Velvet Revolver

Has anyone got an opinion on the Velvet Revolver? Anyone other than Miss. Varsha, i.e., though Miss. Varsha's crotchety comments are more than welcome too, of course. I've always been the last to know of anything or any news and I read about them in last week's Newsweek and was piqued by parts of GNR and STP banding up. Next stop: Musicworld!

Ms. McNasty

I wanted to be nasty all of today and yesterday. I want to growl and snarl and be mean to people. I hate everything and everyone today and I blame it all on the weather. I have never been able to tolerate the monsoons. I hate them with a vengeance. People get all dewy eyed and silly when it comes to the rains in India, but I presonally hate them because I feel depressed at the dampness and greyness and the slush. I hate the water logging and the fact that clothes never feel dry and fresh and the dankness everywhere. Now, there are another 2 months for this accursed season to end. Gah! I want to cry.

The Goa Bar

On one of the streets (don't ask me which) near Dam Square in Amsterdam, there exists a restaurant/bar called the Goa Bar that has a very interesting hand-painted sign that says:

Please Smoke your joints inside!

Reminds me of the good old days! Sigh!

Tonsils and giant orange dildos

I am back! I have put Geneva, Lausanne and Amsterdam behind me. The last day in Geneva was spent recovering from a fever and the shock of a 250 Euro doctor's bill. Also discovered I am not a fan of fondue and swiss food and certainly not of swiss folk dancers, especially when the dancers are all fat swiss hags. Work was a total washout, though it was good to meet old acquaintances again. The last day in Amsterdam completely made up for cold, grey Geneva. I loved the crowds and the canals and was shocked and delighted by the sex shops, giant orange dildos, the hookers and the free marijuana and magic mushroom shops. Sent a thrill down my brown Indian back and I know I must visit Amsterdam again.

Miss Varsha, strawberries, and cream, and especially the cream.

So I admit it.
I am a tennis junkie.
A significantly large proportion of my boyfriends-only-they-don't-know-it are professional tennis players.
Indeed it is extremely disturbing to me how ass ugly some of the new crop of professionaly tennis players are. You would expect that someone whose yearly income ranges in the millions would at the least not sport a dirty, ragged mullet, but I digress.

Wimbledon started today, and with it the opportunity to watch lots of repeated coverage of a sweaty Andy Roddick running around (Thanks ESPN ! For your completely xenophobic sports coverage, at least in this regard.) and I ate a blueberry and cream croissant for lunch to mark the occasion. Not quite the traditional bowl of strawberries and cream, but I was never very traditional was I ?

Miss Varsha

The Blogger formerly known as Miss Varsha

Stuff that I learned from the media in the last few days

1. Being wary of the "deathlike" energy of her name, Madonna is henceforth to be known as Esther.

2. Ella Gunderson, being tired of being "forced to dress like a painted trollop" (or something to that effect) started a mail campaign, leading to a new look for this year called Miss Modesty. Thank you, Ms. Gunderson for preventing the forced trollopization of all women everywhere.

3. In response to the report denying all links between Al-Qaeda and Iraq published by the National Commision, President Dubbya said "I kept insisting there was a link between Saddam and Al-Qaeda because there was a link between Saddam and Al-Qaeda." He is also going to stand in a corner and hold his breath and stamp his feet, apparently until we all agree.

4. The 12 newly elected UKIP MEPs have declared their intention to "destroy the European Parliament". Apparently they are going to go this by not attending the EUP sessions. The remaining 700 odd MEPs are delighted since now it'll be easier for them to find a seat.

Im going to go lie down for a while now.

Miss Varsha

Leopard Spots

Didn't we always know Madonna would be a meanie? Here's some more celebrities who are skinflints. One wouldnt have believed Paul Mccartney being one!

The Layne conspiracy

Plain Layne is down and I often felt that it was a joke of some sort. Now, I am sure. However, there have been weird theories floating around that you can read here. I shall miss the limericks, the long comment threads and Joshua's rants, Ryan's wisecracks and hope some other scamster comes along so that it can all start all over again. Who wants to watch TV when you have blog scams? Gives everyone an opportunity to play Miss Marple. Whoever Layne is/are, you certainly can lay it on thick!

