We are mallus (some consider this term
derogatory. I don’t). Many of us were and are proud of that, though I never
understood why. We had achieved immense progress, the propaganda machinery had
told us over the years – high this, low that, big schlo…, what not. And somehow,
even after learning from G Carlin (that being a mallu is not a skill, but a f#$king
genetic accident - G Carlin on Pride),
there was this subconscious pride in me. Dormant, most of the time, more or
less like the subconscious religious and racist bigotry found in the depths of
people’s hearts, which peeps out in unguarded moments.
All this pride, however, has been slowly
crumbling in front of my eyes over the last couple of years, ever since I
started using Facebook and WhatsApp. I found out that we are one of the most
reviled people in this country. Chu#$ya mallus. All those achievements were nothing
but old wives’ tales. If this continues, the only legitimate remnants of mallu
achievement could be the gooey remains in sleazy movie halls across the length
and breadth of the country.
The first inkling of what was going to come
was when the Grand Poobah compared us to Somalia. There was, however, another
hint much earlier in my life when in college a Delhi kid told us “You south Indians
are all like that.” Never understood what he meant by “that”. We just told him “Po
thaya#$” and left it at that. He was a fair and lovely kid and I think had a
fancy-sounding (at least to us) name like Saxena. We were all Bijus and Jubis
and other disyllabic names and many of us were jet-black wheatish complexioned.
Obviously, no one was there to advise our parents on how to get a uttama santati.
No north-faced banyan tree twig, no 72 days of abstinence. They got married,
fornicated and reproduced like rabbits. No, that is not true. They didn’t
reproduce like rabbits because they were vaccinated, which, in case you’re not
aware, is a big scam by the West to depopulate the world. Well, the result is
clear. Look at me. They got one parameter right, by accident, for sure. Tall!
That’s all. Tall….dark, ugly and dumb.
Well, subsequent to the Poobah calling us
Somalis, they started downgrading us one by one. We became the worst state in
the country. The crime capital. Our cities are dumps. People, especially of a
certain majority religious persuasion, are on the verge of becoming refugees.
There is murder, mayhem, and there are trans-genders in workforce, etc. and
before you could say Jack Robinson, we became “thundery Pakistan”.
That was when I lost it. “Thundery?!” What
the f#$k is thundery? My dormant pride was stirred. Are they alluding to
thunder thighs? Those plump women in the mallu movies; a genre that the country
loves more than Bollywood fare. Are they telling us that when the Gujaratis
were lunging for their asmita, we were embracing Silk Smita movies here? So,
that is the deal. They want to paint us as “kootharas,” which could be
translated as dirty rotten scoundrels. Once we start believing that we’re
kootharas (I know quite a few who have become believers), they, the fair
knights in shining armour, riding their cows, will come in and save us. It
appears to be from the playbook of certain religions. You’re a
sinner who needs to be saved.
I was downcast at this turn of events. The
horror of knowing that you’re universally hated! But then, I do have some
friends, who religiously post uplifting messages and motivational bullshit in my
WhatsApp groups, which I used to deride. Not today. Today, those have come in
handy. I’ve decided to look at the positives and take ownership of being a
koothara. After all, I was born and raised in one of the koothara-est
neighbourhoods of Trivandrum, thanks to which I had developed a fine command
over koothara language at a very tender age (a fact revealed to me by the taxi
driver who used to ferry us to school). So, here is my response for calling us
thundery. I’m raising my lungi to you in protest, an ancient vedic ritual
practiced in this region to express dissent. NO! Not that, don’t look there,
you koothara. Look at my thighs, my thunder thighs!
Kootharas of the world, unite. You have nothing to lose but your lungis.
