Go To Pakistan

Quack Attack?

My family appears very normal. I have a father who loves sports and crime shows and I have a mother who is obsessed with vegetables and imaginary specks of dust. The only thing (yes, thing) that disturbs this image is the nutball I call my brother.

Don’t get me wrong, in front of other people he acts completely normal. Maybe a little like a clown, but still normal. The worst part is that people actually respect him! They think he is a very responsible older brother who has to babysit his bratty baby sister all the time (never mind the fact that I’m sixteen). This is what he has other people believe. I’m here to shatter all of these illusions.

My brother is an idiot. Now before you start protesting that he is in fact a very intelligent boy and I shouldn’t be saying things like this about my family, let me outline a few of the more prominent incidents. There is of course the one where he woke me up by dragging me feet-first into the kitchen. Then there is also the one where he decided to show off his arm strength by grabbing my feet in one hand and my hands in the other and flinging me onto the bed. But the one day which stands out in my mind is the day he abruptly decided to call me Quack Attack.

He likes to tell people that there is a reason behind this ridiculously idiotic nickname. There isn’t. He just suddenly decided, ‘Thou shalt henceforth be known as Quack Attack’ and that was it. I honestly didn’t know what was going on. One minute I was innocently sitting at my table and doing my homework, the next he had graced me with his extremely unwanted presence and declared that I “shall henceforth be called Quack Attack.”

My initial thought was something along the lines of, ‘doesn’t he have a hobby?’ but I dismissed that thought and, quite foolishly, I admit, asked him where this sudden announcement came from, whereupon he began to laugh and told me that I had been mumbling those words under my breath. Now that in itself is quite plausible, I do generally mutter while I am writing. But I clearly remember doing my Marathi homework at that time, so there was absolutely no reason why I would be saying ‘Quack Attack’ under my breath. But does that deter him? No, he just ignores my logical argument and sticks to his utterly idiotic beliefs!

It has been almost four years since that fateful day, and I would like to tell you that he has changed and has actually become the respectable 20-year-old everyone thinks he is. But I can’t do that because, sadly, he is still as much of an idiot as he was all those years ago. Time has not affected him one bit. His affectionate nickname has become rather famous *sob* and even certain friends have taken to calling me Quack Attack!

To those who believe that I may be exaggerating a little, I assure you, I’m not. Yes, there are times when we get along, and, having put up with him for sixteen years, I am quite used to his needling by now, but still. In my case, the ‘tyrannical older sibling’ myth isn’t a myth at all! I live it every day!

*cue Optimus Prime voice* I am Kirtana Menon, and I send this message out to all those who battle the forces of annoying older brothers. We are here. We are waiting.

To Think I Actually Wanted To Grow Up…

My childhood ended like this: My father came home from work one day, took off his shoes, asked me to bring him some tea (his obsession with tea is terrifying) and casually asked me when college admissions begin. Naturally, I was not caught off guard and intelligently replied, “Admission who?”

The next day I was rudely woken up (early, might I add) by my brother singing, “Wake up, Quackess! Time to tear your hair out, beat yourself with an axe, and run into the wall head-first!!!”

Did I mention my brother does not sing well?

Noticing my less-than-subtle, bleary-eyed glare, he added, “Mumbai University Registration.”

I gave him my usual What-Did-You-Drink-This-Time look. I have used it so often, it’s become second nature. Grudgingly, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Three seconds after I came out, I found myself thrown in front of the computer with my brother grumbling under his breath. I managed to catch “can’t even register without me” and “stupid Quackess” and “don’t like Amma’s cooking.” I avoid giving myself a headache by not trying to figure him out.

I went on Google and searched for the Mumbai University website. I clicked on the link that appeared and proudly thought, ‘Oh yeah! Now all I got to do is find this form and fill it!’ I gleefully beamed at the computer screen until Akshay said, “Wrong website.”

What?! But it said “Mumbai University” right there!

