My Beef with Laddu, Interactions with Supernatural Beings, and why Trump

  As an Aadhaar card-carrying mallu, I have an intimate relationship with beef. So, when I heard there were laddus infused with beef tallow in certain temples, I was a bit surprised and immediately wanted to try that. But I think I’ll have to wait, because as of now nobody knows if that story is true. Continuing with the obsessions of Aadhaar card-carrying mallus, one thing we all like is our tipple, accompanied in most cases by beef in its various incarnations such as beef fry, beef dry fry, beef double fry, beef roast, and chili beef. The epicurean* delights accompanying alcohol are almost always savoury, never sweet. There was one guy though, back in my college days, who was an exception. Let’s call him Thyagarajan II for now (because he resembles the Tamil actor Thyagarajan). He was the strongest guy around and was built like a bull. And, he was the only mallu I ever saw who had laddus as accompaniment for alcohol. Of course, being a mallu, he will also have the beef. Beef with laddus to accompany Old Monk rum. So, what I’m saying is that beef and laddus are not incompatible as the reports suggest. There have been precedents.

  My beef with laddu is that I also have a sweet tooth and can’t keep my hands off if there are laddus around. Same with beef. However, with each passing year my uric acid levels and my HbA1c levels are nearing danger levels, forcing me to cut down on three important items in a middle-aged mallu man’s life—alcohol, beef, and laddu.

  Usually, when faced with such difficulties, many people try to get in contact with supernatural beings, which is what our Chief Justice also did. He apparently calls god and asks for solutions in such situations. Not me. For some reasons, from around the age of 12 or 13, I had been interacting with the devil**. Or at least I think it is the devil. I don’t know if my mind was idle at that age as in the biblical saying “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop”. I was definitely curious and inquisitive and used to make funny remarks about gods to my mom. Probably because I came out of her womb, she didn’t get the rakshaks of the faith to lynch me.

  Anyway, when I heard that the Chief Court Dude interacted with a supernatural being (or was it a non-biological being?), I wanted to know the details. We, however, should be careful when we talk of court dudes, because these are people who can do suo motu stuff (means real bad stuff) if they don’t like something. Looking at the news reports, it is not clear which specific being he talked to or what advice was offered. So, I am trying to imagine how it works. Considering his religion and its billion adherents, I have a feeling that he got a recorded message at first like in those American banks. “All lines are busy right now. Please hold the line while we connect you to a representative. Your call may be recorded for security reasons.” This might have been followed by slow sitar music. Eventually somebody must have come on the line and given him some gyaan (advice). That triggers further questions in my mind (oh, that devil again). What if it was a junior god and what if he didn’t like the gyaan that was offered? Would court dude have asked to speak to a supervisor god? Did he eventually get to speak to the supreme-est being, whoever it is? What if it was Zeus or Ra instead of your dude? From what I gather, the being was probably not in a good mood and told the court dude to “bleep justice” and he took it literally. Given all the motu motu things such people can do, we will stop pursuing this line of thinking here and move on to America.

  Over the past few months, I had the opportunity to travel to fake Viswaguru country and real Viswaguru country. The former is my homeland where I took my family, because, like any mawkish Aadhaar card-carrying mallu, I wanted my kids to maintain the connection to their roots. Within a few days, I was brimming with pride. I was in my bed when I overheard the boys, who were in the next room, addressing each other with the word for pubic hair, as in “nee neengi kida bleep,” or “you move, bleep”. After a brief sojourn, we returned back to Japan and then I left with my first-born to the real Viswaguru country, or the USA. When you go around that country, you understand why it attracts a lot of people. Everything is big. Big houses, big cars, big roads, big pizzas, big drinks, big people. Apparently, 10 people from fake Viswaguru country try to enter the real Viswaguru country illegally every hour, of which five are from Gujarat, says Times of India. Now, the US is having a big election with a woman who is half Indian running against an orange-coloured man. My gut feeling says that Indians would break for Mr. Orange and ditch the woman. More than the committed MAGA Indians (full-fledged bhakths), the difference will come from people of Indian origin who identify as “I’m-not-MAGA-but” people. They are the extension of the “I’m-not-a-bhakth-but” people you find in India. They know their paw-paw’s support is for his phrend Do Lund, who will spank bad brown people they don’t like. That’s the only criterion. It doesn’t matter they themselves are brown. The key phrase here is “don’t like,” or hate. That’s the driving force. The longer you live, the more you realize that fact. I’m an example. The other day I was in Shibuya, a popular tourist destination in Tokyo, and was repelled by the uncouth foreigners there. So, given the general trend around the world, the same scenario will play out across Europe also sooner rather than later. Big daddies will start deporting brown and black people back home. That, incidentally, could include some 725,000 unauthorized Indians in the US and even more in European countries, from the look of it. Interesting times ahead.

