Thursday, 5 September 2019

Random Ramblings


My ancestor was a rishi and not some ape as I believed all along. This I learned during a visit to GOC for vacation a few months ago. I should thank the honorable MP Satyapal Singh (former HRD minister who used to be responsible for higher education) for opening my eyes. One good thing about me is that I am the questioning type. So, when Mr. Singh said this in the Indian parliament, I immediately decided to do some research of my own. That’s how I am. I don’t blindly believe something when someone tells it, unless of course it comes through WhatsApp asking for "maximum share" or from some website which has words such as “true” or “right” in its name. Then I instinctively know it is true.

The rishi thing turned out to be a pretty watertight theory. Rishis, as we all know, can do anything they want. For instance, they can impregnate pretty damsels with their minds. That’s what I reasoned, because visualizing the other option of rishis fornicating with damsels, which my pervert mind did imagine for a brief period, seemed blasphemous. So, I tried to wipe that image out of my mind and replace it with a rishi getting a lady pregnant just by thinking. #$%&, I can’t get rid of that. A Baba Ramdev-ish rishi having coitus with a damsel, hairs and bodies tangled and stuck together like Velcro, sound of conchs breaking and Acharya Balakrishna complaining of giddiness in the background. “Oh, rishis, forgive me. Don’t curse me. I have no control over my thoughts”.

Anyway, with that doubt about my ancestry settled, I went to sleep, sound in the knowledge that I have gained new old wisdom. Next morning, while washing my face I saw my reflection in the mirror, and wondered how frikkin ugly my ancestral rishi would have been (on the premise that rishis impregnate only pretty damsels).

Thank you, former HRD minister.

The exceptional thing regarding HRD ministers of late is that they’re a treasure trove of ancient wisdom. The new minister Mr. Pokhriyal, recently enlightened some misguided IIT students on how our ancestors built the Rama Setu sea bridge with ancient technology. I hope the IIT curriculum will be changed and kids taught these ancient methods instead of modern stupid engineering.

Speaking of education, I’m appalled that the government is straying from its stated aim of bringing back our ancient wisdom in all realms. Recently, the government offered bridge courses for AYUSH (Ayurveda, Yoga & Naturopathy, Unani, Siddha and Homoeopathy) people to practice modern medicine. Suddenly, a whole bunch of doctors started protesting. I feel these are the wrong docs barking up wrong trees. The government, if it were to follow its own policy, should be offering bridge courses to modern medicine practitioners so that they can use AYUSH remedies. In that way, slowly we can ease out the cancer of modern medicine gnawing away at our nation’s health. There is still time, and we did see some positive signs with the budget papers being brought to the parliament in sacred cloth and all. Next up, no budget papers. Let’s hope next time it’ll be in good old palm leaves and delivered in a chariot.

Continuing with the theme of education, ideas are being floated to change the names of universities to reflect the current mood of the nation. Like changing JNU to MNU (dunno what it stands for except that the name involves Modiji). I think it is OK and any government should be able to change names as they please. The Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), for example, could be renamed as NAMUNA (NArendra Modi University of NAutanki). The humongous body of work including television documentaries that he piled up in a short period of time deserves appreciation. Didn’t they make a movie titled “Crocodile Dandi March” with him in the lead? Maybe I’m wrong.

Food – now, this is serious stuff unlike the above drivel. Mallus in Frankfurt were in the news recently protesting against North Indians who prevented them from serving beef. I think mallus are being duplicitous in this matter. These are people who are self-censoring beef and pork out of their menus in resorts up and down the mallu coast to suck up to North Indian tourists. My school reunion was at a resort  in Kumarakom, Kerala that boasted a 150-metre long pool. A typical backwater resort, but not worth the hole they burn in your pocket. They served roti, daal, Chicken Kolhapuri and such stuff! It's preposterous! Forget Frankfurt, you don’t get no beef, no parotta, no kappa, no nothing even in the supposedly free southwestern tip of Faratham nowadays.

