Politics 0.1

In spite of donning a Gandhi pen-name, I tend to be apolitical person. ‘Vama’ stands for my leftist views which is labelled anti-national and Gandhi, nationalist. A cocktail of rashtradrohi and rashtrapita. Whooshhh! Vamagandhi turned into soft-porny shitty satirist. I don’t fear Bapu but this Marx fellow would surely paint my ass in red in heaven. So, lets talk politics to justify my pen-name as one of my blogger pal suggested.

Narendra Damodardas Modi. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Can you say both the names together ten times? I bet you will mess up! 

Not only the name, I loved the eloquence of Dadhiwaala (bearded) prime ministers of India. Be it Chandrashekhar or Narendra Modiji. Ofcourse, we had a non-eloquent Dadhi-waala PM too but his dadhi was compulsion rather than choice.

Since I chose to be leftist, a rightist BJP was natural opponent. Left ruled among tongue-rolling rasagolla-smacking sweet Bengalis for years, and so did dominate among the teeth-cluttering beef-eating belligerent Mallus. But, soon, left was wiped off from whole world as outdated ‘Doordarshan’ who could only remain far-sighted away from reality. Some leftist kept doing some shooting practice and killing feudal lords in jungles of India. The red brigade. But, they too could never get any sympathy apart from well read JNU guys and well-written dailies like ‘The Hindu’ or ‘The Telegraph’. 

Only shining star in India, who could bring fortunes in era of corrupt collapsed congress and Advani-ised frail BJP , seemed the man in saffron. Narendrabhai. I have been great admirer of RSS, whose fringe element or ideas could have killed my boss Bapu. Simply because, people like Bapu, Lincoln or Luther King don’t deserve to die of TB or testicular cancer. They need to be shot! 

Opportunist doctor who works for money, and invests in shares, can do part-time charity or rant about poverty, but he wished a man at helm who can grow the market. And the man gave me enough smiles in the very first quarter he reigned. I began sorting wastes, using dustbins for tiniest paper-bits, and never urinated at streets even if it banged hard at tip of genitalia. Swachh Bharat! 

While he was bringing FDI and dollars from round-the-world, lampoons in opposition began hitting below the belt. The old formula you employ with right-wingers, the babas and sadhus. I remember snatching Dhoti of one baba on Ganga-ghats and he would attack me running with his ‘kamandal’ and ‘trishul’. Say ‘beef’, and they will jump and almost kill you. Say ‘mahisasura’ and they will hang you. Mythology is so huge. You can pick up glorifying one-by-one and see the nationalist right wingers dancing. Ravan, Shishupaal, Karna, Bakasura, Bhasmasura….. One was Dalit, one was Jat, one was Tribal and so on. 

Lets rise up from mythical distractions, and focus on country. And Narendrabhai can surely do it. The man can talk on lengths but barely uttered a word on ‘beef’ or ‘ JNU’ or ‘vemula’. He knows these are baits of opposition. He tries to focus on development, shrugging away these nonsense stuffs. I used to burn-off all porn mags before exams to minimise distraction. The Patel Playboys, The Beef Busters, The Hardik Hustlers….just burn them off and focus!

The greatest threat is not the failure of  PM but the failure of ideology. RSS is an organisation of similar age and legacy, as of Congress or Indian left. But, the rightist RSS and leftist Communists could never grow as centrist Congressis. You may call the centrists ‘opportunists’, but they are genetically fittest. Thankfully, their prime leader is victim of impotence who can never carry the gene forward. But, the shouting, beating, killing, bullying rightists can become cynosure of eyes of bullied, beated, and killed ones. Voting rights are equal for Dalits, Muslims, Kashmiris, Leftists, Women, Jats, Patels, North-easterns, Biharis alike in India. And, anti-reservation, anti-kashmiri, anti-dalit voices can bully on facebook but not in election.

Since you are Gujju, calculative, bachelor, talkative, calm, choosy, flashy, desi, dadhiyal, old man, I have full faith in your competence. I love winners, and you are hands-down winner, and not gully champion like Lalu and Kejriwal. You ruled the heart of nation hardly a year back. Every Tom, Dick and Harry loved you. Don’t let Tom and Harry sway away.

The kiss saga

Hundreds (or thousands) of romantic bollywood movies had people making love without a kiss. They would cuddle up, rolling together downhill, dancing and singing. Beauty like Waheeda Rehman sitting so close to casanova Raj Kapoor,  and the man keeps singing in his bullock-cart without even touching her. I belonged to such sacred school of love, where ‘kiss’ was un-indian. Nothing like anti-national. Just un-Indian. I dreamt of singing songs for my girl, and getting real close sans kiss. Besides my first dream girl in school days had a bit of hirsutism with hairs shooting off the cheeks. 

Soon I learnt, making love without a kiss is like shitting without a piss. Its just impossible. 

My idea of girl too changed from hirsute, pimpled, dark, spotty cheeks to soft, fair, smoothy, pinkish ones. Like one of those ‘woodlie woodlie woosh’ giggling skin cream ads. In college days, only two girls out of hundred in my classroom could fit my criteria of kissability. Two overweight plumpy softball creatures with chubby red cheeks. To reach their cheeks was next to impossible due to huge tummy wobbling between.

I figured out this flaw in kissability criteria, and made appropriate BMI revisions, which no girl could actually fulfill. Some were too fair but sharply chiseled nose, chin and zygoma which could bruise my lips. Some were too soft that they will get bruised by my lips. And being a Gandhian, ‘do no harm’ person, my conscience never allowed.