 

* From Epicurus, a Greek philosopher, known for his trilemma below.

“Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent.

 Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent.

 Is God both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?

 Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?”

** The devil, in my opinion, is a reasonable option as a supernatural being. There’s no “I’m the only devil there is and if you don’t follow me, I’ll kill you” kinda threats. Also, there are no zealous followers trying to decapitate you if you say anything against the devil.

Olympic Musings: A Girl Called Ned from India

“Hey look, there’s a girl called Ned from India in breaking,” I shouted.

“Accha, she’s a girl called India from the Netherlands!!,” said my son, who had just started breaking (pic above) couple of months ago. He is being taught by a person who is friends with Shigekix, a breakdancer (and gold medal prospect) representing Japan in the Olympics breaking competition in Paris.

“I.n.d.i.a, as in the opposition alliance in India? This must be a conspiracy to defame the country and the Supreme Leader,” I thought. I immediately googled “international plot to prevent India that is Bharat from achieving Vishwaguru-dom in breaking,” but nothing showed up. I must be ahead of the curve. Expect the interwebs to throw up some reliable conspiracy theories on this topic soon.

On a serious note, while it is interesting to think up conspiracy theories regarding Vinesh’s loss (given the impressive track record of the dirty tricks department), it ultimately points to the general lack of professionalism in the field of sports in our country, whether it is the clueless officials or the athletes themselves. If at all Vinesh was worried about the system sabotaging her bid, she should have been extra careful. The sad fact is that a gold for her would’ve taken us to a best-ever finish in the medals table. Now, as usual, we are in the lower half with about six medals. Barring Neeraj Chopra and our badminton stars (regardless of what Prakash Padukone thinks), there are not many Indian athletes who could be considered as having the mettle to compete up there at the top-most levels.

In that sense, Vinesh’s victory over Yui Sasaki in the first round was phenomenal. Sasaki, mind you, has not lost to a foreign competitor ever, till then. Japan consistently produces world-class wrestlers, especially in the lower weight categories. The girl who won the gold in the 53-kg category, Akari Fujinami, has not lost a match since junior high school–137 wins and counting. There were others before her. Saori Yoshida, who won three golds and a silver spanning four Olympics, and Kaori Icho, who won gold in four consecutive Olympics and had a 13-year unbeaten streak. They are products of an effective and efficient professional system that churns out great champions year after year.

Contrast that with what Vinesh had to go through just to qualify. She was fighting a system hell-bent on teaching lessons to those who protest. Just about a year ago, she was being vilified by the lapdog media and the system, so you can’t blame the conspiracy theorists if they come up with stories against the regime. There are some people faulting her for going down a weight category, etc. Such practices, however, are not unheard of in wrestling, judo, etc. Natsumi Tsunoda, the Japanese gold medal winner in judo’s 48-kg category, went below her usual weight category of 52kg, because there was another great athlete called Uta Abe in that category. Abe, however, lost in the first round (a first-ever loss), couldn’t believe that she lost, and cried for a long time on the mat. The Abe siblings’ story is also quite a compelling one, as the bro-sis duo were expected to repeat their gold medal performance from Tokyo. Her brother won the gold again this time.

