The Tribe of WeAreCoolisstan

I work in the numero uno company of India Inc. A company, that was at the helm during the IT revolution in India. (I am not saying all this to praise myself. Not that I don’t praise myself. I do. And I wish I can, right now, about so many other things but that can wait. And anyway there is nothing proud in being a vegetable among other assortments of exotic vegetables in this revolutionary place. So now you know I am not praising myself. ) So let’s assume the obvious that the best always hires the best. Now coming to the point, I am here to write about this hired “best”.

The Best can be segregated into a variety of categories. But I would like to form three categories (the common denominator for all being that they are intelligent and bright engineers). One, the civilized and the classy. Two, the uncivilized and the unsophisticated junglees (I don’t blame them more than the circumstances they have been through for being in this state). And finally three, those who border in between the first and the third. I had no choice but to come up with this third category because I failed utterly in placing them in either of the first two categories. So, to be technically right I will not call them a category but a tribe.

The confusion arose because these tribal people at first sight look like as if they belong to the first category. But only when you approach them you will realize that they are tribal. They will perform rituals like chanting “We are so cool.” Their language and activities are also distinctly tribal. They will not allow you to be a part of their tribe. They don’t do it intentionally but they do it because they can’t understand the language of the higher category. They detest the junglee category and don’t allow members from that category intentionally. But the junglees can defect into the tribe if they work a little hard to pretend they are from the first category. But the thing that is in favour of the tribe is the sheer numbers they exist in. Nearly, 47% are from the tribe alone.

This makes it even more difficult to access the first category. Especially if you are from a place which too had junglees , and want to desperately get out from their clutches. You end up meeting the tribe. The illusion of tribe is so powerful that you are easily fooled into thinking they are from the First category and hence shake hands with them. And once the handshaking is done you are doomed to be part of the tribe. Even after you realize your folly you can’t do much. If you break free from them and still don’t find the first category you will not be accepted into the tribe with the same warmth. You will become the outsider and a misfit. I am currently the outsider and the misfit (God bless me. Amen! ) So I am requesting you to be aware of the tribe of WeAreCoolistan. It’s dangerous. But if you are a junglee then I request you to please go and read Theory of Evolution by Charles Darwin.

The Nostalgic Grip

It grips you. It holds your heart tight and squeezes it. The squeeze is nice in the beginning but you start feeling the pain soon. In a flash an unfathomable depth of memory starts pouring out its content. It feels like sitting near a bonfire on a winter evening. The warmth gives an unspeakable pleasure yet the smoke hurts your eye. Nostalgia is neither a dream nor a nightmare. It's a sweet bitter reality. It ambushes you in the most predictable moments. It's ironical to use ambush and predictability together but there can't be a better way to explain its appearances when one moment you think its lurking in the corner but does not show up and yet when you are really having the time of your life it suddenly shows up. One of Nostalgia's favourite moments is your loneliness. It's the best bait you can attract it with. Not that it will show up surely but the stats are definitely on your side. Nostalgia, when its feeds on loneliness, is a pain that you will enjoy. It's like looking at mirage when you are dying of thirst in a desert. It's a desert rose.

The defecation of thoughts in a toilet of chaos

Wow, I finally allowed myself to wallow in excreta. Yuck! Chee! But hey it’s not a crime, in the land I live, to shit in the open. I am not implying that our ancient, 5000 year old civilization calls upon us to display our turd to the world at large but the lack of space and the urgency to relieve after the spicy Indian food, drives many to squat in the open. But as with the other things of my Mother Land this habit has been adopted by all the classes in some way or the other. Yes, yes. Even by the privileged that have that wonderful gift of the west to the toilets of the east. Right. The Western-Style—hallmark of the toilets of the rich. Even the slightly lower but better than the class of open –air, who use the usually-stained Indian-style have drawn inspiration from public defecation. Now let me clear a few things before you close your nose and run away. What we, most of the time, defecate is not the undigested matter from our stomachs but the undigested thoughts of our mind. And the resemblance is strikingly similar. Even the odour is unbearable. And it is this kind of public defecation of thoughts that has been mastered by the Western/Indian-Style users. And why not? We are from the proud land of Vedas; the book with some of the greatest thoughts in the world written by equally great and unknown people of this ancient land.

So, why these shameless acts of indecency and derogation? Everybody seems to want to contribute this dumping of fecal thoughts. I am not talking of those that do have some usefulness left in them but of those that are blatantly plucked out of the minds and discarded in the open. I hope this statement will save me from any imminent dangers I may face for mentioning of the Holy Vedas in the presence of some unholy things. And I am so thankful to Lord Ram that his Sena of thugs is not here to slap me and kick me and punch me in the name of blasphemy. Oh. No, no. I don’t have sympathy for the Managlore girls who got beaten by the saintly. I mean, how can I? They were destroying the culture of this pure land of holy cows. How dare did those foolish girls think they were free in this free land? Oh, come on, didn’t they see the Holy Public Crappers, crapping their thoughts of purity. Of course you can’t go to a pub for a drink and a dance. And arre baba, you definitely can’t dress up in an “Un-Indian Way”. I mean, please, you have to clothe fully to be raped. Otherwise who will rape you? And by the way rape, bribery etc. are more important and holy than drink and dance. Of course, have you noticed any Ram Sena or any other Senas or Brigades attacking a rapist? I don’t know if lord Ram is happy with the modern Vanars. But St. Valentine definitely isn’t. All the poor saint did was to spread some message of love. But our dear Holy Thought Defecators made a toilet of this too. Young men and women are not supposed to be together on Saint Valentine’s birthday (or death day, I don’t really know.) Why? You are asking me? Hell, don’t be so stupid. Don’t you know St. Valentine is a Saint not a Sant or a Rishi. Still don’t understand? My god! Okay let me tell you. St. Valentine is not a son-of-the-soil of our generous Mother Land. What difference does that make you ask? Well it does. How can a foreigner’s message of love be allowed to spread in a land which has so many great sons of her own? It doesn’t matter even if a foreigner is married to a son-of-the-soil. She still is a foreigner. We can’t allow ourselves to be ruled by foreigners again. Thousand years of slavery by the foreigners is enough. Let’s start our own brand of sons-of-the-soil slavery and racism. It’ll be more fun to sling our excreta/thoughts at one of our own. But I do agree some of the Holy Crappers over do it. I mean there are those who blow up buildings and trains and people just because their faeces fell next to the faeces of the other Crappers. Oh the never ending wars of the toilet goers. But as in the case of any toilet we also have a few toilet cleaners. Who brave their way into the putrescence and rottenness and clean the excrement. But the stains are tough. But they do their job with diligence. It’s an unrewarding job but someone has to, isn’t it?

I pray to Ram/Allah/Christ/Blah/Blah/Blah to please ask their respective senas, mujahedeen, and crusaders to stop defecating in the public and let the others, the followers of humanity, breathe some clean air and allow the few toilet cleaners to finish their job before it is too late.