When I voiced these objections, he glanced up from Modern Combat 4 (a game, for those who don’t know) and brightly said, “There are two Mumbai University websites. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they made things easy!” And then he went back to ambushing “Bunnnnny” in the multiplayer mode.

So I went to the previous page and located the correct website. Then I had to open a Power Point Presentation that Akshay had downloaded to figure out how to fill in this registration form. Which meant going through 52 slides one by one. And of course, you can’t just minimize it. No, you have to exit it every time you want to complete any step, which means that after you’re done with that step you have to open it and go through each slide again until you reach where you were before.

So, obviously, after two hours I had a headache, my brother was in a bad mood and my mother was crying because “education isn’t what it used to be when I studied.” And I also realized that whoever had made that PPT and designed the website spoke “The Inglis” (English).

When I got to the point where I had to upload my picture and signature, Akshay gleefully assured me that this step would take only six hours, while rubbing his hands with anticipation. Until I reminded him that he had to help me with it. His face fell faster than I did when I tried skateboarding.

Surprisingly, the picture was uploaded without much cursing, at which point Akshay started screaming about how the system was biased. After that, the rest of the process went smoothly (or as smoothly as Mumbai University Registration can go) and within 24 hours I was done. Victory! The hardest part of the process done! Yeah!

Then they told me junior college admissions don’t require registration with Mumbai University.

……

Kirtana P. Menon

Muthashan

For as long as I can remember I’ve had memories, and some of the clearest ones are of my trips to Bangalore and Chennai, where my relatives live. I recall the 24-hour train journeys to Bangalore, which I would spend jumping from top berth to top berth like a drunk monkey, and I also remember the excitement with which I would search the platform in Bangalore for the subject of this article: My Muthashan, my grandfather.

My grandfather is the embodiment of “eccentric scientist.” He is bald with a thin line of hair forming a semicircle around the back of his head and a shiny head that, according to him, is very useful when guiding aircraft. When he wakes up (at 4 in the morning), he brushes his teeth and goes down to the kitchen to have a glass of water. While reaching for the glass, his hand invariably knocks over every other utensil located within half a foot, which serves as an alarm clock for everyone else. Except my grandmother, who is used to this, and continues to sleep soundly in her room. The rest of us crack our eyes open, see that the sun hasn’t risen yet and flop back onto the bed.

Another one of my grandfather’s traits is his absentmindedness. While most of us may forget our handkerchief or maybe a water bottle, Muthashan is very capable of forgetting a person, as my Ammuma (my grandmother) will happily tell you. Let me give you an example.

My grandparents were coming home several years ago after some function, on my grandfather’s bike, when they hit a particularly large ditch. The bike jerked but didn’t fall, which is more than I can say for Ammuma. She flew off the bike and found herself sitting squarely in the middle of the road, her nice sari all rumpled and dusty. As several pedestrians tended to her, my grandfather (who had yet to notice that his wife had fallen off) continued down the road until he was out of sight. A few kilometres later, it began to occur to him that no one was replying to him, so he turned around and discovered her absence. Did it occur to him then to go back? No. He spotted a group of drunkards fighting by the roadside, and knowing my grandmother’s penchant for resolving conflict, he went there to investigate. When he didn’t find her there, he was deeply perplexed. After formulating several hypotheses, he concluded that he needed to go back the same way. Sure enough, a few kilometres down the road, he found my grandmother marching briskly towards him, swearing to herself that she would never again leave home without her own purse and money. She took one look at him and proceeded to roundly abuse him in Malayalam, when, hoping to cheer her up, he exclaimed, “But look! This bike runs so smoothly that even when 65 kilos fell off, I didn’t notice anything different!”

The words she used after that are inappropriate in public.

Ever since then, she has insisted that a four-wheeler will be the only mode of transport she uses, and no amount of lectures on fuel efficiency or the rising cost of petrol could convince her otherwise. Oh yes, and shortly after this incident, the bike was sold.