The fact is, we lack a professional system in India. The sports fields are controlled by dodgy political appointees or moneybags. What has Nita Ambani got to do with sports other than owning a money-making cricket franchise? Why is Ahmedabad the choice for holding Olympics? A state with not much of a sporting pedigree, as opposed to say states like Haryana or Punjab, which produces the few real medal prospects we have. Ideally, it should be Delhi or Mumbai hosting the Olympics in India. But then, it is a choice being made by the powers that be, and you can’t fault them for that (like the semiconductor manufacturers forced to choose between Maharashtra and Gujarat). When 500-600 crore is given to a place where not much sporting activities are happening and one-tenth of that is being given to those places where the actual sportspersons are, you’ll end up with six medals.

And, I'll be clutching at straws like “hey, there is a girl called Ned from India in breaking” in search of some happiness.

 

P.S. As a friend asked in a WhatsApp group, "whatever happened to Kerala?" There was a time in the late 70s and 80s when Kerala was on the cusp of moving to the next level. There were some genuine stars like TC Yohannan, PT Usha, Shiny Abraham, MD Valsamma, Anju Bobby George, and Jimmy George. Where did we lose the plot? Why couldn’t we build on their successes?

Time (Again) for the Show

Now that the elections are over in India, it is time again to show fingers. After each phase of this long-winding cluster-f#*k of an election, the interwebs were flooded with pictures of many people with ink-stained fingers. Well, voting got over couple of days ago. It is time for the result. This time around it will be the politicians who will be displaying their fingers—the middle digit to be exact. The people are eager to see that. They know it, like it, and derive some perverse pleasure from it. That, I believe, is one of the reasons the current ruling dispensation has an upper hand in this election too. They’re upfront about it. The supreme leader says something and later his sidekick comes and tells it is all an election jumla. People like that honesty. They even accept corruption as long as they know who owns their derrieres. That was the problem with the previous regime. Nobody knew who was in charge of the corruption. Those guys, to be frank, were not honest in their corruption. Now people know who has bought and paid for your favourite leader, and that makes a big difference. People are like the wife saying “ours is better” when the husband says he has a mistress just like his business partner.

It also helps that el supremo upgraded himself to divine leader. India is a country where god people can literally get away with murder. Not only that, god persons also get millions of people to follow them and listen to them attentively when they preach bullcrap about how sambar gets affected by Pluto or something like that. So, el supremo promoting himself to godhood was a masterstroke that completely took the wind out of the opposition’s sails. I hope we will have another mega temple for the new god in the next few years.

That is another thing that impressed me recently after the new mega temple was opened by divine leader. I saw a program in some YouTube channel where children from poor neighbourhoods were asked whether they would like to see more schools rather than places of worship. A majority of them replied they wanted places of worship (temple, church, or mosque depending on the child’s religion). This warmed my cockles to no end. Kids know what they want. They know that the whole scientific temper thing is a sham. Anyway, one of the richest persons in the world, who is attentive to the needs of the poor, probably heard these kids and built more than a dozen temples in Jamnagar recently. The future is bright. Kids don’t have to waste time scientifically analysing things like I do. For instance, why do you fart more when you lie on your left side? You just have to say god deemed it that way and that is it. As they say, degrees are worthless. Some 38% of IIT grads couldn’t find jobs this year. Religulous tourism, on the other hand will never run out of steam. All these grads should be looking at building pakora and other businesses around such religious places.

At the same time, I see some future conflicts because of the supreme leader and, by virtue of that, the country gaining divine status. We already have the US of Amreeka, which, in its Pledge of Allegiance, says “one nation under God” about itself. It, however, doesn’t specify under which god. Could be Yahweh or his son. Or is it the Sioux god Haokah? Nobody knows. Then there is the white-robed person in Europe, with a hotline to god, distributing sainthoods. We also have other areas where people ask the age-old question of “do you believe in god?” and then fight each other. So, we will have to wait and see how all this divinity plays out around the world.

