Saturday, March 27, 2010

Conversations- Disturbing Things

K- I can’t even talk right now. It was So. Disturbing. I can’t even tell you how disturbing it was. I am so disturbed by how disturbing it was.

S- Well I have to go anyway so-

K- Ask me what was so disturbing.

S- Actually I have to -

K- I watched ‘Imprint’! It’s a Japanese horror movie type thing that they wouldn’t show on American T.V. because it was so disturbing!

S- I don’t want to hear about it.

Yeah, it was pretty disturbing. I don’t think you could handle that much disturbingness.

S- Cool. Anyway, have to go now so-

K- Call me later and I’ll tell you what was so disturbing.


You never called so I thought I should call you myself to tell you what was so disturbing in the Japanese horror movie type thing. There was this scene where they tortured this geisha-

S- I don’t want to know.

K- Don’t tell lies. You DO want to know but you’re putting scene.

S- I’m not putting scene, I really don’t want to know. Let’s talk about non-Japanese horror movie type things.

K- Can we talk about geishas?

S- No.

K- Can we talk about Japanese culture?

S- What do you know about Japanese culture?

K- I know about geishas. Let’s talk about geishas.

S- If you even say the word ‘geishas’, I’m hanging up.

K- But geishas are a part of Japanese culture, it’s racist not to talk about them. Hello? Did you just hang up on me?


K- Hi. I don’t want to talk about geishas.

S- Glad to hear it.

K- Can we talk about sewing?

S- What in God’s name would you have to say about sewing?

K- I want to talk about needlepoint. I want to talk about how there are needles in needlepoint.

S- So?

K- There are also needles in the torture scene in the Japanese horror movie type thing and they stick them into this woman’s-

S- No.

K- But I didn’t even say ‘geishas’!

S- You can’t talk about needles anymore.

K- Can I talk about incense?

S- No.

K- Fine. Then I won’t tell you about how in the torture scene in the Japanese horror movie type thing they burned this woman with incense and - Hello? Did you hang up on me again?


K- You hung up on me again.

S- What part of ‘No’ do you not understand?

K- I thought maybe you meant ‘Yes’ when you said ‘No’.

S- You’re not allowed to talk to me about geishas, needles or incense.

K- Then you talk about something.

S- Ok, let’s talk about who I saw today. Remember that girl from college who used to eat six samosas everyday?

K- The one with the twin?

S- No no, remember she would never share because she said she would faint if she didn’t eat six samosas a day?

K- She had a twin, no?

S- No.

K- Funny you should mention twins.

S- I didn’t mention twins, what’s wrong with you?

K- There was a parasitic twin in the Japanese horror movie type thing which was actually this little face in the middle of a hand which lived on this geisha’s head don’t hang up on me. Hello?

S- Yes?

K- You didn’t hang up on me!

S- That’s because I wanted to tell you that you’re not allowed to talk to me about anything ever again.

K- Can I talk about this little girl with blue hair who had a parasitic twin living on her head if I don’t mention that the little girl grows up to be a geisha? Hello? Why do you keep hanging up on me, it’s really rude.


an edited version of this appeared in The New Indian Express Zeitgeist Supplement, Multiverse, Conversations, March 27, 2010

Sunday, March 21, 2010

A Guide to Writing Awesome Flash Fiction In Ten Awesome Steps

1. Look at a piece of flash fiction. Do not read it, just look at it. It may be anywhere from 6 to 999 words long. Decide that anything that short must be supereasy to write because if it takes years and years and years to write a novel, it probably takes 17.5 seconds to write flash fiction. Decide to write some flash fiction the next time you have 17.5 seconds to spare.

2. After discovering that some American publications pay for flash fiction, decide to embark on a lucrative career writing flash fiction for lots of American money. Believe you can do this because many people have complimented you on your spoken English skills. Picture yourself getting millions of dollars and an Oscar for your writing. In the glow of your imminent awesomeness, write something and call it flash fiction. Tell yourself it is ok that you finished it in less than 17.5 seconds because people with good spoken English skills tend to write faster than others.

