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.

 

The P--p Chronicles

My toilet 

Everybody has something or the other that they associate with a childhood experience or event. It could be a happy or a traumatic experience, and I’m no different. A few days ago, I was driving home with my elder kid, when he changed the music in the car to an old Malayalam song collection. It’s been a while since I had listened to Malayalam songs in the car, as the music system has been in the control of my kids. There are days I go around listening to gangsta rap (collection of my younger one), and to be honest, I kinda like it. You can’t really argue with profound lyrics like “She just bought a new ass but got the same boobs (same boobs!). Other words that repeat often in many of those songs include the common verb for the act of fornication and its variations, the term for female dogs, etc. - terms which are not generally approved by Arsha Bharatha or other cultures.

The fact is, kids don’t discriminate in terms of what they listen, and that, I have to say, has helped me to broaden the horizons of my musical interests too. My boy listens to all kinds of genres including old Malayalam and Hindi songs. By old I mean really old, for him. I can’t understand how a 16-year-old can feel nostalgic about the 1960s, but he does. He introduced me to Dean Martin’s “That's Amore” and “Buona Sera,” as well as many Japanese enka songs of yore. He also listens to opera and was obsessively listening to the Three Tenors for a while. It is a cyclical thing for him, and when he switched the music from Andrea Bocelli crooning “Con te partiro” to Janaki pining “Anjana kannezhuthi” for the lover who fails to turn up, I was not surprised.

So, there I was driving and listening to some melodious mallu songs from the 1960s and 70s, when the song “Ashada masam athmavil moham” came on. Now, this is a collection I had copied from a friend a few years ago on a visit to Trivandrum, but hadn’t yet listened to fully. I didn’t know this song was in there. This was a song that brought back a traumatic childhood memory. When it came on, I was instantly transported back to the mid-1970s, to a flower show at the Women’s College in Trivandrum. I was with my mom and her friends, who all came there with their kids in tow to see flowers! From what I remember, I was not interested in the flowers, and was too young to be interested in women, though it was a women’s college and all.

Anyway, I went walkabout and while goofing around got separated from the group and got lost in the milling crowd. Discombobulated, I walked up a grassy mound and was anxiously looking around when I felt some tribulations in my tummy. “You have to poop… here and now,” said my brain. I started bawling, trying not to let that thing out, but there’s only so much you can do and eventually it happened. So, there I was, on top of a grassy knoll, “Ashada masam, athmavil moham” blaring from the speakers at the venue, tears streaming down my cheeks, saliva drooling from my mouth, snot from my nose billowing in the wind, and a warm cylinder of poop slithering down the back of my thigh. And, anal sphincters walking by laughing at me!

I’m sure that this was the highlight of the flower show for them. Let’s admit it. Nobody likes or remembers flower shows. It’s something that happens in non-happening places, which was what most places in India were at that time. Nobody goes around saying, “hey, do you remember that red rose we saw at that flower show?” But I’m sure a whole bunch of dumbos who saw me that day still remembers that flower show and reminisce once in a while when they get together saying, “Do you remember that flower show in the 70s where that miserable kid was pooping on a hill. Was hilarious, wasn’t it?”

Anyway, my mom showed up in the nick of time before I went batshit crazy and took me to a toilet, cleaned me, washed my soiled shorts and put them back on, ditched the rest of the flowers, and took a taxi home immediately.

Looking back, I think my mom, in spite of having a master’s degree in economics, lost a golden opportunity to “monetize” her son. I was practically a vision on a hill. With a little effort, she could’ve promoted me as some kind of incarnation or saint. People do fall for that kind of $hit, y’know. If she had done that, I might have been an Our Patron Saint of the Holy Poop or a Swamy DoodooAnanda Thiruvadikal now, raking in the moolah by dishing out $hit advices to anal sphincters around the world. Didn’t happen. But, as they say in the ancient scriptures, “no point in crying over spilt gaumutr”. Which is even better in the original in Sanskrit – “गतस्य गोमूत्र पे शोचना नास्ति”!

