Dear Indian Army:
Before General Bhagwat moves his deadly hairless disciplined vegetarian troops to the easy-peasy border terrain in Kashmir, from his high-altitude training camp in Nagpur Defence Academy, to face the burly bearded beef-eating untrained Pakistanis, let me tell you with great gravitas and an acute sense of burgeoning responsibility that (a) the RSS is not a joke and that (b) you should never mock an army that hasn’t lost a war, even if it is simply because that it hasn’t fought any. Instead, we must treat General Mohan Bhagat’s quickly regretted anal release from the wrong end (this breed is very secular about both ends of the alimentary canal and does not differentiate between the two) with a grim measure of caution. Remember, dear Indian army, if they could kill the Father of the nation (even if it was only because who the fuck would have ever imagined anyone could hate Gandhi at all, and then therefore hate him so much—never underestimate the motives of nutjobs.), then you are only the sons. And daughters—I may as well add hastily, because daughters also soldier on proudly in the Indian army, even if the patriarchal RSS thinks that the only use their wishy washy ragtag bunch of swyamsevikas or whatever the dickens those ghoonghat donned cross-eyed thingamajigs are called, is to holler hoarse when the men of their tribe raise their yawning knickers wider than humanly necessary with a war cry croaking out of their dry mouths like Ashoke Pandit letting loose his characteristic frog-mating calls with constipated fervor on Republic TV. But then the RSS has no use for anybody. Just as nobody has any use for the RSS, unless . . . Yes, ‘unless’! And we will come to the ‘unless’ in a jiffy. For now, let us stay on this miserable course. As I was humbly contending: never underestimate the RSS. Never. That’s Point Number One. And Point Number Two is: never waive away a statement made by an RSS honcho, as a mere slip of the tongue, an utterance made in a careless moment, or like a stray granule of deep fried beef in a pious glass of fresh Gau Mutra. Because, as Freud rightly has us believe—there is something in the subconscious that sometimes tumbles out without warning, like it is bound to. But on that note, let’s tread sequentially, in the following order, simply for the sake of easy comprehension. Because when a sanghi child is first shown the very first book of alphabets of the English language, he confirms his identity right there in those nascent years, by calling the Apple Fruit alongside ‘A for Apple’ as ‘Ta for Tamatar’. Amen. Now remember, that this letter is cc to General Bhagwat, and however mighty this talented para commando may be today, he too was once a sanghi child.
And so we will move in the following order.
First I shall point out the stark difference in your FORM as compared to the RSS because in the case of armies, FORM does take precedence over SUBSTANCE, and incidentally the latter is not exactly about the areas General Bakshi strays into on Republic TV. An investigation by even a child detective in Bakshi’s cupboard will show telltale forensic evidence of two pairs of size WWW i.e. extra wide soiled chaddis of 1950s vintage. That should tell you that RSS has even infiltrated your General officer cadre, Colonel Purohit is not alone in the median level of ArmyOfficerhood. And so, we would do well to take those simians seriously. But like I was saying, first we will compare your FORM with the RSS. Then we will traverse their glorious military history. And finally, we will compare your heroes with their heroes so that you are convinced that it is high time you exit from the border in Kashmir and leave it in the trusting hands of the fierce carnivorous vegetarian militia that goes by the innocuous and deceptive name of RSS, and even if they haven’t taken over Lahore and Karachi, they’ve certainly taken over New Delhi, the Judiciary, the Election Commission, Industry, Wholesale vegetable markets, Madrasas in UP and believe it not, even Sainik Schools. Yes, Sainik Schools from where boys go NDA, the one in Khadakvasla. At the end of this piece, please click on the link to see an example of a school that masquerades as a Sainik School. It teaches the same rubbish as RSS. And its students do go to NDA. Sad, but true. It also explains the infiltration of ‘proud Hindus’ in your army at entry level, dear Indian Army. Bakshi and Purohit have far more company that you imagined.
But I suggest you click that horrifying link later, at the end, not now.
Meanwhile on FORM, brace yourselves fellas, for here we go.
Don’t mind my blunt comparisons and my unsolicited recommendations, because believe it or not I know you guys from close quarters and inside. And I thankfully know the RSS only from the outside. Plus here’s my big claim to authority. I know the easy peasy plains of Kashmir like the back of my hand, even if I don’t know the towering mountains, glacier and frozen fields of Nagpur one wee bit. God is kind in what he makes us see.
But now, after having screwed around the country side like the RSS, here I come to the point. Take a deep breath, but don’t you dare say Jai Hind which you guys have of late been mandated to do at the frequency of taking a leak, proving, that like the rest of India, you too are allowing yourselves to be fingered by the RSS.
Okay enough! Here we go!
This is the FORM that makes the RSS such a spectacular army and this is what you need to learn from it, very humbly and modestly.
- Do understand that an army is as good as looks. Yes. LOOKS. You guys look too normal to be taken seriously. General Bhagwat has a point. See, an army has to look different. And a unique army must look like none other. Just look at the RSS, that lean mean fighting machine. I encourage readers to post pictures of the RSS training at Nagpur Defence Academy in both modes: unarmed combat as well as with nuclear lathis. So now Indian Army, please decide on one of the following. Either shed all your weight till you turn into a deceptive carcass that Pakistani soldiers fail to notice, bypassing it, as though it was a lizard camouflaged in some bovine dung. Now imagine a platoon of Pakistanis pass by holding their nose, not realizing it is the khakhi militia wear. And suddenly screaming “Jai Hind!”, some two hundred and fifty pairs of skin-clad-muscle-less femurs and tibia and fibula, leap on to their shoulders, and are mistaken by the Panicky Pakis for the ghosts of 1971, and lo and behold they have struck them down with one nagpuri lota And even if the enemy sights these boney banshees in time, still, half the time they will give them up for dead, even if they are standing upright, in their sunny-side-down khakhi vessels. The other option to FORM, my dear Indian army is to turn into a terrifying tub of lard. I encourage readers to provide the Indian army with reference pictures of Major Brigadier Nitin Gadkari, Dishounorable Minister of Sipping and Shurface Transport (no typo intended—in the exact Sanghi pronunciation) and Colonel Lieutenant Floodnavis currently Chief Minister of Flooded Mumbai and drought-hit Cowrashtra. Just look at these two. The enemy will simply not suspect them to have anything to do with war. And will therefore just overlook this deadly deceptive duo. And bingo! That’s it! just the opportunity the stealthy RSS ultra-light weight cow commandos crouching nearby are waiting for. Bottomline, dear Indian Army? High time my dear bravehearts, you got into shape.