3. The next day, look at your flash fiction piece. Do not be appalled by the fact that it is complete garbage. Do remind yourself that this is flash fiction so someone has to pay you American money for it. Add words like ‘therefore’ and ‘because’ to it so that the piece makes a little more sense but not too much sense. Add exclamation marks to make it dramatic. Add words like ‘vermillion’ and ‘coconut’ to give it an exotic Indian air which you feel will be a sure hit with the Americans.

4. Send your work to numerous publications without reading their submission guidelines or what they actually publish. Bristle with bright and audaciously ferocious hope. Feel this hope quietly cough and die as you start to receive a steady stream of rejections in just a few hours. Think of the phrase ‘my heart sank’ and realize that you can actually feel this happen each time you get a rejection. Realize that even after you get used to the rejections, your heart still sinks each time you get one. Feel your heart sink again and again and again.

5. When you can no longer keep track of how many rejections you have received, read your flash fiction piece slowly to yourself. Read it many times so that it soaks deep into your memory and never goes away. Realize that not only is the piece complete garbage, you knew it was complete garbage all along. Resolve never to write flash fiction again.

6. Spend the next few months having recurring nightmares that you are being chased by angry Americans who claim your flash fiction gave them cancer. Try to cope with your subsequent fear of sleep by reading all the magazines that rejected you. Read their archives. Read anything and everything you can find that is connected to flash fiction. Read impassioned arguments from people who believe flash fiction is awesome and from people who believe flash fiction is killing literature. Read tweet fiction, nanofiction, drabbles, ficlets, minisagas, fables, microfiction, 69ers, 55ers, prose poetry, vignettes, experimental, horror, surreal, cyberpunk, irreal, mainstream, bizarro, new weird, multimedia, western, steampunk, erotic, zombie and really bad flash fiction. Read flash fiction with plots, with no plots, with one character, with no characters and flash fiction that says it isn’t flash fiction. Read poetry. Read lots and lots of poetry.

7. Read sign boards, magazine ads, newspaper articles and dialogue from plays. Discover that words can be rearranged or removed and this can change everything. Rearrange and remove words from famous poems. Read folktales, lists, anecdotes, jokes, lies, feghoots, spam, love letters, Nigerian fraud emails, frame stories and technical manuals. Listen to how people talk. Listen to the spaces between their words. Describe these spaces in your head. Describe them in ten different ways using different sets of words each time.

8. Talk incessantly about flash fiction to your friends. Watch these friends leave you because all you ever talk about is flash fiction. Talk to your fish about flash fiction. Talk to strangers about flash fiction. Talk to yourself about flash fiction.

9. One day, your best friend or lover will become very dramatic and leave you. They will say things like ‘I’m letting go? You’re not even trying to hold on!’ Visualize the act of letting go of something that isn’t holding on. Look at and listen to all the things they are saying to you by not saying anything. Think of all the words and spaces that have led up to this moment. After they leave, find a piece of paper and a pencil.

10. You are now ready to write a piece of flash fiction.

this article appeared in Deccan Herald's Sunday Herald, March 21, 2010

Saturday, March 20, 2010

I Got Soul But I'm Not A Soldier But I Have Some New Work Up But I Don't Have A Garland Made Out Of 1000 Rupee Notes

Can we talk about Mayawati’s Massive Money Mala? Can we talk about how that is the most ultimately blinged out thing ever ever? Can we talk about how now, when other countries talk about how poor India is, we can say hey, do people in YOUR country get massive garlands made out of 1000 rupee notes? No? Then YOU must be living in the poor country, stupidhead!

And can we talk about how awesome Lady Gaga’s Telephone video is? Wouldn’t it have been even more awesome if she had gone to a prison that was filled with hafnekkid menz? Maybe she’ll do that next time. Maybe she won’t do another crotch shot either. More hafnekkidmenz, less crotch shotz.

Pimpage Department

I have a new piece of flash fiction up at a place called Ekleksographia, which is a very long word. The issue is edited by Mary Miller who is kind of famous in America and has a collection which I haven't read because I live in India. There are also other flash fiction writers in this issue who are kind of famous in America.

