Indianizing the Facebook “Like” button

In India, we do things differently.

And in keeping with the rich tradition of orally imparted knowledge and MMS scandals, we rarely like to write things down, and that is why when we go to “foreign”, we spare no chances in pontificating, elucidating and prognosticating on the Great Indian Difference. In India, we have history. In India, we have ancient culture. In India, we have the world’s most unhealthy kind of vegetarian food. Etc. Of course, elderly Indian gentlemen with NRI children play it both ways, hitting forehands down the line glorifying Western infrastructure and orderliness while slicing backhand drop shots edifying the sanctity of Indian chaos when the audience is melanin-challenged. Even the murderous Blue line buses of Delhi will derive philosophical inheritance from the cosmic randomness of Shiva, especially if there’s a white chap politely paying attention.

For all of the intellectual vainglory, we still steadfastly refuse to update Wikipedia articles – that is left to small minority of passionate enthusiasts, right-wing zealots and Rediff commenters. In fact, the entire Indian internet can be, in the keeping with our ancient tradition of classifying stuff, divided into 5 castes.

• Bloghards – People with blogs titled with a combination of the words “Random”, “Thoughts”, “Scribbles” and “Rants”. This crowd is also almost exclusively on Facebook because Orkut is totally like..um..untouchable. They are also too intellectually dense to be on Twitter
• Twithers – Folks on Twitter. Tend to be slightly pretentious and RT. This crowd also stays away from Orkut
• Mahipal – A whole generation of Indian men who believe that any girl on Twitter is like a personal ad on Craigslist, except the responses here are public too
• Orkutiya – Dey rite lyk dis
• Rediff Commenter – The visible visceral online manifestation of the Indian National Mood – Outrage. Note: Rediff commenters are everywhere, not just on Rediff

But unlike the Chinese, who are forced to live in their own Internet behind the Great Firewall, the Indian Billion has a greater potential to stamp their “difference” on what is today, a mostly Americanized web. Case in point – I can’t seem to get Urban Dictionary to add “Amit” and “Madrasi” despite providing them with a detailed definition and several usage examples. Apparently, they prefer Pop culture to Appa culture. So we need to change our ways. We need to do the online equivalent of the salt march (which of course means a Facebook page + Orkut community + Adobe Flash based candle lighting mass campaign through email attachments) and stamp our Indianness on the web. All of this talking will get us nowhere.

I believe we can start with the Facebook “Like” button.

There’s a simple reason for that – it’s already ubiquitous. And it’s very western. We Indians don’t just like something. We are so nuanced that we believe that there are nuances to the word nuance itself.

For starters, we don’t just “like” stuff. We have opinions too.

When we listen to Rahman, we have to point out that Ilayaraja had the best bass lines, and I suspect that Indians will much prefer to see this on Cricinfo player profile pages, where they might as well hard-code “Sachin Tendulkar” in the text box above.

And speaking of Sachin, Rajni and other luminaries, frankly, a thumbs up just does not cut it. In Indian culture, we fall at the feet of our elders and celebrities

Also, after falling at people’s feet, it is part of our culture to take the respect to the next level and “like” something to the point where one wishes to felicitate the author.

Nothing screams “felicitation” more than a silk shawl (called ponnaadai in Tamil).

And what logically follows a felicitation? Yes, a lamp lighting. The largest amount of “like” one can give another human being in India is an invitation to light a lamp at at a college function.

And do we simply “like” something and leave it at that? Have you not seen comments on blogs that go “Hi. Loved your post. Can you read my post on the same subject”? We rarely listen to people. We are usually busy formulating a smarter response in our heads while someone else is talking. So to represent that behavior, it is only fair that we have a custom popup that appears after one hits the “like” button.

It will allow us to quickly select from a drop down list of old jokes, marginally funny pop culture references and dubious facts and send it to the author.

What about women? In the land of a million maruding mahipals meandering motivatedly to misunderstand, misconstrue and misinterpret the slightest mark of civility as an invitation to marriage, women cannot just “like” anything without making their intentions absolutely clear.