Incidentally, near the place where I exit the expressway, there is a company called Unco Inc. (U is pronounced as in the Indian name Uma). Unco means poop in Japanese. Japan is famously non-anal-retentive about poop. It gave the poop emoji to the world. There are even text books that use unco to teach kanji characters to kids. So, it’s not surprising that such a company exists in Japan. The company apparently sells stuff like t-shirts, shoes, etc. with the poop character on it. And, they do have a lofty goal. World Peace! with poop! Go figure.

In these troubling times, when the whole world seems to be going up shit creek without a paddle, let’s hope they succeed in bringing peace to at least some parts of the world. Their car does bring a smile to my face whenever I see it.

 

PS: A few days ago, a post on a futuristic public toilet in Tokyo popped up on my timeline. I have been in love with the toilets in Japan for a long time now (a post from 2014). The one I have now lights up with a soothing blue glow inside the toilet bowl when I open the door, and does a cleanup of the washlet nozzle and bowl. I like it here. I think a civilization should be judged by how it poops, because that is the only function a human being enjoys from birth to death. In that regard, I think Japan is at the pinnacle. I know some of my friends in India like to say how everything was there in our land thousands of years ago, but this is one thing where I'm willing to put my neck on the line. There were no such toilets in Arsha Bharata or Arsha Greece or Arsha Mesopotamia or elsewhere. You could say our gurus used to sit in the Himalayan rivulets where the gushing water automatically cleansed their bums, and it could technically pass off as a natural washlet. But then, there was no blue light. When you think of it, I wouldn’t mind trying that out on a Himalayan stream. Whitewater pooping instead of whitewater rafting. I’m sure many would pay top dollar for that.

The Image Problem

The Government of India recently held a workshop for top officials aimed at helping them “create a positive image of the government,” manage “perception through effectively highlighting positive stories and achievements,” and making the government “be seen to be sensitive, bold, quick, responsive, hard-working etc.” This is a highly laudable, and much-needed move, and is of utmost priority, given the negative press the country has been getting around the world for its handling of the COVID-19 pandemic.

In pursuing that story, we chanced upon a secret draft that calls upon patriots around the world also to help in the endeavour to change the narrative. The draft describes the following scenarios that proud patriots could encounter overseas.

You’re in a foreign country whose media is trying to tarnish our supreme leader’s image. A foreigner friend comes to you and says something negative.

Foreigner: “It’s a shame what’s happening in India. Horrible scenes from hospitals and crematoria”.

In such cases, your job is to delicately direct that person to the positive things happening around the country right now. But, before that, try to play down the issue with the usual fake news narrative.

You: “It’s not that bad. The government has said there’re enough hospital beds and oxygen. There's no reason to disbelieve the government. Some anti-nationals are making up such negative news of people dying without oxygen and funeral pyres burning non-stop. Also, why are these foreign fake media snooping around and asking questions? Our leader doesn’t like chitchatting with the press. He’s a doer. Our local media people know that and don’t bother asking questions. If you foreigners keep on doing this, we’ll make a rule that all questions should be in Sanskrit language.”

Now, show the person news clips of Yogi-ji’s assurances of enough oxygen, beds and medicines, and also cow help desks, which ought to surely impress him. Next, gently guide the person to the positive news.

You: “By the way, did you hear about the grand central vista we are building in New Delhi? It’s going to be the grandest central vista ever. It’s going to be iconic and better than Washington D.C.!! It’s like a triangle with a hole in the middle….”

Don’t go overboard with the explanation. Triangle with a hole in the middle could conjure up some unwanted imageries. Anyway, if the foreigner is still unimpressed, talk about the Prime Minister’s new residence.

You: “We’re also building a new residence for our PM. It’ll be more phamous than the White House. The house will have nano-chips embedded in it.”

Foreigner: “Why are there nanochips in it?”

You: “That is because even if the PM is 120 metres deep below the earth, we can track him down. Wait, sorry, that was from another story.”

Again, don’t mix up unnecessary things. Also, it’s not phamous, it’s famous.

Foreigner: “But, our government is sending oxygen concentrators and other aid to India. Why is that?”