Spare Monsters Department

The Blaft have just put up some artwork for their new release Kumari Loves a Monster, if you haven’t seen it yet you can go over and see it and feel very glad that you did because it’s awesome.

You Can Call If You Want But There’s No One Home And You’re Not Going To Reach My Telephone Department

Dear Feminism,

I just thought you should know that some people in my one numbers country of India are blaming homosexuality on feminism. I think this means that we should be blaming heterosexuality on anti-feminism but for some reason, no one is very interested in doing that. In general, I have noticed that many people like to blame homosexuality on the soul-less, cultureless and intrinsically evil western civilization which is mainly held responsible for other evil, soul-less and cultureless things like pants. Nobody wants to blame homosexuality on Coca Cola though because for some reason, that would be silly. I think when they get bored of blaming homosexuality in India on feminism, they will blame it on pants.

Dear FTV,

Woah! Looks like you got in trouble again for showing boobies! Didn't AXN once get banned for showing boobies also? It’s nice to know that seemingly unrelated fields like Action and Fashion have boobies in common.

Dear Sandra Bullock,

You won an Oscar. I can honestly say that I never, ever, ever thought I would ever see that happen. Then again, I never thought a movie about singing and dancing Indian slum kids would win an Oscar either. Did you ever think you’d win an Oscar? Was it weird for you too? Because it was really weird for me and I wasn’t even there.

Dear BritishPunjabiHipHopFolkhopRapUrbanGrimeBhangra People,

Hey what’s up desi style? How ya’ll doin’ in da house desi style? How are your mother father desi style? I want to say how I dig a lot of what you people do desi style. I am a little confused about one thing and that is this tendency to use the line ‘hot like Rekha’. The ladies and the gents are both using this very freely- women are hot like Rekha. Guys have girls who are hot like Rekha. Now in the today, so many other Bollywood girls are there with two-syllable names which rhyme with many things. So I kindly suggest you retire the line ‘hot like Rekha’ with so much dignity and never speak of it again, not because Rekha is not hot but because you need to move past 1981. It's a bit like how in some Tamil movie lyrics, they compare the soglamor girl to Elizabeth Taylor who is now well over 70 and perhaps not as soglamor as she once was. Peace out ya'll homibabas, keep it real. Desi style.

Dear Meryl Streep,

What’s it like to be Meryl Streep and watch Sandra Bullock get an Oscar while you, Meryl Streep, do not get an Oscar? Does it make you feel like you are on drugs?

Dear Piranha 2- The Spawning,

You are the most epicest movie ever. You are so epic I watched one scene and my heart nearly exploded from the sheer epicosity of it all. The scene was the beach party where there was an attack by what I assumed were black plastic bottles which were squeaking and also flying and which killed white people’s faces. There was one black man who I immediately recognized as the Wise Colored Person. Unfortunately, the black plastic bottles which were squeaking and also flying attacked and killed his face too and it was only then that I saw that these were not black plastic bottles which were squeaking and also flying. They were in fact flying plastic fish with wings and dentures. And I thought, wow. That is so awesome. By then the Wise Colored Person had been rendered dead because he was killed in the face and since there didn’t seem to be anymore Wise Colored People in the offing, I could not see how anyone in the movie could be saved and I thought, see? This is why racism is bad. It’s racism that prevents the Wise Colored People from saving you when you are being killed in the face by flying plastic fish with wings and dentures.

10 Pieces of Dialogue Which Prove That The Plan To Secretly Drink Rum and Coke During The ‘Highly Respectable Function’ Was Full of Failwhale

1. “Oh my God, who farted? Excuse me ma’am, did you just fart? Don’t tell lies. You totally look like someone who just farted. Shame shame puppy shame. You know what puppy shame is? It is being shameful of puppies. Did you know that? No? Why? Why didn't you know that?”

2. “Why is that man on stage going on talking? Who asked him to talk? Oh, he’s singing! Who asked him to sing? I never asked him to sing, you asked him to sing? Ask the farting aunty if she asked him to sing.”

3. “There are a LOT of white people here. I wonder how many of them have diarrhea? Excuse me sir, do you have diarrhea? Are you holding it in? You should never hold your diarrhea in, very bad for health. Also, welcome to my country.”

