Unintentionally Funny: Hindi Soaps.

Hindi Soaps. Aren't they the awesomest? To tell thee what i'm talking about, here is So-not-stereotypical Soap on Famous Hindi Channel.
Butter-Run

Now, before you go all, 'how come YOU see so much of this show? You're just a hypocritical freak who doesn't have a life! *more trolling*', lemme tell you this: I might not a have a life, but I SO don't watch this crap voluntarily. It so happens that this show happens to clash with Phineas And Ferb National Geographic, at times.


Butter-run is a so-very-original story of Jealousy, Bitchfighting, and Shiny Jewelery. Like, no other Hindi Soap ever has these elements in it. Ever.


Enter Rich Man.
 

Rich Man: I'm rich and I wear a Pearl necklace round my neck. Because all rich men have to show their richness at all times. I'm also virtuous. I'm so virtous that, when I accidentally killed my maid's Husband, I'm taking care of her daughter. The maid has no problem with it. I mean, so what if I killed her husband? I can totally take care of her daughter without ever harming her!

Rich Man has a Daughter as well. She, so non-expectantly, is a Spoilt Princess.

Spoilt Princess: Hi, I'm Spoilt Princess. I rule the whole world and I want my Dad's undivided attention. But that stupid maid-daughter takes away all the attention! I must get rid of her! *scheme scheme devious devious*

The maid-daughter is apparently an Angel who can NEVER see that Spoilt princess wants her outta the way.

Angel: I'm an angel. I'm so very Pious and Virtuous. I can never see any one get hurt.*halo halo*

Now, after about a hundred episodes of Nonsense, they grow up.

Rich Man: My daughters are grown up! Must.Get.Them.Married.

Angel: I like Loser Guy. Can I marry him? Pweeease?

Rich Man: Sure. Looks like you two are in love. Go on!
_____________________________________________

Spoilt Princess: Hey wait! I wanna marry Loser Guy!!

Angel: But you already saw him and said that you didn't wanna get married to him!?!

Spoilt Princess: I do now. Now gimme your Wedding dress.

Angel: Wokay.

Spoilt Princess: Really? You don't care about the hundreds of people outside waiting outside for you to get married to the love of your life?

Angel: Nooope.

Spoilt Princess: .............

 Angel: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

____________________________

So Spoilt Princess gets married to loser guy. Only after about ten episodes, he discovers that he married the wrong girl. Gasp!

Loser Guy: ZOMG! You ain't my wife!!

Spoilt Princess: I am now. *devious smile*

But you can't escape coz' the wedding vows are life-binding! And your family has already accepted me!! BWAHAHAH!

Loser Guy: Aww man. Alright then. But I ain't gonna love you or anything.

Spoilt Princess: Really? You're not gonna sue me or divorce me for forcefully marrying you without your permission?

Loser Guy: Nooooope.

Spolit princess: ..........

Loser Guy: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

_________________________

Now Loser Guy has an elder brother whose in Rehab 'coz he's a druggie. Now Druggie, wonder of wonders, falls for Angel.

Druggie: Ooooh. Shiny! Marry me gurl.

Angel: Wokay.

Druggie:Really? Eventhough I don't know that you're my bro's Ex? And bro would be devastated to see me score with you, whom he still has feelings for?

Angel: Yuuuup.

Druggie:........

Angel: Look, Shiny Jewelery!

________________________________

So Druggie marries Angel. But again, wonder of wonders, he finds out that she was his brother's ex.

Druggie: WTF! you're my bro's ex?

Angel: Uhm. Sweets?

Druggie: Dayum! Now I'm gonna so-not-inappropriately poke fun at your relationship with my bro! *poke poke*
_________________________________

So Druggie starts getting more depressed.Finally it somehow lands up here:

Druggie: *points gun* Spoilt Princess, YOU'RE the reason Angel is not mine!!!! I keel you!!!

Spoilt Princess: LOL. I'm not the reason you're such a loser. YOU are, you drug infested, rehab freak!

Druggie: OMFG. Yer right!! *points gun at himself and shoots*

Spoilt Princess: Oh shit.
________________________________

So Druggie dies. After another fifty episodes, everyone else realize that Spoilt Princess was the reason Druggie was dead.

Rich Man: ZOMG! You killed druggie? Get outta my house, Biatch!!!

Spoilt Princess: Hey I'm a Princess. You can't do that!!

Rich Man: I'm doing it now!! *kick kick*

__________________________________

So Spoilt Princess has to bear the harsh outside world. Where cars, manicures, and hotels don't come to you at your command. Choo Sad.

