Another crappy year is getting flushed down the tubes of history. To be honest, I barely noticed this flushing sound as I was busy with work despite the threat from AI. Nonetheless, some things did get through, and I had a general idea of what was going on around me. Year 2025, I think, has been a real coming out party for things that many people had been kept suppressed due to weed-inspired, fancy, secular humanist ideas like human rights, equality, empathy, love, etc. People have finally woken up to the fact these are all signs of weakness, and are now actively bringing back good, old-fashioned patriarchy, misogyny, racial and religious hatred, and bigotry. People flaunt these openly. Supreme leaders around the world derive their strength and build cults around these ideas. It works. There are some minor issues such as whose religion is superior, which culture is better, and whose imaginary being has more power. But hey, that is the whole point. You get to diss others, and it is fun.
Youth are attracted to this, especially young men. One of the top political commentators in America now is a young guy called Nick Fuentes. His views are getting even more popular than Charlie Kirk, who, prior to his death, professed that the Civil Rights Act outlawing all kinds of discrimination was a mistake. Nick is having a field day with MAGA man Vivek Ramaswamy. Nick probably doesn’t know that Indians are accustomed to this idea of discrimination. We invented it, Nick. We are born with that DNA, brother.
There is a movie star-turned MP in Kerala. He is a good example of this. Though not in the league of supreme leader Modizee in terms of histrionic skills, the man is a good actor. He is also always in character. It is as if he is emoting on a big stage all the time. Delivering lines with a flourish, fingers wagging, facial muscles twitching, pot belly wobbling, and the gold and other bling on his person glittering. It is quite an impressive sight.
Except that, more often than not, he appears constipated. I often imagine this guy in the potty, sitting on the throne, face all contorted, neck veins stretched, eyes popping, and screaming at a stubborn, sticky piece of turd dangling from his posterior orifice, “Art thou coming forth, you piece of $##t?” I think if we work on the script a bit more, we would be able to make a good movie out of this.
Suresh Obi-wan Kenobi starring in and as The Unfallen Turd. (In line with the current trend in propaganda movies, this could alternatively be named The Turd Files.)
One man standing against progressive rascals; fighting to protect his traditions and also bring some back. The man apparently has fond memories of great traditions where lower caste people dug holes on the ground, put leaves in them, and had gruel from those holes. The fact is that lower caste people are also having wet dreams about the good old days when kings ruled over them. Their forefathers could play hide-and-seek in the bushes when people of a higher caste passed by. It was so much fun. Everybody knew where they stood in the pecking order. Oh, those were the glory days. We were Vishwa Guru then, and now, we’re in the process of claiming that Vishwa Guru title back.
We, of course, realize that there are some smartass guys like Peter F. Drucker who say, "I have been saying for many years that we are using the word 'guru' only because 'charlatan' is too long to fit into a headline" or "people call me a guru because they can't spell charlatan".
We don’t care, you Drucker. We will call ourselves Vishwa Charlatans. Look at the number of scam call centres we run. We will rewrite history. We will erase weaklings like Mohanlal…Mohandas, or whatever his name was, from our books, our MGNEREGA, and pretty soon from our currency notes. The older generation didn’t have WhatsApp University. So, they relied on and had to believe what they saw—a semi-nude guy and his cohorts walking around the land fighting the Brits. At the very least, he could have had his name printed on the border of that loincloth. A monogrammed langoti. Nothing; no fashion sense at all. If some andolan jeevi tries such a stunt today, we will send men to lynch him. The fact is, we had a better plan of bankrupting the Brits by getting them to pay pensions to all of us, which was an even more non-violent solution. Anyway, now we have the means and the WhatsApp uncles to educate the mother bleepers (as delivered by Samuel L. Jackson) of the possibilities.
Speaking of mother bleepers, the supreme leader went emotional about some unknown people abusing him. That reminded me of an advice I got from a teacher (not a “guru”) when I was a teenager.
One fine day, my dad, who is usually busy operating the government machinery, was at home and developed this sudden interest in his progeny’s studies. Especially Macaulay’s English. So, he called me, “Makkale (nothing to do with Macaulay. Makkale is a term used to address kids in some parts of Kerala), show me your English textbook”. I showed him my mint condition book and gave him a blank stare. He realized that his son was an idiot and decided to find me a tutor. So, me and my cousin were sent off to Prof. T. He was a very nice gentleman, who would usually be in a thorthu (a type of towel), with ash and sandalwood paste all over his body, busy completing his daily puja when we reach in the morning. I don’t remember the context, but one day he advised us that one should always abuse only the mom and not the dad (“തള്ളക്കേ വിളിക്കാവു, തന്തക്കു വിളിക്കരുത്” were his words). The reason, he said was that “only moms know who the dad is”. Mind you, this was much before DNA tests and all. My cousin guffawed. The three girls in the class—the fashionable twin sisters of Shaolin, as my cousin called them, and the demure (let’s call her) Sanyo-mol blushed. I smirked. Prof. T continued with his Macaulay’s English. Maybe he was alluding to certain group where the men would slink away for womenfolk to have brief relationships with people from upper castes. Don’t know.
Well, the year is winding down. Everyone around the world now agrees that rich people have the first claim to mountains, land, forests, and other resources. The rich shall inherit the earth was the original biblical saying. Some fake, woke liberals had rewritten that then. We are correcting all such mistakes. We will rewrite even the Bible, if needed. So, Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year.
I hope to welcome in the new year with this nice song from Chris Rea, who passed away on December 22, 2025, that I used to listen to in a cassette player a long time ago. The Road to Hell.
P.S. From FB
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