4. “Would someone please ask the uncle on the stage to stop talking? Or at least ask him to stop farting? Because I think it was him. Like, really.”

5. “You know, we kicked out all the white people in 1947. We don’t mind if you stay here for a while but you can’t take over the country. If you do that, I will hunt you down and kill you. Where are you staying? Tell me so I can hunt you down and kill you.”

6. “Farting aunty, can I call you Andy? Can I sing you a song? Fifi Fifi, No No No No Philomena Francis, My Name Is Philomena Francis. No you are a kyoon fairy. Yes you are a kyoon fairy. You know this song? You are not Malayalis? Then why is your nose like that?

7. “Uncle let me sing on the stage! I want to sing on the stage. I want to sing on the stage I want to sing on the stage I want to sing on the stage.”

8. “When my mother was small she thought white people didn’t fart because they were awesome and white. See what imperialism colonialism does? You see what you did? See what you did to my mother? Who’s going to pay for that? How much money do you have? Give me all your money or I’ll have your kidneys removed by slum children. You think I won’t do it? Don’t mess with me man, I got post-colonial issues like you would not believe! I got slum kids in this place right now. And if you don’t give me your money, they will slash your Achilles’ tendons and you will be left here to bleed to death because you’re white and we hate white people. We pretend we don't but we really do."

9. “Andy, can I have your handbag? Do you have any candy? Why, are you diabetic? Why did you wear this color sari, it’s not suiting you. Wow, your chappals are really ugly. See my chappals? These are my bathroom chappals. They are prettier than your chappals. At least your chappals match your ugly sari.”

10. “I’d like to dedicate this song to farting Andy, the frightened white man who's trying not to look frightened and the uncle I just pushed off the stage. Only I sing. Nobody else sing. Anybody else singing means I have their kidneys removed by slum children. Ok, ready? Fifi Fifi, No No No No Philomena Francis, My Name Is Philomena Francis. No you are a kyoon fairy. Yes you are a kyoon fairy. Why no one is singing also? No one knows Malayalam? You are all North Indians? No problem no problem, I sing Jumma Chumma De De.”


Sunday, March 14, 2010

A Letter of Apology to the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks

Dear Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks,

I thought I should apologize for calling you out and saying you were WTF and possibly drug-induced. I thought this discussion had something to do with it but then I realized it didn’t. I thought about apologizing because this discussion reminded me of the incredibly thick smear of people I have argued, debated and discussed this issue with over the past six years. So let me be very clear, this missive is not about any one person or any group of people. If anyone out there would like to believe this is all about them, that’s their business and that’s also psychotic.

I want to say two things here. One, in most of the arguments I took part in, and there were a whole lot of them, they mainly stemmed from me saying a piece of fiction didn’t work for me because I identified things I believed were stereotypes or factual errors. This would inevitably cause someone to turn around and say ‘Oh. So you’re saying I can’t write about that.’ And I never knew what to say to that. I never knew what to say because it’s easily one of the most absurd things I have ever come across in my short and limited “writing career”. Why are you even asking something like that? Me saying your legions of white peacocks is, in my humble opinion, a load of fuckwit somehow challenges your freedom to write? Really? What do you think I’m going to do, raise an army of brown people to beat you to death with encyclopedias? You think I’m going to start speaking to your neighbors about how you wrote about legions of white peacocks so they shouldn’t talk to you anymore? Whatever, that’s just the first point. The second thing I want to say is that I have also been in the position where I have been the only person who thought a piece of fiction didn’t work because I identified things I believed were stereotypes or factual errors while everyone else thought the story was the sun’s backside. It’s a fuckall position to be in. Perhaps more so because I know that sometimes, the writer of said piece often did not feel my reasons were valid reasons to dislike a piece of fiction. I guess if you’re a really smart or super-evolved reader, you can view fiction as fiction and not find the other stuff bothersome. I’m not there yet. I’d really like to be there though because all of this is incredibly wearying.