Meanwhile, Angel becomes a widow and follows the widow lifestyle. Which apparently means that you can wear mascara along with the white sarees. And you have to eat boiled rice.

Angel: I'm a widow and I have to suffer because that's what widows do. *eats nothing for two days*

Loser Guy: Dayum! Eat somethin'. You'll fall sick, otherwise!!

Angel: GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU PERV!!! I'M YOUR SIS-IN-LAW!!! RESPECT THE RELATIONSHIP!!!

Loser Guy: What the bhen!?!?!

Angel: I actually have feelings for you but I can't show them 'coz like, I'm a widow...or somethin'.....

So I'm going to an ashram where I can ponder freely!

Loser Guy: Whatever. I'll get married again, then.

Angel: No wait!! *sets fire to ashram*

_______________________________

(This katha is still going on, so......)

The FacePhases.

Facebook. You know it. It's THE social network. 

One fine day, sitting at home and ignoring that Chemistry textbook on my table, the Aristotle in me took over. 

If you observe idly (which is my favorite pastime), an average dude's social nework life can be classified into four broad phases:

 FacePhase 1:

You create a facebook profile with no profile picture, a fake year of birth and zero friends. It was either your friends pressuring you, or you wanted to give it a shot ("What IS it with this bookface, anyway?"). It's extremely boring, and poking is completely alien. Now, there are two ways this could wind up: 1. you end up bored and log in so rarely that you forget your password (thisisfacebook) OR 2. you keep going at it, and watch your life being taken over.

FacePhase 2: 

Change profile picture to Justin Beiber/ Justin Timberlake/ Rob Pattinson/  INSERT GAY HOLLYWOOD STAR as you think it's 'kool'.You receive friend requests from other misguided 'kool dudes'. (All the America THEY know are the stereoypical Americans from local movies, or AXN.) Feel encouraged, start sending more friend requests. Get accepted into the gay hollywooders community.

Now come the status updates. You start up by copying some dude's emo status, and posting it as your own: Life is nothing without your love/ I don't wanna love, because it hurts/ (INSERT RANDOM STATUS CONTAINING THE WORDS 'PAIN, LOVE AND HURTS' IN VARYING COMBINATIONS). Then you pester every online dude to comment on it. ('Dei, please comment on my status da!'). Recieve comments like 'correct da machi', 'you say the truth in life', etc,etc. Feel more gloated, more emo statuses. 

By this stage you would probably have sent a thousand friend requests to all the girls you could possibly could. One or two get accepted. More gloat. More emo.

 FacePhase 3:

Now the mania REALLY kicks in (read 4-5 hours on facebook per day). Your Farmville farm is fertile, Mafia is growing and the Cafe brings in customers.  Your wall is filled with " ____ needs you to help him fertilize his farm", "____'s Mafia needs more men", etc.

By this time, you gather up the courage to upload a personal picture. It's probably a crop of some group photo you chanced upon, or some picture taken manually through a cell phone.

Notes. You see  X gaining popularity through that Note he wrote about some exaggerated incident. You try writing you own. Tag all your friends in it. Pester them online dudes again. "Hey check out my Note! :link:"

BTW, till this time, pronunciation marks and capital letters are completely alien to you, and an excess of exclamatory marks is absolutely necessary to stress the importance of the sentence.

FacePhase 4: 

FacePhase 3 may last from anything between 6 months to one and a half years. After those months of comment-pestering, girl-befriending, etc, etc, you finally get some sense knocked into you. You realise the importance of punctuations after that embarrassing incident (whore you?).

Zynga fades away, online time reduces, you realize how much time you're wasting.

But you still have to ABSOLUTELY update that you won 5K in a science quiz.

What was that?

Was it a bird twittering through the woods?

Or was it the shacked-hut stove-stop crackling?

Was it the sigh of misery amongst the hood?

Maybe it was my heart beating.

Was it a flash of blinding light?

Or was it more than that?

Maybe it was a heated fight,

Or just a roadside cat.

Was it a bullet through the wind?

Or a rat scurrying?

Was it a horse kicking its hind?

Or just a desk-jockey hurrying.

Was that a falling soldier?

Or just a dropped mannequin?

Maybe it was a locking bolster,

Or the neighbor on his Mandolin.

Was it a sign of war?

Or a fight in the locality?

Was it a crashing car?

What happened to all the sanity?

Guns And Roses.

