Yes, you guessed it. Just say “Ramadan is coming” and a sudden dread fills their heart. As soon as it is said they want the thought banished lest it may linger and spoil their mood, and the person who says it is considered rude, not fit for polite company. Of course, for the pious and pretentious this is the most blasphemous thing one could say, but I’m not talking about them.

I’m talking about Muslims Lite, the kind who were born into the religion, given a Muslim name and faith, and were conditioned into accepting its ways and norms the way we are conditioned into accepting schooling, market forces, marriage, taxes, traffic rules etc. In short, they are Muslims for no fault of their own. Or, to put it more delicately, of no choosing of their own.

So, once a Muslim is always a Muslim. That is the general norm, although there will always be an odd apostate here and a victim of reason there. Even then, neither of them has much to fear, for their lack of faith was preordained. The Quran clearly says that it’s up to Allah whom He makes believers and whom He does not. Of course, Muslims Lite do not know this, nor do they care. And the mullahs even if they knew would never let on, because revealing the finer points of revelations does not make good business sense.

Muslims Lite tend to struggle with their Muslim identity like they do with their, say, skin colour, but as they grow old and are cast into the chaotic world of cultural diversity they begin to cleave to their Muslimness and even begin to take pride in it. Yet, it is rare for anyone of them to take that leap of faith and become truly religious. For them religion is a little more than a cultural thing. It gives them an identity, a community and social occasions where men and women can come together to gossip and kvetch about the world.

Their knowledge of religion is sketchy and almost always second-hand based on hearsay. For them religion is rituals, and that’s all they care about as it makes them feel and look like Muslims. Practice of formal religion, superficial and perfunctory, is as far as they would go in being religious.

And I’m with them all the way. No amount of devoutness or deep study of religion will bring them any closer to what is promised. There are no guarantees – none in this life and even fewer in afterlife, no matter what the scriptures say or how the mullahs interpret them. As for mullahs, Muslims Lite treat them with snickering contempt. But if you’ve the misfortune or the stupidity of belonging to the priest-infested Orthodox Bohra fold then it’s mullahs who hold you in contempt and snicker in your face. Yes, such a thing is possible.

Muslims Lite tolerate mullahs only because they are needed to perform rituals and, when rituals demand, tell stories. One such story is popular about Ramadan. The legend has it that the one-month Ramadan was a real deal that Prophet Mohammed struck with Allah. During the Prophet’s trip to the Seven Heavens – Miraj – Allah prescribed six months of fasting for Muslims. The Prophet baulked at the suggestion and, fearing revolt from the believers, asked Moses to intercede, who with tact and much haggling brought it down to one month. That by any stretch is quite a bargain. But for Muslims Lite it is still 30 days too many.

Even in the best of seasons, the very thought of Ramadan unsettles their mind. But it positively unsettles their life when it arrives in summer months when the days are long, the sun is hot and the mood is not just into it. It is not just the prospect of fasting for long hours that rankles them so but the fact that they have to plan their parties and vacations around the Holy month. And heaven forbid if they have to forgo some of the fun to make room for it.

For the pious and pretentious sacrificing fun is a good thing, right up Allah’s alley, the very raison d’être of religion. But for Muslims Lite it is a waste of life. Even so, no matter how much they gripe and grovel, they have little chance against 14 centuries of conditioning that has paralysed their psyche with fear and guilt. They finally give in to the inevitable. Ramadan arrives and the dull dread in the heart, in a surprising twist, gives way to solemn piety.

There is a frantic exchange of greetings on Ramadan’s arrival – and some eager souls start it days in advance much to the irritation of Muslims Lite. The greeting’s format is pretty much standard and it normally ends with the mandatory plea asking others to remember one in prayers. Muslims Lite do not normally pray the whole year but during Ramadan they make it a point to pray regularly. As mentioned, the emphasis is on rituals. It is easy to be seen to be praying, but not so with fasting which is a quiet, private activity. This leaves the young and the pretenders ample room to play fast and loose with fasting.

