M.P. Sharma's Blog, page 18

Indian Allergies – I’ve lost count …

Oh that’s right – Part 3. As I am sure you’ve all been “eager beavers” the past two weeks, glued to your computer screens waiting for this (just say you have, okay) day, I’d like to start by apologising for the lapse in getting this post up.

I was trying to find an appropriate antihistamine for all these allergies and ended up blowing my lab up instead, so I got all the kangaroos, wallabies, koalas, platypuses, echidnas and other native Australian wildlife to help me rebuild but turns out belonging to the same region doesn’t automatically mean you all get along. Suffice to say, my lab is far from picture perfect.

Anyway, enough rambling – here goes:

14. Indians by nature can’t quite grasp the World’s excitement around recycling because we’ve been doing it for ages; we call it “Jugaad”. Similar to everything Indian, its use exceeds one, it’s not just recycled a gazillion times over already, it’s likely to be recycled till air particles appear more solid and it’s what most would term entrepreneurial. For us, it’s just about getting a particular job done really, so we’re allergic to how “trendy” recycling is for everyone else.

15. Alarm bells go off in our heads if someone tells us something is “not a problem” because clearly what they’re saying is we’re screwed tighter than the beer bottle cap you can never seem to pry open. First rule of thumb for anyone conducting business in my country is if they say “it’s not a problem” it’s a mother you know what of a problem. Good luck buddy because though you’re going to need it, even a horrendous hurricane hurled at you at a million miles per hour is child’s play, basically see you later, it was nice knowing you.

16. Indians are allergic to not having someone other than a family member help you out around the home. Household help is not a nice to have, it’s mandatory full stop. We are allergic to having to do things for ourselves when someone else can clearly be employed to do it for us. People may snicker and say we’re spoilt but seriously, it’s all part of the economy. My problem is when I get scolded for making the bed when I visit my grandparents’ house back home, I just can’t seem to get my little pea sized brain around how doing the right thing is wrong, but our (what seems to be) ancestral household assistant can still whack me on the bottom so hard, she’d put Mohamed Ali to shame!

17. We are allergic to not making up our own language and take extreme offence to anyone suggesting that the languages we have developed aren’t “proper” forms of communication. Hinglish is not a form of colloquial, cultural expression, it’s a language, see – even spellcheck knows it.

18. Indians are allergic to not attaching “yaar” to the end of each sentence – “It’s hot na yaar?”, “that’s cool yaar”, “you look so sexy in that yaar”, “that guy is totally checking you out yaar” … The list goes on but you get the picture. You don’t add “Yaar” to the end of a sentence which is a friendly version for pal; I’m just not feeling it.

19. You are NOT Indian if you do not discuss politics at every opportunity you get, especially around the dinner table. Every single one of us is a closet politician, just waiting to be discovered. You don’t like politics; we look at you through distrusting lenses because clearly you’re a fake Indian. If I can’t prove that, it is obviously a deep, dark conspiracy where you “fake” Indians are infiltrating us real Indians.

20. There is a reason we have articles written branding our breed of people as “Argumentative”. We will blow your ear drums meticulously “debating” why your point of view could not possibly be more incorrect even if you slit your wrists and bled out right here and now. Don’t believe me, check out this guy. Though some non-Indians are a little terrified of us, we just think it’s the nucleus of the many great inventions we claim to have designed.

21. Every Indian grandparent is convinced they were a Medical doctor in a previous life. We even have a phrase for it; it’s called “Dadi/Nani ke totke”. No matter how hard grandchildren protest against the injustice of the barbaric, uncivilised medical remedies, our pleas of torture are unheeded and often fall on deaf ears.

Sore throat? Don’t worry, my grandma will fix that for you with some Mendel’s Paint, just remember – your throat is the toilet and the medicine a toilet brush, sure your initial soreness is history, but that’s because you no longer have an oesophagus left.

22. Dear Hippies & Alternative Living Enthusiasts, Indians have been tree hugging for centuries, we kinda call it Ayurveda and again, what’s the big deal with it?

23. As a side bar, we also don’t really understand the difference between Pilates and Yoga but whatever.

24. And finally – drum roll, we respect our closest relative, the monkey, so we let them roam around freely, either that, or we’re shit scared of them. Nevertheless, monkeys and mankind live side to side more often than not in our country, sometimes not so peacefully but generally we do well with a limited amount of space

Okay, so there it is guys! What most of us are allergic to. You may now aptly celebrate that this tumultuous ordeal has reached its climax and if you feel like I’ve missed out on anything just give me a slap on the wrist and share, share, share.

See you later my beauties :)

P.S. For those of you in love/starting to fall insanely in love with other Indian experiences, I really urge you to take a look at these priceless blogs by some of the MOST talented bloggers on this forum (at least the ones I’ve found so far)! Enjoy!

http://verseherder.wordpress.com/

http://keeppicturing.wordpress.com/

http://thisfernweh.wordpress.com/

Today should be a Public Holiday

On days like today, it should be illegal to be couped up within four walls. C’mon Governments all over the World, even Mother Nature is yelling at us to let our hair down!

