had to have a cool thing to say when colleagues asked the next what you did for New Years’ eve, if you wanted any semblance of social standing in the world.

In fact, it has become so big now that everybody seems to be organising an event. It’s like New Year parties are the new real estate projects – one around every corner. I mean, Bablu Sweets Corner used to sell Samosas till last year, and now he is holding a gala event! If everybody is only organising parties, who will be left to go to them? God only knows man.

It’s a rat-race of a different kind. You need to appear cooler than the others. Do something fancy. Post exotic photos on Facebook that get more likes. Be different. I know of friends who just have to do something new every year. There’s my buddy Rajeev who travels to a new country every year to bring in the New Year. One year at a party in Phuket, and the next year at Beijing. By noon on 1^st January, his first pictures start appearing on Facebook. There was the one with a hot, drunk woman at a Vegas casino that got over 100 likes a few years ago. There was another one of him sipping champagne at a cruise ship in Bahamas, and one more where he was lying in a pool of his vomit, but he deleted it within half an hour. Another couple I know of are nature freaks who have celebrated New Years’ over the years by doing the following – climb Mt Kilimanjaro, cruise down the Amazon river on a little raft, trek through Sahara desert, and a hike to Machu Pichchu. I mean, are you celebrating New Years’, or shooting for the sequel of Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara?

I think such people are the reason why lesser people like us live frustrated lives, though I have a mild suspicion Rajeev’s travel agent goes by the name of Photoshop. These days you can never tell.

What will I do this year? Let me see. Maybe party at a farmhouse with the high-fliers of Delhi society? Or spend a few months salary at a five-star hotel with an open bar, an imported DJ God-Knows-Who, a C-grade Bollywood starlet performing to item-numbers, drunk Punjabi men staring at women not with them while ready to shoot anyone who looks at their ladies?

Who am I kidding? The prospect of spending that much money, getting stuck in massive traffic jams, and running the risk of getting shot by a hyper drunk kid of a powerful minister, to spend the night amidst sweaty strangers doesn’t excite me a lot.

I’ll just stay home, watch reruns of Friends on Star World, and log on to Facebook the next morning to ‘like’ Rajeev’s latest photos. And maybe donate the money I save to some charity.

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