So anyway, here’s what I want to say to you, my most darling Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks. Fiction is fiction. It’s made-up. A fiction writer can and should write whatever they want. So if someone wants to write about Muslim Villages of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks, they should be able to. I completely and utterly agree with this. I also agree with the notion that if I don’t like something, I don’t have to read it. And I wholeheartedly agree with the fact that just because said piece about Muslim Villages of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks didn’t speak to me does not mean it would not work or speak to someone else. There is a very good chance it probably would have and would have done so very well.

There is a 100% chance I have enjoyed works of fiction which did contain numerous stereotypes and factual errors and I did not notice them. But if I read something that perpetuates stereotypes or contains factual errors that I can identify and which I believe are stereotypes and factual errors, the story collapses for me. I lose respect for the piece and I can’t take it seriously. That’s just me. You can of course write a story set in an invented universe which is different from the real one, where water is solid at room temperature or the Nazis won WWII or whatever. But if I as the reader come to believe that you are actually confused about the laws of physics or the actual course of history, rather than changing them deliberately, I will lose respect for the story. This does not mean everyone else will or should feel the same way. It's just one reader's opinion. Maybe it's a bad opinion. Maybe it's a stupid opinion. Maybe people should be beaten with shoes for having opinions like that. Whatever the maybes, it's an opinion, nothing more.

When I call out the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks, I am not speaking as the Grand Poobah of the English Speaking World Of Brown People That Live Over There Working For The Removals Of Stereotypical Writing Of Brown People In The Western World. When I call out the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks, it’s not a moral or political judgment. I call it out because I think it’s stupid. I think it’s stupid and I think it made your story stupid. That’s just me. There is an incredibly high chance someone else would love it to pieces, publish it, make a movie and win you an Oscar. God knows it’s happened before. But I don’t feel the same way. This does not mean that when I read your piece, stigmata appeared on my hands and feet, blood ran from my eyes, the skies clouded over and I raised my sorrowful voice to the sky saying ‘WHY? WHY MUST THEY CONTINUE TO PERPETUATE STEREOTYPES AND FACTUAL ERRORS AND MAKE US SUFFER? WHY MUST WE SUFFER?’ That doesn’t happen because one, that’s really weird. Two, I call that shit out on both sides and I think some people may be under the impression that I am only into bashing and shaming "western people". Three, these reasons for thinking a piece is weak are no different in my eyes than reasons like stale characters or tone-deaf dialogue. I think all those things are stupid too but in many cases, other people have felt differently. They thought the dialogue was fine or the characters were awesome. And that is awesome. Really. That's what makes fiction so fabulous. Some people will like it. Some people won't.

So I'd just like to make it clear that my calling out the Muslim Villages of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks is not a call to arms to kill middle-class white people who don't want to write about being white or middle class (this is very important. Please note this. I am brown, I have a weird name and I come from a country that starts with the letter 'I' so it is very important for people to understand that I am not telling anyone to kill anybody, particularly white people. Kuzhali Manickavel says don't kill white people.). It does not mean that I am saying nuh-uh no you can’t write this you can’t because I say you can’t because I’m a coloredz and you’re a whitez. It’s just me saying in my opinion, this story is a piece of poo. I think it’s a piece of poo for the following reasons.

I’m confused as to why when you call fiction out for stale characters, you barely get a whimper. Call fiction out for what the reader perceives as stereotyping and factual errors and suddenly Tattycoram is running crazy among the creatives! Why don’t people get defensive when you call them out for weak narrative structures? People should get this defensive about narrative structures.

So am I saying you can’t write you want? No! You must write anything and everything you wish! Please do! You should! You must! Am I saying you can’t write crap? Of course not! You must write crap! Some people won’t think it’s crap at all. Really. But I might not feel the same way and I might say so and that doesn’t mean I’m about to start a movement to break all your pencils and steal your laptop so you can’t write about Muslim Villages of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things With Legions of White Peacocks ever ever again.