- Change your bloody boring uniform, not the ones you wear while cutting cantonment grass, which has a closer resemblance to the grilled guerillas of the RSS, but your normal one, your combat fatigues. You need to replace that crap. Use of head fellas. Like the RSS. Show leg to distract the enemy (but remember never to open them). This FORM, by itself, is great deception. Just google RSS uniform images and frame them at National Defence Academy Khadakvasla, Indian Military Academy Dehradun, College Of Combat Mhow, High Altitude Warfare School, Kashmir, and Defence Services Staff College, Wellington, to inspire your men and also yourselves. And then wear those cross ventilated knickers to challenge the cold in Kashmir. And also to confirm to people who doubt your manhood, that yes you definitely have hair. This of course is not recommended for lady soldiers, who given what happens to fully clad Kashmiri women in the valley, are at grave risk. This part you know bloody well, don’t you. Actually, it would be best if you hire the same designer as RSS. He is: Hawa Mahal Chaddi Vastralay, Nagpur, right next to Sri Krisna Farsan & Sweet Soap, behind the ‘Sudh Vada Pav’ stall.
- This is the final one on FORM, fellows, before I move to more substantial things. Your salute. Your boring predicatable old army salute. Modernise, buggers modernize! Great armies, bold armies have very unique Hitler’s Nazis used to show their armpits. I am not saying you do that. Because you need a bhartiya role model. RSS! See the shape of the person determines his salute. Their salute, with the hand placed across the solar plexus and palm facing down is designed to ensure that they don’t see their own paunch. Because armies must stay motivated dammit!
So that was how you emulate the RSS FORM, to beat the enemy at his own game. The enemy will now see you right upfront, and yet not know you are an army. That’s the RSS strategy. Or to look so shitty, that no one can bear to look at you. Because armies have to be discreet. You can’t have Manekshaw and Cariappa kind of looks. No good looks sorry. Skin and bones or lard. Muscle has no place in RSS. They have very strict recruitment criteria. How else do you think they all look so similar. Learn fellows, learn! They go to great lengths at using deception. Now when they move into Kashmir, they will so discreet that no one will know who mauled the child in the forest—a leopard of the deadly RSS. No AFSPA will be needed only. See there was no AFSPA when Gandhi was killed, no AFSPA when Pansare and Dabholkar were killed. Got it?
But let me tell you, sometimes the RSS acts boldly too. Like Godse did to resounding, err . . . private applause. Godse’s their version of a suicide squad. Do you have one? All motivated forces have one. Remember the Japanse Sepppuku or hara-kiri. But nah! The RSS method is different. What they did to Godse is that they planted a story, that he was off his rocker (credible actually) and was last seen chewing his therapist’s nuts. Simply because he overheard someone calling those things, nuts.
Now here’s the immediate implication for you. Remember once they move to the border, we can’t have two armies there. That’s a costly battlefield. Plus there’ll be too much confusion. So now, you will have to exit from Kashmir and come here and do their job. Their honorable job. The job that his army does, which gives General Bhagat the confidence that it is battle ready in 3 days! So role reversal fellas. What luck! Now you will do the utterly noble soldierly tasks that they have been doing so far, one of which includes campaigning for a few traders who were last seen in a lingerie shop saying “56 inch chhe”. Then sometimes you will scream that you are about to build a temple somewhere. Don’t worry, because you will never build it. Other tasks, your last few visionary chiefs had already started making you do, in order to acclimatize you to coming events gradually. Papa Modi must have ordered them. Like: organizing yoga, cleaning garbage, making a civilian bridge at Elphinstone etc etc Somehow Modi doesn’t think you are too fit for military duties. And ever a loyal army, why Modi has been brought into this, your innocent military mind must be wondering. Because my dear brave men, he is nothing but RSS and General Bhagwat reports to him on Monday and he reports to General Bhagwat on Tuesday. And sadly, I say this with genuine sympathy, General Rawat reports to both 24X7. And now he has also stopped free rations to all your officers. And every time you ask for OROP, Modi goes to the loo and howls with laughter in private. Out he comes and salutes your bravery and thrilled, you return to your barracks. And he’s left you for so long in the valley (surrounded by fierce Kashmiri women and children, I can’t resist saying. Sorry!) and asked you to return the stone pelting with pellets and bullets, which you are dutifully doing. Because you aren’t the Pakistani army that shoves an unreasonable Prime Minister into jail, tries him in a military court, executes him, and parks your own rump on the throne.
But the moot point is: why is the enemy seen far more within the valley than at the border, more than it ever was? That answer will be found in the history in the RSS that follows shortly. For now, please accept that the you the soldier are the fall guy for failed politics, inept administration, mal-governance, and the cheapest resource at that—one which costs peanuts but pays with his life.
So this role reversal should be welcome actually. Nothing like egging someone else to war from the safety of New Delhi. But now this role reversal, thanks to General Bhagwat, also means that you get an automatic promotion. Remember Bhagwat’s co-commander, the evangelist of sizzling Pakoras? The PM, who spends his vacation with some you at the border sacrificing his family life, and spends working days holidaying abroad? He too once said that the vyaapari, the trader, contributes far more than the soldier. As his nasal voice screeched through the traffic at the old bus stand of Ahmedabad, it is rumored that many generals of the Indian Army got so inspired that they left the army and started selling khakra. The ones who had quit in response to his call for an uprising against the far better economy in 2014, were in any case selling chai. And the ones who are quitting now, are naturally selling pakodas for a better future. And you lucky chaps! You will now rule India and RSS will go to the border. Finally RSS can got to battle after all these years. That they haven’t been able to so far, is all Nehru’s fault. Don’t ask me why.
But let’s get to the last point on FORM, before we move to tracing the military history of the mortiferous and menacing RSS. And the last point on this is: that the one way to finish the enemy is to kill the enemy. Right? And the moment RSS lands at the border, that’s exactly what will happen. Pakistan will be finished. I’ll tell you why. Because the Pakistanis will die laughing.