Do not forget. We are a nation of men that get strange ideas when we see that a girl has visited our Orkut profile, commented on our blogs or RTed our tweets. And when they use smileys, we notify our parents to initiate horoscope exchanges, so this is no laughing matter. You women might laugh, but for men, it’s matter.

Speaking of mahipals, we also need a “like” button for the citizens of Orkut

We are also a nation of permission takers. What do you mean you can go around liking anyone? In the nation of arranged marriages, you first need approval

After that, a printout needs to be sent to a gazetted officer who will notarize and approve it. Then a copy of the attested form will be sent to the Facebook headquarters where a clerk will make the neccesary “like” entries in the database

India also believes in viral effects. We have been mass forwarding emails decades before upstarts like Youtube and Twitter redefined viral propagation. With Hotmail, Outlook Express and Microsoft Word, we understand viruses better than anyone else, in every sense of the word. So it is only fair that the “like” button also send out mass emails to everyone in everyone’s contact list (not in the Bcc: field, but in the To: field). The email itself can go something like this

“If you forward this link to 10 people and get them to click the Like button, Bill Gates will make Lord Balaji grant your wish by making a 10 million USD donation to TTD which will then be used to rename the Taj Mahal to Tejo Mahal and also find an Ayurvedic cure for cancer, impotence and Pakistan”

 

 

 

Indian Film Song Lyrics

I cannot resist Graphjam so here we are. Indian Film song lyrics explained with simple graphs. I promise, this will be the second last time I will be “inspired” (like Anu Malik) to remix a popular Internet meme for desi purposes.

First we explore the Hindi Film Industry, or as Cineblitz chooses to acronymize, HiFI

UPDATE: My 90 minute drive back home from office resulted in these

Priyank gives us a lesson in the geographic origins of day to day items

And Narendra ponders on Mr Singh’s route to kingship

And now, we look at Tamil songs

Update:

Ramsu shares with us, the Foot Presents Theory of Pessimism

Arvind Suresh psychoanalyzes thieves’ desires

As usual, this does not end here. Please email me your creations and I’ll feature the best ones here.

I sport Indian support

Congratulations Abhinav. Awesome show. The media tells me that you have given hope, single-handedly, to a billion people aching for Indian sporting glory. Well, at least the 400 million, TV-watching, newspaper-scanning part of that billion. All news channels are currently busy analyzing why India cannot produce more Abhinavs.

What makes your (and Leander’s, Rajyavardhan’s and Malleswari’s) achievement even more remarkable is that you are all sportspeople in a fundamentally unsporting nation. As a country, we are not really into sports. Of course, we do excel in certain disciplines, which unfortunately are not recognized by the Olympic committee, such as

Buck passing

Horse Trading

and ofcourse, the Great Indian Media Circus

So honestly, I don’t think India will get better at international sports (the ones the Olympic committee recognizes, i.e.) because Abhinav won gold in Beijing. Yeah, perhaps, a few more, well-to-do, highly focussed, hard working individuals might go on to become shooting champions, but nothing more. And that’s because the last time I asked a 10 year old what P.T. meant, he replied Physics Training (after school hours, for JEE). And most schools in Chennai (and other places as well) have more or less eliminated play grounds to erect more buildings that churn out exam-cracking zombies. Very few schools in Indian Urbia(?) have open spaces larger than a badminton court. My own Alma Mater, Vidya Mandir, used to have 2 spectacularly spacious playgrounds, both of which have now been replaced with concrete monstrosities to accommodate more students.

You see, Getting better at international sports looks something like this.

This is not to say that India cannot lay claim to a similar graph with respect to the Olympics. Of course, we can. In fact, we have a very similar looking graph as well:

So there.

It requires more than a dandanaka media circus around Abhinav’s achievement to bring about change in Indian sports. Commentators often like to say that Indian sports is in “disarray”, but for something to be in a state of disarray, it had to have originally been in some sort of array. And when was that? Let’s face it. India is not into sports in any meaningful way. Our schools do not support sports. They also don’t sport support. School sports requires a healthy, competitive atmosphere to thrive like those in the US or Europe, where inter-school matches are cheered by large crowds of students from both schools, and the official school team for any sport is a brand name in itself. When inter-school matches happen in India, the “crowd” is busy learning the finer points of cracking the board-exam.

