No farting please, we’re Pakistani

A person sitting in Karachi will now be unable to send a text message telling his friend not to be so ‘cocky’ about his entry through the ‘back door’ for a ‘bakwaas’ post. And the woman will have to rein in her articulation about an innocent ‘period’, although she can go ahead with the comma, but dare not tamper with the ‘tampon’.

Pakistan’s Telecommunications Authority has decided that certain words cannot be used anymore for SMSes. No, even if your car is crashing because of a certain failure, you cannot type out ‘headlights’.

I find this quite interesting because the letter sent out to the service providers says that there is a law for preventing information that is “false, fabricated, indecent or obscene” or “in the interest of the glory of Islam”.

A person sitting with thumb on the touch-screen or a tiny keypad is hardly thinking about the glory of the faith. And how does calling someone an ‘idiot’ tarnish the shine of Islam? Interestingly, while ‘padosi ki aulaad’ (offspring of the neighbour) is not allowed, you can type kafir (infidel). No problem. And no ‘Jesus Christ’. Duh?

Apparently, much of it is to stop Pakistanis from getting all sexy, so ‘lick me’, ‘do me’ (not even a favour), ‘S&M’ (M&S is okay, Marks and Spencers will be happy), ‘lotion’ (forget the moisturiser), ‘porn’, ‘gay’, ‘homosexual’ are out. You cannot even be held ‘hostage’ anymore or try ‘harder’ and find a ‘hole’ in the wall. Do not even think about a social ‘intercourse’, and you can suffer pain but do not mention ‘athlete’s foot’. And if you have ‘breasts’, then keep them to yourself. Wear a ‘condom’, but just don’t talk about it.

My concern is that many of such words are used in jokes rather than in real interactions. Okay ‘pussy lick’ and ‘fuck you’ and other stuff may be real, but who thinks about ‘monkey crotch’?

And here is this gem: ‘Chipkali ke gaand ke pasine’ (sweat off the 'anus' – another banned word – of a lizard). That is really deep.

So, here’s to my friends in Pakistan: 'Padosi ki aulad', you cannot claim to not have a ‘foreskin’ anymore.

What will happen to the "glory of Islam"?

Shiney Bling, Nirupam-Uddhav Sting

We have heard about people having to swallow their words, but “Shiv Sena CEO” (a TOI description) Uddhav Thackeray would go a step further with Congress MP Sanjay Nirupam:

“If he persists, we will make him swallow his teeth.”

Another version spoke about breaking his teeth, but this sounds better. So, what is Nirupam persisting about? The Congress MP, who was once a loyal Sena guy, decided he had to speak up for North Indians, obviously as a pre-electoral move with the BMC polls coming up:

“North Indians play a crucial role in Mumbai. We are told that we, Hindi-speaking migrants, are a burden on Mumbai. This is not true. Actually, it is we who bear Mumbai’s burden…if north Indians make up their mind, they can bring Mumbai to a halt.”

1. 1. I am not sure if this can have any major impact on local polls; most of the immigrant workers are registered in their villages and towns and do not vote, so they are not a real vote-bank in the next level assembly elections. It only helps the politician to give a more cosmopolitan face to the varied constituencies the city is peppered with.
2. 2. Bringing the city to a halt should not surprise anyone because the Sena has done it in the past with its bandhs, ‘spontaneous’ strikes and its hold on the trade unions.
3. 3. There is no single body of North Indians and they are unlikely to get together to halt the city.
4. 4. It has become a largely north-centric fight, when there are many South Indians and Bengalis too in the city. We are dealing with regionalism on a larger scale than is being made out.

In a rather surprising move, the report states:

Uddhav has asked the Congress to clarify if it endorses Nirupam’s remarks. “Balasaheb Thackeray had, in his Dussehra rally address, warned that there was a conspiracy to delink Mumbai from Maharashtra. Nirupam’s Nagpur speech has confirmed our fears.”

Mumbai does not need to be physically/technically delinked; it already is. If the Sena is so concerned about all of Maharashtra, why is it that there aren’t too many reports of the party workers beating up someone in Satara or even Ralegaon Sidhdhi, Anna Hazare’s fielfdom? Simple. Few people migrate to the small towns and villages. It is the lucre of Mumbai that attracts people, or the illusion of it.

Like every other party, the Sena too would not want any such delink simply because they too would lose out on big icapital. How many trade unions does the Sena control in the towns, except for the industrial belts?

It is interesting that they want an answer from Sharad Pawar, the Sugar King of Satara, for they know that they have to safeguard the monetary interests just in case they come to power or can benefit in some way from kickbacks and scams.

As for the Sanjay Nirupam Congress talk, it is all hot air. Had he still been with the Shiv Sena the teeth they are threatening he will be forced to swallow would have been biting the same North Indians.