Done with FORM, here we come to the grand military history of the mighty RSS.
As you probably know, if you have read any of my little pieces of caustic catharsis, that for all my tomfoolery, I’m basically about making history accessible and trying in my own little way to prevent innocent people from falling inadvertently into the pit of Kali Yug. And among the most innocent and most vulnerable people despite occasional extracurricular transgressions by a few into politics, are faujis, army men, who, more than being the destroyers of enemies, are fodder for political survival. And this is the part I will cover in the end, with some interesting solutions.
THE HISTORY OF THE FABLED RSS
RSS is actually as old as it looks. It almost seems that they still wear the same knickers as hand-me-downs from 1925 when a man who went by the short name of Keshav Baliram Hedgewar founded it. Otherwise, he was a doctor, as good as doctors were in the India of 1925 (one Yale refresher course of a week could bring up to speed), I may as well point out. Now don’t let that doctor bit make you start seeing peaceloving losers. Remember Sambit Patra is a doctor and when he speaks of Republic TV he shoots more missiles of spittle across the studio in a single day as Jokesperson (no typo) of the BJP than your army has ever used in its history. I have heard Arnab Gauswami avoids sitting right in front of him, because the last time when he did, Sambit was felled by Arnab’s return fire. Anyway. Back to the point of doctors and RSS. Remember Maya Kodnani, the fairy god mother jailed for her humanitarian role in the Gujarat riots of 2002 when she sent more Muslims to their grave than the number of hindus she had ever brought into the world as a gynecologist. Point made. Back to Hedgewar, he travelled all the way to Kolkata, not because he wanted to watch Mohun Bagan playing East Bengal, or to attend a book fair of Russian literature, or to learn about Rabindranath Tagore or Rabindra Sangeet, or even learn how to make rasgullas so slurpy that they become culpable for pronouncing every ‘S’ and ‘Sh’ for the rest of your life. Actually he went there to learn terrorist techniques from Bengali secret societies. One still doesn’t know about their secrets though. He seems to have learnt something so secret that it continues to remain a secret to us. And the fruits of his labor can be seen in his legacy when he returned to Nagpur, the place where General Bhagwat’s band now dry the knickers that cover their sun-dried tomatoes, those two little tiny tots that must take the blame every time a frustrated India screams: “Why don’t they admit to it! Don’t they have balls!” Dear India, please calm down. They have balls, they do. It’s just that they are a pocket edition. Anyway, now back in Nagpur, he suddenly realized that revolution won’t get results (another matter his definition of ‘results’ also kept changing). You see, just watching a neighbor’s ass getting whipped has given many an aspiring revolutionary this very insight. So he put away his weapon of mass destruction—a two and a half feet long lathi made from a drought affected orange tree in Nagpur—and picked up a book instead. No no no no no!. Not like Nehru! He had absolutely no intention of becoming that horrible breed called ‘intellectuals’. No right winger wants the shame that comes with it. Plus he was aware that all his strengths were waist-down only. Which is not say he made no attempt to be sensitive to his environment. Infact he even tried to check out Tilak’s Home Rule but then you know what happens when you see the neighbor’s . . . . So back to the book he picked up. It had a title so intriguing that to this day we don’t know what the fuck it means. Hindutva it was called. He read it and then went and met its author Sarvarakar (who your General Bakshi also seems to have met in past life) who was in jail in Ratnagiri, Dawood’s sunny place of birth. And Hegdewar fell in love. The result of that was the RSS. It’s objective in his mind, was to strengthen Hindu society. And you know why they are still at it in 2018? Because they’ve still not been able to strengthen it. But see, they are still at it! You must learn from them. But on a serious note, I’d like to say: tut tut. Don’t fall for it. All ‘revolutionary’ organizations disguise their minacious goals with such sundry stuff.
But it seems, somewhere down the line Hero Hegdewar concluded that the British were able to rule India only because the Hindus were taking each other’s brown ass instead of the imported pink ones. Why he excluded the Muslims from this color segregation of asses, I haven’t the foggiest idea. I suspect that this is why the Muslims continue to show their ass to Hegdewars disciplines. See! It’s brown! they seem to be saying now for 90 years. Or maybe Hegdewar felt that unlike the Hindus, the Muslims weren’t taking each other’s ass. Well whatever the asinine logic, Hegdewar’s definition of enemy suddenly changed rather conveniently to exclude the fully armed might of the British. This is what you guys must also learn. You should simply start pretending that your enemy is most certainly not China or even Pakistan. You should tell yourself that your enemies are muslim women and children and time permitting, the men also. Learn from the RSS fellows!
It is because you don’t allow (by the way when did you stop them?) the RSS to fight Pakistan, it has been now forced to widen its list of enemies to include: Kashmiri women and Children, other muslim women and children, Christian priests, Dalits, intellectuals, Hindus marrying muslims, Congress, beef eaters, and girls drinking beer. All because of you! Shame on you! Go to Pakistan! Oh sorry, I am going off-track.