In the 80s, when schools still had 3 PT periods in a week, India had no technology whatsoever, because one had to sell one’s soul to get an import license to even buy a treadmill. And now, when India is shining, IT is exploding and all that, our schools have “extra classes” to train our children in the advanced art of vomitting in exams. And playgrounds have all but disappeared from Indian cities. India spends $280 million USD on sports annually, out of which more than half goes towards “administrative” expenses. The few athletes that manage to trickle out of our billion are exceptions, and given the general social status of the non-cricketing sportsperson in India, what little they manage to do is exceptional.

Cricket is not a sport like Football or Volleyball. It’s an expensive (next only to Golf) pastime which, till rather recently, was mostly dominated by physically unfit Brahmins, a community that traditionally took to this sport with glee since it involved little or no physical contact with opponents, or for that matter, team mates (the huddle would not have worked in 1954). To say that many millions play cricket in India is actually a lie. A real cricket ball costs upward of Rs 400, and book cricket, cosco tennis ball cricket, french cricket and gilli danda are not really cricket.

So let’s stop deluding ourselves that we need to produce more Abhinavs. He is a self-made sportsman who has been training for the last decade using his own resources. Large scale national success in sports does not come from individuals like Abhinav excelling despite being outside the system. It will come from bringing back 3 PT periods a week in schools. And playing something other than cricket.

The Sporepedia is not complete till some desis move in

The first ever video game I ever played was a small, handheld thingie involving driving away hungry wolves from sheep grazing peacefully in a farm. When the first PC arrived at home, a mighty 386 with a whopping 4 MB RAM, I was introduced to Prince of Persia, an scrolling arcade type rescue-princess-from-evil-vizier adventure, which came on a couple of floppies from a neighbour who also gave us our first virus. After the customary reformatting and re-installation of DOS, which sort of became almost a monthly ritual till I eventually realized, thanks to my younger brother, that the trifecta of restart, reformat and reinstall as problem resolution methods was something unique to the world of Microsoft, and that there existed a world (mostly involving penguins and apples) where OS crashes and viruses were actually rarer and problems usually had logical methods of resolution. Now wait, where was I? Yeah, Prince of Persia. I wasn’t too great at playing that game. I liked to delude myself that mastering keystrokes to kill dungeon guards was not worth it. The real truth of course was that my younger siblings were much better at gaming, and at that age, having them be better than you at anything tends to rankle, and therefore, I made a tactical decision to consider video games not worth my time.

But eventually, temptation struck, and I just had to mow down aliens as Duke Nukem and shoot Nazis in Castle Wolfenstein, although I had to swallow my pride and finish these games in God mode, while my brothers were kicking gluteus maximi in “Bring em on” mode. Once I was out of my teens, and realized that beating up pedestrians and stealing cars while evading the police was more important to my life than the need to maintain a facade of disinterest in gaming, I took to Grand Theft Auto like Sehwag takes to short balls outside off stump. Ok, I mostly kept edging to the keeper, but you get my drift, right? I just liked driving around town, crushing the occasional pedestrian, trying out cheat codes, all while listening to the in-game radio stations. Brilliant stuff, especially the host of the Western classical station who jokes – “Now we have some music from the 60s……the 1760s hahaha”.

And so it continued, this on and off interest in gaming, till a few months ago, when my brother forced me to sit down and watch him play Half Life 2. The unique and immersive storyline and innovative game play convinced me that it is not a coincidence that the gaming industry is now bigger than Hollywood. Thus began a crazed attempt to catch up on all the games I had missed over the last few years. I spent a full 5 days completing Call of Duty, and for the first time, I realized what a powerful learning mechanism games can be. There is a level in the first CoD, where, as a Russian soldier being sent to war for the first time, you are instructed by your Commissar that you will be provided with ample food, weapons and ammunition. The moment you step out of the boat docking at Stalingrad, with artillery pounding away in every direction, you are handed a round of ammunition, and no gun. You need to make a mad run towards your superior officer, while suffering from shell shock and having bullets flying all around. Short of actually being at Stalingrad in 1943, this is the best possible first person WW2 experience one can go through. You may have read in your history books that the Russians were the underdogs against the more disciplined, and better equipped German army, but it’s not until I was (albeit virtually) forced to run, with 1 round ammunition and 0 gun, through the docks of Stalingrad in CoD that I truly realized what being the underdog in WW2 really meant. So please stop reading history books and start shooting Nazis with a Logitech mouse instead. It’s way more fun.