Nor is there pork anywhere. Domino’s Pizza used to have pork salami in their menu. That mysteriously disappeared some time ago. I wrote an e-mail to them, but never got a reply. Domino's probably wanted to suck up to a certain community, as they say in the news (or, Muslims, as they are commonly called). Anyway, I’m back in Japan, where a cup of instant noodle contains everything from pork, chicken and beef to things you don’t even want to imagine (Oooh, that image #$%&…..forgive me, my ancestral rishi!) disodium guanylate and autolyzed torula yeast, whatever they are. Bon Appetit.


Tuesday, 21 May 2019

Happy New Era - Welcoming Reiwa


A bit late to wish you, the fifteen readers who read this, a happy new year, but allow me to do it anyway.

The new year started off with a bang for me. Couple of weeks into 2019, I was all fired up and leaping around on a badminton court playing mixed doubles. High ball up front on the left. Sweet. I summoned up my inner Lin Dan, soared to the left. “Bang!!!!” What was that? One moment I was Lin Dan, and the next I was on the dang net, clinging to the pole. Who pushed me? Didn’t I order that woman to stay inside the back box so that I, da man, could lord over the court? I looked back expecting to see her behind me sneering. But she was still there, at the back, ready to wait till I ask her to move. Anyway, something strange had happened, and my left leg appeared to be in a different dimension compared to the right. I limped off the court, wondering what I did to piss off the badminton god (hereinafter referred to as "baddie god").

It turned out that I had ruptured my Achilles tendon, and I decided to take the surgery option offered by the doc. This, obviously, was not the best choice, as we know these docs and pharma companies are in cahoots to cheat us. If only I had known about the germanium bracelet and its miraculous healing powers beforehand. But, as usual, the unholy nexus between mainstream media, big pharma and the governing mafia continue to successfully suppress such news. In case you don’t know, germanium is the best source of magnetic energy. Magnetic fields play an important role in your daily life “as per” many prominent people. This “as per” is a very important phrase. “As per” is used in sentences when you have to establish something as an indisputable fact. Once that phrase is in there, nobody can question it. For example, “as per the Aztecs, Quetzalcoatl was a peaceful god, who accepted animal sacrifices but not human blood”. You know it is true because the phrase “as per” is in there. Similarly, germanium prevents infrared rays from penetrating your body, increases blood circulation, improves metabolism, relieves fatigue, slows down aging, heals wounds and even cures cancer, as per many people. The only thing that comes even remotely close to the miraculous magnetic power of germanium is rubbing the backside of a female Bos Taurus Indicus, as per ancient texts.

I learnt to not question the “as per” statements right from childhood. There was this incident when my mom and her family were shifting their family goddess from her small thatched wooden abode to a new concrete building. The goddess talked through an old lady (a relative) in goddess lingo or "goddledygook", which the lady then translated into Malayalam. I thought it was an extra process. Either of them could’ve straightaway spoken in Malayalam, but my mom used the “as per” explanation and that was it. While going around the yard, the oracle lady tripped and fell, but then rolled on as if she was planning to do that from the beginning. Again, when I asked my mom, she had an “as per” explanation. Apparently, the goddess liked the new pad. Why not? Hot, tropical climate. What better than concrete to build your house? 
                          
Anyway, what we now know is that magnetic fields are everywhere. It’s true. You might have heard of an eminent cardiologist in New York, who was given the honorary title of “Lady Magneto” by an eminent orthopedist from Trivandrum because of her expertise in magnetic theory. As per her, there are magnetic fields in certain divine areas. Could it be that I had screwed up the magnetic field in the badminton court, which triggered the wrath of the baddie god? I had to find why this happened. I was pretty much sure that such things don’t happen to middle-aged guys with worn out muscles and tendons trying to channelize their inner Lin Dans. Lying in the hospital bed, looking at a tube going into my arm and another going out of my dong - absolute proof of a loving, compassionate god’s wrath - I pondered over the possible reasons.  
  