Well, I’m planning to travel to the US of Amreeka later this year in August. Unfortunately, the currency in which I earn my living, the Japanese yen, is following the path of the Indian rupee in falling to dismally low levels. I was wondering whether Sree-to-the-power-of-two Ravishankar said “it is refreshing to know that the yen will get stronger at 80/- per dollar if Kishida comes to power” like he said about the rupee. Yen is trading at close to 160 to the dollar. At this rate, I will have to get tempo-loads of currency notes, similar to what Ambani-Adani sent to Raoul-ji, before I embark on my trip to Amreeka.

It is not a pleasant thought. Perhaps it is time for me to go to Okinawa and meditate. For peas. Green peas. To put in my pav bhaji. Hopefully, it will generate some gas that I can release to the outside world with the confidence and comfort that I’m doing (some) god’s work.

Monkey God and Divine Pregnancy

 

It is 2024, which means a whole year has gone by without me writing anything. I am not vain enough to think that anybody missed this. Anyway, before I invite the wrath of devotees of monkey gods around the world, I must explicitly state here that the monkey god mentioned in the title is not your god. I don’t want some peace-loving seer, who otherwise wishes happiness for everyone in the world, to put a price on my head. Also, serendipitously, I recently saw a video in a family WhatsApp group that conclusively proved (not that I wanted any proof) the existence of gods (monkey god included) travelling south to Serendip. Nonetheless, since I don’t want to create even the slightest misunderstanding among the numerous cult members, I am putting this disclaimer up front. In fact, the only monkey god I feel safe to refer to is the “mythological” Egyptian Babi, also known as Baba, fervently hoping that there are no Egyptian devotees of Baba.

Now, the topic at hand. Some time ago, a news headline about a mysterious pregnancy in a Japanese zoo caught my attention. A female gibbon, kept alone in a cage, had somehow gotten pregnant. There was no way by which the perverted gibbon dudes in nearby cages could’ve gotten to her. Ideally, in a normal country like India, this would’ve been a golden opportunity to bring in god and monetize the event. The media would get on board with theories and proofs of divine pregnancy, etc. A collection box would’ve mysteriously appeared and scores of devotees from far and wide would’ve flocked to catch a glimpse of the divine momma.

But this was Japan. The zookeepers, bird-brained as they are, decided to bring in this pesky thing called science, which essentially takes the romance and the mystery out of anything. They did DNA testing to identify the dad, who turned out to be this lecherous old fart in the adjoining cage. (Zookeepers Say They’ve Solved the Mystery of How a Gibbon Got Pregnant by Herself (vice.com)

The theory of how he did it is also interesting. Apparently, Ito, the dad, poked his tool through a 9mm hole in a steel plate between the cages to get the job done with Momo, the momma! Hmmmmmmmmm… “Ito, my man,” I thought. Also, “Momo, girl, what the #$%&?” Then, being bird-brained like those zookeepers, I immediately googled gibbon “tool”*. Google, unfortunately, didn’t have a clear answer to gibbon tool dimensions. Anyway, I think there’s still scope for Ito, who is most probably an avatar of Baba, the Egyptian monkey god who is usually portrayed with an erection, as per Wikipedia. I have half a mind to get Lord Ito the divinity he deserves, though I suspect I may have to somehow become a supreme leader with a cult to get that done.

P.S. These are the kind of thoughts that keep me from getting depression from watching the cluster#$cks happening around the world. You should also try it out.

 

* You were thinking of googling gibbon tool, weren’t you? Naughty, naughty!

To Good Old Days

Another year going down the tubes — partially at least. The highlight of course was the World Cup. Qatar showed the world what all things money can buy — e.g., global sports bodies. Argentina showed what a reasonable team can achieve by rallying around one of the GOATs. Mbappe showed that he will add to the GOAT debate. Meanwhile, Pele, the real GOAT, passed away. The teams from Africa and Asia, led by Morocco and Japan, showed that they were not there just to make up the numbers. FIFA showed how a chip can be embedded in a football, unlike a certain 2,000-rupee note with chip that became famous a few years ago (see Fig. 1).

