The Case of The Paapi Jism

No, I’m neither writing an ‘Indi-a-genous’ fictional pornographic account, nor am I producing a movie by the same name. And, no I am not reviewing any movie by this extremely creative name, the credit for which lies entirely with me. Thank You. However, if there does exist any movie by this name, it must be clear to the reader that there is no relation between the two, and anything that might turn out be common here is purely co-incidental and absolutely un-intentional.
It is a story of the ugly modern male. Not ‘the’ story because there are many other stories. But, only one of his stories. One of those stories, which might just make it to the pages of his(s…)tory, as being a story of this society. No, not this story of mine. But, this story in general. Rather confusing, isn’t it? Well, that’s how it is and that’s how it’s supposed to start and be. So, let me start again.
It is a story of the ugly modern male. The one which receives lesser female attention than his best friend. Who again is a female. In this age of ‘happy’-parades and female-liberation, nothing helps the sad state of the guy next (behind the purdah-ed) door. Too embarrassed to show his face, and left with the scars left behind by the rough and tough mardon-wali fairness creams, he sulks. Even, Mr. Fair and Ugly has a similar plight. Well, in all fairness, the problem isn’t really in the darkness or the fairness of the leather. The solution lies elsewhere. In this sad sad scenario of happy-parades and open closets, he sees new hope. Solution to his despair.
“Enough of cleaning out my closet”, he thinks. It isn’t ever gonna get the hickeys out of the chickeys. Why not come out of it altogether? The closet, that is. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t exist. Well, of course it doesn’t. But, it doesn’t matter, too. But, as long as you were coming out of it, you don’t need to prove when you were inside it. Or, even prove the very closet’s existence. You’ve just come out of it, and in your elation, and in true liberation style, you’ve burned your br…oh! Sorry, your closet. Proof enough. You don’t even need to go the happy and hippy parades, no matter even if you are a hippo. You’ve anyway been going there all this time, hoping and telling yourself ‘tera number aayega baba’. Ab number aa gya. But, aa gya…? Not so fast. Just when you have put Ur eloquently waxed legs out of the closet, you are heart-broke. Not even a single guy looks at you. (Did you really think so and did you really want that?!!) And, girls never used to. Hah! So much for the ‘alternative’ posts and updates on that fcukbook, facebook. Even the twitter-ing didn’t make any bird twitter.
But, for what. “Elementary, My Dear Watson, elementary. We’ve got the case of the Paapi-Jism. It just wants to have fun. Not only girls wanna have fun, Watson”, says the not-so-shy Sherlock, to which Watson replies, “We only know that too well, Sherlock”. With a knowing grin, should I, the narrator add. No malice intended, just an added observation.
I say, really, is it that simple. I think that is entirely a crass generalization. Why not find the answer the Indian way. I mean Harvard follows an Indian, MIT follows an Indian, Pepsi, Motorola and many more follow Indians. So, it is but natural, that one of the first quests be the Indian way. If it’s Space-Quests which is all that you want, then you better be off to China. We only concern ourselves with the more important issues- those that chirp and twitter. We always seem to have enough people for a pilot-survey, and even if that crashes, who cares about poor Indians anyway. Let us set up a Committee of Economists, Sociologists, Physicists and a few angutha-chhap ministers for the quest. You look for answers, generate employment, increase sale of American and Chinese-branded Computers, Pen, Paper, Ink and of course some prime-time publicity, where again shouting and twittering is extremely popular. They never disappoint you. There’s always an answer for everybody. One just needs to wait for his.