My Experiments With Mallu Porn

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Since Porn is what men watch and women frown at, I thought, what better way to rattle your senses than get a good, Indian girl to write about her encounters with the unmentioned kind. Well, Red Handed is no ordinary girl. She's sassy, witty and authors the incredibly funny blog by the same name. Her humour is the no-holds-barred kind and it's tough to keep a straight face while reading her posts.

In this post she talks about the much loved Mallu Porn....


In the words of the celebrated writer Ruskin Rushdie “Mallu Porn is like Fashion, a national self induced epidemic”. Recently an acclaimed Hollywood director M.Night Spielberg was caught watching Mallu porn in his iPad during the international premier of his ‘Love in the time of Size Zero’. TMZ tried to get his comments on the subject but could only reach one of his assistants who on the promise of anonymity told “Not everyone is into Jenna Jameson or Tory Black. Even in the west, men are craving for bootylicious sistas from the Deep South, but are instead rewarded with sticks with makeup on.”

Mallu porn is a rage you cannot escape. It is like the closet from Narnia that has to be entered into to understand a world that is on the other side. It is like Hitler’s moustache. You wouldn’t find it pleasing but you also wouldn’t want to tamper with it. It is a religion, a secret society, of which you unwittingly become a sworn member.

I had committed the cardinal sin of remaining untouched by ‘THE’ Mallu porn for what seemed to be my 23 years of existence. Blasphemy doesn’t give you a free pass just because you are a woman, especially if you happen to belong to the land that started it all. It’s like living in Paris and never visiting the Eiffel Tower. I just had to dip my toes in the vast pool that was Mallu porn to know whether it would give me shudders or warm yet sensational goose bumps that would revitalize my views on porn. Now don’t be shocked when you hear about a woman watching porn, for in the words of the famous Meryl Moanro “Women have as many prurient interests as men. We just keep those interests a secret.” It starts with a bite of the bug called curiosity and then turns into an educational tryst because unlike men, women don’t get high on porn but merely find it amusing. If you ask me, I would choose porn over televised sports any day!

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India sends Mahawati to Broker Peace Talks with Pakistan

This post was also published on The Unreal Times, dated 9th August

Tired of condemning, not tolerating and still trying to frame a fitting reply to dastardly attacks by Pakistan, India finally decided that it has to move beyond severing cricket ties, to teach Pakistan a lesson. No more Aman and Asha and trying to buy their neighbour’s affections with Sallu and SRK movies. It’s time we showed them who the Big Boss is! After 55 adjournments and 56 walkouts in the Parliament, it was decided that the only way to deal with the world’s favourite headache and enfant terrible, Pakistan, was sending over a strict Nanny.

So, the hunt began for a woman with a towering personality capable of turning decorated officers into her personal shoe-shine boys. With shoulders strong enough to bear the weight of Anaconda garlands. A heavy-weight personality who could make grown-up feel like errant kids with a mere lashing of her tongue!

And guess whose name our esteemed Parliamentarians came up with? Who else but Kumari Mahawati, Uttar Pradesh’s very own Statue of Liberty!

Forbes ex most powerful, India’s Prime Minister in waiting, she’s also the only woman to feature in Thumka Book of Records for the record number of memorials she has built to honour herself. Sister to all Dalits and blister to the Yadavs and their henchmen, Behenjee also happens to be the only human alive to wear garlands heavier than Bappi Lahiri’s gold chains.

Who better than UP’s ex CM, to give a fitting reply to Pakistan’s ex minster of external affairs, Hina Rabbani Khar! What’s a few Birkins compared to Mahawati’s mammoth collection of handbags!

May You Rest In Peace

 

Courtesy - CartoonStock.com

I am not afraid of dying. I mean what’s the big deal in dying? You are too dead to care if the Rupee will rise again, if you’ll fit into those jeans again, if Rahul Gandhi becomes our PM, why everyone is so concerned that you invest in a flat in Noida’s Sector 3456….

In fact, it’s your friends and family you leave behind, who have to deal with grief or relief depending on what a good/bad job you did of not annoying / annoying them.

Unfortunately for all of us, death is an inevitable that we cannot escape. The final must-do in our bucket list. Besides giving up on the tax refund you claimed in 2002.

For someone who loves writing and opining, words fail me when it comes to expressing my condolences. I guess it stems from the knowledge that whatever I say to express my regret and sympathy will sound hollow when compared with what s/he is going through. And the last thing a person in grief wants is sympathy.

Some of us are so tongue-tied that when a friend or acquaintance shares the news of demise of their beloved Dadajee on Facebook, we simply click the “like” button. I mean that’s what Facebook is, a communion of like-minded individuals who spend 80% of their online time complimenting each other, sharing motivational quotes and feeling relieved that there is a “like” icon when there is nothing to say.

Dadajee could have been 90, miserly, cranky and a chronic bed-wetter and you’re sure that his family and especially his wife cum tea maker cum cook cum temper absorber cum diaper changer of 70 years are secretly rejoicing. Why, you even saw them bursting crackers last Diwali!

The Happy Prince – A Desi Adaptation

A secret survey was conducted by Her Majesty’s Services, also known as the Caged Parrots Inc. (CBI), to find out how many subjects of her Kingdom wanted Clown Prince as their Clown King.