 

                                             Fig. 1

It was not a totally wasted year for me, considering that I was able to make a short visit to the Land of Beef and Parotta. However, I look forward to the day when I would be able to waste a whole year doing nothing. There are way too many people around who are serious about doing something with their lives. These are the people who poke their organs into other people’s affairs. They are worried about the colour of someone’s underwear. They want to decide what people, especially women, should wear or eat. They want to teach lessons to others. They want to maintain their (regressive) traditions and kill and die for those. And I, though I used the words "do nothing" earlier, would like to sit back and watch these people.

 

I have taken a liking to these religious traditions recently. Especially after that human sacrifice news from Kerala. A quick Google search revealed that it is not that uncommon.

Cult kills children for goddess 

Human sacrifice: Arrests over 10-year old's death

Maharashtra clocks one human sacrifice a month

Six-year-old killed for 'human sacrifice'

Man tries to use wife as human sacrifice

I have reached a stage where I stopped questioning people’s beliefs. I like my limbs intact, so that I can type inane stuff on my computer. I plan to stick to subjects I feel will ensure that my head stays on my neck. In this case also, I don’t want to judge the people involved or their beliefs. If the Church of Lukumi Babalu believes in sacrificing and eating chickens, turtles, etc., I’m OK with it. But one thing does bother me. What if gods liked eels and hated chickens? Maybe they liked horses, as we know from Ashvamedha in the Vedic period. Or virgins, for all we know? Across cultures, most gods liked virgins in the good old days. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that gods are pissed because modern humans stopped all these ancient practices. Could explain the numerous natural disasters around the world.

 

So, though I don’t have a specific god I pray to, I hope those concerned would take a regressive look into these matters and bring back those traditions to make the world great again. To good old days (like when certain people had to pay taxes for their moustaches and breasts).

 

P.S. I would also like the religious people to investigate the issue of Demodex folliculorum mites (see link below). Especially the part where “in the night, whilst we're in a deep sleep, they visit the pores to have sex and have babies”. This is sacrilege. How could someone ever visit a place of worship again when such activities are happening on their faces?

The tiny mites that have sex on our faces have a problem - BBC News

This Bud Ain't for You. Drown Your Sorrows in Chamomile Tea.

Circa 2002. Soccer stadium in Kobe. Pre-quarters of World Cup, Brazil playing valiant Belgium. I had a good seat just behind the goal post. First half had ended goal-less and at half-time, the skimpily clad girls I had seen earlier changing into their skimpy clothes at the entrance, were suddenly near me dancing to their samba beat. It seems they stick to the opposite team’s post so as to celebrate any goals their team score. All of us dudes there were definitely happy to hear that, switching our attention between the dancing ladies, the beer, and the action on the ground. Nobody had any smartphones with camera then, but guys wielding their Nikons and Canons did try to get some sneaky shots of the girls.

 

The Brazilian dancers who sat behind me. (No, I didn’t take the picture! This is a screen grab I got from that match.)

The Belgians went toe-to-toe with the Brazilians comprising the four Rs of Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Rivaldo, and Roberto Carlos, but eventually Rivaldo broke through with a magical left footer after about an hour, and the prolific Ronaldo finished it off towards the end with a goal of his own.

As I waited for the two reporters, representing the two top Malayalam newspapers, to finish filing their stories, so that we could go back together to our hotel room, I could see distraught Belgians walking by crying, drowning their sorrow in liquor. It’s not an easy sight watching macho men tearing up in public.

Now, we have Qatar, a regressive Middle Eastern country, holding the World Cup. There’ll always be theories on how it gained the rights to hold the tournament ($$$$;;;;), how numerous lives were lost building those grounds in brutal conditions, etc. But hey, this is FIFA. Does it really care about all these things? All FIFA (and everyone else) cares about is that Qatar is rolling in moolah. And, as the saying goes, “money talks”.

So, when Qatar says, “It is generally recommended for men and women to ensure their shoulders and knees are covered,” men and women will cover their heads, shoulders, knees, and toes. Would Qatar forgive a “wardrobe malfunction” like the one Janet Jackson had exposing a nipple? Probably not. It’d likely result in a public beheading or something like that. When Qatar says, a few days before the start of the tournament, that you can’t drink alcohol at the ground, everybody will say, “I’ll have a mint tea”. These were all quite probably agreed upon right from the beginning itself. Making such announcements this close to the tournament has been a masterstroke. All the ticket money is in the bank. People have booked their flights and stuff, and there’s no going back.