Everybody is expected to fast during the Holy month, those who don’t remain mum and furtive, and then there are those – Muslims Extra Lite, the godforsaken – who are open and unabashedly public about it. Regardless, iftaar – the breaking of the fast – is something they all enjoy and look forward to. And iftaar, after fasting and prayer, is the most important ritual, and perhaps the only one that takes up Muslims Lite’s most time, thought and enthusiasm.

But say what you may, after the first few days of sleep deprivation and tea-less, heavy-headed mornings Ramadan settles into a nice rhythm of fast and break-fast, and Muslims Lite begin to enjoy the religiosity of it all. Except that by the end of the first week everybody is soundly constipated. Barring the digestive and sleep problems, a diffuse air of spirituality begins to hang over their homes and Muslims Lite go about their day with stoic self-control hoping as hell that all this that they are subjecting themselves to will come good on the Day of Judgement.

Or is this all a hoax? The doubt is always at the back of their mind. But they go through the paces anyway, not wanting to take any chances. Because perchance if all this turns out to be true, then they have got, to put it crudely, their asses covered. Well, at least partly covered. The notion that appearance is all that matters is deeply ingrained in them– and they know it works. Detaching intention from action is the way of the world and they think it will work with God as well.

One has a hard time explaining Ramadan to non-Muslims. They actually think it is self-torture but Muslims Lite are always quick to justify it as a noble deed, a way of feeling the pain of the poor and hungry. But nobody tells them that feeling others’ pain will not make their hunger and poverty go away. Isn’t it better to feed the hungry rather than just feel their pain? Another explanation which is quite common and I believed in it for a long time is that fasting is good for your health. It helps get rid of toxins in your body (not to mention the sins of the soul). Then there are those who use Ramadan to get back in shape. Trim the fat and earn (heavenly) reward points – a win-win situation. But, to be fair, this and other such justification are only partly true.

So far as I’ve understood, Ramadan has two main objectives.

One, the sense of deprivation that day-long abstinence creates is designed to force us to realise that our life, our very survival is dependent on God’s bounties. At iftaar we are supposed to partake of food, water and other nourishment with gratitude and a deep sense of humility. Our own Thanksgiving, if you will. But it is more than that. Ramadan cuts our ego, our arrogance down to size, and shows up we humans to be what we truly are: vulnerable, weak and at the mercy of Mother Nature. Maybe, there is a Green message in there.

Two, Ramadan provides Muslims a chance to shun the material world so that they can come closer to their Creator. Fasting is their hidden, private passage to God, a way to commune with the divine. Those who have any idea of what spirituality is about will know that it makes a lot of sense. The break from unconscious daily routine – from food, water and other needs and pleasures – does create opportunity and space for God to creep into one’s consciousness. The sense of spirituality one feels during Ramadan is none other than the presence of the divine.

But there are several problems with Ramadan as it has come to be practiced. First, even most devout Muslims have no idea why they fast. Two, the whole thing is bogged down in rituals and there is little time for self-reflection. And without reflection there can be no connecting with God. Three, the sense of spirituality – if at all sensed – is too ephemeral to leave any lasting impact on one’s consciousness. Four, Muslims have been taught to fear God who demands absolute obedience. Hence the emphasis is on obeying God’s laws rather than communing with Him. Besides, any relationship based on fear cannot lead to Love – which is God itself. Five, when you’re hungry all you can reflect upon is food not God unless of course you have the self-discipline of those yogis who starved themselves in hopes of achieving nirvana. Thankfully, Ramadan was not designed to be so taxing. The sunrise to sunset abstinence was thought to be good enough. Yet, it seems to me that spiritual gain of fasting, if any, is quickly lost in the material binge of iftaar.

And for Muslims Lite iftaar is the only light at the end of the fasting tunnel. Depending on one’s social class and family tradition, iftaar can be a quick routine affair or an elaborate glutton fest. For Muslims Lite who are generally well-off the latter is normally true. My family was typical Muslim Lite, in fact any sign of more than necessary religiosity was frowned upon and actively discouraged. Although we were quite well-off our iftaar was a pretty spartan affair, perhaps in keeping with our small-town culture. Samosas and tea were pretty standard in most homes. In bigger cities and richer homes iftaar was quite a feast with a variety of fried goodies, cold drinks, lots of fruits and the customary almond encrusted dates to break the fast with.

