Repercussions of the bollocks of an intimidated mind

"You think you won't become one of them. You are sure, 5 years from the day you land in America, you will actually still be Indian. Walk, talk, shout and behave like an Indian. You tell everyone back home that you love your country and you don't want to get adapted to the American culture. And that you are the Indian you always were, back in India."

I for one, believe in hope. In faith. In human service and I fear God. Sometimes my senses don't. But that is totally a different topic. I do almost everything a sane human does. I try to socialize, try to give in, try to get some love and some money outta the little things I can do with Adobe Photoshop. Sometimes, I telling people that death metal doesn't intrigue me nor does it interest me. And that, Classic Rock rhymes with Rehman. Try spreading the quantum of miniscule energy that Pink Floyd provided me since 6 years now. Also try explaining the BFF on the phone of what the British Invasion was. Beg the Fairy Godmother, the Western version of the Goddesses that dwell in the tiny cement temples we find on the streets of Hyderabad by the foot pavements, to throw me into that point, where the Indian Cult was being idolised. When the riffs on the bass guitar of a song performed in some garage in the downtrodden areas of Seattle were being tabbed, which later became an anthem of a generation. When grunge was born. When having the hairstyle ala Satya Sai Baba was the latest fad. Live the life of a tramp. Hitchhike my way to the Himalayas, and maybe run into God. Have a cup of tea with Him and not realising who He is, bid farewell.

The moment I stepped in America, I had begun fantasizing something entirely different. I wanted to take classes in poetry and literature like a friend of mine had suggested. Take guitar classes and perform alongside Chris Cornell while he was performing on stage wearing the Fruit & Loom almost see through vests that he bought from WalMart.

The moment I stepped at Kingsville, a place overcrowded with underdogs ala me, I realised, if there is anything I can possibly do, then its just buying the almost see-through vests that Chris Cornell bought from WalMart.

Now, that I actually own the see-through vest, and not just one, but several of them, I think that to expect anything more than this, is a joke.

We aren't just underdogs. We are a society of desis, living away from home, trying to rub our superiority over the fellow desis. We cannot speak up unless we are drunk. We act according to the company around us. Also, we 'act'. We won't speak straightforward. We have the same weaknesses that we had when we were in India. We cannot speak in English and whenever a boy and a girl are seen around a lot together, either the boy has proposed the girl or the boy has a crush over the girl. They are not to be considered as friends. We assume things, believe in second hand information, gossip, chat and crib. Also, did I mention? We NEVER speak straightforward.

I remember, last year at this point of time, I was cribbing about how the world hates an underdog. Of course, the blog got deleted. The post surely remains in google cached pages. Anyway, I now realise why the society hates underdogs. Because they never try to be anything more than an underdog.


Let there be Floyd, Metallica and Led Zepp.

P.S: As I am writing this post, some people are talking about who is greater. Balakrishna or Chiranjeevi. I leave the place immediately.

Bollocks of an intimidated mind

America! The land of the hottest chics, coolest cars and the ultimate freedom. PDA, down to earth movie (porn) stars, great money(1$=50Rs), cheap oil($1.69/gallon), cheaper alcohol(JD 750ml = 20$+tax), cheapest beer (1 beer = nothing+NON TAX, no one buys it, but I still find it in my refrigirator everyday), the fastest internet, amicable people and to top it all, a black President! The land of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, the place where you'll find the real cowboys. The land where jeans was invented. Where chinky chics look at you over public computers. Where you can find the cheapest airfares. The land where you can never smell the pollutants, that an overloaded Bajaj Scooter with a family of 5 sitting on it, would emit. No one dies of hunger here. There are no cyclones, maybe there are but at least they are not called cyclones. Where no one can play cricket, hence when you actually play it, people think you are great at it.

But you are not.

Where people speak only in English or Spanish. Where every girl who looks at you, smiles at you. Hot and non-hot alike. The coolest of the clubs. Rock and Roll concerts every saturday night, across the roads. Electric guitars are sold by the roads. You come here with the notion that everybody loves the Indians. Our culture is deeply respected and worshipped. That once here, you're treated with great humility.

But you're not.

And in Texas, yeah Texas, you expect some cowboy action. Guys with dusty jeans, riding on a horseback yeeeee-haawing all the way and feeding on the cows of the size of Canada. You expect to see tumbleweed rolling on the sandy streets. And then an awesome real time Mexican standup on the roads. You are drooling through the salon while the bad guy is shot by some tall and lanky man with the eyes of an eagle, his skin charred under the summer sun and the smoke coming out of a fat cigar in his mouth, slowly rising into the air like the vestige of a spirit that leaves the body. You think after you come here, you grow out of being an Indian. You think you won't become one of them. You are sure, 5 years from the day you land in America, you will actually still be Indian. Walk, talk, shout and behave like an Indian. You tell everyone back home that you love your country and you don't want to get adapted to the American culture. And that you are the Indian you always were, back in India.

Bang on! Finally you got that right.

The biggest problem with the herd here, is that they are a herd. The Indians stay with the Indians, the Chinese and the Koreans hang around together. The Mexican guys are always seen with Caucasian chics and the Mexican girls always have a black boyfriend. Forget about the Americans. The Indians here, always hang around in groups. They won't talk to the Americans nor do the Americans talk to the Indians. No one makes an effort. Because the Americans are fed up of the Desi junta. Why?

Well ok. Let me tell you. Did you ever work in an American Strip Club(the Desi version of an obscene bar, but only that its legal in the US)? Where the customers pay like crazy if they like a dancer? You know what the desis would do? They'd go to the club, they'd enjoy the dance, relish on one or two drinks and when the dancer would come up to them for money, they'd throw four quarters at her feet like the Maharajas would throw gold coins to the court jesters in for entertaining them. Now, if you had self respect of at least the size of a microbe, you wouldn't take that money. Just because a woman is a stripper doesn't mean you treat her like a beggar. This, our desi junta wouldn't understand. What do they get? The stripper would take a 10$ note and throw it on the face of the desi guy and get him kicked out of the club.

And why don't the Indians make an effort to talk to the Americans? It is simple. Because they can't speak in English.

They might've scored 99% in their high school in English exam but they can't speak it. That is definitely not so bad because English is not their mother tongue, but what is really annoying is :

1) They don't make an effort to talk better than they actually can.

2)They hate you because you can talk better English than them.

I mean what the fuck? The seniors want you to be dependent on them, they want you to treat them with respect, they want you to add a 'bhayya' at the end of every sentence when you talk to them and they want you to owe to them for all the mental support(?) they give you. Reminds you of something? Bang on! Communism!

Anyway. I think I'll end this here. I have better things to write about but this was the one that was bugging me from a long long time. Had to use my awesome super power of cribbing on my blog and hence this post. Leave a comment, or act communist. Anything's fine with me. This shit ain't entertaining anyone buddy.