- - -

In another case about disparities, actor Shiney Ahuja is angry. He ‘features’ in an ad for a mobile company. I was put off by it when I first saw it, but for a reason entirely different from the one Shiney has sent a legal notice for: that it takes a dig at his case.

His case is that he was convicted for raping his maid and later released on bail following an appeal. The ad amounts to “willful character assassination”. It shows a young woman exclaiming, “Shiney bought me a new 'Bling' (the name of the cellphone). Her friend retorts, “He bought me one too”, flashing the handset.

Soon a phone rings and it belongs to the maid. They look surprised and more so when she says, “What? Saab bought me one.”

The ad has been taken off air. Shiney’s publicist issued a statement:

“As we know, Shiney had challenged his conviction and the Bombay High Court has admitted his appeal, which is currently pending hearing. For the mobile company to air such a commercial influencing public opinion when Shiney's appeal is pending hearing, is equivalent to contempt of court.”

Shiney and his wife have given extensive interviews where they have tried to ‘influence public opinion’. (My questions remain unchanged.) He has signed films and will be a visible figure, maybe even a good one. What put me off about the ad is not the Shiney factor, but the class aspect. It seems okay for two spoilt young women to be given gifts by the same man, but they are shocked when the maid even possesses it. Her expression is one of guilt, as though owning what the great Indian dream tells us is now a ubiquitous gadget even in the villages is wrong. Besides, a maid being given a gift makes her suspect. Why are those two women not suspect for being he beneficiaries of what the man has given them?

The company may say that it is fictional but it is obviously a dig, and if they call this humour then honestly they have yet to discover where the funny bone exists. It is time the ad companies realised that helpers have mobile phones; not all are gifts. They are available cheap. And if they are given these, it is by their employers who want to keep in touch and know what time they will report for work. This is a job necessity, not to please some saab.

It is not Shiney but the domestic help sector that should be objecting. But, of course, Shiney gets to stay in the news. By hook or by crook.

Here is the ad:

Radiation alert: Don't read this

I am supposed to keep a cloth ready and swab the skin on my neck with betadine because radiation hits the thyroid area first. This is one among the many text messages I have got and I realise that the smart phone I am using would cause me more immediate damage than the spill in Japan. 'Flash news' is moving at great speed because the BBC mentions Asian countries. Indians love being Asians and any other thing when they know they are world players, even if it is a threat perception. Radiation is real and one is not reducing what has happened in Japan. But these chain SMSes can be lethal as much as they are ignorant.

The sun’s rays and the stuff in natural sources of water emit radiation. So stay indoors (that’s what the messages are saying: “If it rains, don’t step out for 24 hours”). Electronic goods that we use daily have radioactive emissions. So don’t watch TV, don’t wear those fancy watches and don’t use mobile phones. Medical diagnostic tools cause radiation. So don’t bother about X-rays. Don’t go through metal detectors and do not visit the loo on a flight because while they will keep an eye on whether you are smoking or not, that little device is a source of radiation. Industrial units that produce most of the stuff you need are radioactive agents.

And when your country tests nuclear power, instead of singing ‘Jai Ho’ or whatever people in Burkina Faso sing, just hide beneath the covers not because someone will get jealous of the nation’s pride bombing and give it back but because of all the radiation it has caused in the environment.

You are under threat all the time, but no one will tell you. It is indeed a state secret. So, why are they telling you now? Because it is helping business. The media, the governments and those medical units will put the fear in your heads and you will go out and buy betadine without even thinking how its overuse can have an adverse effect. It happens to be available over-the-counter, without prescription - your poor doctor won’t get his or her little ‘cut’.

Now please do me a favour and forward this to as many people as possible after reading this quickly. Write it down on a piece of paper and mail it or distribute it. You don’t want no radiation from your computer, do you?

Tech that...

It’s maroon-coloured, slick and light. I’d lie down with it propped on my stomach like a baby as words would dribble out of its warm, white mouth. When it fell asleep, bubbles would appear on its chin and rise up to the cheeks. My little notebook with thousands of sentences spanning six months just gave up on me. I made the error of treating it like a big child, one who could take the knocks and could hit a mean punch. It obviously couldn’t; it was not born for that. It was meant to be coddled, taken in a perambulator, stuffed with a nipple in its mouth to keep it quiet and put gently to sleep to save on battery life.

I thought I was doing everything right, except that I did not treat it gently enough. It handled my jabs, my tears, my maniacal laughter, but that day it just curled up. I thought it was a petulant sulk and I poked it, tickled it…there was a gurgle, but no delight in the sound. A balloon came up: “Critical HDD error.” I did not know what HDD was. It sounded like an illness. I persevered. It rebooted many times and it was back again to nothing, although those bubbles did appear. I had not backed up the pictures, the documents, the notes…I did not know this would be over so soon, like a fling, a brief encounter. It did not appear to be this way. After all, it had been with me to protect me when I was laid up, it was there to make me not feel lost, to stand by me and renew me. But this was just another man pretending to be a child.