Plumpernickel Esq.

I sometimes think my job sometimes entirely consists of emailing. Sometimes, the results are side-splittingly funny. Yesterday I got a mail addressed to "Plumpernickel Esq." *grin*

Die Reliance, Die!

In the days I was not using Allaince broadway, I used Reliance. My usage was high, according to Reliance and then because I was travelling I paid one bill 3 days late. I did not realise it at that time, but Reliance cut off my long distance dialling facilities. I did not notice this for about 10 days because I never used my Reliance phone to make any long distance call anyways. Apart from that one blimp, I paid my rather high bills well in time, but still my long distance calling facilities were not restored.

So, effectively I did not have services available to me for well over one month despite paying my bills in time and being a rather nice cutomer. I realised that my STD facilities were disabled when I tried calling my father few days ago. I called up reliance and asked them to restore my facilities andthe reason why they had been disabled. I was told that my usage was high and that I had not paid my bills! WTF? I promptly got my chequebook out and gave them the details of all the payments.

This has been my second unfortunate experience with Reliance. The first was in obtaining a data cable to connect my phone with my PC. They had run out of cables and did not know when the cables would be available next.

I do not know of any one else's experiences but I've had enough. I am planning to give away my Reliance phone and never ever use any of their services again. In India apparently, the customer is never the king and service providers behave as if they are doing you a great service by providing you the service in the first place.

Self-flagellation

8 hours of my weekend were spent in German classes. This time, my class of 23 consists of 14 engineers. I had no idea there was so much masochism floating around! I reiterate, German is not a tough language, it has logic in its structure. Now only if I could remember the right word at the right time!

Today

Tolerance level = 0

Not the best of times to watch a vcd of the neph. Now, I know that I shall never, ever make a decent mom. I am essentially child-unfriendly. I can't take pleasure in observing kiddies (even the cute ones) and I get bored of the wonder that are little babies. A kid to me is in the larva stage. The sooner it turns into an adult the better.

No more squats

I got my new computer table for home yesterday. It looks really nice and I no longer have to sit on the floor to use my PC from home. It has also reduced the clutter on my shelves. I've got a huge Bob Marley poster for my room. It was a gift, but I saw the potential and am getting it framed. It will give my bedroom a funky look and I can move my Toulouse-Lautrec print to the other guest room. Nothing like a bit of domestic goodness to make one feel better.

Yesterday was weird. I cried half the night without a specific reason. PMS is gunning me down with a vengeance. Still I shall prevail. Thankfully Varsha came online and made me download the new version of yahoo messenger. I got so involved in changing my avatar's look, the crying subsided.

If I get one fuckin' comment advising me what to do on this post, I shall crack some patellas

Whine 1: I am very bugged today. Firstly, I am very depressed. I don't know why. I can't lay a finger on what my hugest cause for the depression is, except for loneliness, that too to an extent. Yesterday I actually came close to hurting myself, but I stopped myself realising how huge a loser I would have been not to be able to withstand the pressure my hormones keep causing every month. So, I put on some music and ate nectarines. I spoke with Ponappa (who is currently in Italy - lucky ovary) and detailed out my will. I think I surprised her a bit with all my dark talk of death and gravestones and epitaphs and remembrances. I don't care. I'm just extracting my last pound of flesh for providing fun and games to people. I can't always be sunshine and good weather.

Rant 1: I just hate fuckin' men. I have yet to find one man who isn't a fucktard of some sort. Either they behave like puppets on a chain (the string pulling being done by some female, note: in EVERY case, its a woman who pulls strings and not another man. Why? Why? Why? Why can't men be their own persons?) or they behave like they are God's gift to womenkind. (This excludes Varsha, btw, before you start pelting me with barbs and acidule' rejoinders) If they are the puppet kind of fucktard, then the lesser said the better. If they are the God kind of fucktard, then remember, I can screw you nice and proper and not even flinch being nasty and no, I don't feel guilty being this way. If you expect any kind of servility, go away from my fuckin' window, will you? And yes, I KNOW I am a total jerk and a pain to be with, which is precisely why I want to be left fuckin' alone. If you think I appreciate your 'sacrifices', go to fuckin' hell.