One evening I saw my two close couple friends kissing each other in darkness of library corridor. The guy was moving his lips from one point to another in darting motion, and girl was shooing him away like an unpleasant buffalo. I just dissected across this episode to my friends in hostel, and created the first Hindu-Muslim riot. Girl was probably Maratha hindu pride, and boy was a muslim fellow. Shooed off by buffalo and beaten later by bulls. Poor fellow.

My kissability criteria too changed to religion and caste fulfilment, making the window of opportunity even narrower.

In spite of all my research on kissability, my first kiss proved to be utter fiasco, breaking all rules and barriers. I don’t even know who the girl was, and where she is. My some german friends took me to a party in US, where some girls joined them. I discussed Bhagvad Geeta with them, and when they parted, they hugged and touched cheek. I thought probably I have to kiss in return and so I did. The girl smiled and asked me to only place cheek side-by-side as a parting gesture. Anyway, girl was irresistibly kissable even to ascetic gandhian. One of the ideal optimalised cheeks, patent pending.

Times changed and so did the Indian movies. From an eye-blick peck on the cheek, to war of rolling tongues and biting lips. In one of the Delhi streets near university, recently I witnessed a similar tongue-tug of war. I was pretty sure girl just had a garlic-studded street chicken momos, and boy looked like a lassi-loving Jat. Never in my dreams, I would have lassi with garlic! 

And that adds up to one more criteria. Right food choices before kiss. Pork in pizza or whiff of cigarette smoke or an untimely drink with friends. An amorous liplock may be a trap to catch your sins. 

Unless you gel out a right combo.

In one of those lovely nights, I had Aloo Paratha, and smacked her lips with spicy mango pickles. And we lived happily ever after.

The girl from JNU

Only two people I can closely connect to, who had studied in JNU. One, my elder brother in his khaadi kurta and jhola days and other the outspoken lively Bengali girl. While I always had respect for my benevolent smiling bro, I had to debar the  ultra-modern finicky nosy girl for good. 

You know what a ‘shoulder-guy’ is? These are most ascetic people on earth. Girls love to lean on their shoulder after each break-up, and he carries unselfishly till they shift the batons. Undoubtedly, a devout Gandhian was one of the best shoulder on earth. People say Gandhi practiced celebacy living with bunch of women. So did Vamagandhi. Unscathed, untouched.

Coming back to JNU girl. She would break-up in few days, sometimes hours, improving every day. Quickest I remember was the poor guy who barely survived 20 minutes of breakfast with her. I am sure she would have bettered her records. Out of touch for long, got to know she got married. Before I could wish her for happy married life, she was already divorced. Phew! As expected!

“Bengali arranged marriage. Bloody he tried to touch me. I filed divorce.”

“What a husband is supposed to do?” I asked in surprise.

“I can’t handle this. Mujhe chahiye Azaadi!”. I could hear her neurons in background singing, “Jung rahegee, jung rahegee”.

Would Shoulder-man return?

Well, no! Vamagandhi’s shoulders were already pre-occupied with two cute daughters. I blocked her from all possible communications, like a ‘rashtradrohi’ she is.

But, she returned to JNU, after many years of ding-dong life. She spends her evenings at Ganga-Dhaba, on her way to another PhD. (That’s another story, how she carries legacy of three incomplete PhDs in three continents!) 

In one of the circulating videos, may be I could see her. I am sure she would be switching sides, from Afzal Guru to Rashtrabhakts. Thats what she had been doing all her life. None seemed right to her.

Typical JNU girl. Wasn’t she?



The only absolute truth is that there are no absolute truths.

– Paul Feyerabend

The Valentine Jayanti

Most popular male gods in India are either Lord Shiva or Hanuman-epitomes of manhood. While Shiva is fav among females, an ideal husband material with two naughty kids, Bajrang Bali Hanuman gulps plenty of laddoos from ‘no woman no cry’ sloganeering bachelors. The moment I realised I am loaded with enough testosterone, I switched from Lord Hanuman to Lord Shiva, and memorised the famous Shiv Tandava mantra. Ready for the kill!

Quiting Lord Hanuman began with quiting gymnasium, where I sweated hard on my biceps and pecs, and began looking like a mini-hanuman. Wore half-sleeve tight T-shirts shopped from Chor-bazaar, walking with forward-thrusted chest. Girl who always sat next to me, disappeared as if my sweat will make her pregnant. Realised my sweaty stinking stupid self and quit the bone-breaking muscle-aching gym sessions.

Switching to Shiva meant attitude, male anger and the ‘third-eye’. Trick worked. The girl returned, and my third-eye was all on her. Always talked to her looking down, with ‘trinetra’ right at her face. Soon I was in love like one of those Amol Palekar movies. I would strategically chose seat next to her, but would never talk, never meet eyes. And when the bubbly girl would offer to come to college canteen, the angry Shiva in me would rise from nowhere and reject her. As if I have millions of tasks. Same night, I would be drinking like ‘neelkanth’.

Then came the festival of love. Valentine’s day. Angry Shiva seemed to send his Sainiks in city of Pune to vandalise it. While Hanuman’s Bajrangi Sena is already locking horns somewhere else. Choice between brown-eyed girl and gods was little difficult, but boiling testosterone in me finally won.

Red roses were soaring high in demand, so chose the pink, and hid it between shining white Govinda-style baniyaan and my dashing blue full-sleeves, stuck beneath my jeans at waist. After a quick Reiki of library and canteen, located her among bunch of frolicking girls. To take the rose out sharply, made a window in shirt keeping the lower button open. Crashed into girls, and the rose right in her hand! Execution was flawless like Godse shooting Gandhi. We had a Vada-Pav together and remained friends forever. Never knew bloody rose was colour-coded. ‘Pink’ meant rose without testicles.

Happy Valentine’s!