I should be crying. This is my work, my memories. And they are gone. For now, at least. I may never retrieve it all. But I am not crying, I am not even angry. For me this means taking more pictures, making more notes, finding newer words.

- - -

The dependence on technology frightens me. I have begun to make notes on my cellphone about every little thing. My calendar is full every day – to remind me to get what I have got, to make calls that I will not make, to sleep on time, to wake up, to read, to write…I have not yet posted one that reminds me to breathe.

It disgusts me, for I do have a keen memory. I can remember even what did not happen.

- - -

The other day I misplaced my credit card. The company said it was lost. Lost puts the onus on others; misplaced is about one’s own fault. What is the difference? There is a lost-and-found department, but not a misplaced-and-found department although in the latter case you are more likely to find it. So, I reported lost and all transactions were blocked.

Now began the problems. In order to make my life simple I had signed up for the automatic clearance of certain bills. Poof. Calls, text messages inundated me…the bills were boomeranging. My phone would be cut off. I did not bother, until it got serious. I find these cellphone companies quite funny. You have to go through the whole computerised crap till you reach your desired destination – ‘our executives are busy playing with the dog, your call is as important to us as canine biscuit, so please stay on the line’…then there will be this horribly happy tune playing and finally someone will come and announce who they are. I am unfailingly polite.

I say, “Hi, this is Cleopatra and I want to know where Egypt is”…well, you get the drift. I give them my name, my number, and whatever else they ask.

When I mention my problem, the person at the other end sounds as though a condolence is necessary. “Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry to hear about it.” Huh? Get to work, damn it.

“Can I put you on hold while I check?” Yes, please.

“Sorry to keep you on hold for so long,” says the bloke who has appeared within five seconds.

“So, what do I do now?”

“No problem, F,” (yes, they do get familiar sometimes), “Just log in to our website.”

“Just a minute. I am calling you, so you tell me what I can do.”

“You first pay at our billing centre or through online transaction or the phone, and then we will adjust the amount in the next cycle when your credit card accepts.”

“But my credit card company is ready for you.”

“Please discuss this personal matter with Mr. X who is in change of your account.”

“Is there a Mr X in charge?”

“Yes, yes, he will be happy to help.”

I dial Mr X who listens patiently. He is on the road so will solve the issue as soon as he gets to his office. “It’s all cool,” he says.

“Cool?” He really said it and told me not to worry since I am an old customer and have never reneged on any payment. I feel like a prison inmate who has been let out on bail.

Problem is almost getting solved. I send an email. One little glitch. I typed out my number wrong!

Poke, poke, poke. Little note. Reminder. Call hotline. Send email saying I am me, but my number does not have that particular digit, so do make the rectification. I am not paying for someone else.

- - -

The touch screen froze.

Men love honey traps

If you are a guy with a Smartphone, just wait for her to call and say, “Honey, it’s me!” She’ll pour honey into your ears aching for some whispers. She isn’t real, but if you have downloaded an application such as this, I don’t think you are real too.

This South Korean invention will have video calls from a virtual model. Mina is 22; a real model posed and recorded about a hundred messages. She has now been transformed into an App.

One would imagine that as technology progresses people would understand that the progress in mindsets would follow. Apparently it isn’t so.

This is for lonely men; women are not supposed to feel lonely or want someone to talk to them.

Mina is young “with a perfect body and disarming smile”. It raises questions about how older men will see this as an important aspect in their quest for real relationships. You might say this happens in other forms of recreation as well – the models are young, curvy and sensuous. True, but they do not call and feed the male ego three to four times a day.

Here are some lines she speaks:

“I saw a horror movie today and I’m so scared.”

This just reinforces the belief that women are fearful little creatures who need to be saved even from horror movies, when the bloke who is watching her is the one horrified of his own life.

“I miss you honey! Good night, I will see you in my dreams.”

Fine. It would take a fool to believe this, knowing that he has got the application, and he knows she has never seen him. But it can give men the power to believe that their invisibility, their lack of grooming, their persona are irrelevant and they can get away with being bumpkins and bums.

“Are you still sleeping? Time for breakfast!”

This line assumes that she is the one who will be serving him. I am sure she is not waking him up to get her breakfast in bed. So the spoilt brat of a man can get a bit of extra snooze and the scent of waffles instead of getting egg on his face.

At $1.99, Mina comes cheap, which is again a problem because men will begin to think that women are easy to get. You think I am just over-reacting to some fun? She is on call. Said one bloke:

“Mina called me while I was working overtime. This is just great.”