Ammuma and the rest of the family say that they wish this was the only anecdote about Muthashan, but then, he does like to live life with a flourish. So, logically, why shouldn’t there be even more stories in which he has unknowingly risked being disowned by his dear family?

Now, considering my grandfather’s idea that Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is appropriate breaking-the-ice kind of conversation, it is easy to imagine that he does not concern himself with certain information. Not much, just irrelevant information like a person’s name, or how many kids he has. You know, things like that.

So it didn’t surprise me when I was told of how he walked up to a woman at the Indian Institute of Science (where he works) and said, “Ah, you are George’s wife, isn’t it?”

“No sir, I am Govindan Nair’s wife”

…

Thanks to a well-aimed pinch from my mother, he didn’t voice his thoughts of, “But I saw you the other day with George!”

He is now over 75 years old, and continues to blunder through life with confidence. If you are ever introduced to a man in Bangalore, and said man is wearing an expression that combines bewilderment with quiet desperation two seconds after being introduced to you, you have most certainly met M. Venugopalan, my Muthashan. But never fear! Even if he doesn’t know you, he will be delighted to take you through the technicalities of the Cassini-Huygens Spacecraft!

Kirtana P. Menon

Now a young climate activist has been arrested, remanded into judicial custody (without being given access to a lawyer!). And the Sanghis are busy comparing her with Kasab, who was a literal terrorist that killed several people. The Supreme Court is supposed to be the last refuge for citizens, instead it has been turned into another tool that the government uses to bully those who refuse to fall in line. The Supreme Court has already made judgements that say that "you cannot peacefully protest whenever and wherever you want, your protesting should not cause inconvenience to others." Essentially saying that a peaceful protest is only legal if it's out of the way, out of sight, and does not bother supreme leader modi. People tend to forget that modi is not just building up to a genocide against minorities, HE'S ALREADY PRESIDED OVER A GENOCIDE BEFORE. The 2002 Gujarat Pogrom (I refuse to call it a riot, it was state sponsored genocide, not a riot) was so devastating because modi gave orders to the police to stand down and refuse to stop the slaughter of Muslims. One police officer testified that the orders to not get involved came directly from modi's office, and that officer was arrested, charged and thrown into jail on trumped up charges. He's still in jail even now. India is already a fascist police state, the government just hasn't officially declared it.

the fact that international celebrities are addressing the farmers protest better than the indian government never fails to astound me.

Changing Status of Women

This was a short piece I had to write in class (in about 10 minutes, so be patient please). The topic given was “The changing status of women” I’ve drawn inspiration from the stories of my grandmother’s childhood in a small village in Kerala, as she was one of the few women of her generation who was allowed an education, because of which she values it a lot more than my own generation. I hope this will show everyone how lucky they are to be educated. ________________________________________

Part One: As usual, I woke up unnaturally early, a couple of hours before the sun rose. Tiptoeing around my sleeping relatives, I quickly grabbed some clothes before running towards the pond nearby for a quick bath. Finishing the bath in record time (exactly 8 minutes) I got dressed and rushed back home, quickly finishing the rest of my chores before hurrying back out to begin the 8 kilometre trek to school. All before the rest of the family woke up.

I smiled sadly to myself, wondering, for the umpteenth time, if all this would be necessary if my relatives were not so against the idea of an educated woman. Why do I need to go to school feeling like a criminal? Just because I want to be educated?

Part Two: I watch in wonder, as my granddaughter throws yet another tantrum while my poor daughter tries to coax her out of bed to get ready in time for school. She’s complaining this much…. because of school? Does she not realise how lucky she is? Her parents actually support her education! Her grandparents like hearing about her school and her friends there! She never has to hear snide remarks about how she’s neglecting her duty as a woman by moving out of the kitchen! Does she really not understand how privileged she is?

Comfort Food and Khichdi

Food.

The very word inspires you with warm and fuzzy feelings, feelings of satisfaction, of happiness, of life at its very best. Whether we like the same food or not is irrelevant, because food, at its core, is one of the few things that makes everyone happy. Everyone.