Such luxury was unheard of in our town and our home. Minced-meat samosas was the only delicacy we knew – and to our young minds they were the only reason to fast. If you fasted you got to eat more samosas. If you didn’t you not only got fewer but also survived the day on leftovers. Definitely a bad deal. Then there were occasional shaami-kababs to break the routine. And on days when there were pakoras – the lowliest of fried goodies – you felt cheated. Even insulted. But, then, it was all relative. The people who could not afford meat samosas seemed quite happy with lentil samosas or pakoras, and on a good day when they felt like it they allowed themselves meat samosas but there was more onions than meat in them and they made them small and lean.

In our home they were thankfully fat and stuffed. They felt so good in your hand, crisp brown crust with a glistening patina of oil, a perfect triangle of voluptuous goodness. Oh that first bite, crunchy and juicy, was just heavenly. Our own sensuous, culinary communion with God. And there was no such thing as enough samosas. But in a joint family with uncles and aunts and cousins there was only so much to go around. Besides, children were the least of everybody’s priority. Adult men got the lion’s share of everything. The world never seemed more unfair than at iftaar time. Where was God’s justice, I secretly and constantly wondered.

Maybe it’s because I don’t pray, I tried to rationalise. Because instead of praying I was trudging to the mosque at maghrib time (evening prayer) with a kettle of hot tea in one hand and a bundle cups and freshly fried samosas in the other. This was the iftaar fare for the men of the house who went to the mosque for prayers. Most other men would carry their own food, but the men in our house were calibrated differently. They insisted on their food delivered exactly at iftaar time so that the tea was hot and samosas crisp.

We children were pressed into service. During that 10-minute walk carrying that precious cargo I was filled with anticipation and shame. Anticipation for obvious reasons and shame because I was not among the other boys my age lining up in the back row praying. It really felt humiliating to be ferrying food like a girl while my peers were doing the boy thing. On days when I reached before time I just lingered outside the mosque trying hard to be invisible. The thing was I did not know how to pray. Well, I knew some of the stuff which we had learned by rote but I could never bring myself to practice it.

But I did not know then that those boys did not know much either. They were there for fun – pushing each other when they went into sujood (prostration), snatching caps and kurtas and harassing some old coot who happened to cross their path. I was too timid and protected for such rambunctious horseplay, and had no wish to be part of it. I still envied them, though, for they did not have to deliver food, and that they were wearing suitable “Muslim” clothes unlike me who in half-pants, gangly legs felt exposed. And ridiculous.

As soon as the maghrib prayer ended the congregation would break for iftaar and the collective sigh of relief was almost palpable. I would enter the mosque in the nick of time and melt in the crowd hoping nobody would recoginse me. Those who lived close by would rush out to their homes for a quick bite, the rest would hurry up to their respective spots, huddle around in small clutches and, squatting on their haunches, proceed to eat.

My father and uncles would come to our designated spot where I would be waiting – and the fast would be broken without much ceremony. We all ate in silence, except when someone would comment on how the tea was not hot enough or the samosas lacked salt or some such thing. By the way, the samosas for them could never be perfect. There was never any appreciation for the effort that went into making them or the humiliation involved in delivering them. I would look around to see what others were eating only to learn that the general fare and palate was fairly limited. It felt good as my private shame found temporary refuge in the smell of food and din of chatter that hung over the mosque.

When iftaar was over and before the muezzin called for the next round of prayer I would slink out and trek back home, convincing myself not to do this next year. But that never happened until fate took me to the big city where I had no choice but to claim my place among the boys in the back row. I had finally arrived. Even so, I could never come to terms with religion and my relationship with it remains uneasy and conflicted. To this day.

It’s only appropriate to end with a couplet by Faiz:

Aaayiey haath uthain hum bhi,
hum jinhein rasme dua yaad nahin

Come let us also raise our hands (in prayer),
Those of us who have forgotten how to pray

Ramadan Mubarak! God bless us all.

Dear would-be husband,

Thank you for writing to me. Your letter was like so long I almost fell asleep, and you write in complete words and full sentences. That’s so last century. Just to get even I too will write a prolonged letter – with full words and sentences. Serves you right. And it’s going to take me a while okay as I’m not kind of used to writing like this. I’m sorry if this thing is delayed.