Rant 2: And now, comes Standard Chartered bank. I hate you. I hate you from the bottom of my heart. I hate your policy and your hypocritical stands. I have a good mind of suing you for gender discrimination. I think your employees are the scum of earth and that hiring mbas from second and in some cases first rate management schools of India still hasnt solved your problems. Nevermind that I have seen only assholes getting through management schools in India, in general, so one really can't expect any better, but still your policies are expected to be somewhat global. No? Why can't you be more accomodating to single women who stay on their own? Why do you have total retards on your bankroll who insist on multiple documents because you see, I am a single woman and hence a bad investment for you? Why do you need bank statements for every fuckin' service I require when you have my salary account and when one expects you to have my details already? Why are you such a fucktard? Why? Why do you lose my documents? Why do I not get my cheques cleared in time? Why do I have to suffer the incompetencies of your highly qualified staff? Listen fucktard, I hope you go bankrupt, but after I move my account somewhere else.

Now that I have it all out, I can go and die. Bah!

And the winner is...

Rebel without a blog! He will be receiving a korean paper photoframe from me in the near future.

Thank you everyone else for not participating or even acknowledging that you read my blog. Oh wait! Nobody actually reads this bog, apart from the weirdos who mail me often sending baffling over-familiar mails.

20 Things to do before you die quiz

The cuz seems to be in an introspective mood with er... self-exploratory, profound reflections and a rather exhaustive list of TBYD (Things to do Before You Die).

I am putting forth twenty TBYD that have been sourced from songs. What you have to do is identify all the 20 songs and the singers/ bands and also let me know which ones you have already done. The first all-correct entry wins a guest post here, ok, maybe that is too cheap, how about an autographed picture of plumpernickel. No? I thought as much. Ok, fine, the first all-correct entry wins a Korean paper photoframe.

So, here we go....

1. Wear pyjamas in the daytime. * Corrected, Sorry! I remembered 2 songs and fused them into one
2. Run on a hill-top following a pack of wild geese.
3. Drive from Paris to the Amsterdam Hilton.
4. Fridays go painting in the Louvre.
5. Sip Napoleon brandy but never get your lips wet.
6. Spend your last 10 bucks on birth control and beer.
7. Acid, booze, and ass, needles, guns, and grass, lots of laughs.
8. R-E-S-P-E-C-T find out what it means.
9. Tried to teach your nephew to fart.
10. Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.
11. Paint your palette blue and gray, look out on a summers day.
12. Dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, silhouetted by the sea.
13. Leave your underpants with someone you can trust.
14. Jogging in the park is excuse to look at all the girls.
15. Search for the undeniable truth that man is just a fool.
16. Find a rock and roll band, that needs a helping hand.
17. Write rhymes with addition and algebra.
18. Back down the bully to the back of the bus.
19. Cooking up the books, a respected occupation.
20. Buy a guitar to punish your Mom.

I have half a mind to ban Varsha from the contest, but this time, maybe not. Post the answers here or email me.

Miss Varsha and a voice from the past

Answer this if you please,

"Why didn't they ask Evans ?"

And no, it doesn't count if you google it.

Miss Varsha
Still boggled.

Monday diner

Stir fried chicken with teppenyakiteriyaki sauce, veggies sauteed with garlic, tomato-kidney beans salad and mango for dessert. The sad part was that I ate my meal alone.

I can give Martha Stewart a run for her money, except she's almost gone to seed.

I miss my dysfunctional family

Especially when I turn a bright itchy red and it subsides only marginally after popping in an antihistamine. My body downwards from my neck has turned red and splotchy and my throat feels choky and my eyes are watering. It is an allergic reaction of some sort and I'm in mortal agony. It is at times like this that I miss my parents and their sensible, unsympathetic, ironical advice. We could give Kurt Vonnegut a run for his money, I tell you.