Besides, seeing as everyone is constantly professing that the World is really a very small place, I suggest everyone on the planet gets a day off so we can all share in the love a little. Okay, great, it’s settled, good weather anywhere on the globe, we all get a holiday. Agree? Agree – done. That was easy ;)

The Glass is always Full …

… half is full with water, the other half is full with air.

Indian Prime Minister, Narendra Modi’s response to whether he sees the glass as half full or half empty! Just goes to show that everything is about perspectives, this statement reminded me of the fact that there is rarely “good” or “bad” in life perse, it’s all about how we allow situations and circumstances to affect us.

In the end, you’re the one that makes your destiny :)

Girl suffers epilepsy attack after taking too many selfies for Facebook

Bangalore: In line with the latest trend of people taking selfies for their social networking profiles, a girl from the city today (who chooses to remain anonymous) has suffered an epilepsy attack after being subjected to the constant flashes by way of her camera on her smartphone.

“One moment I was fine”, the girl explained to Faking News, “and after about the 105th click, it suddenly hit me!”

The girl’s doctor, Dr Khan says that the problem is a lot more common than one might expect. “We have been stunned with the innumerable amount of cases, some even causing permanent damage such as constant twitching of the trigger forefinger with regards to taking selfies”.

When probed on the reason for the recent increase in selfie related cases, Dr Khan explained that due to friends not meeting each other in person any longer, people were starting to have to remind one another of how they looked.

“The proliferation of selfies seems to be a direct result of an uptake in social media platforms such as Twitter, Facebook and Instagram to name a few. One of my previous patients wasn’t allowed back home because his mother didn’t recognise her own son after he’d been locked in his room chatting with his friends via Facebook for over a week. The boy even texted his maid via Facebook when he wanted to eat or drink something.”

“It is true,” one of Dr Khan’s latest patient’s, Vishal confirmed, “I was in police lockup for days because my father thought I was a burglar one night when he found me in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge. Papa thought that I had already left for College abroad two weeks before when I had actually been talking to my friends through Twitter. It took three days for the police to let me go because I didn’t know who to go to, to prove my identity!”

The girl who has currently been ordered to take full bed rest has had her electronic appliances confiscated; however her phone is still with her as Dr Khan fears that making her go cold turkey could cause heart palpitations.

Faking News would like to direct your attention to the following disclaimer, in the case of liking this article on social media networks, please note that Faking News takes no responsibility for any medical conditions that may occur as a result.

I had this post published on Faking News on Friday and it has receieved 789 likes and 79 shares via Facebook so far! I have absolutely no idea why this one in particular has been as popular as it has, though I’m not complaining :D Thought I’d share it with my favourite readers here, so enjoy! Happy Monday guys :)

Keep on Writing …

“… Writing, writing. Keep on writing, writing, writing. Keep on writing, writing, writing. Keep on writing, writing, writing …”

I’ve heard that repeating this mantra in my mind, or aloud if you’re in the vicinity of people who love you too much (or in my case, too closely related) to institutionalise you, will help matters.

So, I sat down in front of my computer to put the theory to test and discovered that the saying is complete crap. You can see for yourself – the only thing I got out after exercising my fingers and cracking them appropriately was the above paragraph, more like three words in repetition. Sorry guys – better luck next time :p

Have a wonderfully super weekend :)

Personal Trainers are Satan’s minions

I told my personal trainer friend that “her people” (by this I mean Satan’s minions) were wrong when they said exercise was good for my body. I mean, the age-old adage of everything in moderation had to be true for all of life’s twists and turns otherwise my whole perspective on the world would have to be blown to smithereens right there and then.

My friend told me to elaborate and though I was acutely aware of walking smack bang into the middle of a mine field, apparently endorphins do shite for your brain cells which is extremely lethal for someone with my um well, limited brain capacity – but enough about me.

I told her that I was feeling pain in body parts that I was pretty sure didn’t exist in the species I have been led to believe I belong to since I popped out of my mother’s womb and how I was going to write to my local council and state that anyone who exercises a fellow human being to start “feeling” these body parts should be extradited (to hell presumably) immediately.

Now I know what you’re thinking, how dumb am I? For your kind information, my friend’s smirk did set warning bells clambering up my spine and though I did attempt to run in the opposite direction, the dumbbells she had attached to my ankles blocked my noble retreat and she politely asked (with a skipping rope in her hand that she had sinisterly changed into a makeshift whip that would put Spartacus to shame) that I drop and give her twenty.

Suffice to say I escaped with my life just to recount this story to you for witness purposes on the event of my untimely death. Got to go, she’s back …

What’s the big deal with First Place?

When people ask me to recall my most profound moments so far, my mind normally travels to the times I didn’t win something – be it an award, a debate, something I really wanted in life. My friends or those I fortuitously come in contact with will look at me with barely cloaked intrigue and wonder aloud why I feel the way I do when most of us seem to recount our first prizes in life.