Okay, so let’s get a few things straight. I’m really not as “simple” as you think I am. Actually Mom insisted on writing that ad for me. She said girls must never let on that they are smart even if they are because boys don’t like smart girls. They – and especially their families – feel threatened by them. And I was like…! But you know you’ve to give in when they pull that wisdom thing on you, “I’ve seen more Diwalis than you, and I know what’s best”. I don’t know what to say when she says that, but what puzzles me is why it’s always Diwali, why not Holi or Eid or Christmas? Anyway the point is, I’m as smart as you are and I hope you don’t feel threatened. I won’t eat you, okay! Relax.

For the rest of the ad I just went along with what she said, I had no option with that Diwali firebomb hanging over my head. But I didn’t give in without a fight. I said, okay make me “simple” but then make the boy “fun-loving”. She agreed, saying, boys have every right to have fun. And I’m so glad that you’re taking your fun-loving seriously. It will come in handy. Or should I say you will stand me in good instead? Whatever. You know what I mean. Fun is very important to me. Fun is like so much fun. I’ll tell you more about it when we meet.

I’m really impressed by the amount of understanding you and your family have, probably more than one person can handle. No wonder you have to spread it around. However, (Oh, how I love ‘however’, it makes me feel so educated!) I think there was a slight misunderstanding about the “family-oriented” bit. Even I don’t know what it means, but I’m kind of sure it doesn’t mean Chinese. It probably means that you must always do things facing towards your family. For example, if we go to a restaurant you must sit facing me and kids – the family – and not turn your back to us and goggle at some other chicks. But no worries, I’ll allow you to throw side-glances at them if only you do not insist on showing them your understanding also.

The thing is, if I were somebody else I would have allowed you anything you wanted, but you see I’ve been brought up to do everything in half-measures. I’m kind of confused. My Mom and Dad have been saying different things to me all my life. One says sit, the other says stand. So most of the time I’m neither sitting nor standing. It’s that crazy. Mom is God-fearing, and Dad I’m sure is feared by God. God, they are always arguing about God. He says to Mom your god is the pigment of your imagination and this makes her red blood boil. Now she suffers from hot blood pressure, that’s what the doctor says. They are so completely opposite personalities they should stick together like magnets and actually they do whenever God is not being such a big haddi (bone) in their conjugal kabab.

Mom comes from a poor family so her upbringing was kind of low-key, and I suspect her “god-fearing” is just a put-on. She fears “other people” more. She’s always going on about “what other people will think”, and stressing about looking good in other people’s eyes. And funny thing is she doesn’t even know who these other people are. She is so hyper about the whole thing that when she’s driving she would rather run over a pedestrian in front just to look good to the driver behind. Dad feels sorry for her, says she suffers from manic obsessive paranoia. That sounds so cool, a three-word disease must be so nice to suffer from. Dad says there’s nothing nice about it, it is a disease of poor people because they have had such a raw deal in life.

He says this is the reason why poor people are such junkies – addicted to the opium of religion. He learned all this stuff from Karl Marx, the German dude who started this new religion called Communism and declared that all capitalists will be crushed by their own contradictions and go straight to the proletariat – I guess that’s some kind of Communist hell. Dad’s head is full of ideas from this Karl dude. Mom is convinced that if Karl didn’t exist Dad would have invented him. He is that crazy about him. You see, my Dad has completely different ideas about poor people from your Dad. We better make sure that they never come near each other or we would have a revolution on our hands.

And oh, how I hate revolutions. They give me a headache. Have you ever sat in a merry-go-round or like that stupid carousel they have at fairgrounds? Especially that music, it’s like fingernails on a blackboard. I know you are too smart to have ridden such silly things. From your letter you come across as really intelligent. And what impressed me the most was that you don’t use big words. I said to myself, wow here’s a guy who doesn’t feel the need to impress me with big words. Sure, he must have other big things to show, I thought to myself. But anyway, the thing is that I hate big words because I hate dictionaries.

