Only Grudgingly So

Apparently our country is in turmoil and big shit has happened. Every self respecting blogger has a thing or two to say about the terror attacks in Mumbai. And although Nanga Fakir has absolutely no shred of what colloquially goes by as 'self respect', he thinks that it will be totally uncool not to write a post on what's hot these days (though it's done only grudgingly so).

The people are up in arms. Bloggers are in a frenzy. Panels emerge spontaneously on TV stations offering instant analysis. Hotshot writers bemoan the sore wounds of "their city", Amitabh Bachchan sleeps with a pistol beneath his pillow (woe to the Thackeray's and the terrorists. After all, Amitabh's no Rajnikant). The Sharmajis and Sahani-sahabs all over India meet in drawing rooms and discuss how awesome it would be if the Khans next door would drown in their own vomit. Hip youngsters light candles and mourn the dead.

But it's amusing to see so many people outraged (many of whom I know well) sporting fancy, distraught and sometimes unintentionally funny status messages like "Question to Terrorists - Are 72 virgins worth all this shit?".

If a question were put that way, even Gandhiji might be in two minds, let alone a bunch of hormone addled twenty year olds. Those not turned on by such prospects must be closet homosexuals of the kind who cry after seeing Dostana; and our regular, terrorists-next-doors are anything but gay wimps. I can easily imagine such message sporting friends asking the question to terrorists (with self righteous indignation, one might add) and see the terrorists, just like Cartman in the Casa Bonita episode, close their eyes, smile smugly and say "Totally!"

[Don't get me wrong. I think it's totally cool that fat, rich, well-fed Indian kids in phoren lands, have to ejaculate, every now and then, status messages that show how sorry they are for their motherland's sorrows and how badly they want to fuck the terrorists and Pakistan over.]

What is also amusing is that top notch journalists and media big shots like Larry King and Rajdeep Sardesai hastily convene 'serious' panel discussions with pulp fiction writers like Deepak Chopra and Shoba De respectively who in turn offer deep and original insights into the problem of terrorism. (Why the fuck was Chetan Bhagat not invited? He even sells more, I'm told).

Apparently something needs to be done. Nanga Fakir is ready with suggestions.

For the rich, fat, guilty slob of an expat: Follow the news around on blogs and websites. Get fellow expats together, drink a little red wine and discuss the problems that plague India and offer ingenious solutions. If possible, gang up on a lone Pakistani and beat the shit out of him.

For the pulp fiction writer/socialite: Get ready to be featured on Barkha Dutt's special. Dress modestly and look serious. Try hard not to make a fool of yourself (read: "Don't speak").

For the young kid in his mating season: Protesting is the latest cool thing you could be a part of. Light candles, wear iridescent armbands, wear a pained look and strut around with a hip, stylish and liberal vocabulary. Your search for a mate is guaranteed to terminate this protest season.

For the common man: Don't take it to heart. Get busy living. Or get busy dying.

Links:

A hilarious post from the The Fake Blog of Rakesh Jhunjhunwala titled Shivraj Patil's Answering Machine.

Another very good post by Kartik Krishnan at Passion for Cinema.