Back to Uncle Hegdewar. His main contribution—I swear I’m not joking—was the RSS uniform, the much coveted and envied battle fatigues, the mere thought of which can potentially make a Pakistani commando giggle bang in the middle of a bayonet charge! He is indeed the brain behind the size WWW (extra wide) underwear, the black cap, the color of which is meant to camouflage the area of darkness it covers, a khakhi shirt, which later became white because even Hegdewar would sometimes find it difficult to locate his ‘men’, camouflaged as they were in the potty grounds of Nagpur. And then he taught them—don’t ask me where the fuck he learnt it himself—para military techniques with an extremely lethal weapon. Yes, the lathi! But don’t mock, because to that he added a sword and dagger, which his cadres still use every ganpati to split open terrified coconuts and to slice samosas for samosa pav. Plus he added Hindu rituals to the whole jamboree because whether it is a religion or a brand, it can’t become a draw without rituals, symbols and role models. Now rituals which are usually used by soldiers before battle, were used on a daily basis in the case of RSS. You know why? Because the battle is still not happened. Meanwhile the prayers continue. In his weekly session Hegdewar would share tales about Shivaji. Naturally because after four weeks you will run out of tales about Shivaji, you must find something more to do so that your audience of blighted bums doesn’t go to sleep. So he started sketching one lazy Nagpuri afternoon under an orange tree, the RSS’s idea of a Bodhi tree, pausing only to slap mosquitoes that were daring to suck out all his revolutionary blood even before the revolution had begun. And presto, the armchair warrior had created a symbol for the RSS. Bhagwa Dwaj it was called not because the RSS was bhaagoing from the British but for reasons I am not aware of. Now out of the blue, suddenly this symbol turned into a symbol for confronting Muslims! I have no fucking clue how that happened. Please ask some Muslim who was alive in 1925. Otherwise Uncle Modi can spin a yarn for you on this. But be warned he is capable of relocating the whole episode in Patna instead, much to Nitish Kumar’s consternation, instead of Nagpur in his perpetual state of jetlag. So satisfied was Hegdewar with his work or art, that he kind of simply sunned himself in the Nagpuri sun for two years, after which he had a brainwave. He organized a training camp for ‘officers’ and created this new breed called ‘pracharaks’ and I’ll be damned if you don’t know what the shit that means! But these moving objects are not to be confused for your happily married officers, whose performance has been as severely impeded by marital bliss as Virat Kohli’s. As the old saying goes: Behind every failed man, is a woman. But these buggers, these Pracharak thingies were told to become sadhus first and renounce family and even professional life (Ha! As if they have the latter!) and dedicate themselves to the cause, which I swear is still WIP. Thereafter he developed a network of shakhas because where else do you park so many unemployed blokes. But now he had to keep his Pracharaks busy. So guess what he asked them to do? He asked them to make more shakhas! That’s what they are still doing till you withdraw from the border and allow them to make asses of themselves there, instead of turning Nagpur into a geographical joke. But guess which was the shakha that was most keenly developed and closely monitored. A guy called PB (not to be confused for Prashant Bhushan) Dani was asked to establish a shakha in Banaras Hindu University. You see, that time they couldn’t have taken over the university with their own indigenous idiot as Vice Chancellor then in those British days, like they have now, under Pracharak Modi. And this my dear fellows, is serious. Because universities were their prime targets. JNU was out of reach because it came only in 1969. And even if it was around then and miraculously under the same name, then you know how the very sound of the name ‘Nehru’ sends them comatose into ICU.
But by now, Hegdewar had become clear who his real enemies were. They were Gandhi (dare you ask me why! I’m not the father of that derangement). It seems Hegdewar parted ways with Gandhi, though Gandhi was as unaware of him going as he was of his coming! Hegdewars second enemy was the Congress. He was greatly disappointed with the Congress’s misplaced focus on independence and poverty alleviation. No cow protection on the agenda can you believe it! Methinks one way you too can win your battles is by learning from Hegdewar before General Bhagat once again gives you a piece of his mind (he has given so many pieces away, that now he is left with none) which is to change your focus from Pakistan and China to protecting cows (from other cows?) in Kashmir, but not in beef eating Pakistan where like businessmen who are part of the BJP, you are free to export beef. But don’t even think about China. Those chinks eat calves also! If lunch time arrives before the calf grows up that is. Infact what you really need to learn from the RSS is how to never lose a war. By simply not fighting one. See Rawat is kind of taking you in that peaceful direction asking you to do civilian stuff. But you need to speed up the process. Change your uniform, covert the Officer’s mess’ into gausahalas, sing Bhajans during festivals and between festivals instead of battle cries, block the fucking cantonment roads with Ganpati mandals. You’ll be surprised how much you’ll confuse the enemy.
Back to Hegdewar. He was really pissed with the Congress’s approach to non-violence. That way he was on the same page as you. We must grant him that. Imagine non-violence in Kashmir and a political solution being forced instead of a military one. Frankly the Gogoi character did the right thing but set the wrong example. If all army jeeps are used to transport Kashmiris, the pathetic condition of public transportation in the valley will at least get taken care of. And of course no one would shoot your jeeps. Or better still put RSS on probation. Let them man the jeeps and let’s watch the fun. Two birds with one stone, say what! And Rawat will distribute so many medals that making them will become a whole new business line for Bhimji Zaveri.
Anyway. Back to heady Hegdewar. One day he marched with a huge and terrifying army of 100 bumpkins with a Ganesha procession with loud music intentionally in front of the mosque in the Mahal area of Nagpur. Riots ensued and presto RSS found a long lease of life. A formula had been figured at long last. And a good way to stay away from confronting the British was now discovered. In fact the British were quite tickled that things will be even more divided than before. To reinforce their loyalty to the British, the RSS shunned the Tricolor, the same tricolor you cover your martyrs with, the same tricolor you hoist in the killing cold breeze of a high altitude picket after losing many of your comrades.
In fact Hegdewar told his dumplings not to participate in Gandhi’s satyagraha in 1930. And Congress passed a resolution forbidding its members from joining RSS. It was a reputational risk anyway. Though it didn’t seem to matter to your VK Singh who joined the RSS. Come on! Modi’s BJP is RSS only. Colonel Purohit also joined them didn’t he.
Anyway, Hegdewar died and his great war remained pending. And a new guy MS (not to be confused for Microsoft) Gowalikar took over. By the way, they have no democracy and internal elections. Gowalikar was no relative of Goswami Arnab or your Gaurav Sawant who goes on the weekend to play with Yogi Adityanath’s cows. He too gave the independence movement the royal ignore. He felt that defending religion and culture was the path to independence (and dare you fucking ask me how, else I will dance all day in front of you in RSS chaddis). In fact he criticized the independence movement. Now you criticize the independence movement of Kashmiris because you are the Indian army, disciplined and loyal, and on the payrolls, you earn pretty well for that. But Gowalikar was doing all this for doodh-jalebi. This guy, with a beard so long that is sometimes got caught in his belt, was the first visionary in the RSS to get shit scared about getting banned and the doodh jalebis getting stopped. He actually disbanded the RSS military department, which meant that now the lethal lathi would be used to affectionately tickle lactating cows. He complied with all the strictures of the British and said that the RSS does not support the civil disobedience movement. Now this battle strategy of ‘strategic withdrawal’ you guys have just not learned. Even the Karni Sena suddenly loved the movie and changed the minds after the arson that somehow substituted the johar.
Anyway, basically the Bombay government officially appreciated the RSS and told Gowalikar that he was something equivalent to being sex on toast.