And here’s why: When I was a teenager I suffered from an acute case of what my Dad called “likemia”. I had developed like this habit of saying the word “like” all the time. I would like say like 10 times in a like 7 and a quarter words sentence. If you’re wondering like why quarter, then like you don’t know teenage girls. We never like allowed each other to finish our sentences. And if we did we would curse ourselves like for a whole week. And like nobody liked that.

Anyway, my parents got fed up of my likemia because they said they could not understand what I was saying. When I said this to my friends they could not like stop laughing. We used to laugh at our parents a lot, and often without any reason. Like the moment you uttered the word “mom” or “dad” and everybody would like burst out laughing. Parents were such a joke. It was our way of taking revenge because they really had us by our gondolas when we were home. Oh, how we detested home.

Anyway, so where was I, yea, my Dad got so fed up with my likemia that he set up a plan to punish me. He said each time I said the word “like” I’ll have to learn a new word from the dictionary. When he said that I felt like gagging that Karl dude. All his fault. After some years I began to get a handle on “like” and learned so many diabolic words. Thanks to Dad, my vocabulary is very randy today. But I try not to use diabolic words very often as you can see I’m smart but at the same time I’m also very humbug. When I use diabolic words they all look at me like perpetuated – as if I’m from an indifferent planet. So you see, likemia actually, really turned out to be a blessing in disgust.

Okay, moving on, I must say that I like how frank and open you were with me. When I read about your laptop and Solitaire, I found it so funny I could not stop jiggling. Sad to know that you were not allowed to play Tom Raider. When I told my big sister about it she said your laptop must have a conservative version 13.0. That is very old. She says you must try the new liberal version 69.0. Her boyfriend has that, it comes with conventional morality disabled. Well, that’s what her boyfriend says. They play it all the time – and they are not even married. She was saying all you need is a mod-chip, I believe it is made of rubber. All you have to do is install a mod-chip and play it with any partner you want. You could also use mod-chip after marriage to avoid misconceptions. Well, that’s what she said.

But to tell you the truth even I’ve not played Tom Raider yet. Because of Mom. She says, “your big Sis has gone out of my hands but I won’t let you out of my sight even for a second.” Now that is not fair, no? But to be fair, all the partners I found were jerks. Dad doesn’t care whatever I play. When I told him about you and your letter, he said, “if you two can get the chemistry right then the rest, as they say, is biology.” Gosh, he makes it sound so hard. So want to gag Karl dude. But I tell you what, after marriage we will keep it very simple, like simple math. So here’s the aftermath of our marriage: First 1 + 1 = 3 and then 1 + 1 = 4. And that’s it. I can’t handle anything more dilapidated. Besides, diapers cost money, you know.

Talking of money, I’m so happy to hear about your long-term business plan. But just want to warn you, don’t be like that Karl dude, Dad was saying he died a poor man. The problem with him was that he was always on the left side of the rich people. What a loser! That’s why all his followers call themselves Leftists. If only they left the rest of us alone. But you make sure you pitch your tent on the right side of the rich people. I’ve heard that they always give with their right hand and the left hand doesn’t even know about it. No wonder Karl dude was left out, uh!

You know what, I’m already picturing you as some kind of a propheteer. But please don’t get too melodemocratic like going on a mountain and issuing commandments and stuff. Nobody believes in that tripe anymore. People have become very shopisticated – they only buy what really works for them. So I suggest that you get some marketing guy to work with you. And also a psyche-artist, Dad says it’s all a mind game – if you know how to control their minds you can control their pockets. So you better get it right baby, and remember I’m right behind you, just to watch your back. I don’t want that woman who’s always behind a successful man to attack you or something. Bitch, if only I could get my hands on her.

And yea, before I forget I must tell you that even I know Philosophy. You know my friend Sofy she’s going out with this guy Phil so we call them Philosophy, as in Branjelina. Get it? I came up with that, nice no? The two of them swear by each other, totally. And I’m like, totally? That reminds me, that thing about life-long commitment was Mom’s idea. I know size matters but life-long, Gosh what would I do with that? Don’t sweat over it, whatever commitment you have is good for me, I’ll be grab it with both hands. And yes, my Sis knows a thing or two about guys. She says for guys love is a three-letter word – it starts with an s and ends in an x. Why are guys so dumb? Can’t they count? Not only that, Sis says they also lack tongue-mind coordination. Like they will say something and will be thinking of something completely different. Especially when they say, “I love you” don’t fall for it, because when they say that they are only thinking of that three-letter word. One track mind, that’s Sis’ final verdict on them.