Poor, tired souls, these men. And they need women for refreshment.

And this one clinches it:

“I wish I could meet Mina before I die.”

The martyr fella. It isn’t a fantasy; it is payback time for all the charged up moments she gave him. Now if only Mina could land up there with an ice pick. Dying can get lonely.

My iPhone’s got a headache

It has been almost two years since I bought this sleek thing. I should have been up there, chalking up 12.3 sex partners. Clearly, my iPhone has a problem. It ain’t me, babe.

In what has been described as an unscientific but fun study, it was claimed that iPhone users have more fun than other smart phone users. And it was the women who managed that figure of 12.3. I understand simple figures, preferably full; on a bad day half would do. But what is ‘.3’? Is it one- third of a man? Probably the iPhone manages to attract just this much in the 13th potential target. I am just guessing. Women, unless they are on the phone, usually prefer to put it away in their bags. Depending on the trend and the choice any woman exercises, the level of the bag could be from somewhere near her waist to her hips; if she is using a short-handle one it might skirt her knee, and if it is a clutch then it would brush against her thigh. The third part of the man that gets enamoured would have to be in that range.

Is that a hit? Does not some level of attraction start from the top? Do these phones naturally give out vibes, irrespective of where they are?

Come to think of it, this could be quite serious. When I first went to buy the phone it was raining that September day as I, with much trepidation, entered the service provider’s store. They said it was ‘out of stock’.

“Oh, really? I have already called your head office and they have directed me to this place. Hang on, let me call.” I called someone and told her that I was a loyal client and they had promises to keep.

I think someone liked Robert Frost. They asked me if I could wait, it might take long.

While I waited, not like regular folks on those fake happy-looking red benches, but at the desk of one of the executives, I kept fidgeting with what now seemed like an antique handset. Thoroughly bored, I turned around and found a rather large man watch bemusedly at what must have been my huge handbag.

“You are waiting for an iPhone?” he asked in a heavy American accent from a posh expat mouth.

He told me the story of his iPhone and how the screen had frozen. “You must be a Mac person,” he said.

I had never seen a Mac, let alone used it then. But it seemed that to be an iPhone person you had to be a Mac person; not just a Mac person, but an Apple person, for he went into a detailed discussion about Apple. I kept ‘hmming’ with interest. I can sometimes look quite intelligent, so it helps.

Impatient as I was, I was already being initiated into the sexual rites of possessing an iPhone. He decided to give me a tip. “When you touch the keypad don’t let your thumb hit the key, just touch it above the letter. Gently.”

The guy who brought me the black box did not look like he could be gentle with anything. I asked for the instruction manual. “No, it’s all there.”

“Where?” I asked.

He shook his head. My saviour had gone into some secret dungeon to see if his phone had thawed. I discovered that smart phones don’t need manuals; they need men.

I departed carrying what I thought was just a spiffier version of a cell phone. Little did I know that I had been given one with no sex appeal. All it ever did was dial numbers only because I had touched it at the wrong place; it slipped from my hands, which made it mandatory for me to use a cover. Oh, it’s a dominatrix leather one, make no mistake, with a strap, a button and even a steel ring that could pass off as a handcuff. I guess all this was subliminal.

It was happening without any attempt on my part. A lot more was supposed to happen, and it did not.

So, what is it about the iPhone that the Blackberry and the Android do not have? They are smart; they can connect you to anyone anytime. And I was in fact planning to buy a Blackberry. Did my iPhone realise it was the second choice and therefore decided I did not deserve to be imbued with special magnetism?

If this survey is just a flippant foray into gizmo territory, then think about another one a year ago. It wasn’t even a poll; it was an analysis by Strand Consult who don't think we, the users, are particularly smart:

"When we examine the iPhone users' arguments defending the iPhone, it reminds us of the famous Stockholm Syndrome--a term invented by psychologists after a hostage drama in Stockholm. Here, hostages reacted to the psychological pressure they were experiencing by defending the people that had held them hostage for six days."

I have never defended the iPhone; if anything, it has to make excuses for me. I don’t even use it well enough and I have not upgraded it. So, where is this hostage drama? I like it because it does some things and don’t because it does not. This bunch of consultants has the audacity to declare:

"In reality, the iPhone is surrounded by a multitude of people, media, and companies that are happy to bend the truth to defend the product they have purchased from Apple."

I purchased it from my phone company. It did not matter whether Apple or Pears had produced it. There is no need to bend the truth for no one cares about what I have in my hand as I breathe into the phone while talking to them. I use the camera a lot and it accidentally creates the most amazing pictures. And until I tell anyone, no one will know how just a little shake of its booty can produce art.

If I get something that I like more, I will go for it. I am not into smart phones, really. But I would take one-third of Steve Jobs, if only my iPhone did what it was supposed to do.