But Gowalikar’s open admission that RSS had fuck-all to do with Indian independence is noteworthy. But he went further. He supported (verbally of course) Hitler in World War II and also the Jewish state of Israel. And look at you. Still trying to run a non-fascist force, though VK Singh, Dilbag and Rawat, one has to admit, tried correcting that.
But now just try and imagine when partition happened, how the RSS turned into Mona Lisa. Their lips were smiling because of all the rioting and bloodshed, but their eyes were weeping when they realized that land was lost. Till then why they had thought that Pakistanis will orbit landless in outer space, don’t you bloody ask me! I am not their fucking psychiatrist am I?
But now independence had happened and the both the British and the Muslims were gone. Suddenly RSS was friend-less, enemy-less and rudder-less. Hitler too was now both a joke and a dead body. Fuck the friends, an enemy was desperately needed. So guess who? Yes! Gandhi, Nehru and Patel, exactly in this order, in the exact order of stature. They blamed the trio for the partition. Why did they do so when all they seem to be wanting yet again is partition, don’t ask me for Godsake. Am I their Vet?
But by now they were such a nuisance that they were banned. Even the Muslim national guard was banned. But in 4 days the ban was lifted. And I’ll be damned if I know why. Am I the bloody therapist of the Government which keeps banning and un-banning these thugs with the certainty of a centipede trying to put his best foot forward!
But their hatred for the tricolor endured even now. They hate the number 3 (don’t you bloody ask me . . . !) and it has 3 colors. And look at you. All your Lt Generals and army commanders are three star generals. Shame! Can you kindly give them 25 stars each so that carrying stars becomes a full time job?
Coming to Gauputra Gowalikar, he wrote nasty letters about the tricolor (do google the shit he wrote, don’t take my word for it) which I have no interest in broadcasting given that broadcasting RSS shit is best left to Republic TV.
But it didn’t stop there. RSS did not recognize the constitution. Beats me why they are living here then. Maybe they should live in England with the cows in the countryside. Or in Germany to weep for Hitler thereby confusing even the Germans. But in Jan 1948, RSS did the unthinkable. It finished its enemy. What deception. But don’t learn this one. It was out and out cowardly. On 30th January, in Birla House New Delhi, where Gandhi would hold his multi-prayer meeting every evening , an RSS and Hindu Maha Sabha man fired three bullets at him. When the shots were fired, everyone was shocked. It was 5.17pm. Gandhi was gone. For sometime no one could believe it. But one American called Tom Reiner caught Godse and the guards of the Indian Air Force nabbed him. An army doctor Colonel Bhargava wept as he pronounced Gandhi dead. The Indian Air Force, the army doctor . . . the presence of the armed forces yet again at a difficult moment. Sad that now an RSS man is the President of India and therefore the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. But what’s worse is that General Bhagwat of the boss of all. Yes I haven’t mentioned the Pakoda in this bloody vegetarian meal. That’s because he doesn’t count at all. And because, while you may lost a bit of your sheen and a little bit of your dignity in 2014, you haven’t lost your voting finger. My part-fauji blood tells me, that you will use your voting finger well this time and get the right people who will also clean your institutional as well. And then I hope that you will even play whistleblower. Because blind mob-like unreason and real camaraderie are two different things when the nation genuinely comes first.
Let me now move fast with the last part of this story, which has been long simply because it needs to be told properly. And now I shall race.
The rest of course is history. The crowd beat the shits out of Godse, the same Godse, Modi goes and pays tributes to. On 4th Feb 1948, once again RSS was banned by Patel and under a set of stringent conditions, yet again the mistake of unbanning them was done. Even though there had been no hard evidence of RSS’s involvement as an organization, Patel believed they killed Gandhi becaue they were the only ones celebrating. Some conditions on lifting the ban on them including accepting the tricolor and constitution and staying away from politics, holding internal elections which they don’t do, renouncing violence and secrecy. Years later they again showed their cowardice when Deoras, their Chief wrote letters to Indira Gandhi supporting the emergency in exchange for lifting the new ban.
Can these people really lecture you at all when your whole idea of the nation is the exact opposite, when your culture has been secular through the length of your glorious history, and when your role models are even beyond the imagination of a cowardly RSS and a yokel like Mohan Bhagwat who is better of playing dimwitted delusional war games in Nagpur. The role models they bandy about are often those who shunned them and their thinking, those who had little to do with them, those who even banned them, and those who were really nondescript personalities, mere roll numbers in Indian Independence with which they themselves in any case, had nothing to do. One such was Shyama Prasad Mukerjee, who even joined Nehru’s cabinet He wanted to throw open the membership of Hindu Mahasabha to all communities and not just Hindus and therefore had to part ways and start the Bhartiya Jansangh, the original avatar of the BJP (like the failed Reliance Communications was to Jio, which too will fail, I guarantee) that joined the miserable bunch called Janata Party post emergency, where Atal Behari Vajpayee and Advani were in the cabinet. Years later it took the Ayodhya riots, the old RSS formula for the BJP to come into power. But then in Vajpayee’s time, the BJP kept an arm’s length from the RSS which continued to live on doodh jalebis in Nagpur. The RSS badly needed to come center-stage and there was one ace rioting talent available in neighboring Gujarat, a Pracharak. And the rest as they say is history, however smelly it can be.
But you are lost in own world, not even aware how you are misused, lost in fog filled snow bound pickets, fighting in alien thick dark forest, charging up steep mountainsides with your families who are ticking the calendar dates for your return. And still you get caught in the politics of it all, get lectured by harebrained twits of self-styled kabbadi armies, get criticized by jerks have had nothing to do with anything that you are fighting for, serving under a crop of corrupt traders and being lecture by the addlebrained. The buggers imagine you look up to them.
But you. But you, yes you, you look up to a different type of man.