I hope you are not like that, and that your mind has more than one track. It’s so boring to listen to the same track over and over. My Dad does that all the time, he’s so annoying. I wish I could wring Karl dude’s neck! I hope you’re not like that. From your letter you seem sensible but who can know what is larking in a guy’s heart. I like the way you play the balancing game, though. Mom was hung up on that deen-duniya stuff. But, as you should know by now, I couldn’t care less. You know I received tons of letters in response to my ad. God, there’s so much desperation out there. One guy had a very interesting way of balancing out things. He wrote, “Whatever is considered bad I do it for six days and then take a rest on the seventh.” You know where he borrowed the idea from, God. Yea, he wrote, “God created the world in six days – which we all know is a bad thing – and then rested on the seventh. So, God has set an example for all of us. If you follow God, you can’t go wrong.” Interesting, no?

Anyway, I’ve gone through all the responses I received and I’m kind of leaning towards you. Now you better catch me before I fall heel over heads for some other jerk. So mister it seems you’re after all right for me. I like people who are on the right side of everything. That’s where the money is and it is money that makes the world go round and we can all make merry. Actually I love this merry-go-round because no matter how fast it goes it never gives me a headache. Some revolutions are just right, right? Money has that magic power, Karl dude could never figure that out. That is why Dad is such a stick-in-the-mud. I so want to gag Karl dude.

Okay I’ll end here, if I’ve missed anything I’ll text you. Writing like this with full words and all is too exhaustperating for me. Keep in touch. Love you.

Your would-be wife.

Every time I read this I cannot help smirking. What the hell is it supposed to mean – a balance between deen and duniya? Here’s a typical ad from a girl seeking a suitable boy:

Looking for a smart, good looking boy between the age of 23 and 27 years. He should be from a respectable family, well-settled with a stable job/business and should be understanding, fun-loving and family-oriented and must have life-long commitment to relationship. I’m a simple, beautiful and fair-complexioned girl with a BCom degree and am looking for a partner who is well balanced in deen and duniya.

And here is a not-so-typical response to the ad:

Dear would-be wife,

I’m responding to your ad very simply because you are a simple girl. In fact I too always wanted to be simple but I just can’t help being smart. I know this is not a good thing to say. My mother always says it is bad manners to praise oneself. But I’m not praising myself, just telling you the facts because you must know everything before you make your decision about me.

If you asked me why I wanted to be simple, I’ll tell you this: When you are simple people leave you alone, they think you are a fool. But with smart people, people have a lot of expectations. Even when you don’t have a clue about something you’ve to pretend as if you know everything. In my honest opinion, it is better to appear like a fool and do smart things than appear smart and do dumb things. Being smart all the time causes me too much stress. I’ve had nervous breakdowns so many times, still I’m not afraid to be smart. I hope this is acceptable to you.

I must confess that I’m not very good looking. I find this requirement very insulting. Men are never supposed to be good looking only women are. It is good to know that you’re beautiful. And I’m ugly. So see, it balances out. I’m an expert at balancing things. You’ll know what I mean, just keep reading. I’m 24 years old, and my family is very respectable. In our town we respect everyone who is richer than us. My father taught me to laugh at the joke of the rich people even when they are not funny. He says, it is only polite. He also says that it makes rich people feel important, and keeps us in their good books. You cannot have a better win-win situation, he says. Now you know where my smartness comes from!

Also, you’ll know how respectable our family is when I tell you how we treat people who are poorer than us. We treat them like dirt. Father says social ladder was invented for a reason. You move up by climbing on top of the people below you. That’s what respectable people do. My elder brother says that people below you should always be kept in their place. If you try to be nice to them, they would one day climb on your head. That’s why they deserve to be where they are, he says.

In our family women must also be kept in their place. For example, my mother does not agree with all this rich/poor stuff but she is always told to shut up. Women’s place is in the kitchen and the bedroom – two places where man’s happiness comes from. All the thinking and talking must be left to the men, that’s our family tradition. I hope you find my family respectable enough.