Comfort food: This is the one type of food that gives emotional satisfaction to the one eating it. The eater experiences a genuine feeling of happiness while eating, usually associated with pleasant childhood memories. So comfort food is basically food that makes you really happy. That being said, allow me to proceed to my rant of the day.

I have come across an unpleasant number of people who claim that khichdi is their comfort food. The most tasteless, boring food ever to cross my path, is considered comfort food. How? Why? The only memories I have associated with khichdi are ones of the overwhelming taste of pepper on my tongue, of squishy rice and broken promises of pizza for dinner. So where does the “happy childhood memories” bit come in?

Maybe it’s just me. Because my comfort foods are Pav Bhaji and Kulfi, while my mom firmly states hers is Kerala Fish Curry with brown rice. And these are infinitely more interesting than blooming khichdi (don’t even try to argue with that). So I probably am the only one who does not understand how non-tasty food can be comforting.

In my house, khichdi is something that is made when the only other option is starvation. The pros and cons of each option are lengthily discussed, and then sometimes, we make khichdi. We have a very clear understanding of what we consider appropriate food. Khichdi is not food. Food implies everything discussed in the first paragraph. Khichdi is simply an Edible Item. I will not insult Food by clubbing it with the likes of khichdi.

And yes, I am ranting because my mom has prepared khichdi for dinner. Starvation didn’t put up a good enough argument this time.

i searched on hathras and dalits, and there’s not much posts here now. i made posts about it, and even they are not there now. is this tumblr’s standard operating procedure for all social movements and rape cases?

also people have already started to forget this case. let me remind you people are blaming the girl’s family as we speak for doing this to extort money from the accused. already violence against dalits is breaking out again. the upper caste monsters are threatening media, people and other political parties from entering hathras otherwise they will be killed.

don’t let this issue die. it represents everything wrong with my rotten country. please it’s a request.

and tumblr - tumblr up.

Re-reading the Kane chronicles. Am I the only one who just noticed this?

Types of People in Buses and Bus stops

1. If you’re a girl, you’ll almost certainly encounter a woman who insists on talking to you, for forty minutes, about the rising price of vegetables. This woman can be found at bus stops, and if you happen to be there at the right (or wrong, depending on how you look at it) time, you might even find her with her pack, all complaining about the bane of their existence: onion sellers.

2. For the guys: if you are at a bus stop, and you don’t look like a wild teenager, you’ll probably get sucked into an argument concerning politics. Before you know it, you’re listening, with growing despair, to an inane conversation about BJP vs Congress, finally culminating with the decision that, of the two of them, Aam Admi Party is the best. Go figure.

3. Most of the time, especially in the evening when people are returning from work, you’ll always find yourself a spectator to an epic showdown between The Kanjoos Lazy Conductor and The Frustrated Auntie. It will start off on a small scale, and gradually build up to a competition on who has the most lung power. It always starts because Frustrated Auntie will give a 10 rupee note for an 8 rupee ticket, and Kanjoos-Lazy doesn’t want to go through the trouble of giving the two rupees back. From there it will escalate to an all-out brawl, with the remaining passengers either cheering for their preferred side, or joining in because “those idiots blocked my way and now I missed my stop.”

4. Without fail, you always encounter a bunch of teenagers who start having a serious conversation in hushed tones about someone else’s personal problems. These problems usually involve either a girl whose boyfriend dumped her and how “she totally deserved it because her boyfriend should be my boyfriend” or it will be about a distant relative and the gossip concerning him/her or it will be about “ohmygodohmygodVarunDhawanissohot!” So before you leave the bus, you’re completely caught up on the latest Bollywood gossip and you know all about the drinking problems of someone’s jiju.

tw violence

please don't ignore this. students are beaten up at Jawaharlal Nehru University in india and police is not protecting students. instead they're helping the goons. nobody is helping the students. a lot of students are badly injured.

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