We all are hypocrites, as the FIFA chief Infantino infantilely said. The death of labourers, mainly from South Asian countries, has been in the news for quite some time, but no meaningful action has been or will ever be taken, because the World Cup-related construction bonanza had benefited a lot many corporations from around the world. Many South Asians also prospered, and all these people know about these but tend to turn a blind eye. Many of them probably hate the Qataris for purely racist (Arab) or religious (Muslim) reasons or even for their human rights violations, but they all put their heads down, suffer a bit of humiliation here and there, and get straight to work, because there is money to be made in one of the richest countries in the world as long as you stay subservient (and as long as they have gas). Heck, Qatar even got supreme leader Modijee to dismiss one of his poison spewers. Money talks!

So, set aside the sanctimonious attitude, follow the local rules, exploit some South Asian people, renege on your promises, cover up your women, drown your sorrows in chamomile tea, and go back. “This Bud Ain’t for You”. Meanwhile I’ll have my Asahi Super Dry and my ochako of sake and watch the matches on TV, i.e., if I can stay awake.

The End of Exile

After three years of Covid-imposed exile, I finally made it to my momma-land GOC (God’s Own Country, or as in some interpretations, God’s Own Cakoos) in July for a short trip. More than the mind-numbing pre-trip bureaucratic procedures, what got my goat was the nail-biting wait for the RT-PCR test results.

You see, I had considered myself to be a cool cucumber throughout my life. Exams, exam results, job interviews, job, none of these things ever unnerved me much. I remember a Tamil friend from college days, who would visit my room on the eve of exams to relax. He will come in with his eyeballs popping out of their sockets, almost touching his soda glass specs, and veins on his forehead taut and about to burst. But then, he will see me dragging on a filter-less Panama cigarette and playing cards with another friend, an even cooler cucumber, and all his tensions vanish. Eyeballs pop right back in, bulging veins disappear, and the man is ready to take the exam next day.

That was me before I encountered RT-PCR test. The clinic was going to send the results to my e-mail the evening before the day we were flying. I was irritable all day long, barking at my kids, and generally being an a$$*ole. At around 6pm, the mails came. I don’t know if my eyeballs were touching my glasses, but it was one of those rare moments in my life I was totally tensed. Adding to that tension was the fact that all four of us had to clear this test. I clicked on the links one by one 陰性, 陰性, 陰性, 陰性…All negative! Collective relief all around.

The trip. Narita airport had the feel of a funeral parlour, but transit at bustling Singapore Changi was fun as usual. Thirontharam Hawai Adda looked and felt the same as I remembered it from 2019. The city streets also appeared to be more or less the same as before, and some places still had the bombed-out Fallujah feel with lots of rubble. Oh, it was good to be back. The first couple of days were spent meeting family and friends in the immediate neighbourhood and eating parotta, beef, appam, mutta curry, etc. Then it was time to attend to some unfinished business from three years ago involving government offices, banks, etc. Surprisingly, most of those worked out well. The government staff were mostly un-rude (if there is such a word) and reasonably helpful, which was unexpected, to be frank. I really wanted to get things done this time and was willing to pull some strings if needed, ditching my convictions. So, it was a pleasant surprise when everything went smoothly without me using my connections or greasing any palms.

The only weekend was spent in Kochi with my college mates. We drove to Kochi in a friend’s vehicle to avoid public transport and the risk of contracting some new pox. My friend, I believe, took his license from the KSRTC driving school. He drives his Innova car like the drivers of the killer express buses of the state transport service ‒ threateningly, recklessly, and with utter disregard to rules, road conditions, and passengers. The man looks like he is on a mission, though nobody knows what it is. 

