I don’t know how many people read my friend Swati’s blog… but I guess it’s better to give MY side of the incident she is referring to here. More specifically, to the following comment:
who knew it took harish a couple of beers to get it going on, he “danced” to some famous punjabi song.
My friends… They strive to make me look like an ass. Something people had hitherto thought impossible believing that I’ve already reached the pinnacle of stupidity, only to realize – as Albert Einstein put it-
Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.
Now then, my rebuttal is divided into three arguments:
- It didn’t take me merely a couple of beers to start dancing. It took me a considerable quantity of rum (Old Monk, neat) and more than three bottles of beer. Unknown to you guys, I was stealing beer from the guys at the plush, white sofas next to us. You know, the school kids who were under the impression that the under-25 rule is actually enforced and arrived wearing false moustaches. So, I was considerably tipsy.
- The reason I danced to Punjabi songs is… well, I’ve been taught how. There! You happy now? In my two years at KV Gole Market, many of the 76 people I shared my class with were complete assholes. But there were a couple of nice chaps too, one of whom took it upon himself to teach me how to do the Bhangra. Another wanted to teach me how to speak Punjabi (I’ve forgotten most of it with the exception of paynchod , vellaetc.) A third used to keep me updated with the latest happenings in the Punjabi Pop music scene. If it wasn’t enough that I was forced to listen to the latest songs by Jazzy B or Mika on his i-Pod, he would also explain the damn songs to me and sometimes give me a line-by-line lyrical interpretation.
- Usually, I only dance while in my room and listening to Idioteque. But there are times when you cannot help but get into the rhythm (no matter how pathetic). This was one such occasion. General debauchery, making a complete arse of yourself in public and doing things you swore you’d never do are how a friend’s birthday is to be celebrated while in college. Plus, a few messages from the right sort of person helped.
Anyway, I’m off to Lucknow tomorrow. Meet the folks and eat some home-cooked food at last! You’d think I’m happy right now. Having a great time and stuff. But I’m not. The Marvin vein is throbbing away and I don’t know why and how to get rid of it. I don’t want to be in Noida right now. Or Delhi, or Lucknow or Hyderabad or Bangalore. I probably am in the right frame of mind for an astronaut who’s about to be blasted off on a decade-long mission to colonize one of the large lumps that orbit Uranus.
In other news, I’m reading Ramachandra Guha’s ‘The Last Liberal’. It’s an oustanding collection of essays about Indian icons (I’ve read it upto Satish Dhawan) in Guha’s inimitable style that blends solid historical analysis, anecdotal humor and a brilliant style of writing that’s intellectually challenging and yet, easy to read. It will be available at the British Council Library, Delhi tomorrow. I’m also reading Isaac Asimov’s Book Of Facts. Classic!
And in a last-ditch attempt to salvage my dignitah in all this mess, dancing in a pub/club is not the stupidesst thing to do while drunk. Watch South Park’s season 3 episode, ‘The Red Badge Of Gayness‘. It includes an opening sequence where Cartman enlightens us with his views on how drums are to be played:
You don’t just hit a drum, you beat the crap out of it. (begins pounding his drum. heh-heh, pounding his drum…) Shut your pot-hole, you fucking drum!