I’m also happy to tell you that I’m very well settled. When I settle down to eat or sleep or watch TV it is very difficult to get me to do anything else. I believe in remaining settled. You will see how smart I’m when I tell you that I easily settle for anything that requires least amount of work or effort or even thinking. I know thinking is a man’s job. But I leave that to my father and brother. Why bother when others can think for you. See, that’s smart. Anyways, where was I? Yea, I’m also well settled in my mind about work. I find this whole idea of making a living very unsettling. Work is for losers. Why work when you can cheat and con people? Someday I want to start a religion. That is my long-term business plan.

But for now I do have a stable job. I work in a stable, it belongs to my father. He learned horse-trading from his politician friends. When he couldn’t become a politician he started dealing in real horses. I hate horses, I think they are dumb and produce so much horseshit. God, it stinks to the heavens. The only good thing about them is their 360° vision, which we humans don’t like so we destroy it by putting what they call, yes, barnacles, on their dumb faces.

But I love horsing around, but not with the horses of course. You are mad or what! With the girls in our stable. All innocent fun though, that’s what makes me fun-loving. You see my philosophy is that unless I’ve fun now how can I be loving to my future wife. Just learning a few tricks so that I can make you happy. You see I take my fun-loving very seriously, for you.

What is next? Yes, understanding. Oh, how can I tell you how understanding I’m. I understand everything, and in my family everybody has a good understanding. My brother often visits one auntie next door whose husband lives in Dubai. She is alone and lonely and brother goes there to give her company. He’s very kind and understanding. There is a place in our town where there are a lot of lonely ladies, brother also goes there to give them company and also gives them money. He’s so kind. And understanding. He has got these qualities from father. But father doesn’t go there anymore, he’s too old to show such kindness and is also slowly losing his understanding.

Long back when I was a teenager my mother found out about father’s visit to the lonely ladies. She was mad and fought with father for showing understanding to those women. Father slapped her and yelled, “you women are the worst enemy of women”. After that mother did not say anything and I guess became very understanding. At some point I too will have to show understanding to the lonely ladies. I’ve no choice. You see it is in my jeans.

Between you and me I can be completely frank, and I know you will not take it the wrong way. Will you be surprised if I told you that I have a laptop? Yea. There is this girl in my stable who always comes and sits on top of my lap. She only lets me play Solitaire. I want to play Tomb Raider but she says I can only play that after marriage. When I ask her why, she smiles at me and says “you’re so cheeeewt”. I hate it when girls say that. One reason I want to marry is that I want to play Tomb Raider bad.

I’m sorry if I’m rambling on but it is important that I tell you everything about me. Maybe I’m writing without thinking, but as I told you I don’t waste time thinking. I just do it, as Nike people always tell us. Anyways, the next on your list is “family-oriented”. I don’t know what you mean by this but I must make it clear that our family is not oriental. We are Indians, you know desi. Can you please tell me why you want marry into a Chinese family? Although I’ve nothing against the Chinese but they speak funny and have chinky eyes. Just want to warn you that Hindi-Chini are supposed to be bhai-bhai (brother-brother) or bhai-behen (brother-sister) and not miya-biwi (husband-wife). It would be so wrong if you married a Chinese – it would be like marrying your own brother. I’m hoping you’ll change your mind about family-orientation.

If you do, I promise to bring life-long commitment to our relationship – although I never knew commitment came in life-long size. I’ll try to find it on eBay. But don’t worry too much about commitment, my understanding is more than enough for our relationship. The long and short of it is that I’m already beginning to love you, just by writing this. And all the cockles of my heart are erect to know that you are fair-complexioned. I hope you did not get this by using Fair & Lovely cream because I know it does not work. My sister used it for years, the more she used the more unlovely she became. Some would say that the people who make Fair & Lovely are very unfair because they promise people something that can never happen. But in my opinion “false promise” is a good business strategy. There is always a market for it. Promise people what they can never have and they will go crazy about it. That is why religion is so popular. I want to start a religion so bad.