Anyway, first person shooters aside, what I am really excited about is Will Wright’s upcoming “Spore”, a highly anticipated game that promises to explore evolution in all its diverse glory using a unique engine that allows players to literally play the FSM in designing and controlling creatures and eventually building societies and entire civilizations. While I wait for the game to come out, EA has released the Creature Creator, and it seemed like a good idea to design Spore versions of different creatures we find commonly in the Indian subcontinent.

1. Medievalwarrius Hindumakkalcatchicus

This creature has a small brain, which explains its narrow minded interpretation of Indian culture, and has eyes that face backward, which explains why it has an almost unholy obsession with the past, and steadfastly refuses to look forward.

Mob behavior: As individuals, generally safe, although annoying to no end. Can be dangerous in mobs though. Possesses little or no capability for individual thinking.

Habitat: South India, especially near areas of pointless controversy, short skirts and other non-issues, that seem to attract these in large numbers.

Front view: Note the suction pad legs, designed to help it stick to non-issues.

Back view – Note the eyes on stalks, firmly facing backward. No looking forward for these guys,

And the moment it finds an actress wearing a short skirt, the typical response is something like this

2. Yetchwonbeeus Fanaticus

With 3 pairs of hands, all perfectly designed for typing code, email and spreadsheets, and one pair of vestigial legs, because it has little or no use for them, this creature possesses a ravenous and addictive desire for the rare fruit Yetchwonbee Visae and will go to any end to obtain one.

Mob behavior: Several members of this species gather everyday in long lines, come hell or high Cooum water, around trees that bear the Yetchwonbee fruit.

Habitat: Predominantly Andhra and TN, with smaller populations found everywhere else.

Front view – Note the 3 pairs of hands in perfect position to hit alt-tab 10,000 times a day, and the single third eye completely focussed on onsite opportunities

Side view – Note the regular pair of eyes aimed directly at the sky at all times, in constant prayer to acquire the juicy Yetchwonbee fruit.

And this is what happens when it finds the fruit

3. Bureaucratus Underthetabli

With a specially evolved 2nd pair of hands perfectly designed to collect items (usually of the currency kind) from under pieces of furniture, this slothful scavenger species is widespread in the subcontinent.

Mob behavior: In large concentrations, this species leaves behind a sticky residue known as redtapea that has the unfortunately side effect of slowing down every other species in the neighbourhood.

Front view – Note the upper pair of hands in a permanent “I’m so busy, come later” pose. Also, the large mouth that indicates a voracious appetite for bribes.

Side view – Note the perfectly arched body and bottom pair of hands ideal positioned perfectly for all forms of under-the-table-acceptance activities.

And here is the typical behavior when potential bribes are sensed in the neighbourhood.

4. Politicus Kaaseythaankadavulus

With one pair hands locked in a permanent “Namaste” gesture overhead, and 2 pairs of highly evolved greedy grabbing pincers, this power-hungry species occupies the upper echelons of the food table. Its complex life cycle involves 4 stages

• Adiyaal larva, where it does menial jobs for other members of the species in higher stages of growth
• Kopaasay pupa, where it prints political posters praising the big boss
• Yumellay caterpillar, when it grows big and slimy and eats everything in sight
• Seeyem butterfly, when it makes promises, sucks the honey of votes in exchange, and then flits away.

Front view – One pair of hands in namaste posture, one pair to beg for votes, and one to greedily grab money where ever it is to be found.

Here is a photo of an alpha male with sidekicks in various stages of growth

Here is a short clip of what happens when a member of this species senses the presence of potential votes nearby

Symbolically speaking

When I was a kid, I always wondered what the “Tropicalized” symbol meant on the small Philips cassette player we used to have. My dad explained that it was to indicate that the player was specially designed to withstand tropical conditions. And it made sense. Clearly, from the perspective of the cassette player or any electronic good for that matter, India must feel like the epitome of hell, what with dust storms, water vapour fogs, demoniacal insects and very undutchlike temperatures. But what interests me now is the symbol itself.

