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Jan 202015

Never let it be said that reckless Tamil entrepreneurs miss an opportunity to squander money on cockamamie business ventures.

Whether it’s I, SpiceJet, Lingaa, Kochadaiyaan or some other Mannangatti scheme, you can be sure many a zany Tamil entrepreneur with more moolah than gray matter is flushing millions down the toilet in pursuit of bizarre pipe dreams.

Now come along two venture capital backed Tamil businessmen Girish Ramdas and Vijayakumar Radhakrishnan whose fledgling electronic newsstand Magzter harbors fantasizes of becoming the Netflix of magazine subscriptions.

With its U.S. headquarters at Rockefeller Plaza in NYC, Magzter has launched a $10-per-month subscription service offering 2,000 magazines that can be read on multiple devices including smartphones, tablets and PCs (Windows 8 only). A lite version provides five magazines for five bucks a month.

Wannabe Netflix

Now who doesn’t want to be a Netflix. Continue reading »

Jan 142015

L'il Quinquin Review
At first, the county police officers in the French countryside think the murdered woman was stuffed inside the bovine’s stomach through its anus.

Soon another dead cow surfaces on the beach with blood oozing out of its anus.

This time a Black construction worker’s body parts are found inside its belly.

Life goes on in the small village near Boulogne-sur-Mer in Northern France.

Apart from the weird funeral ceremony at the church for poor Mrs.Lebleu, the horrific crimes don’t seem to make any difference.

All seems normal.

In the picturesque countryside strewn with World War 2 era bunkers, decades-old grenades and cast off bullets, the cows amble daily to the pastures, the farmers continue to groom their White horses and the nasty kid P’tit Quinquin and his pals are still raising hell with their wild, racist, homophobic antics.

The bumbling cop duo come and go in the little blue car, convinced the area represents the Heart of Evil.

And in the freezing waters of the English Channel, just a short walk down the hill Quinquin, Eve and the other kids frolic.

Then comes the autopsy report – of the cows.

The initial conclusion of the County Sheriff was wrong.

Totally wrong!

Mon dieu, the two murder victims actually entered the cow’s stomach via its mouth.

Ass or Mouth? – Who Cares!

Now whether the poor murdered woman’s body parts entered the cow via its posterior end or from the anterior side matters little to me. Continue reading »

Jan 082015

You can smell an Indian before you see or hear him” is a truism as old as the Himalayas.

BVLGari Man in Black Eau de Parfum

Just the other day, I stumbled upon a furphy that Alexander the Great hurriedly scampered out of India after crushing the local king Porus not because his soldiers mutinied; au contraire, it seems the Emperor found the strange miasma surrounding the vast Indian countryside and the people so off-putting he went nauseous at the mere sound of the words “India” and “Indian,” an allergy that was to stay with the bloodthirsty warrior till his premature end a few months later.

“The swamps of Macedonia smell sweeter than these sweating savages,” the son of Philip raged as he gave the whip to Bucephalus’ side before furiously galloping out of Currystan where the Indus cascades down the mighty Himalayas.

Power of Curry

India kneeled before the aggression of the restless Alexander.

But the invincible conqueror turned tail before the overpowering aroma of curry.

Curry odor sticks to the Indian body like a damp shirt.

The hot medley of black pepper, asafoetida, ginger, coriander, and garlic that goes into the making of curry not only insinuates itself into every pore of the Indian body but creates a curry membrane a few feet above the ozone layer.

Of course, Indians are impervious to the bizarre curry odor born as they are in Currystan, and live surrounded by an ocean of curry-babies, curry-daddys, curry-moms, curry-buddies, curry-randis, curry-cousins and curry-corpses, all sailing through life in a Chicken Jalfreize aromatic haze.

Tell an Indian he smells weird and anon his Chappals (as we curry-hogs refer to our slippers and sandals) will jump into his hands before swiftly landing on your face a milli-second later.

Where curry is concerned, as far back as the Vedic age Indians developed anosmia to it (p.540 of The Thinker’s Thesaurus defines anosmia as loss of sense of smell).

Indian Thali with Curry, Rice, Desserts, Chapati

I’m a proud card-carrying member of this vast, teeming curry herd that now numbers 1.6 billion (counting Indians and my cousins in PakistanTerroristan, Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Maldives, Mauritius, Jamaica, Suriname and Trinidad).

Deprive me of curry for just eight hours and I start displaying serious withdrawal symptoms. Kinda like a White trader on Wall St without the evening cocaine fix and an Eastern European puta slurping his Vanilla milkshake.

After entering the New World, I remember back in the 20th century occasionally packing the South Indian ambrosia Pulihora (Tamarind rice) to office for lunch. The moment I opened the Pulihora container my White office-mates would shriek in horror. “OMG, Whaaat is This?,” before collectively retreating into the corridor where they’d whisper sotto voce about the incompetent Immigration authorities.

Back home, I’d blissfully ignored perfumes, colognes etc (Attar in India is used only by the shower-loathing members of the cartoon-hating religion). After all, in Currystan I was just another atom in the jetsam and flotsam of a billion curry atoms.

But when I moved to the New World things turned out to be different.

Appearances are all in the New World. Even minimum wage coolies at McDonald’s and Walmart daub themselves with cologne and perfume thanks to the almighty power of the “Buy Now, Pay Interest Forever” invention called credit card!

Any time I stepped out of my curry abode, I’d don some cologne or the other in a desperate effort, alas frequently futile, to mask the smell of Yennai Kathrikai, Poondu Kozhumbu or Pulihora clinging to my soul.

Stumbling Upon Good Luck

And so I’ve lived in uneasy fear amidst the curry-haters of the New World.

Don’t ask how I stumbled upon Bvlgari’s Man in Black. Continue reading »

Jan 052015

Life’s charms, and by extension a movie’s, lie to some degree in the normal unexpected. Now by normal unexpected, I mean events that disturb the stable rhythm of life without triggering catastrophic consequences. These unanticipated events, often striking at most inopportune moments, create discomfort but also add zing to what’d otherwise be a banal birth-to-death […]

Dec 192014

PK starts off with a nude, 200% human-like alien (Aamir Khan) alighting from a flying saucer spaceship into the Rajasthan desert and wearing a shining, round green pendant around his neck. Once the nude alien loses his green pendant (actually a remote control to hail back the spaceship) to a thief, transfers the two-in-one transistor/cassette […]

Dec 082014
Action Jackson BO - Chimps Kiss the Dust

Much as I’m convinced that god does not exist, there’s occasional proof that he does. Folks, Action Jackson is a mighty disaster at the U.S. box office. Nothing pleases me more than to see chimps like Ajay Devgn and Prabhu Deva kissing the dust when they put out so trashy a film as Action Jackson. […]