I seem to always focus on the second places, or what others may view as losses. Why? Because I truly do believe that those supposed “losses” are what helped in shaping me as a person, an individual and most importantly, a survivor, what made me work harder, go that extra mile, be more positive and work towards getting that goal eventually.

These are the most imperative points in my journey, the ones I remember even now because besides getting me that elusive first place, they helped build character and gifted (and continue to do so till this day) me with the power to face the various curve balls and challenges life has to hurl my way.

Here’s raising a glass to your second place! :)

I made it!

I’m very excited to have made it onto the homepage for Faking News late last night (Australia time)!

I mean seriously, as a “real life” journalist, I couldn’t think of a better job if I could wrangle it :D

Followed by 352K readers on Twitter & 901 244 Facebook fans, I am STOKED to have reached the first page of this superbly wonderful initiative.

Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! :)

Happy Birthday to our Babi!

Like most girls, I don’t just love or adore my Daddy, I can’t imagine existing without him.

There is no one in my life whose opinion matters more; no one else whose words have more of a profound effect on me and no other’s approval I crave for more.

My dad and I are like two opposite ends of a stick, like chalk and cheese, like the Coyote and the Roadrunner! In the end though, everyone knew that Tom and Jerry would be incomplete without one another, dull and mundane, suicidal most of the time, and the “soul of the party” – my father and I are exactly the same.

My Baba constantly complains that the thorn in his side is that I never write these long, loving letters to him, but the truth is that my father is a “feeler” rather than a “talker”. I will often find him teary eyed after listening to some injustice happening a country away (in fact, it’s a long running joke in our house, often shamefully spearheaded by my sister or myself,) but catch him doing it, and he embarrassedly rubs his eyes free of the salty substance in an instance. Why? I often ponder, and I think the reason is that for as long as I can remember, my dad has been the prankster. Most of my traumatic high school, university and even work moments have embryonically taken shape via my father – from his mortifying Pavarotti inspired opera singing in the middle of my High school car park, to his incessant requirement to call me by my nickname Motu (which means fat in my language) in the middle of an all Indian boys conglomerate, to yelling our names within the midst of a live audience while we are acting in the school play! There are so many more, trust me.

The truth is, my Baba is the one we remember as being the cool one, the Go to guy when we were attempting unsuccessfully to organise a peaceful protest to convince mum to let us take the day off school, the one who would creepily shake the car like something out of I know what you did last summer while we waited in the dark for mum (and dad supposedly) to return from parent teacher nights (only to find out later that he’d left mum in the lurk while pretending he had to relieve his bladder and never returning because he was bored!), to refusing to take our call collects while we waited for him to pick us up because he was around the corner anyway!

My daddy is the fun, omnipresent, positive one but he is also the most humble, spine chillingly open minded one. We will often be at loggerheads because I can’t believe he thinks a certain way about an issue on hand, but in my soul, I know the reason I think the way I do is because my parents have imparted with me the power to think about the World around me, and have taught me that it’s okay to question it, in fact it’s imperative. My Baba is a feminist, a socialist, a humanitarian and no one else’s opinion on my feats in life matters more. My dad is one out of the three males who have continually inspired me to never turn my back on my passion to write, and when it comes down to it, is my epitome of the perfect example of the ideal soul mate in life.

My Baba is everything to me and deep down in my soul, I know that no matter what man comes into my life, no one is truly ever going to compare to my Daddy, he may get close, but never completely as great as him.

So to my dearest Babi, this is to prove that once and for all, we do love you more than what you do :) And that I have finally put pen on paper (or at least keyboard to computer screen) to express 1/gazillion of the love and adoration we feel for you, because what we feel is far too deep to document and can only be felt in the corners and crevices of our souls.

Happy Birthday to the kindest, most gentlest, most selfless, most giving, most funniest, most positive, most AMAZING father in the whole entire universe.

We love you more than anything anyone’s imaginations or real life could ever muster up.

Only Your Chotu & Motu

Dear Australians …

What ever happened to the good ol’ Aussie Battler’s motto of giving everyone a fair go?

When did we stop looking in our own backyard before we started pointing the finger?

Why is it that everyone around me wants to talk about the latest celebrity nude picture/sex tape leaks and chooses to overlook discussing the disgusting, vile death of a young boy of 24 who passed away in filthy conditions from an ailment that was easily treatable while residing in what the Australian Government promises us are humane conditions in our detention centres?

When will we start holding the government you and I chose to ransom for the decisions they make on our behalf and do we really want to be known as a first world country that does this to people who choose to come to the lucky country?

It’s easy to sit here and judge everyone else, the Syrians, the Russians, the Afghanis … the rest of the World, but how are we going to answer future Australians about how we let a young person slip into a coma on his way to the hospital from a cut in his leg that turned septic in 2014?

Or will we just bury all of this as far as we can, only to use the words “Well we’re not the ones who did it” in case it is discovered in 100 years or so? Doesn’t this argument sound familiar, reminiscent of our apology as a nation to our very own dwindling indigenous population?

I’m not here to advocate or not advocate for the Boat people, but I am asking all of us to raise our voice for humanity. Raise your voice today and tell the Government that they aren’t speaking for you.