It had been over nine years since the day she handed over the reins of her kingdom to the gentle-as-a-lamb Silent one. While he kept busy with his 1300 speeches, her council of wise men turned the flying Maharaja into a sitting Pauper, improved the education system and industry to generate more unemployment, introduced legislation to make rotten foodgrain even more scarce, gave the economy a Greek makeover and bestowed upon countrymen the right to be silent. She had assigned the wisest one, Sir Foot-in-Mouth to groom the Prince to become the king of beehives and Boss of small things. He had been sent to the homes of the poorest of the poor, made to lick their runny daal clean, sleep on their charpais and swat the same mosquitoes. He was made to give fiery speeches and convince his ignorant subjects that he was the right one. He rode far and wide, to sing the greatness of his Mom’s reign. Such were his convincing powers that his subjects promptly elected other corrupt leaders to steal their own money.

What greater way to greatness than letting him fumble and bumble, make a royal fool of himself and be applauded for it! The council of wise men sang the Prince’s praise, danced around him and stuck out their tongues at the Silent one.

Heir He Is

I make my debut on The Unreal Times, to rejoice the birth of the Royal Baby. Reproducing the post here for your reading pleasure.

Hours after a terrified Salman Khan saw Taher Shah running towards him and hugged Shahrukh in panic, the Duchess of Cambridge went into the world’s most awaited labour, at St Mary’s hospital. Meanwhile, Britain saw its biggest Labour party right outside the hospital. It mostly comprised of eagerly waiting news anchors and cameramen who hadn’t shaved and bathed for days. It was reported that they raised quite a stink.

Blame the Royal Baby or rather his 0.0000000067% Indian genes. When the baby finally deigned to make an appearance, it was at Indian Standard Time, more popularly known as aap 5 minute ruko, main paanch din mein ayaa! But when the RB (Royal Baby) did arrive, it got more coverage than Uttarakhand floods, Arizona wildfires and the Egyptian revolution – aII put together. And why not! In a world plagued by constant strife and struggle, where hope is like a lone fallen branch in gushing waters, Royal Baby is our only hope for a brighter future. Even the hopeless Indian Rupee rose by 7 paise to celebrate the royal delivery!

When the exhausted but ecstatic Kate held up RB and murmured “your heir has arrived”, she did confuse the balding Prince William who briefly thought the wig he had ordered online from Tirupati has made an appearance.

Yes, Body Image Comes From Parents!

How does one introduce someone who's already so popular! I'll still give it a try for the sake of the selected few who have yet to read Rachna Says. If you like reading incisive commentary on social issues and are looking for parenting advice, I suggest you read Rachna Srivastava Parmar. A spirited woman with strong opinions and stronger principles, a young mother of two, she's also a professional content writer and a fantastic cook.  The last bit was specifically added to wrangle a dinner invite from her.

In this post, Rachna raises pertinent concerns about this generation's unhealthy obsession with physical beauty and letting it mess with their self-esteem.....

Little girls even before their teenage years are dieting these days. Ask any adolescent and chances are that she is unhappy with the way she looks. Food is a cuss word for her. It makes her fat! Fat is ugly; it is undesirable! She wants to look hot and hip just like those models that prance around on TV, adorn the cover of magazines, are arm candies of all the hot guys she loves and play out larger-than-life roles in her mind’s eyes. Young ladies are depressed, deflated fighting this battle to look a little more thin and a little more fair. The marketers whose sales are on the rise are laughing their way to banks. And no, they are not the only ones to blame. Yes, they promote an aspirational standard of beauty in society to peddle their wares – read beauty products, fairness creams, health foods etc. But, you my dear sweetie, yes YOU the parent are equally responsible. What you look at me incredulously? What did you do?

For starters, children derive their comfort, their self-esteem from their parents first and later from the society. And as a recently shared advertisement openly pointed out, children mirror their parents’ behavior as well as thinking and aspirations. In their formative years, you are the one they turn to when they are teased. You are the one they look to for affirmation for their own self-worth. And what do they get? Do they find a parent who actually teaches them to love their incredible bodies and self? Does the parent convey to them that they are accepted and loved just the way they are? Does the parent love her own self is a question worthy of asking?

Yes, we have moms who are obsessed with losing weight. They have deadlines --5 kgs. in one month for a wedding they have to attend. They are so unhappy that they are unable to appreciate the perfectly good looking bodies that they have. I have seen so many gorgeous women stressing out over that extra inch or couple of kilos that they still (imagine to) have extra. They don’t eat right, are obsessed with weight gain and get even more depressed when they don’t achieve their crazy targets. Binges and more guilt follows. All the while, your child is absorbing that only a particular size of body is good and desirable. That fat is bad, and thin is good – at any cost!

The Big Mystery Unveiled

                
It’s big, shapeless and ugly and is always hanging-out with her. Yet, she clings as if her life depends on it. You wonder, what she sees in that monster that refuses to leave her side. You’ve often noticed her hands caressing its soft folds. Oh, how much it disgusts you! You’ve often wondered what it holds in its dark cavernous folds. Admit it! You’ve been tempted to take a peek inside, when it’s alone, on its own. But you dare not! What if its mistress finds out and swings it like a mace and fells you flat like a dehydrated tree!

Crrunnnchhh. You can almost hear the sound of your bones cracking.

Looks can be deceptive. How can a big, wobbly, soft thing be capable of such menace? Blame the possessive mistress, who guards it “the handbag” like a lioness guards her cub.

The lady has a symbiotic relationship with her bag. Right since she was a little girl, who loved draping herself in her Mom’s dupatta, trying to balance herself on high heels, peering at her image in the mirror, her lips smeared with lipstick, adjusting her pretty little purse on her shoulder, trying to look all ladylike. From school socials, to her college days, to her first date, her first interview, through the ups and downs of her life – her shoulder bag was her constant companion.

Her handbag is her blanket of comfort that protects her from the unknown and the unseen. It’s dark, cavernous folds crammed with her most intimate possessions, stuff she might have to use if she…..