So like I said in the beginning. I THOUGHT I should apologize. But I’m not going to. You are certainly free to write as and what you wish. And if I think your story is a bag of limp dicks because of what I perceive to be stereotypes or factual errors, hopefully that same right extends to me to say so without getting branded a terrorist looking to kill all those darling buds of creativity.


ps- I realize that the title of the blog post said this was a letter of apology and I guess it isn't. So I apologize for lying in my blog post title.

pps- this is a longass blog post

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Conversations- Letting the Air Force In

K- So I ran into an old lecturer from college-

S- Oh I love it when people meet their old lecturers! Did she hug you and cry? Did you both have slow-motion college flashback? Was it like the Raymond’s ads?

K- Now that you mention it, I think she did want to cry a little.

S- Because she remembered you and was overcome by golden memories from the evergreen pastures of her golden memories?

K- No, because I actually ran into her. As in I accidentally knocked her down some stairs and she may have concussion and stuff.

S- Oh.

K- She was really mad. I think she wants to sue me.

S- Chi, people only sue in America. Also, I don’t think you should take anything said in the heat of concussion personally.

K- Oh! But I totally remembered her! I was like ‘Ma’am, you remember me?’ and she was like ‘Why should I remember you? Who said I should remember your face?’

S- Maybe the concussion put her in a bad mood.

K- I remember her because every time she came into class, she would say ‘Come on girls, open the windows! Let the Air Force come in.’

S- No way.

She totally did! And I would always think, wouldn’t that be the best thing ever? If you opened the windows and these fabulous Air Force men just started leaping gracefully into the room? Sometimes I would picture the Air Force men wearing little sailor outfits and jumping through the windows while that song Chandralekha from Thiruda Thiruda played in the background.

S- I can totally see that happening.

K- It was the best class ever. I can’t remember what class it was exactly but it was the best class ever.

S- I had a teacher who would tell us to stop oscillating in the hallways.

K- Oh suh-weet!

S- It was a bit creepy actually. Because we never saw her, we just heard her voice. We’d be standing there and suddenly this voice would say ‘Girls! Why you are oscillating in the hallways?’ I mean how do you even answer a question like that? ‘No ma’am, we’re not oscillating ma’am’? ‘Sorry ma’am, we’ll not oscillate again ma’am’?

K- Did I tell you about my teacher who would say ‘I say you get out!’ even when we were outside?

S- Wow. That must have been very weird for you.

It really was. Because we wouldn’t know where to go, you know? How do you ‘get out’ when you’re already outside?

S- It’s a loaded philosophical metaphor.

K- I remember this one girl had a theory that maybe we were supposed to go back inside but we could never test this out.

S- Why not?

Because this teacher didn’t actually want us to go anywhere, she just liked saying ‘I say you get out!’ So if we tried to move, she’d get even angrier and say ‘Where are you going? You are going for a walk? You think this is fish market?’ And I’d be like, why would anyone go for a walk in a fish market?

S- You didn’t actually say that, did you?

Of course not! Maybe once I said. Or twice.

S- Ok I have to go. I just remembered I had something on the stove and then I came to talk to you and now I think my kitchen’s on fire.

K- Maybe if you started doing your cooking in some other room you wouldn’t set your kitchen on fire so often.

I better go open some windows before I die of smoke inhalation.

K- Open those windows I say! Let the Air Force come in!

an edited version of this appeared in The New Indian Express Zeitgeist Supplement, Multiverse, Conversations, March 13, 2010

Friday, March 5, 2010

Story in Best American Fantasy 3 and Other Things Also

Pimpage Department

Hai Everybody! Did you know that at one point, Nithyananda was trending along with Justin Bieber? Anyway, I want to say that I have one number story called Flying and Falling, which first appeared in the most excellent publication Shimmer and is also in my collection Insects are Just Like You and Me Except Some of Them have Wings and is also included in the Best American Fantasy 3 anthology, which just arrived by the awesome postman to my corner of the world. I think maybe some of you are thinking, why she is in the Best American Fantasy book? She is not American. This is so true. And yet, there I am along with Stephen King and a lot of other people who have superimpressive bios. You can buy it here if you have no qualms about dropping about Rs. 700 plus shipping for a book.

