Skip to main content

Dineshan Writes: Family planning of Virat and Anushka

(A truncated and self edited version can be found here

Dear Editor,

It’s  been just three days into the week, and what a week it has been already! Nestled between the explosive news pieces of banning condom ads, Ockhi’s horrific aftermath and Rohit’s 200*, was the illustrious affair of the Virat- Anushka wedding (the need to portmanteau couple’s names to make a weird sounding word seems absolutely stupid, but that’s a piece for another day). And what a grand event it was! I’m sure you would have seen the pictures of their wedding online. However, this grandeur hasn’t been awarded the attention it deserves, in my humblest of opinion.

Dear editor, I don’t have to tell you how utterly impossible it is that a private ceremony of such grandeur to escape the scrutinizing eye of a seasoned journalist. Like a hungry mongrel scouring the dustbins for scraps of rotten food, any news channel worth its salt races ahead to squeeze every last bit of information from whatever blurry image/ video footage of the event. For hours on end, day after day for at least two weeks, news channels and print channels pool in their resources in drawing speculations about the couple’s outfit, jewellery, the shoes, the handkerchief, the underwear, the guests, the no shows, the catering, the toilets, the flooring, the light bulbs… Oh, what a delight it usually is to turn on the television at such times! Alas, dear editor, this has not been the case in their wedding, and I think the culprits are the ones I’ve mentioned in the first paragraph of this letter.

But that is not why I’m taking up precious space on your digital platform, dear editor. You see, marriages in India is as complex and convoluted as it gets. It doesn’t matter if the marriage is a high profile one, or that of my maid’s second daughter- there arises a question, like a guest whom no one invited but everyone is secretly pleased to see. A question that travels across the wedding hall at the speed of hushed whispers, carefully skirting the ears of the bride or the groom, but well within the reach of their parents ears, until it finds a voice in the form of a drunk uncle or an aunty who should have been drunk that evening. Or in case of such an acclaimed event- the front page or the prime time slot. Call me a drunk uncle all you want, but it is this very question that has been bothering me for the past day.

You see, dear editor, family is the most important aspect of any family. At the end of the day, the Queen of England is still a wife and a mother. So is my maid’s second daughter. People call me sexist for pointing it out, I do not know why. Maybe because they fail to extrapolate that their husbands are also husbands and fathers. Being a parent and a spouse is no child’s play, dear editor. Take it from me, I’m a family man myself. I am sure you are a family man yourself and I don’t have to explain to you in detail how draining it is to juggle the responsibilities of being a father, a husband and the manager’s personal wag tail. One can only imagine how hard it must be for the fairer sex.

Of all the responsibilities I’ve mentioned in the above paragraph, the one that is worthy of giving up is that of the career. I am sure your intelligent readers must have guessed the question that’s on my mind, so let me get straight to it.

All I want to know, dear editor, will Anushka allow Virat to play Cricket henceforth?
-Yours truly, Dineshan

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Jonny Jonny

            “Jonny! JONNY!” bellowed Jonathan Smith Sr., banging on the apartment door.             “Goddamnit Jonny, open the fucking door!” he banged on the door again, the green flakes on the faded door reverberating. “I know you’re in there.”             Jonathan heard his son scuffling inside, hastily making way towards the door. He could hear his son, Jonathan “Jonny” Smith Jr. clumsily fiddling with the latches on the other side of the door, cursing under his breath every time he fumbled. Jonathan flung the door open, almost knocking over Jonny, and barged right in.             “What took you so long?” Jonathan said, and went straight to the only bedroom in the apartment, not waiting for an answer.          ...

10-ish reasons to love a commuter bike (or why your Pulsar is good, but my Passion is better)

Last week alone I saw two articles about the coveted Royal Enfield Bullet (for the uninitiated, it's the bike that goes dug-dug-dug-dug). So, being the nosey parker that I am, and being a proud owner of a bike in the segment myself, I searched the interwebs for a similar article about the simple commuter bike. Sadly I didn't find a single one of that sort. I never wanted to write this blogpost in the first place, but it seems like the universe has conspired to result in this. Cunning universe. So here are 10-ish reasons to love a commuter bike- 1.   They are cheap AF:  You can saddle up on a 100 cc for under 70k INR. With papers. Accessories included. Not only does it cost less, but it's really wallet friendly when it comes to maintenance as well. These bikes are manufactured with the average middle class commuter in mind. By that I mean, for the ones who have a strong mindset of "don't fix it if it's not broken". The bike will work fine even if you...

Clubhouse. CoWin. China.

If you feel an odd sense of deja vu while reading this piece, then you've spent too much time switching between Facebook and Clubhouse. Unless you've been living underground or in a home with ACT broadband, you know what Clubhouse is - it is where many people can have their Mann ki Baat at once. And Facebook has turned into a platform to critique, analyse and make fun of discussions that happen on Clubouse. Congrats Clubhouse, you just replaced the Indian Government, at least as far as Facebook discourses go. Clubhouse is more or less an impulsive, live podcast session - an open space where everyone is made to feel like Joe Rogan. But no one talks about DMT or shaved gorillas or MMA or shaved gorillas doing MMA while on DMT. But it always does sound like everyone is on something stronger than the devil's lettuce. Maybe you need that to hear your own thoughts over the din of uncomprehensive ramblings and mouth-breathing noises. Speaking of noises, Saudi Arabia restricted the...