Your role models are the Captain Vikram Batra types—who not only took peak 5140 at 17,000 feet but also asked a soldier to move aside because he had wife and children. All because he wanted to hoist what? Yes, the tricolor, the value of which Bhagwat cannot even fathom. They had nothing to do with all that it stands for. Then you toast the likes of Maj Gen Cardozo, a Christian, who was a major in 1971 in Gorkha Rifles, who used a khukri to cut his own leg off after it was injured in a land mine, and said famously to the doctor: “Now go and bury it”. A Christian. Bhagwat’s and RSS’s enemy. But don’t you know RSS cadre too must have cut not one but two legs. How else do you think they are two legged now. And yes you toast Brig Mohammad Usman who was feted as the Lion of Naushera. He was made the offer of becoming the Chief of the Pakistani army but he chose to remain here. And he died defending Jhangar in 1948. And even though he said while dying “I am dying but let not the territory fall to the enemy”, Bhagwat would have sent him to Pakistan long back for being a Muslim! Then Yogendra Singh Yadav (not ex AAP!), a Param Veer Chakra awardee who at age 19 captured 3 snow covered bunkers at 16,500 feet and climbed 60 feet even after being hit by bullets. Do you know, Bhagwat has breakfast on the summit of Tiger Hill every day. Tiger Hill is the name of one of his cows. Anyway. And then you guys idolize Jaswant Singh (not the BJP man with an amplifier in his larynx) Rawat (not the guy who gives medals for taking carpet weavers hostage) who flouted orders and did not vacate his position in 1962 against the Chinese and with two local Monpa tribal girls he set up weapons at different points to make the Chinese believe they were fighting a full battalion. Before the Chinese got to him, he shot himself dead. They were so livid, they cut off his head and carried it to China. Bhagwat’s lynch mobs are worse. They do it to the unarmed. And then you doff your hat to Lt Arun Khetarpal who destroyed an incredible number of tanks before he was martyred, Maj Somnath who fought with a small band after being surrounded by 700 raiders in 1947 rather than let them get access to Srinagar airport, Naik Jadu Nath Singh who fought one after all his comrades were dead in 1947/48, Subedar Karam Singh, Major Ramaswamy Parameswaran in Sri Lanka ’87.
Did you note something common to all the names above dear India Army?
There wasn’t a single one from Gujarat or Nagpur.
Learn fellows, learn! So much talent sitting there in Nagpur Defence Academy, and also in the neighboring Vyaapari Pradesh.
And last, let’s come to the biggest role model of the RSS—and dare I say, also of your dullard Gen Bakshi—Vinayak Damodar (rings a bell! Something about names, I say!) Sarvarkar, who assumed the nickname ‘Veer’ when at age 12. When normal children learn brotherhood, he led his friends to fight Muslims. Wah! In adulthood, his first contribution was to try and reconvert the converted Hindus back as Hindus. He abandoned the task when he learned that eventually we are all apes. He’s the guy who coined the word Hindutva. Show me one such mysterious thing coined by Cariappa and Manekshaw. Incidentally, Sarvarkar was a rationalist and atheist, so that further muddles up the whole thing. Poor Pansare and Dhabolkar paid the price. To his credit, his book The Indian War of Independence was banned by the British. To me that means, he must have written something right, unless it was pornography. He got associated with the ultra-secret India House in London. So he got arrested for that in 1910. And though he was sentenced to 50 years imprisonment, he was released in 1921. And that doesn’t happen without reason my dear. While in jail, to appease the British, he opposed the Quit India movement. Then he signed a clemency and was released on the condition of no revolutionary activities. Like the RSS, he too abandoned the idea of Indian independence and dropped to safety in the parachute of Hindutva. He was a prime suspect in the conspiracy to kill Gandhi, but it’s always difficult to prove these things and so he was spared.
Those were not days when you locked up a person for a Facebook post. Not because there was no fucking Facebook, but because there weren’t these fuckers.
Sarvarkar was faster than your Quick Response Teams (QRTs) ever were. Barely a month after being arrested, he submitted his first mercy petition. So bloody quick. It was rejected and he submitted another immediately. He openly asked for ‘forgiveness’, that’s how bold he was. He pleaded and pleaded and pleaded till he exhausted the budget for paper. So much so that the British ran short of toilet paper for themselves and so they started using his mercy petitions for the purpose. Finally when it became unbearable, they released the poor fella. He is the biggest role model of the Parivar!
Guys, I am done!
And now if you’ve gotten so far, I want to thank you for reading all this. You are a great army. You really are. Bhagat can hang like an orange from Neem tree. Just be clear who your enemy is, that’s all. And remember human rights is all there is to humanity. And of course we need you badly at the border. Where we don’t need you is in the interiors of Kashmir. RSS should be sent there. What fun! It will be win-win for all. And payback for Gandhi.
Yours truly & well-wisher
P.S. Here is the link of the kind of cesspools they are setting up to eventually join the army: http://bms.bhonsala.in/management.php
gogoi (in lower case), your ejaculation was premature.
You screwed no one but generally sprayed in the air in glee. It has its psychological roots in history, and I quote thus: Darwinians argued that men who suffer this, are more likely to father children to whom they will pass on the same genes of Premature Ejaculation. And that is what worries me, gogoi with a small ‘g’. Who you got these military-premature-ejaculatory genes from, and who you are going to pass them to. In the course of this mild discourse, guggu gogoi, the answer to both will be found.
Otherwise what you did on that jeep was simple Bullying.
And Bullying is invariably returned with a force that leaves its ‘manly’ perpetrator with untimely menstruation from all pores. I hope you’ve left the valley, He-man. Along with your pads. As I suspect you must have.
The milk you sprayed, goonda gogoi, came from no holy cow.