The hunting of the snark

My estimation of Jivha went down by two notches.

I have always thought that bloggers after a point, like any other group start forming cliques and alignments. It never ceases to irritate me because I have never been a group person and I dislike groups or groupism, because nine times out of ten, groups tend to become closed and inwards-looking. I don't even understand why some stranger would want to meet me because of some shit I post on my blog. Well, some people have all the time, so its nice I guess.

I used to be nicer, but then two strange things happened. One, someone I knew started a blog and would post utter rubbish on his site making things appear the way they were not. Well, it all snowballed into an ugly incident and I had to take recourse to legal action. Shit happens and when it does there is a good chance of me being involved in it because controversy seems to love me.

Anyway, the second thing was that I met a blogger and it was all very fine until the fellow started mooching off shamelessly. I wouldn't have minded until it reached irritating degrees. The fellow would land up at weird hours and demand to be fed. With adult interactions, one expects some reciprocity and here there was none. I don't take crap easily and so I sort of had to un-know the fellow. Since the two incidents have happened I am wary of people and I know that adult people are not nice unless they want something in return. So, meeting random people just because they have a blog is not kosher in my books.

Most people project a kind of image on their blogs, the kind that they would like to be. Everytime I met a blogger I noted that they were different off the blogs. In some cases it was apparent, in some cases it was not. The differences were not always charming and in some cases glaring. Somehow I prefer meeting people who I meet in real life and not through the Internet because I have yet to meet one decent person through the net. so far, I have just met screwballs.

Just checkin'

Identify the movie to which this quote belongs -

I've dated enough narcissistically neurotic men to know that you are all just a pack of roving babies in search of a giant teat from which to suck the lifeblood out of me until I am a hollow shell.

Just to see if anyone likes watching bad movies like me. This wasnt that bad, and I found it funny. I know my taste in movies sucks! If I get the answer from a person like the bro I'll know it was googled.

Spring cleaning in summer

I spent all of Sunday cleaning up my home. I had totally forgotten that I had asked the electrician to come to do the wiring and beading. Now, my home looks neat (read: no wires hanging everywhere) and I am still tired. Its a wonder how so much dust accumulates in such a tiny house in such less time.

In the evening, I completed Life is not all ha ha hee hee by Meera Syal. That is the first book I've read in months now. I am so pressed for time, I just do not have the time for anything and my classes (German) are due to start from the next weekend. When I was younger my sole ambition was to be a couch potato and read all day instead of watching TV. Looks like my ambitions will never be realised. Sigh!

The Sony Max Q Factor Quiz

I went for a Quiz yesterday. My team lost out by 2 points to qualify in the prelims. In the subsequent rounds, I knew 80% of the answers, I haven't lost moi touch. Heh! Its nice to know that my brain cells haven't started degenerating.

I met Bimbo at the quiz. Bimbo is an alpha one male who is a sort of acquaintance and a typical engineering grad - IIM types. I was extremely pleased to score more than Bimbo's team who are apparently veteran quizzers. Bimbo immediately asked me if I would team up for some other quiz, the bugger. The last quiz we participated in as a team, there were fireworks and tempers and the bugger did not even have the decency to apologize. So, I politely turned his offer down.

Oh yes, before I forget, Kapil Dev and Madira Bedi were the stars of the show. Kapil seems to be a nice bloke and Mandira Bedi a punjaban. Heh! We all know that I actively dislike most women, and Varsha, I still think AR looks like moulded plastic.

Oh! Another thing, there was a healthy sprinkling of women at the Quiz. I was surprized and very pleased to see that. Also saw GG in person - scumbag! If he refuses to acknowledge one more of my quizes at iitiim.com maybe next time, I shall crack some patellas.

Anyhow, the weekend stretches before me and this weekend I have to do my applications and my paperwork and stuff. Life sucks most of the time, the rest of the time you are in love.

