Oops, my big bunch of 150 million strong (and counting), much like the once-popular-now-forgotten blonde pop singer, has done it again. We have categorically re-iterated our undying commitment to both hedonism and hypocrisy, more so hypocrisy. This time, with the folly of reactions to the non-sensical "top gear" and never-sensical Jeremy. If you are reading, you, in all likelihood, belong to my "great-Indian-middle" class, for the ones above are too smug and the ones below too indifferent to explore random postings on the web.
Now I am not, even for the minutest moment of my life, interested in motor shows. I'm in the club of innocent spectators whose reaction to a Ferrari vrooming by is, at best, "Nice car!" During the day, that is. So there I was, happily going about the business of life, only bumping accidently into "top gear" while perpetually pressing the "Up" key on my remote. Suddenly, in the course of a day, the splashing on news websites and the din on the news channels made me sit up and "listen" to over an hour's worth of worthless nonsense on BBC. Worse, I refused to take a break in the pursuit of a glimpse of the source of the hue-and-cry, didn't find any.
Ironically, after downing a few beers later that day, the picture became clearer - the coverage was contained, so was the outrage. There wasn't an iota of opinion emanating from the by-lanes of Dharavi, not a speck from the high rises of Cuffe Parade. The outpouring of the great "hurt" was running only on the middle-class streets and there we were again, dancing to the jingoistic pied-piper's tune of "shame and retribution".
I had an epiphany that we, middle-class humans, have metamorphosed into mediocre-class horses running around with blinds limiting our vision only west-wards. Hoardings of “Uncle Sam” and “Auntie Victoria” are omnipresent in every middle-class street. We want to look British (wanted fair bride ONLY), speak American (holy crap!), and fry, toast and kiss French (LOL). The journey from Papad to Pizza has been the swiftest in the history of humanity. Don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy my 6-inch subway sandwich and occasional dinner down the French hut too. I am only soul searching for the concealed hypocrisy. Whilst we seek their savory cuisine do we always need to seek their unsavory approval?
There is a middle-class conspiracy of silence surrounding the fact that our "mahan desh" is one-third BPL. We are worse than Sub-Sahara Africa on the index of malnourished children. Forget the figures, visit the neighborhood slum you blissfully ignore on you way to the mall - I'm certain all of us have the company of one, at least. There exists a huge under-belly in need of an urgent fix but we find ourselves gloating in the 7.45% GDP.
Well, GDP neither translates to food nor a shot-in-the-arm for the impoverished, but the urge to blind ourselves (and the west) with the image of a "Shining India" is tantalizing - the reasoning, elementary. In the global world, we find ourselves dealing with the west more than ever and our colonial-hangover drives us into perpetual approval-seeking. Right from the new trainee at a BPO in Gurgaon to the hip-tourist inZurich
"Top gear" is known more for their cheap humor than expert-opinion on horse-powered engines, let alone promoting any cultural harmony. To be fair to Jeremy, I had to google up the meaning of "muff". You might find it unsavory but give the poor Brits a break. Perhaps it's the first serving of their royal five-course meal and the unemployed chef in Jeremy is desperately looking to treat us. Smile politely and say "No thanks! I prefer my mava". Make a "top racism" series onBritain
Laugh at them – that’s the only way to make it fair game. And for the love of humanity, let's have a little laugh at ourselves too, every once in a while.
Now I am not, even for the minutest moment of my life, interested in motor shows. I'm in the club of innocent spectators whose reaction to a Ferrari vrooming by is, at best, "Nice car!" During the day, that is. So there I was, happily going about the business of life, only bumping accidently into "top gear" while perpetually pressing the "Up" key on my remote. Suddenly, in the course of a day, the splashing on news websites and the din on the news channels made me sit up and "listen" to over an hour's worth of worthless nonsense on BBC. Worse, I refused to take a break in the pursuit of a glimpse of the source of the hue-and-cry, didn't find any.
Ironically, after downing a few beers later that day, the picture became clearer - the coverage was contained, so was the outrage. There wasn't an iota of opinion emanating from the by-lanes of Dharavi, not a speck from the high rises of Cuffe Parade. The outpouring of the great "hurt" was running only on the middle-class streets and there we were again, dancing to the jingoistic pied-piper's tune of "shame and retribution".
I had an epiphany that we, middle-class humans, have metamorphosed into mediocre-class horses running around with blinds limiting our vision only west-wards. Hoardings of “Uncle Sam” and “Auntie Victoria” are omnipresent in every middle-class street. We want to look British (wanted fair bride ONLY), speak American (holy crap!), and fry, toast and kiss French (LOL). The journey from Papad to Pizza has been the swiftest in the history of humanity. Don't get me wrong, I very much enjoy my 6-inch subway sandwich and occasional dinner down the French hut too. I am only soul searching for the concealed hypocrisy. Whilst we seek their savory cuisine do we always need to seek their unsavory approval?
There is a middle-class conspiracy of silence surrounding the fact that our "mahan desh" is one-third BPL. We are worse than Sub-Sahara Africa on the index of malnourished children. Forget the figures, visit the neighborhood slum you blissfully ignore on you way to the mall - I'm certain all of us have the company of one, at least. There exists a huge under-belly in need of an urgent fix but we find ourselves gloating in the 7.45% GDP.
Well, GDP neither translates to food nor a shot-in-the-arm for the impoverished, but the urge to blind ourselves (and the west) with the image of a "Shining India" is tantalizing - the reasoning, elementary. In the global world, we find ourselves dealing with the west more than ever and our colonial-hangover drives us into perpetual approval-seeking. Right from the new trainee at a BPO in Gurgaon to the hip-tourist in
"Top gear" is known more for their cheap humor than expert-opinion on horse-powered engines, let alone promoting any cultural harmony. To be fair to Jeremy, I had to google up the meaning of "muff". You might find it unsavory but give the poor Brits a break. Perhaps it's the first serving of their royal five-course meal and the unemployed chef in Jeremy is desperately looking to treat us. Smile politely and say "No thanks! I prefer my mava". Make a "top racism" series on
Laugh at them – that’s the only way to make it fair game. And for the love of humanity, let's have a little laugh at ourselves too, every once in a while.