And it had no Kashmiri badams in it to improve its taste. It came from your professional upbringing, from your ragouted DNA that is cooked in what was once a coveted institution but is now—given the ‘talent’ it is attracting and producing—prone to the real danger of being called National Dud Academy. Of late it doesn’t seem to teach the basics – something called ‘officer-like behaviour’, a stringent code that the services once carried as a pip on wide and broad shoulders. But then you didn’t even go to NDA. You weren’t always an officer were you, so the challenge of seeing you as a gentleman is in any case, steeper. You came from the ranks, which is fair, but these ranks are quite often notorious (the poor truth must sometimes be squeezed through momentry gaps in hyperpatriotic, robotic and dowright silly sloganeering) for being vagrant dicks coming as they do from a countryside that is famed as a rapists’ paradise (rapes otherwise, minus olive green under are zero in Kashmir). You come from the ranks, that are unfortunately schooled and beaten into sahayak servility. Armies must choose what they want. Servants or soldiers. And this army has made its choice. To top it, you’ve had a fair share of role models. First you had a general with a dubious date of birth like his sanghi parentage. Then you had that oafish bladder face Gen Dilbagh, who thought his remit was to hide from the Chinese by organizing yoga functions for Narendra Draameybaaz Modi, whose 56 inches falsies are the toast of the town. And now you have this fellow who gave you a medal to put on your 5 point six inches tits—a medal for bullying a poor unarmed muslim weaver who made the mistake of voting in hope, a medal that is bound to earn the wrath of Indians like me, who will respond to your physical abuse with verbal profanities, no less no more. That is what happens resplendent olive green transfigures into the now familiar gobar green of Cowdi Arabia. First you bely hope, then deny hope. So that there’s no confusion. And now there’s no hope. And then, there’s your background for which again, you can’t be fully faulted. You are from the Army Services Corps, which has its own epics. This ration-paani corps, certainly a legitimate and useful arm, was but in the best of times corrupt through the length of its cord, taking chillar kickbacks from civilian contractors, a gaping orifice in otherwise insulated cantonments through which civilians moneybags came wheeling dealing. Any honest ASC officer and there are quite a few, will admit it. But that it has continued to be so proves that other corps only saw this one as a role model. Given half an opportunity, they would do twice as much. That’s because (the truth my dear gogoi, better be told before its impossibly late) you are degenerating fast into an army of freeloaders. From soldiers as servants, to selling gas, to smuggling stuff via dhulabaari and using fauji vehicles to do so, to compromising Siachin equipment, to the more mundane using of staff cars for shopping, to the assumed entitlement of family vacations in army messes in the same Kashmir which you love to criticize—a Kashmir that fills you with a deep inferiority complex, a Kashmir where every picture of you shows you as striking misshapen aliens. Do you know why? You treat Kashmiris as outsiders and enemy, and in the process look like aliens, in a land that confounds you far more than you confound the people of the land itself. They genuinely don’t get the cause of your hatred. It is that Kashmir, without which you don’t have a job, without which you can tee off on your nuts. ‘Cause the other job of fighting China makes your olive-green—going gobar green pants soak up in bright vitamin yellow. And so you turn all your attention to Kashmir – INSIDE Kashmir. On Kashmiri women and children, on farmers and peasants. And on even carpet weavers. Because you have even lost territory to Pakistan and your dubious surgical strike (dubious because of your spielberg 56 inches, not because of you) is supposedly in a terrority that is India’s. Or is it? You decide, but please decide on one.
So baby. Before you tie another carpet weaver to a jeep, get that territory back.
At least take an inch forward towards the akhand bharat your master wants, like good sahayaks. And at least say for godsake that you will one day get back the territory under chinese occupation. Do you have a date plan. Of what use is a nationalist government which can’t even put a deadline on getting ‘our’ territory back? And if you can’t even dream of getting it back, then do me a favour.
Just shut the fuck up.
Don’t mind my talking down to you. But I am far better read and that is not a boast. And so from my educated mind—sanghis can hate me for just this—I want to tell you something. That Symbolism is a powerful thing, bugger. But it is used by both god and devil. What you did on that jeep you hun, was at the behest of a devil who has more blood singularly on his hands than your entire army in Kashmir.
So here’s the symbolism you can do at the behest of god.
gogoi, you chuff, pick up your shivering twosome and go back into Kashmir if you have balls.
And walk unarmed with a megaphone to Lal Chowk if you have the spirit. And apologise to Dar, the poor weaver, his poor family and the beautiful people of Kashmir, if you have the heart. You’ll be surprized, it takes a second for innocents to forgive rapacious armies. And then you vandal, you walk to Hazratbal and pray that the Babri Masjid pulled down by numbskulls, is restored. And stick your chest out at that and cock a snook at the Delhi despot. Prove you really are a soldier. And then pray that a solution is found for the Ram Temple somewhere nearby as well. And prove you are a human and not a beast. And pray hard you muttonhead, that the masterminds of that act have their nuts roasted by the supreme court and the barbecue party aired live on Republic TV. Give some of us a reason to finally watch it. Pray then, that they are hanged for the genocide they caused. For nothing may deserve the death penalty but communal rioting surely does. Then baby, as you stand there, your wilting dork redeemed at Hazratbal, praying for deep redemption, you will see tears of joy and of forgiveness flood the eyes of those incredibly pretty Kashmiri children, who are nowadays even battling severe psychiatric ailments. Did you get a lump in your throat reading this? No? Then imagine Burhan Wani’s brother who was tortured and killed was your brother; imagine the girl blinded by pellets was your daughter. That your father is still looking for you in the fog of Kashmir after you disappeared one night, dragged away by some men in gobar green.
Even for rogue like you, I wouldn’t wish these things.
Still I’m angry. Yes I am angry. And no one can take that freedom to be angry, the freedom to protest and agitate.
See goonda gogai, no part is ever an integral part. If you don’t believe me, read history in the time you get between buying rations and pilfering them. You know a country is like an amoeba, you putz. It is the nation’s responsibilty to keep its flock together. Bugger, its actually like betrothal. You charm her, you court her, you shower her with flowers and gifts, you win her over. And then you marry her. Then you let her blossom, make her happy and be proud of your children. But Master Chappan can’t be expected to understand this. But now if you abuse her, brutalize her, rape her, she will kick your ass all the way to Assam. This is how the world sees the army in Kashmir.
And Kashmir owes you nothing. Nothing. You’re the squatter there and a murderous one at that. To the world at large, Kashmir sits at the head like a crown on India, a spectacular Himalayan region in an altitude worshipping land, brimming with sufi intellect, replete with goodness that is seen in every strain of its culture. From language to food and dare I say, those carpets that Dar makes, and which your fauji families go shopping for in armed sarkari jeeps.
So your role knucklehead, is to protect this beautiful treasure at the border, not plunder within and choose the smaller guy to bully like an olive green rapscallion. So go back to the drawing board of whatever religion you came from and speak to your god and not to his machinating interpreters. And he will tell you exactly what I am saying. Not because I am god you duh, but because every humanist is. And you could be too. Even after entering human history like a donkey like you did. Surprise us gogoi. Do something good in Kashmir. We genuinely want to be proud of you. Right now we are ashamed.
And then baby I will tell you what you do.