The insect and cloud captured the very essence of the word “tropical”. Perhaps a chilly might have sealed things, but I’m not complaining.

But now, after having traveled around the world a little bit more, I’m piqued by how un-Indian international airport symbols really are. Especially the ones designed by AIGA. It is simply yet another case of Americans designing homogenous standards for a heterogenous world.

Take the standard symbol for “Customs”

If that looks like an Indian customs officer to you, you must be from Betelgeuse V and you must be named Ford Ikon. In my opinion, Indian customs officers are best represented by

Although, nowadays, Euros are preferred over dollars.

Now let’s look at the symbol for “Elevator”

Now that’s plain disinformation. To insinuate that Indian elevators will waste precious space (and therefore energy) by just accommodating 3 people is scandalous. Here is what I propose:

And what about the ridiculously inaccurate symbol for “Water”?

Seriously. I am reasonably sure that Indians do not drink water by pressing buttons and letting a random fountain of water wet their faces, shirts and the floor. Our style is more like this:

Perhaps not quite hygienic because us desis will often make labial contact with taps after tucking in Poondu Rasam and Netthili fry. But still, practical, elegant and effective, and ensures 100% transfer of water from tap to mouth.

And what about the symbol for “Fire extinguisher”

Ok. It’s not that bad. I do see a few like that once in a while here, but I would have ideally preferred:

The international symbol for “Litter” is also rather confusing to me.

I mean. They really do mean this, don’t they?

And finally, the symbol for “Restaurant”.

I am sorry. The average Miltry hotel, Kake da Dhaba and Vada Pav stall do not serve food that is designed to be eaten with the gardening implements shown above. But if foreigners do insist on trying to eat Laccha Paratha with knife and fork, I’m ok with that, but not before I propose a slight change to this symbol.

The Kaka Kronicles, episode #7

Click on the image if you want to see a slightly larger, more readable version.

The Kaka Kronicles – episode #6

It’s been a long while. And since Tehelka is in the air,

Click on the image for a larger, more readable version.

On the safe side, When I say “Tyrant Lizard”, I refer to this

Here are the previous episodes.

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

The Grand Adventures in Hawa Hawa City (the complete lack of them, i.e)

What do you call an unfortunate soul who spends 2 days a half in Chicago and visits a grand total of 4 places, namely O’Hare airport, Cousin’s home, Office and Client Location?

A workaholic dullard? No

A lifeless loser? No

Krish Ashok? Yes.

And what’s worse, when he gets precisely 3 chances to eat out, he does so at

• Mapo Chinese Restaurant, where I had what is undoubtedly not the world’s rarest and most unique dish – Hunan vegetabuh an flied lice
  
• Fox and Hound, where I drank water, branded as Miller lite for some reason and ate an unhealthy form of Vengaaya bajji, called Onion rings.
• California Pizza kitchen, where authentic deep-dish Chicago style pizza is not served.

But I did have fun watching yet another Tambram vegetarian family order food from a non-desi menu. There are 7 kinds of desi vegetarians in the US.

The Takenorisker

Because the fries are cooked in lard, the kitchen uses the same ladles for veggie and non-veggie food, the soup is cooked with leftover bones and yeah, this

“Salad please”

Or

“Shall we go for Pnjaabi Buffet?” (For the uninitiated, Pnjaabi Buffet is the only form of desi cuisine popular in the US)

The Slightly Aventurous Takenorisker

Knows that most restaurants do have something entirely vegetarian on the menu.

“Ill have the 7-layer burrito please”

“Falafel sandwich please”

“6-inch veggie delite on Honey-oat please, with American cheese, and Honey-mustard dressing. Extra jalapenos. Thank you”

The Paranoid Tension Party

The kind that totally irritates waiters.

When ordering - “Is this meat? Is this non-vegetarian? No meat please. Wonly vegetarian.“

When the dish arrives – “No meat right? Vegetarian? Sure? Lock kar diya jai?”

