Welcoming a New, Brave World of Ancient Practices, and Happy New Year.

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 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 that 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, 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 a certain group where the husbands would slink away so that their womenfolk could have brief relationships with people from upper castes.

    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

Amicus Curiae, or what?

 Every now and then a word pops up in the media which makes you go, “what the f$#k is that?” Over the past few weeks one such word has been bothering me. The word is amicus curiae, and everybody seems to know it. It rolls off the tongue of TV ladies effortlessly as if they were taught “A is for Amicus Curiae”, instead of “A is for Apple” in kindergarten.  Mind you, these are people who can’t differentiate between Malayalam letters such as ba and bha.

I found out through painstaking research in Google that the word means “friend of the court”, or a person appointed by the court to assist it in deciding a matter. Here the matter is what to do with Padmanabhan’s jewels (or Padmanaba, as the ladies say) hoarded in the temple vaults, at least one of which is guarded by killer snake symbols.  After weighing the pros and cons of a snakebite, the amicus curiae decided to become an amicus regius, friend of the royals. We don’t know what the court will decide. Hopefully, it will benefit the people, as the leftists hope, rather than a bunch of superstitious sycophants.

At the same time, the Hindu groups’ claim that the Left is targeting only them is also legitimate. There is quite a bit of pussyfooting by the Left when it comes to other religions. My hope is that one day a government of ours, left or right, will develop the guts to tax all these religion-related entities – the temples, churches, mosques, ammas, appas, babas, bhabhis, swamis and swaminis. Some small percentage will do, which could be used to develop the civic facilities used by these groups for festivals, etc.

Anyway, we have some breathing space till the court decides on what to do with the Lord’s jewels. If the Lord doesn’t like the verdict, get ready for snake attacks, thunderbolts from heaven and other means through which the Lord wreaks destruction. By the way, do you think the guys who did the divination with the cowry shells know how it is going to end (because the Lord must know how it ends and have told them, otherwise it doesn’t make much sense in being the Lord, does it)? The suspense is killing me.

Whether the Lord likes it or not, his land is now literally a stinking cesspool. The chief minister, while chitchatting with some German kids who pointed out the garbage problem, told them that there is no good model to follow to solve this. He told that to Germans! Germany is a country which even Japan looks up to as a model for garbage handling, recycling, etc. Pathetic. Can someone teach these guys googling? Only a few days ago, a group led by a minister went to China to “learn”, among other things, about garbage handling. There had been umpteen such expeditions before to all corners of the world, but we are still weighing all the options, lest something goes wrong. Perhaps he could go to Brahmapuram and see how it is done in Cochin before we all go down with dengue.    

In the meantime, the city Corporation held a convention with politicians from different parties, social and cultural leaders as well as regular folk. They took some kind of pledge (led by actor Suresh Gopi) about garbage with their hands held out. What more could we possibly ask for? A convention and a pledge! I have a nagging feeling that at least some of the guys who took the pledge had their middle fingers out.

P.S. Continuing with the theme of the previous post – A couple of weeks ago I went to a restaurant called Villa Maya near Eenchakkal. Very high-end, with an ambience that a few years ago would have looked out of place in Trivandrum, but now, doesn’t appear too odd. Signs again of the rising affluence of the city. The prices are five-star-ish and the menu is quite appealing and palatable to Indians. Their operation will need some tweaking as far as some of the dishes I ordered are concerned. First up, the steak. They never asked me how I wanted it. I got a too well-done steak, whereas I like mine rare, or medium rare, at the most. Next is the Quattro Formaggi pizza, a pizza made of four (quattro) cheeses (formaggi). Though reasonably good, it didn’t seem like it had four cheeses in it. It is a new place and probably lacks in experience, but on the whole I think it is a good addition to the city’s dining scene.