Then you leave the jannat again. Cross the chicken’s neck of India at Tawi and head to disgraceful Delhi as it must now be called. Then drive to AHQ and get a Republic TV crew to accompany you. These days they can even sit under you, when you decide to poop. Then you enter aspiring minister Rawat’s office. Salute him smartly (one thing you guys still do well) and then look him in the eye (he blinks a lot nowadays, after meeting Modi) with the effortless calm of a humanist. Then reach for the medal in your back pocket on which you have been farting all the way to AHQ. And then you return the medal to minister-in-waiting-chief-of-asswiping-sangh. Watch him blink self consciously, knowingly, somewhat helplessly. Then salute smartly once more and turn on your heel. On the way back fella, grab the Republic TV guy Aditya Raj Kaul by his collar (this also, you guys do well) and tie him to your jeep. Now this is the Kashmiri you should have tied in the first place, but it’s better late than never. And then you drive through Delhi to savour the difference this time. See how much Indians love the nationalist—militarist right wing funded TV channel. Now take the jeep through jat land and imagine jats pelting stones. Though those fellows are different. They pelt jeeps on stones, not stones on jeeps. And then you will know fella, the difference between Kashmir and the crap you represent. No one stoned the jeep that carried Dar. What does that tell you fella? That Kashmiris are together, and Kashmir is the least of hopelessly divided India’s problems. So what are you doing by focussing on Kashmir, the least of your problems? Standing naked in a party trying to perfect your tie knot?
Are you bloody daft gogoi.
First make Delhi an integral part, the Jats an integral part, the patels an integral part, the dalits an integral part, then worry about Kashmir. And have you noticed another thing fella? That butcher has even polarised your army. There are many more deserving people on your jeep, than poor Dar. Tie them and we will even give you a bloody Filmfare award.
That was on politicians and so it made you smile, no?
But what about your army? Remember the mutiny by the sikhs in the army after you guys stormed the golden temple, when you could have easily sealed it instead. And you know (at least military events you fellows should know) who paid the price. Gen Vaidya, COAS was assasinated by sikh terrorists. So what did you do? Did you occupy Punjab? Why not? Because it isn’t muslim like Kashmir?
But I am willing to grant that the army was following political orders on Golden temple and so cannot be blamed. But what about you gogoi? You are a national disgrace, a rougue, a colt and a ruffian. Goonda gogoi, nobody ordered you to do the war crime you did. You acted disgracefully on your own. Because you have grown in a culture that has now degraded beyond redemption. Because you know your masters are sucking sanghis. Because you are not an honorable soldier.
Even I don’t have words for you. The day you did what you did, you left us old fauji fans sad.
There was no political pressure on you to do what you did. Just as there was no political pressure on your generals who sold army land in Sukha. There was no political intercourse that gave birth to VK Singh, or Dilbag who organized yoga for that double fault Sri. There was no political pressure on Rawat to say he will fell stone pelters (college girls and minors) with bullets. There is no political pressure to keep soldiers as sahayaks, in 2017 for heavensake and give them a a smaller diet than officers while they toil more! There is no political pressure on you guys to be freeloaders all your life, is there? Hate me all you will, but you know it’s the fucking truth. And yes I know it is unfair to expect that in the middle of Kali Yug, when every institution has been bastardized by politicos, that you guys will still carry Manekshaw’s and Cariappa’s can. But you could have at least stayed put at the General Raina level. He was a Kashmiri pandit too, though not of the pickled-in-the-brine-of-opportunity and paid-to-speak breed that appears on TV panels nowadays.
Which is why I don’t subscribe to the fashionable and populist refrain that the army is all good and only politicos are fingering it. As in the real world, a twat needn’t get fingered, else it will soon be fucked. You guys are not really buggered by politics. You are rotting from within. Venereal diseases have struck you uniquely. In the head. The expiry date of you being a great army arrived not when you, like a spectacular klutz tied Dar on the jeep, but when the asswiping chief of staff (all in lower case) dedicated to the service of drameybaaz Modi gave you that beggarly katori of nationalism in the garb of a medal, instead of having you sit on top, with the Qutb Minar inside you, croaking cuckoo every five minutes in the voice of Ashoke Pandit. Fuck. Another Kashmiri!
Kashmir is your nightmare baby, what to do.
At one level, nothing is wrong with you. And you’ve even got good guns. It is balls that you don’t have. Outside Kashmir, people don’t know that you guys drive around shit scared in civilian vehicles. And that you are not allowed outside camp after 7pm, after which you take a bottle of milk and suck the nipple in panic till sleep catches you and nightmares of guilt fuck your brains in fear. And it is not even your fault. For one, self motivation always beats the paid motivation of armies. That explains why they never win over an insurgency. And two, you are in the wrong place fighting a land you don’t understand, surrounded by people who hate the very sight of you. Now wait. This part was and is in your hands. This is where you went wrong. You made people hate you. If they didn’t hate you, they’d support you. Then you’d win. The police did that in Punjab and no one abused Punjabis in general like you do to Kashmiris. You gogoi, instead have even insulted them. And for what? Just to keep Modi Spielberg’s nationalism spiel alive. But you gogoi, did what you did on your own.
See fella, don’t mind my talking down to you. I am also older and brighter.
And I can’t blame you for that. How can you help your age. And as regards understanding the politics of it, that too is not an army man’s cup of chai. You and your ilk are fucking going out of syllabus. You’re looking like bristly monkeys on TV channels, speaking in a pitch meant for parade grounds, and making as much sense as a parade ground needs and no more. But you gogoi at least, have no such pretensions. You deal only with ration—pani and jeeps and ropes. But you’re carrying a burden baby. That medal fella! Come let’s sell it in raddi and go watch Hindi Medium or even go eat a gujju thaali. That’s what it is worth.
Now I don’t know about you, you caitiff, but I am a peaceloving man who falls asleep easily. And now I am sleepy.
So sweet dreams fella. I love you. I love olive green too. I really do. It is gobar green I don’t like. Sleep tight groggy gogoi. If you see fairies in your dreams, they must be Kashmiri. If you see jannat in your dreams, it will be Kashmir. It’s all about how you see. If you see food, it will be the wazwan (god forbid you see Chinese brrrr!). And if you see carpets . . . Shit! Let’s not go there. Goodnight gogoi.