After a few morsels – “Waiter! What is this? Is this meat? No? Sure? It tastes like meat. How do I know? I just know. Sure? Ok.”

ps: A particularly nasty subtype of Paranoid Tension Party has the ugly habit of forcing non-vegetarians to order veggie food when eating out with them. And there is also The Thoondivuttufier whose aim in life is to disclose the presence of animal cells in every dish to paranoid tension parties. “Dei. Did you know that this sauce contains meat? Did you know that milk here is also non-veg? Cos cows are made to eat beef. Did you know Mexican beans contain ham?“

The Dayoffweeker

“I will have the vegetable fa-jee-ta with jala-peen-os and taar-till-aas”

“Dei? Ennada? Veg-aa?” (Hey? What dude? Veg today?)

“Innikki Tuesday da”

“Oh. Ok. Hanumaan matteraa?”

“Yes”

The Kashtamizer

Is bold enough to order seemingly non-veg items and instruct the kitchen to de-nonvegize it.

“Can I have the Thai chicken pizza without chicken?”

“Can I have the Double-Quarter-Pounder with cheese, without the patties?”

“Can I have steak and mashed potato, without the steak?”

The Ultrakashtamizer

Is the most adventurous of the lot. Generally tends to create new menu items on the fly.

“Can I have the Baja Chalupa, without the beef, and add beans and onions instead?”

“Can I have the Pasta Neapolitana without ham, and could you add grilled onions, bell peppers and chilli flakes?”

The Almostnonveggie

Orders Pepperoni pizza, and removes pepperoni pieces by himself. Eats fries because it does not taste meaty. Enjoys the occasional soup if the meat pieces are not too visible. General philosophy is – Eat anything as long one does not know that it’s non-vegetarian.

So that was it. But amidst all the work pressure, I must mention that I did have some fun teaching my cousin’s kids Madras Tamizh. After all, what’s cuter than a 4 year old girl addressing her dad “Nainaaa. Epdi keera?” (Dear respectful father. How art thou? )

Chinese (fact) Checkers

Prologue

Conversation overheard in Chennai, circa 2005.

3 kids.

“Dei, have you heard of China?”

“Yes da. She is a very muscular WWE wrestler da”

Matter

A few days back, while I was trying to extricate The Hindu newspaper out of several thousand ad pamphlets that come along with it nowadays, I ran into something green. With long, drooping strands of keratin. And a grin. Holding a pizza. Did I mention that Arshad Warsi was standing next to this green thing with a “Who the F is this” expression.

It wasn’t until I read the word “Chinese” written in a font made up of broken glass pieces, that I put 2 and 2 together, got 3.5, and realized that Dominos was peddling Chinese Pizzas.

Yes. Chinese Pizzas. And if there hadn’t been a Ming-era, green, droopy moustachioed man, I would never have guessed the adjective. But what really piqued me was the menu. Gobi Manchurian Pizza and Chilli Chicken Pizza. So it got me thinking about the Indian meaning of the adjective Chinese. It turns out, it is anything but…

1. Gobee Menjoorian and Chilli Chickyen are dishes from a village 5000 miles from Shanghai. In Kerala. The story is as follows. Gopakumar (alias Gobi) and Menjoo Rani, in 1960, mistakenly dropped a large amount of Monosodium Glutamate into a pan of frying Cauliflower. So they named it Gobi Menjoorian. It is not a Chinese dish.

2. The average Chinese does not wear colourful green robes and yell “eeeeyaah” at frequent intervals. The average Chinese today wears regular clothing and is generally busy stealing American manufacturing jobs.

3. Ok. They eat snakes. So? Nature has generally set all of us up to eat each other. So we must stop finding others’ cuisines odd and bizarre. I met a hypothetical Chinese the other day who asked me – “You peepa eata tha cow dung ash?”, and I am not the only one who likes the taste of Vibhooti.

4. Chopsuey is American. Veg Chowmein served out of ramshackle vans is Indian. Sweet Corn Soup is Indian.

Epilogue

I propose to call Indian Chinese cuisine Lungfungian, named after the soup with the coolest sounding name, served in desi Chinese restaurants.