It is also good to know that you’re a BCom although I would have preferred if you were an ACom. Anyway it would be great to boast to my friends that my wife has a degree. They say that there is not much use for it but it does make a nice wall decoration. We’ll hang it in our living room, so when people visit us our importance can rise by a degree. When I get my degree, am in final year, we’ll hang mine too there, then our importance will rise by two degrees. That would be something. What do you say?

Finally we come to balancing deen and duniya. Oh, how I love to play this game. My favourite you know, better than cricket shriket. Actually everybody plays deen-duniya but very few understand the objective of the game. The objective is to find a balance between deen-duniya, between good and bad. Rohinton Mistry wrote a fine book explaining this game, and called it A Fine Balance. What the majority of people do is that they either do a lot of deen or a lot of duniya or as they say in Indian philosophy, a lot of dharma or a lot of samsara. They get so involved in doing just the one thing they are doing that they forget about the “balance”. If you ask me that is dumb, it defeats the whole purpose of the game.

I’ll tell you a secret which my father taught me. See you’ve to learn these things in the real world, you don’t learn it in your mother’s stomach. Okay, the secret is this. Life forces you to do bad things. It starts with our birth, we are born in sin. You may ask why. Because we are the result of bad things our parents have done. No matter what we do in life we cannot balance out this sin in our lifetime, it can only find balance in our death.

Putting that aside, this balancing game is real fun. It always start with a bad thing, like you’re tempted to tell a lie. For example, if you don’t like a girl, say Maria, you tell a lie about her, like “you know Maria has a boyfriend”. Now lying is a bad thing, don’t ask me why, I did not make the rules. So you must balance out the bad thing you’ve done by telling a truth which is a good thing. So what you do is say, “you know Maria’s brother is Sam”, which is a truth. See, this is how you balance a lie with a truth, bad with good.

And like this it goes on. My father slaps my mother – bad thing. Then he kisses her – good thing. My father does not pay enough salary to the workers in our stable and also cheats on income tax but then he balances out by praying five times a day. My brother drinks beer every day but regularly prays Juma namaz to balance it out. The factory owner next to our stable puts out a lot of chemicals in the ground which spoils the water that makes a lot of people sick, but he balances it out by going to the temple every morning and distributing prasad to the same sick people. They really know how to play the balancing game.

And I’m learning from them, the best I can. My laptop says playing Solitaire is not a good thing, so I try to balance it out by playing it every alternate day. I also like to drink beer. After every glass of beer I drink a glass of water. Perfect balance. I’m really getting good at this game. But I must tell you another secret. It is not necessary that every bad thing should be followed by a good thing. Some people play it differently. Like they do all bad things in the first half of their life and they then do good things in the second half. Remember the objective is to achieve a balance. But people generally don’t like this way of playing the game. There is a cat-call for such people: “sau chuhe kha ke billi Haj ko chali” (meaning the cat is going on Haj after eating 100 rats). But I fail to understand what the cat has got to do with all this and why she has to go on Haj.

Anyways, I hope you’re impressed with my skills at balancing deen and duniya. I’ve explained to you point by point in great detail about all the requirements you are looking for in your future husband. I know I’m Mr. Right for you. I sincerely hope you will overlook my lack of “family-orientation”. There is no way in hell my family can become Chinese. Also, please do not insist on life-long commitment, if I don’t find that size will you settle for any other size? Please let me know.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Already loving you so much,

Your would-be husband.

The truths gleaned from this film – although long known and understood – can be put down as simple equations on how the American system works. But in fairness, free market democracies everywhere else are no different. The difference is only of degrees and modes of deception. The object of the game is the same: how best to scam the people. Anyways, here’s a lowdown on the American reality:

Democracy = lobbying power
Politicians = enablers of corporate greed
Free market = lawless greed
American people = suckers
American way = profit by any means
Business ethics = what’s that?

Interestingly there is one Shailesh Mehta, an Indian who supposedly revolutionised the credit card industry. He says, “lending money is the simplest thing to do.” On this simple truth he built a financial empire, and paved the way to the sub-prime mortgage collapse and a global financial crisis circa 2008/2009.

Watch the PBS documentary: The Card Game

Shailesh Mehta: The genius behind the credit card revolution. Source: PBS