Sasriyakaal from the North of India, or as you may like to believe, the countries close to Srinagar where all the bombings keep happening, “ eye don’t knou wy-eye”
I will try to put some sense in your head by replying piece by piece to your gibberish – which understandably is creating a stir just as talent-less wannabes like Poonam Pandey, Himesh and Rebecca Black.
"I understand that your stone faded, ripped jeans, your V-neck cleavage showing t-shirts that reveal to the world that you have infact inherited your mother’s voluptuous shaved Punjabi bosom, are what you think maketh a man. "
You are right when you say that revealing a shaved bosom doesn’t maketh a man. But it’s surprising coming from you when for years; your women have romanced men who have been competing for upper torso size with siliconed playboy models.
Since the whole purpose of your article was to stereotype and show off your “Journalistic English” – Yep I read through your articles to ascertain your profession- we’ll come to this later though, Let’s pay you back in the same coin I say.
Anyway, let me give you a quick history lesson I am sure your parents forgot to give you. In the year 1843AD, right where the mighty blue frog stands in Mumbai today, there was an inter-continental flat-chested championship organised by the far-sighted great great grand father of the blue-printer of flatron television sets.
The sad part is that your ancestors won the competition and since then you disown the well-endowed in every generation to keep up (read: down) with the average.
The legend is supported by the count of the “sexy-voluptuous – cant lay my hands off you southy chicks” we meet on a day to day basis.
"I am not scrawny, I am not fair, I don’t have straight hair and my topics of conversation go beyond the Fendi I saw in last month’s Vogue. I am olive-skinned, have lower –back-length lustrous cascading tresses that sometimes make me look like I fell out Jim Morrison’s tour bus. "
Seems it’s that time of the month and you don’t feel very beautiful today.
"While your mother pretends to be very progressive but still cows down to the whims of her husband every single time, mine on the other hand was born into a matriarchal home where every single possession is in the rightful name of the girl child. Could you ever, my hunky handsome, cash throwing pig, imagine this kind of power in your society? So stop telling me that women are not treated like trash where you come from. "
I hear you guys trade women in gold at the time marriage.?!! “ Ladka IT company mein kaam karta hai. US gaya hua hai, 5kg sona aur dena padega”
So much for every single possession is in the rightful name of the girl child.
"And your English. Good Lord, what in the world is up with that? "
Good question. Let’s talk about what’s up with yours. We might make grammatical errors but still manage to get the point across. At the end of the day, language is just a mode of communication. You guys on the other hand may speak perfectly grammatical English, only it’s not English. It’s a fucking foreign language. “ EEF Euu come today, yits too yearly”. Yearly? You carve a tangent to every possible discussion and in this case make us lesser mortals think about all possible annual events dating back to childhood. Are you talking about my birthday? Or the upcoming bonus letter? Should I just come and talk to you next year. That sounds like a plan!
And whats up with that emphasis on the letter “R” and “H”. it’s not “Rrrrr” and it’s not “Hech”. It’s like you guys were taught to enunciate while practising kapalbhati pranayama.
Give it a rest : Just write what you wish to say on a piece of paper and pass it on.
"I understand that I come from the land of ugly. I mean obviously Hema Malini, Sri Devi and Aishwarya Rai with their natural banal looks don’t even hold a candle to Priyanka Chopra after her two nose jobs and one lip reconstruction surgery. "
Remind me again why did they marry Dharemendra, Boney Kappor and Abhishek? (All north Indians)
Let me take this opportunity to say that you seem really dumb to be in a profession like journalism. My sister is a journalist so I know your ilk really well. You are not a journalist. You’re a scoop finder! A masala maker!! Unnecessary ire-fire fighter looking to make a name in a city that welcomes all irrespective of their caste and creed.
If you’re so unhappy with the city, then why don’t you go back to your small little tongue twister town and form a stealth army of coconut oil clad women who mind you, will have the village-well in their own name since it’s a matriarchal society right?
"But when you do come to ask for my hand… "
Hang on! Let me stop you right there! No! Not even to ask for ‘a hand’.
Brainless south Indian girls like you are so awe-inspiring that I wouldn’t ever even think of offering my sperm for your artificial insemination even if it were only you and me to save the humankind.
"You may not like our food, but then we don’t like you, which is worse. We may not be even that into food, but then that’s coz we have other things to do with our lives, like crack IIT or become writers, journalists, activists and do things that we are very passionate about "
We like your food. That’s one reason why we in Delhi provide livelihood to your non-IIT junta who serve us delicious meals in eateries like Sarvana Bhavan and Udupi.
And crack IIT –JEE??? You really think that clearing JEE and playing chess will help you bloat up you friend list? Even if so, sadly adding friends on f/b will not add inches to any part of the human anatomy.
"writers, journalists, activists: "Again, we don’t talk about ostracizing by shouting “Telangana- Telangana”.
"The South Indian woman has a voice and boy can she yell. So if you want to Sambhar ‘Chawl’ your way into my life, then you got to toe the line. Be way more aware than what your are. Remember Delhi is not a country and we are not Black. If I ever hear you utter that name of that colour, I will Kalaripayattu your tongue out of your rear. Yes , that is the secret behind our awesome sex ratio. Just so you know. "
You really need to try and get laid. I sense sexual frustration. Break the dry spell of what 20?30? years and trust me, it’ll feel better. The world will feel like a lovely place. Delhi will seem better. You’ll enjoy the rains, smile and stop alienating people merely on the basis of their religion/caste/region.
Before the readers of this post start blaming me for fuelling the fire, let me tell you why I wrote what I wrote.
I don’t have a problem with people running down people. I/we do it all the time. Some may do it in their heads, some with their friends, some in office and some in their bed.
My problem is who the heck gave you the right to be the moral authority and put up the act of supremacy to belittle anyone at all. Criticize who you want- all you want- but don’t COMPARE! Don’t fucking act superior.
I did not wish to return the favor by stooping down to your level but you should know how it feels to be stereotyped.
And now I will not try to sell the concept of ‘India’ by wailing how I have studied in 13 schools, have a Buddhist surname, mughlai taste buds.. to tell you that you need to do something with that twisted little brain of yours.