Lt. Farooq Mahmood was running for his life. The cold Ladhaki wind, usually a hindrance to stamina in usual situations, was strangely acting as a much-needed boost.   

The eerie silence of the valley was pierced only by the wails of the few-numbered soldiers, surprised by the sudden atack. 

"It's a bomb-shell! RUN!"

And he did run. He ran faster than the bullets pouring in numbers amongst his peers. Panic is the best caffeine, his Squadron Leader told him. And how true it was.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a black-clothed, masked demon, malice in his eyes, and guns in his hands. He wasn't human. Mahmood was looking at the Shaitan himself.

Seven bullets pierced mercilessly through Farooq's unarmored chest. Machines show no mercy. He was falling.

_________________________________________

Lt.Farooq Mahmood woke up. It was 3 am. Inspite of temperatures reaching the negatives, he was sweating. Profusely. Just another nightmare. Ever since that incident, he never had a moment of peace.

That incident.How he came out alive, still seemed a mystery more confusing than the origin of the universe or the existence of God. The fact he was alive amongst twelve other dead peers had only increased his faith in Allah. 

Lost in thoughts, he looked above. His Squadron Leader was gazing at him.


"Don't go to sleep again. We're going to launch a surprise attack on them at 3:47 AM. Get Ready."

"Yes Sir."


Thoughts whirred in his head at an intensity that almost sickened him. He had to do it. Who knows, it might just be his last mission, Alive. Crawling to his bag with some difficulty, he extracted a small piece of paper, and began to pen down those feelings whose existence he had denied for a long time.
 _____________________________________________

My dearest Amina,

 I miss you. I know you must be doing well. I hope little Sukhaya and Rehman are fine.

-He stopped. Where do I START?  Trying to gather his thoughts, he continued.

I am about to continue my mission in a few minutes, and I do not know if I'll come back alive. If I don't, I want you to know, that- 
He stopped again. The dam of strict Army discipline he had built over his river of emotions had cracked. He took a deep breath and continued.

that I will always, and I repeat, ALWAYS be with you. You will be unharmed, I will always protect you. Oh, just a small house with you, me and our children seems the sweetest paradise anyone could ever hope to get. I wish, and HOW I wish, that I return back to you! Every day I had ever spent in your presence seems like a second, every month, a year. Those twinkling eyes of yours, that sweet smile was the only thread keeping me from running away from this madness! And oh, our children! How I laugh at the little antics Sukhaya used to do! And I still remember Rehman's mischievousness. Have you found out the watch he hid yet? 
It's been a year, Amina. A whole year. The only thought of having to wait for an unknown period to return back is a torture worse than swords and bullets. And I will, I WILL return back alive. Until then, I only hope that I stay sane at this hellhole.

With you always,

Farooq.

Farooq quickly folded the paper and kept it for posting; he didn't want his tears to blotch on the paper.

Just then, a messenger from the base camp came gasping in; breathing air from the highest plateau in the world wasn't easy. 

He wispered something into the Squadron Leader's ears, and the latter stood up.

"Jawans, the Indo-Pak war has officially been declared over. Return to base-camp in fifteen minutes."


Emotions played havoc with Farooq's heart. 


He was going home.

Crappy Independence Day!

Happy Independence day? I don’t think so. For me, Independence Day has been nothing but a holiday where they have a bunch of TV shows lined up for Entertainment-Hungry people. Patriotism? Pah. Desh premi? Meh. Now, don’t get all “you don’t have the ‘Indian’ spirit. Aaj kal ke bachhe in Amreeki logon se bigad gaye hain.” You know what, I don’t give a damn.

YOU aren’t the best compatriot either. What shirt are you wearing? Polo? Nice. You’re SO Indian K So much for ‘swadeshipan’.

Yes, India has got corruption and the like, but I’m not going to rip another cliché of how corruption has afflicted our lives. You already know that.

What I’m trying to tell is, you know you’re not the best ‘Indian’. Don’t pretend that you actually care for this darned country. Oh, are you saying that you DO? Then shut the hell up and DO something!

What happened? Why so silent? Ha. All we know to do is to give this large lecture of how we want India in 2020.Alright, fine. But I don’t think that’s  gonna happen if you drop another chocolate wrapper on the ground. Rhapsodize all you want, but the truth is, that wrapper is still lying on the ground.  To quote Obama,”Change We Need”.

I’m no flag-waver. Atleast I’m accepting that. All I want is a place to live in, and India happens to be that place.  If you think you are, e-mail me. I’ll prove you wrong.