Anyway, we reached Kochi safely and spent some quality time with friends and the brews brought from various parts of the world including the sake I took from Japan. One major disappointment, though, was the food: seafood to be exact. Kochi, the Queen of the Arabian Sea, is famed for seafood, but for some reason the place where we stayed served us something that felt like blubber dipped in batter and fried. I started cribbing about it, and seeing that, my influential local friends went out and found an exotic small shop selling matthi fry (sardines), prawns, idiyirachi (pounded dried beef), etc., which went a long way in assuaging my feelings and making me fall in love with Kochi again.

On the way back, my maniacal friend gave the wheels to me as he wanted to sleep. I was still in Japanese mode of driving, trying to stick to my lane wherever there was one, keeping distance with the vehicle in front, etc. This, obviously, was annoying to the local drivers, and probably even some pedestrians, who were wondering “ii ma#$an ethu konathinnada vandi odikkan padichathu?”, which could be loosely translated as “where the f*#k did this a$$*ole learn to drive?

Well, here I was, stopped at a red signal while heading out of Kochi, when a police vehicle came and stopped near me on my right. In most countries this would be against the law, because it was straightaway blocking the oncoming traffic by being in the opposite lane. Green light comes on and the police vehicle blares its siren and cuts across in front of me. I obediently drive myself into the ditch, which serves as the shoulder in most GOC roads, to let him pass. Behind him went a government car which had a board saying, “High Court Judge!”

Now, I know that we shouldn’t judge judges just because they break the law. He might have been rushing to deliver some late-night judgment of national importance. Maybe, it was related to that actor showing his butt on a nude photoshoot, which riled many people in the country. To be sure, that actor was cutting into the action of the Jain monk people, who probably have a monopoly on butt-show. The rule says that not every dumbo can show his or her butt. The judge hopefully will decide “independently” as to who can show their butt, upon giving due consideration to the ruling dispensation’s whims. Remember, judges are important people who can throw the book at you using words like infructuous, Suo motu and mutatis mutandis. So, I quietly drove out of the ditch to continue with my journey.

There are couple of things you learn early on in India. One is to not diss on gods, religions, or religious people. The retribution will be swift and harsh. If at all you want to say something, it should appear to the religious person as you’re dissing somebody else’s god. Religious people are OK with that. Another thing you learn is to keep quiet against the powers that be. The state can do whatever it pleases using all of the tools it has at its disposal including the army.

The Supreme Leader of the country, for example, is a man who boasts one of the biggest breast sizes in the world at 56 inches. This is probably second only to the 57 inches of Arnold Shivajinagar, popularly known in the West as Arnold Schwarzenegger. Interesting trivia ‒ Shivajinagar is also an actor like the Supreme Leader, though not as good. As a thespian, Shivajinagar is limited to action hero roles, whereas the Supreme Leader is famed for his ability to pull off any given role. Angry middle-aged man, tortured soul, grieving husband, mountain-dwelling ascetic, weatherman, military strategist, economist, mathematician, birdfeeder, you name it – he has done it, and done it with elan. To top it all, he is also a real-life crocodile Dundee-ji.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent to praise the Supreme Leader. I was discussing how you should not say anything against those who rule over us. This is true even for regional leaders in many states. Many of these leaders have special organs similar to the large breast of the Supreme Leader. Some have double or multiple organs. And they all have cult-like followers. For instance, the Supreme Leader only has to snap his fingers and the cult members will carve you up. Well, maybe not snap his fingers, because snapping might bring the cultists out of their trance. Could it be dog whistle? I don’t know. The opposition party representatives also have organs, but they mess up in putting the right organ in the right place and often end up, for example, with their heads in their posterior orifices. That is why people call them the dis‘organ’ized opposition.

Anyway, I fervently hope that our law-breaking judge was able to save the country and deliver a landmark infructuous decision as to who can show their posterior in public. My reverie, meanwhile, was broken by the maniac sleeping in the passenger seat, who was wide awake now and ready to drive. With him at the wheel, we had an uneventful journey back to Thirontharam with our hearts in our mouths, and the foul taste of an eminently forgettable dosa from a restaurant in Kottarakkara.