Past Perfect

I was talking with Ponappa few days back and she said that I was the most fickle, absent minded, intense, moody person she had ever met. Coming from her, it hurt. Considering the fact that she knew me in the days I was prone to horrific mood swings it shouldn't have. I am glad I manage to control my temper with most people now. The only people I lose my handle with are my family and for that I am very sorry.

Hello people, this is me, plumpie!

After indulging in some linky-love, the number of people visiting my blogs seems to have increased as observed by comments made by people other than Miss Varsha, the sis, the cuz, Layne, Helen, Owl, Randy, Andrew (whoa! Are you there, yet?) and Dem.

So, you are here. Good. Now that you have arrived here, remember that these posts are of a personal nature. Plumpie is entitled to her views and opinions, however skewed they may be. Apart from the people mentioned above, I doubt I shall respond to the comments, simply because I have no time and I am not interested in any one else's comments but the people who matter to me. I would reflect on the comments, it is always interesting, but interactive responding to comments here would be very less. Also, patronizing comments left here indicate that you need to get a life and look into a mirror. I've not met any saints so far, so being all saintly, good and politically correct will not really change anything, will it?

I also dont feel inclined to pimp around by putting more feeds on my blog. I dont really care whether people read this blog or not. Besides I just do not have the time. Which is also why you will not find any tracker here or mention of how popular this blog might get ( though I seriously doubt it) because I just do not care. Thats how antisocial plumpie is, yes. This does not mean that you leave rude comments, because comments CAN be traced, hehehehe, plumpie's not THAT zen. All rude comments will be deleted without any further explanations.

That said, I am going to Geneva in ten days time! Yay! Yay! Yay! Its for work, though, but I get to see Switzerland now. How cool is that?

Who moved my Paneer?

Dear Mavalli Tiffin Room,

Yesterday night in sheer desperation, I opened a packet of MTR's Paneer Makhani for dinner. I was tired from work, I was tired of being robbed of my hard-earned money by the government in the name of taxes, I was tired of always being on call, I was tired of life and I was tired of cooking my own dinner day after day after nauseating day. So, I cooked up some rice, made me some salad and popped paneer makhani in the microwave. I was anticipating a nice dinner, with plump pieces of soft, fragrant paneer amidst a tomato gravy. When I saw my bowl of paneer I was horrified. Who moved my paneer? Who?

Where was my paneer? What was this rust coloured greasy gravy doing and where were the plump chunks of paneer that were promised on the cover? Were those puny micro-bits of grey colour, paneer? What is wrong with you people? Sadly I resigned myself to eating the shit when I discovered that there were exactly 23 tiny pieces of leather er... paneer in it. When I say tiny, I mean tiny.

My question to you is very simple. What do you do with those paneer pieces you use on the photograph of the cover of paneer makhani? What will you do about the trauma caused to me and undoubtedly millions of other home-sick north-Indians who were fooled by the enticing photograph on your covers? What do you get from this cheese-paring? A thousand curses on you and your brother and siblings and your entire joint khandaan. Also include Jiggs Kalra in the army for endorsing fake paneer makhani. Next time you move my paneer think long and hard. Wait! There will be no next time with me! Ha!

Yours with malice and ill-will,

Plumpie

Pet Peeves - I

I have always been annoyed by desi-ghee ¹ Indians adopting British, European and worst of all American lingo. Since making lists comes easy to me, as we all know (we meaning me, Varsha and maybe 2 other people who read this idiotic blog, if at all they do) these are some of my pet peeves regarding adopted faux foreign lingo. Feel free to add your pet peeves in the comments box.

