An Open Letter to all by a hurt Ms Baigan

Not so dear all,

Till a few days back I was just a Baigan, sitting on a rack, waiting for you to take me home, mash me, pulp me and devour me with relish. I suffered in silence even when you rubbed me with oil and put me on fire to roast in my own juices. I even put up with smelly onion and too-much-blusher-tomato because I wanted you to like me the way you like that squishy paneer. Oh, don’t you for a moment think I didn’t notice the look of tenderness when you picked her up and surveyed her lovingly, your drool moistening your lips! Yet, I looked on stoically, with a stone placed on my heart.

I know I am no superfood. I’m dark, plump and a veggie with many names – aubergine, eggplant, brinjal, baigan, begoon… But tell me, what did I do to deserve to become the butt of your merciless jokes and bad puns!

Mind it, I will never forgive Durex for besmirching my spotless reputation by announcing ‘spicy baigan’ flavoured condoms. Just as Mother Teresa’s Holy Spirit was getting canonised at the Vatican and demonised by the republic of Twitter, Durex got this brainwave to sexify me.

Durex, do you even realize that this mindless sexification of the baigan in pursuit of fame and riches has ruined my life forever! Had I been an American I would have sued you for millions of dollars for emotional distress. My besties Tinda, Tauri and Lauki have stopped talking to me after my new found notoriety. The other day when I accidently brushed against Tinds, she spat out – Who do you think you are, Sunny Leone! My sweetie pie, potato no longer responds to my loving overtures. Not even when I croon, aloo, is it me you’re looking for? *Please insert a plaintive wail here for added effect* Heartbroken, I tried line-maroing cauilflower who I had bro-zoned recently. When I whispered 'gobhi gobhi mere dil mein khayal ataa hai', he pretended to de deaf. Only that luchha lafanga Karela sent me a sext that read – aati kya Khandala! Like any sanskari baigan I proceeded to feel cheap and washed myself in Dettol twice.

 Now even Kela and Kheera won’t talk to me for stealing their limelight. Le sigh!



Don’t even get me started on the sleepless nights I spent worrying if I’ll be replaced by a stupid condom claiming to taste like me. Why will anyone slave in the kitchen for hours to make stuffed baigan when all one has to do is slip it on your object of desire! *insert a plaintive wail here*

Dear Durex, had you fools done your survey properly, you’d discovered that’s it’s not some random veggie but chulbuili imli, teekha golgappa and khatta-meetha aam papad that makes women scream ‘more more more!’ If you had even a fraction of Baba Ramdev’s business acumen, you’d come out with churan flavoured condoms. See, even I know more than your overpaid MBAs.

And now you jokers are claiming it was just a fun prank? I’m sorry, I refuse to take this humiliation lying down, like some abla naari victimised by this patriarchal society. You thought you could play around with the egg in my plant and then walk away like a boss! Let me tell you, careless gags like these, if employed too often, will render you limp that no Viagra can help rise to the occasion. I refuse to let baigons be baigons. Like any proud, senti-mental Indian waiting to get hurt, I shall file a plea in the court against you for hurting my religious sentiments.

So you thought only men wearing thin wispy dotted condoms had feelings? Ha, now you’ll know!