Other People's Pimpage Department

Have you bought the book Daylight Robbery by Surender Mohan Pathak yet? No? Why? But why? Why haven’t you bought it yet? Is it because you don’t have trick playing cards? Don’t afraid baby! When you buy a copy of Daylight Robbery, you get free trick playing cards also, which is really neat. So buying the book solves your trick playing cards dilemma and also gives you a book to read that people have read and enjoyed like anything. Have you bought it yet? No? Why? But why? Why haven’t you bought it yet? Is it because you don’t have playing cards?

I Am Having Doubt Department

Is Savitha Bhabhi really a symbol of women’s empowerment? Does that mean that when you watch porn where a gay or a disabled person is brought in for the express purpose of fucking everything “because they want to” so that other people can get off you are actually empowering the gays and the disabled? More importantly, does this mean that when you watch unicorn porn, you are empowering unicorns?

Why isn’t Wilbur Sargunaraj more famous?

What will they do when they are finished blaming rape, sexual harassment and sexual molestation on women’s clothing? Will they blame our footwear? Will they say that women who wear bathroom chappals are “asking for it”?

Why is it that when South Indian movie heroes wear something weird they are being stupid and South Indian but when a hip-hop dude wears something weird they are being badass?

Why is it ok for you to name your pets after “this like Hindu God thing” but it’s not ok for me to name my dog Jesus?

Why is it that on the Youtube Videos Being Watched Now section, there is always someone watching clips called Aunty Fully Oil Navel Hot Raping Underage Servant Girl BoobSlutSari that are 7 seconds long? How many of these 7 second clips do you have to watch to get off?

Why do some Indians living in India in our present time write like they live in a Charles Dickens novel? Why do they use words like ‘egad!’ and ‘I care tuppence’? Do they actually say these words when they talk? Like if they get walloped in their soft parts, do they say ‘Oh egad I care tuppence!’

Why is ration sugar sometimes yellow? Are people peeing in the ration sugar?

I am not going to ask why your story is about a Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things where all the girls get raped and raped and raped and raped and raped and everyone speaks some foreign Muslim language which makes them sound like they all have massive brain injuries because hey, that’s just how those crazy foreigners talk, right? I am not going to ask about this because people write this kind of stuff all the time, possibly because they believe that the chances of someone calling them on their bullshit are very slim to nil. This is why so many craptastic stories about “foreigners” get published. However. I do want to know why you would say that legions of white peacocks flooded the skies each dawn and alighted on everyone’s front lawns in the Muslim Village of No Good Horrible Very Bad Things. Legions of white peacocks? LEGIONS? FRONT LAWNS? WTF, are you on drugs? Is this sci-fi? Are you on drugs?

Why are poor people in India referred to as the ‘Real India’? Does that mean non-poor India is this conglomerate of unreal magic people? That’s actually kind of awesome.

Why would you claim to be a magazine interested in seeing more of us awesome, exotic international writers but you will only accept postal submissions? Why will you not accept carrier pigeons? Or the Pony Express? Or smoke signals?

Musics Department

Now that summer is coming to burn us all to death, let us welcome it with awesome retro disco hits from the bygone yesteryears of the nostalgic memories of the olden days.

Malayalam Retro Hit- Ullahsa Poothirikal

This song is awesome because the dude is kind of doing the funky chicken while holding electric guitar and it has slow-motion running and jumping in garden and Yesudas sings with full feeling. This song should be covered by The Jonas Brothers.

Tamil Retro Hit- Mappillaiku Maaman Manasu

This song is awesome because it has two Rajinis, the house looks like a cake you might dream about when gripped by the delirious fevers, there is a random girl doing Bharathnatyam around everybody and P. Susheela is singing with full feeling. This song should be covered by The Leningrad Cowboys and Otep Shamaya.

Hindi Retro Hit- Oowee Oowee

This song is awesome because it has a man with a pipe in it but he’s not beating on any women, there is a girl whacking herself in the face with a rose and it’s hard not to sing along and feel like everything is awesome possibly because Zoheb Hassan is singing with full feeling. This song should be covered by Lady Gaga and Kid Sister.

okbai Department

I also wanted to mention how much I liked this podcast interview with Zadie smith and this clip from The Annoying Orange but blog post is already too long.


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