Magnetic theory sounded credible. As per some reliable sources, the theory was tested secretly by NAUSEA (National Absurd & Unverifiable Story Excretion Agency) in God’s own Cakoos some time ago. They got some native dudes randomly off the street for the test. The only criterion was that they should be in their traditional mallu national dress, which is the “lungi without (underwear)”. First, these guys were made to stand around in their regular haunts - street corners, liquor outlet queues, etc., after which, they were moved to an area with a magnetic field. At each spot, they were asked, “How’re they hanging?” The normal answer is “one lower than the other”, and that was the response they gave for the regular areas. For the magnetic area, the study found that both were hanging at the same level. There are areas like this in Japan too, which are called “powerspots”. So, this has to be true. I made a mental note of looking into this theory later.

My train of thought was abruptly broken by a sweet, sing-song voice from behind the curtain. Someone, probably a nurse, was talking to the old man in the next bed. A few moments later, the same sing-song voice apologized to me and pulled back my curtain, and there stood before me a man of average build with slightly receding salt and pepper hair and a five o’clock shadow, but delicately feminine in mannerisms and every other aspect. He (or she) was the pharmacist. He (or she) went on to explain in detail the medicines I will be taking over the next few days. Kind, considerate and professional. And, that soothing voice. After, he (or she) left, a thought crossed my mind. Was there a gay person in the closet where they kept the nets and stuff? As per many religious texts, gods absolutely abhor such people. Maybe, my sympathies for their cause had pissed the baddie god off. 

Things were getting complicated, and I knew it was time to ask the god. It would’ve been easy if that relative lady with the hotline to gods was around, but she is long dead, and probably enjoying long goddledygook conversations with the gods. The only option now in front of me was to take the ancient scientific route, i.e. divining the will of god using cowrie shells and stuff. Since cowrie shells were hard to come by here in Yokohama, I used clams. Worked fine in the end, as the baddie god, though Japanese, delivered the message in English. And that message was the word - “Incontinence!” 

In Japan, as in many advanced civilizations, women are banned from doing certain things, like getting inside a sumo ring, because (you guessed it right) they are considered impure. While the gods did get the menstruation impurity thing right, they overlooked incontinence when they set the rules long time ago. You can’t blame them, because almost everyone croaked before they reached the age of incontinence in those days. Reaching the age of 60 used to be and still is a major milestone even in Japan. It is known as kanreki. Nowadays, people here are living close to 85 years on average thanks to germanium and power spots and some minor contributions from modern medicine.

I couldn’t think of anyone with incontinence at the court that day, but then I thought hard, and I realized that the lord, as is his wont, has given me a cryptic clue. Of late, I had been playing tennis and some days I play with people in their 70s and 80s. It is possible that someone in that group had such issues. That clue, therefore, was ultimately to convey to me that he smote me for the indiscretion of being unfaithful to badminton and succumbing to the temptation of tennis. The baddie lord doth move in mysterious ways. One thing you’ve to admire about the baddie lord is that the retribution is quick and pin-pointed. A surgical strike, unlike certain other gods I can think of, who send floods and earthquakes and kill indiscriminately. Still, I felt it was a bit harsh on me, given that even gods are said to be susceptible to temptations.

What about the tennis god, then? you might ask. Isn’t the tennis god cruel? Unlike us the baddie people, who are really nice and have from time immemorial prayed for the good of all other sports people, those tennis assholes, with their big rackets and balls are really nasty. And, those soccer guys. Ugh! They’re the worst, but we love them like family. Their gods also smite people in similar ways - tennis elbow, jock itch, etc. - but nobody says anything about that because they hate baddie people. (I included this because many of my friends and relatives told me that it is necessary to give a balanced view.)

Well, because of all these tribulations and smiting, the new year quickly moved into the month of May before I could wish anyone. However, as luck would have it, Japan decided to have a new imperial era altogether. They decided to move from the Heisei era into the Reiwa era from May 1. This was done primarily to confuse people, especially foreigners, trying to fill up the date columns in official forms. Now you have to do complex mathematical calculations to convert and choose from Taisho, Showa, Heisei and Reiwa (and in some cases even Meiji) eras. So, wishing you all a happy new era, where everything remains the same. Patriarchy rules.