Despite the two food-related mishaps (blubber fry and dosa), on the whole it was a short and sweet trip to GOC with kappa, fish curry, idlis, dosas, vadas, bajis, appams, idiappams, puttu, patthiri and of course the national dish of parotta and beef fry. Moreover, thanks to the much-improved services at the village, taluk, and corporation offices, I was able to accomplish a lot on the personal front. Next time around, I hope to stay for a much longer period.

 

P.S. My maniacal friend is not exactly that bad. From a local perspective, he is a normal driver with the optimum amount of animal instinct necessary to survive on the roads there.

 

Adios Annus Horribilis Deux, Willkommen Annus Horribilis Tria

Another year down the drain, while a new one is slithering up omi(cro)nously. “Twaaaaaang” goes scary music in the background.

As for the year that went by, it was one involving lots of driving for me, in particular, ferrying kids to school and other activities so as to avoid public transportation. When I’m in my car, sometimes I have four women in my life. It’s not that I converted to the religion that allows you to have up to four wives. Conversion, as we all recently found out, is not good. I’m even scared of converting rupees to dollar nowadays. Or to try and convert distance when talking to Amreekan friends.

Me: “I drove about 70kms today going to Chiba.”

Friend: “70kms? How much is that in miles?”

Me: “Hmm…err… Po mi###.”

And the conversation ends just like that.

Talking of conversion, I sometimes think of converting to the ancient religion of my mom, given the pressure to conform to society. However, with conversion getting banned here and there, I am having second thoughts. If at all I go down that path, (and this is something I have said before) I want to join the upper-est caste available. The crème de la crème of castes, whichever that is. I am not interested in joining some run-of-the-mill upper caste. I want to know who is at the apex of the pile and I want to join them. (Reminder to self: Google that.)

Getting back to the four women I sometimes find myself with in my car:

One is my legally wedded wife of 22 years (who has, in fact, been with me for a quarter of a century now, living in sin for three of those years). She is the quietest one in the car. Never says a word regarding my driving skills, or lack thereof.

The second one is the lady inside the car’s in-built navigation system, who spews inanities such as the date and what special day is that day when I start the car for the first time, as in “Today is December 31, 2021 – World No Conversion Day,” or something like that. She also tells me when I cross prefectural borders. “You have entered Kanagawa Prefecture.” I nod, knowing she’s harmless.

The third woman in my car is the Google Navigation lady. I use the Google app because the in-built navigation is not updated real time and you have to shell out quite a bit every few months to keep it up-to-date. So, I use Google maps, which has its drawbacks. There are times I suspect the Google map lady has homicidal tendencies and I fear that one day she is going to drive me into some lake, something my cousin recently experienced with his navi lady in Malaysia. (I did end up in a ditch once, due partly to the Google map lady.)

The fourth is the youngest and the one that is quite annoying. She is the lady in my drive recorder. Like the in-built navi lady, she also does small talk when I start up the car, but is quite condescending. “You’ve been driving quite skilfully of late. Let’s aim to become even better.” I keep quiet. Then she starts giving me driving tips – “Mind your driving lane,” or “Maintain distance with the car in front.” A few days ago, she said, “You’re speeding above 80”. I might have barely touched 120 km/hr. I thought I would fool her and did a mental conversion to miles and almost blurted out “it’s only about 75, milady” but then I remembered the anti-conversion rule in the nick of time and checked myself. Whew! Narrow escape.

Anyway, things are going smooth, or as smooth as they can be under the circumstances. The mallus in my neighbourhood had an Xmas/New Year party yesterday (Dec 30) after missing 2021. As usual, the menu included, among other items, the national dish of porotta/beef and sufficient fluids (also known as jeeva jalam) to wash the food down. Talk of beef may be crime for some, but we mallus, as a species, revere beef. So, this was prepared religiously by a group of volunteers overnight spending three to four hours. The volunteers were also provided with ample fluid support, which made the task easier. Would we be able to hold a similar get-together in the new year? That is the big question in front of us. The halls are open and available for parties as of now here in Japan, but the BGM is getting scarier with omicron slowly sneaking in. Let’s hope the music turns upbeat soon. 

Wishing y’all a happy 2022.