Now, this anal sphincter of a foreigner is persisting with the negative storyline. Don’t go ballistic and say “abey chu#$ya, that is because our supreme leader called and ordered your dumb leader to send stuff”. Be tactical. So…

You: “That is part of our supreme leader’s diplomatic ingenuity. You see, in helping us, your country will also have a sense of happiness and satisfaction. That is our custom. Make others feel happy. Haven’t you heard “Samastha vasudeva bhavanthu loka kudumbo or something like that?”

Foreigner: “No.”

You: “Well, now you heard it!”

Foreigner: “Hmm, still, the government seems to have mismanaged the whole issue and is not taking responsibility of the mess. Didn’t you hold a big festival by the Ganges and some elections recently?”

Don’t lose your temper. Stay calm.

You: “Our supreme leader was chosen as the world’s best PM by the UN, and he still is. He is so wise he even advises our scientists on how to launch rockets. He has hands-on experience as he’s been a ba…..wait. Forget it. As for people dipping in the Ganges, they get immunity because it is one of the top five polluted rivers in the world. So, once you’re used to that, nothing can harm you. This was proven by NASA….wait.”

Sorry, we’ve to rewrite that. All that crap we had input over the years is creating confusion in the system. Well, we have to calm the #$”& down. We have to check if this foreigner is not the same fictitious foreigner Jay who had crisscrossed India and praised our supreme leader in our 2015 WhatsApp posts. Maybe he has double-crossed us now!

Let’s not get distracted. You could next give subtle hints about our airstrike capabilities. (Skip this if the person is French.)

You: “You know, we have the great Rafale jets now and can hit wherever we want, especially on cloudy days. In fact, we paid $9.4 billion for 36 jets, or almost double the $4.5 billion that Egypt paid for 30 jets, just because we could afford to do so. The jets have side mirrors and all, and Swiss Army knives hidden under the ailerons.”

And the final nail on the head of this nosey foreigner.

You: “Also, we have let the vaccine guys do surge pricing depending on the demand, which will trigger a healthy competition and ensure that only the healthiest people with money will survive. Survival of the fittest, as our ancient sages used to say. No, capitalist, communist, or socialist country has done so. Nor has any monarchy. Shows our trust in the free-market capitalist system. As our supreme leader says, ‘The world should learn from us’.”

Follow this template to deal with all the usual suspects engaging in negative news. i.e. news.

A Cock and Bull Story

 

Holy cow! It seems the Rashtriya Kamdhenu Aayog cancelled the Gau Vigyan exam! To say that I’m disappointed would be an understatement. I was looking forward to check out the questions and see how I would’ve fared in such a new and difficult, but noble Nobel-worthy field.

Well, as usual, some morons from that “Gau”-lish (Gau, Gaul, ghoul, whicheva suits you) outpost in the south, have apparently played the spoilsport (Cow exam postponed). They like being bulls in a china shop, especially in this age when China is bullying us.

Don’t they know that an UGC exam is a sacred cow? Did I get it wrong? A god is a sacred cow. A sacred cow is a god. It’s all confusing. In this age, when governments and people can have a cow if someone even thinks of thinking to make a god or politician joke, it’s better to leave sacred gods and political leaders alone, at least, the ones still in circulation. You are allowed to take digs, at the most, on extinct gods like e.g., Goddess Phaethusa, and Nehru. There are, of course, some countries where comedians call their president as Putin’s c#*k su*ker (No apology from Colbert) or orangutan (Trump withdraws lawsuit against Maher) and get away with it. But, don’t try calling your president or PM any of that.

Leave those sacred cows alone. Remember Mr. Tharoor who famously miscowculated mallu literacy and said “cattle class,” which turned out to be an udder failure, and he ended up listening to pontificating mallus till the cows came home.

It’s all a load of bull. The government shouldn’t be cowed down by this mallu “moo”vement, but should take the bull by the horns and conduct that exam. It'd behoove them to remember that the sacred cow has been their perpetual cash cow for decades now. A cow-ordinated response is the need of the hour, or else, we’ll forever be behind Western bull-poop science, like a cow’s tail.

Gau, gobarment, gau.