My friend forwarded a great piece on how hard it is to be a south indian male at this time, in this world. This seems to be an article written by south indian living in Mumbai (Bombay). There are some exaggerations but it is a great read and I definitely can relate to some of the situations.
The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing” or
“Why we don’t get any…”
Yet another action packed weekend in Mumbai, full of fun, frolic and
introspection. I have learnt many things. For example having money
when none of your friends have any is as good as not having any. And
after spending much time in movie theatres, cafes and restaurants I
have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love
life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most disheartening.
Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change
our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never
stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant,
well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kandus were
once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)
Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us
names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more
foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified
advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks
otherwise. Name him “Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy” and his inherent
capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even
talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart,
seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No
woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His
investment banking job doesn’t help either. His employer loves him
though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay
Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their
own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40%
is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their
penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of
the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he
cant use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in
school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with
all the girls.
Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of
neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just
name the poor southern male child and throw him off the balcony. “Yes
appa we have named him Goundamani…” THUD. Life would have been less
kinder to him anyway.
If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the
Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the
Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry casanovas
with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of
course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names
which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks.
Picture this: “Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter
Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponnalagusamy (er..
hello..)..” Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing
Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear
snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he
has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan
Seminary.
Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence.
Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I
have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there.
However the northy just has to scream “Wakaw!!!” and you have to peel
the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage
the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping
we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin
Thapar in the low cut jeans with jockey strap showing and see through
shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The
women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see
the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor
Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female
coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and
poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has
ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gall to talk of
foreign origin.)
How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized
polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a
big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts? All I can do is
don my worn “comfort fit” jeans and floral shirt. Which is pretty low
on the “Look at me lady” scale, just above fig leaf skirt and feather
headgear a la caveman, and a mite below Khakhi Shirt over a red t
shirt and baggy khakhi pants and white trainers a la Rajni in
“Badsha”.
Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An
average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three
grandparents, three sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children.
Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated
“WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!” at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course
is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in
the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks.
Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We
are just not built to be “The Ladies Man”. The black man has hip hop,
the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato
rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as
our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so
will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony
of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on
his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet
desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and
whispers back “But amma has said only on second saturdays…”
In one last effort here we attractive young men have taken on alter
egos which may interest some of you women:
1. Gautam Kumar Raja, will now be known as Joshua Perreira
2. Sidin Sunny Vadukut, henceforth will be known as Dev Chopra
3. Ashwath Venkataraman is now Vijay Desai
4. Sudarshan Ramakrishnan no more, from now he is Barath Sharma
5. Gautam Chandrasekharan will now respond to Alyque Shah
Do mail me any time for a meeting with one of the above. One week
notice if Italian or Chinese food is involved, or if the individual is
expected to dance.