1. Mua or Chao instead of Moi and Ciao - dude, you may try and pass your Sita Travels Europe bus tour as the original European tour, but this just lets the cat out of the bag.
2. Okie-dokie - Gasp! Splutter! Choke! I *HATE* it when someone says this and I have a violent urge to bitchslap the person involved. That said, one of my dearest friends says it and I have to keep making pukey noises until she reminds me it is an ISD call and I need to make her promise *N*E*V*E*R* to say that again. It just makes my hair stand at an end to hear "okay-dokkay" in a thick Indian accent. Mind you, I have nothing against thick Indian accents, I just have a problem with them adopting idiotic speech patterns.
3. Whateva - What Varsha said. Imagine a south Indian Maami types saying this and you might understand the terror that overtakes me when I hear it.
4. Like - Using 'like' after every fuckin' word in a sentence still does not convince us that you vacation every year in the big apple. Get creative and grow up, will you? This still remains the favourite aphorism of every babe in Kolkata (yes, every fake is from Kolkata while non-fakes are from Calcutta) from Modern High who has to talk like a skanky ho to fit in with her other skanky peers. Ugh!
5. Honey - I HATE people who need to call you Hunney to prove how amrikan they are. Ewww....
6. A fake American accent that is characterized by a weird rolling of the R's - Don't even let me start on this one. I remember this babe from "trrontoe" who always managed to freak the life out of me with her fake accent while sending the rest of the Indian male population into a priapic state with a single fake roll of the r's. Ewww...
7. Sweetheart - ARGH! To all the oily Indian men who insist on calling ALL frickin' females "sweetheart" to prove just how hep they are, one word - DIE!!!
8. Pissa instead of Pizza - Enough to turn one of Pizzas for life, not that one was ever turned on them for life.
9. Kewl - If I had a rupee for everytime I harboured murderous intentions for people using kewl in IM conversations, I would not be perpetually broke.
10. Using gonna instead of going to - If you were American I'd have understood, if you're Indian and never left Indian shores, this is plainly unacceptable. It does not prove anything, you still end up looking like a fake, pathetic lemming.

There are still a lot of terms floating around that do not come into mind immediately. You are all free to make abundant use of the comments board andlet me know what bugs you the most when it commes to borrowed lingo.

¹ Clarified Butter

Calling Eve Ensler

One of my friends called up after ages and we spoke of this-and-that, her-and-him, Then-and-now. Then my friend says, "Have you read that book - The pussy speaks?" It seems to be all the rage in India. I racked moi brains and tried to think of all popular playboy kind of stuff that had ever come out and I couldnt place the book. Now, my senses were offended (A popular book that everyone was talking about and I did not even know!) and I demanded more information about the book. My friend says, "That babe Shobha De even reviewed the play." I had an epiphany - The Vagina monologues.

Is it a wonder then that I am single?

Miss Varsha's take on it.

Warning : You really expect a warning before one of Miss Varsha's posts ?

wearing trashy, skanky, revealing, hippy-like clothes

WORD. For the Indians amongst us, doing the same while growing long oily hair and saying "Whateva'" with an "a" at the end does not make you a hip urban hipster, even if you do fucking live in bloody orgasmogenic Bangalore. It only makes you a trashy skanky oily HO, with bad pronounciation to boot.

Indians talk different

Word word WORD. If I want to spell pronounce with the O, or aeroplane with the fucking AE, I can, and can we please get over our combined eurocentric mania, and accept that Indian English is a valid language as native speakers outnumber the motherfucking Irish, Australian, Canadian, BRITISH and American speakers put together. So you pretentious college educated fucks from the foothills of Coonoor can just stow your OEDs up your pretentious overenunciating ass.
Also, memo to LANDMARK CINEMAS, I appreciate the thought, but saying "The language of film is Universal" in seventeen different EUROPEAN languages does not make it universal, it makes it EUROPEAN.

India is not all bullock carts, snake charmers or Ma Anandmayi

Im running out of my WORD allotment for the day. Also, second memo to the Talking Good is Good department, AGREEANCE is not, I repeat NOT a word. Can someone please explain the not snake charmers fact to the asshole from the busstop yesterday who out of the blue after establishing that I was Indian asked me "Are there lots of King Cobras there ?". Yes, and they are missing their cousins the Black Mambas who run around the streets of Minneapolis day in and day out, asshat.

India does not pay slackers to sit around and pretend to be intellectual

Except in West Bengal where due to secular enlightenment, said slackers and their idiotic communist idealogues are set to govern the rest of the non slackers, PLUMPIE.

And can someone please please PLEASE give a giant slap to all the exoticising and self exoticising Indian and Non Indian fucks who claim they love the Indian sense of Joy de Virve and Masala and Color and Music. Like the vast majority of people everywhere, the vast majority of Indians are just that, ie people, and they do the vast majority of things including sing, dance, act and dress badly.

So the next time some one drags you to a bad Bollywood movie with psychotically shrieking virginal women dressed in Bright Purple who live in giant houses with Staircases in the foyers, kindly do not smugly smirk and wistfully say "Ah, you Indians are so full of life". Becase, that, to the normal amongst us is more insulting than you can imagine.

Miss Varsha

Indian Summer

Warning: This is a rant and some parts of it may be unkind, rude and offensive. If you are a sensitive person or easily hurt, do not read it.

This rant is aimed at non-Indian tourists. One thing all non-Indians need to understand is that India is a deeply divided country in some ways. India also does not have easily accessible services, which does not mean that the services do not exist, it just means that to access the services you need to pay more. Simple. When Indians want to avail of the services, they pay more. Increasingly middle-class Indians are paying for said services. If you are a tourist, wearing trashy, skanky, revealing, hippy-like clothes will only attract attention to you.

Accept the fact that India is a poor country and that you will be accosted by beggars and mendicants. Indians are also harrassed the same way and it has nothing to do with your lily-white skin. You want to know why? Because we are not a social welfare state. We know the cost of everything unlike you, because our state does not keep our molly-coddled asses pampered and cossetted and subsidized like yours does.

Also remember that travelling comfortably in India requires money. You want a cheap holiday and comforts without spending money, you cannot do that in India. You want to know why? Because we are not a social welfare state. Live with the knowledge and do not crib. Also remember that when middle-class Indians holiday and/or travel, they pay good money to escape the dust and the dirt and travel like all sensible people should in air-conditioned coaches on trains in the summers or fly. And they do it because on a holiday you dont really want to deal with what you deal with everyday, right? If you want to "experience" India, by all means do it. Pay a piddly sum of money to ride on a train or to travel by bus. Just don't whine after you find it uncomfortable. Our buses are cheap and uncomfortable because India is not a fuckin' welfare state.

Also remember that we Indians talk different, our cultures are totally different and expecting it to be any different is extremely foolish. Also remember that India is not all bullock carts, snake charmers or Ma Anandmayi or some similar crap that has been fed to you by your sensational media. If you want to discuss "India" most people would not be interested or have the time. You know why? Because India does not pay slackers to sit around and pretend to be intellectual or artistic and do nothing and exist on welfare. We need to work our asses off to make a decent living and do not have the time for your sensitive, superficial crap.

Stop feeling victimized. People stare at you because you are different. Indians stare. Get over it. Deal with it and do not whine. Indians stare because unlike your sorry-assed aloof country, India is a over-crowded, curious country. Indians are curious by nature. We want to know everything. If they stare, they are not trying to violate you, they are just being curious.

And last but not the least, if you have totally taken leave of your senses and visit India in the summer, deal with the heat and remember that we Indians deal with it every year and you should have done your homework before visiting.

Mr. President, have pity on the working man

We've taken all you've given
But it's gettin' hard to make a livin'
Mr. President have pity on the working man

We're not asking you to love us
You may place yourself high above us
Mr. President have pity on the working man

I know it may sound funny
But people ev'ry where are runnin' out of money
We just can't make it by ourself

It is cold and the wind is blowing
We need something to keep us gong
Mr. President have pity on the working man

Maybe you've cheated
Maybe you've lied
Maybe you have lost your mind
Maybe you're only thinking 'bout yourself

Too late to run. Too late to cry now
The time has come for us to say good-bye now
Mr. President have pity on the working man
Mr. President have pity on the working man