Golden Honeypot Ticket

Published in Bed Sheets Magazine. April 2008.

Somebody fax your aunty koz there's no way she has Internet. She's still ratting off the same script that that a good man is decent, polite and gentlemanly. Why is it then, that the nice guys end up with Mrs. Palmer while the women flock to the jerks? Jerks who aren't ripped, don't own a private jet and don't have a particularly magnificent jade stalk.

Those attributes certainly help but what of the balding potbellied insurance salesman in the corner surrounded by chiquitas? Listen up! He's not flattering them, hanging on their every word or even buying the drinks. Chances are he's completely up himself, telling all the jokes and teasing the hell out of his harem. The girls are spellbound and whispering to each other in telepathic girl-lingo saying he's my man, no he's mine, back off bitch.

Likely our potbellied pal will take his pick and they'll be ready for horizontal tango without him having to preform any lip service to get the girls' juices flowing. Worse still, they won't expect him to call the next day or even remember their names—and they certainly won't hate him when they see him next week in the same corner surrounded by a different set of chiquitas.

What's he got that the average Joe hasn't? He gets it that the male life force is aggressive. For men, spreading their seed is instinctive. Conquest and dominance are part of the male programming and for very good reason: the strongest and smartest among them pass on the best genes to future generations.

Mr. Potbelly has short-circuited the system: he doesn't have the best genes, he's just faking it by acting dominant and clever.

Talk to a woman and she'll tell you how she hates jerks like that, but watch as she melts for them. The female yin qualities are receptive and submissive. Deep down, a woman doesn't want to conquer the world. She may act bitchy but that's just a test. Her bitchiness is a filtration system to eliminate the weak and dumb. In a flirtatious situation, every comeback from a woman is a test to see if the potential mate is man enough to keep her in line. The jerks never let the women dominate the conversation, they keep the girls in line by teasing them and exuding confidence.

These are the men with the golden ticket to the girls' honeypots.

Bong Chika for Junkies

Published in Bed Sheets Magazine. February, 2008.

I’m an International Secret Agent. I tear up the countryside in my fancy cars; infiltrate military satellites with my high-tech gadgets and kung-fu the baddies across the rooftops of rickety shop houses. I tickle my chin as supermodels throw their lingerie at me.

The life of a hero isn’t all bong chika bong bong wiky wiky wiky wiky. There’s a new threat to the world each second. It used to be diabolical weapons in the hands of cunning dictators, then the aliens got to us, then volcanoes, earthquakes and hurricanes. Over and over our precious ways of life were threatened and each time we were brought back from the brink of extinction all in time for the house lights to come up.

Stop. Pulse check.

“Save the cheerleader, save the world” says Hiro Nakamura in Heroes Season 1. Cheerleader saved and now it’s the virus and the villains we need to defend against. The boys and girls who make the stories that feed our brains will never run out of delicious thrills to keep us on edge—and why not? Its great money and great science.

Science? See there’s a part of your brain called the frontal lobe. It’s the part that controls your sexual behavior, self-expression, memory, creativity, motor function, problem solving and motivation among other things. It’s the part that’s evolved and differentiates us from our monkey ancestors.

Stress and shock screw up the frontal lobe. They activate our animal instincts and that’s not such a bad thing. The hunter being chased by a tiger needs that rush of oomph to kill the beast or scramble up a tree. Shocks set off our terror alert systems and give us the temporary boost necessary to fight or flee.

Oh it feels good, hella good. So good we want the rush even when there’s no emergency. The rollercoaster rides, the spanky bong-chika, the speeding down the Bangkok-Pattaya motorway at two-eighty. The TV people know we love it and they give us our fix. Over and over, night after night and we drink it. Addicts.

Problem is, we need more of it each time to outdo the previous high. Problem is, our minds and bodies use up all the backup power going into terror alert. We have little juice left for the body to do what it was designed to do: fix itself up. So we get sick. Weak. Violent. Frustrated.

The frontal lobe doesn’t develop fully until we’re 25, so many of us have spent our entire childhoods feeding our inner bitch and neglecting our spirits. “Mediate” say the mystics, and some of us heed. Get inspired, get creative and listen for the subtleties. Turn your eyes inwards and let your depths find you. Make love to the rivers, dance with the trees, kiss the sky and flirt with the bees. Philosophize, harmonize, romanticize and synchronize. Activate your third eye and let your angel fly as you open an inter-dimensional vortex and get bong chika wiky wiky with the universe.

These things feed the frontal lobe—but dude its so boring. I don’t have the time. I’ll hit the spa, there’s a new package that says it can revive my spirit. I do yoga, yoga! Isn’t that good?

It’s a start.

Where have all the heroes gone?

Published in Bed Sheets Magazine. December, 2007. Un-edited version follows.

The strawberry is primarily a homosexual fruit. The explosion of juice in the oral cavity resulting from the piercing of the berry’s plump red flesh is entirely inappropriate for a straight, red-blooded male. Females, too, had best stay away from this fruit, unless it is cut into thin portions and eaten with the aid of a fork (or unless said woman is a prostitute).

I have nothing against faggots or whores or their outlandish taste in fruit, but I see the popularity of the strawberry as a symptom of the on-going gay-ification of society. Why, for example, doesn’t the masculine Dragonfruit or the regal Durian have its’ place in popular culture? Have you ever had Dragonfruit ice-cream? Durian flavored green tea?

In our attempts at being inclusive, have we not gone too far?

The generations before us looked up to warriors: the samurai, the cowboy, Gengis Khan, Alexander the Great... even detestable figures like Hitler and Stalin were at once hated yet exalted for their sheer lack of feminine frailty and their brute barbarism.

Who do we look up to today? Bill Gates.

Nelson Mandela. Gandhi. Aung San Su Kyi. His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

What happened? Why have we all turned into yellow-shirt-wearing, peace-loving, thumb sucking, make-tea-not-war clucking, hippies? What happened to the time where Arabs and Jews hated each other? Now we see them putting their 3,000 year old hostilities aside and sitting across negotiating tables to talk about how to share water resources. What happened to India and Pakistan being arch enemies? Now they operate bus services, play cricket matches and even *gasp* send their actors and singers across the borderline to entertain each other.

Crime is down. War is down. Skirts are up. Pants are down.

Most men are confused as hell. The metrosexual movement of the early 00’s may be well behind us, but its effects linger. Many red-blooded hetro’s still think they need to do more than shit, shower and shave before heading out for the night. This is partially fueled by Big Business who cha-ching at the increasingly big market for male cosmetics.

Unbeknownst to them, women are not just turned off by pretty boys but actually threatened that they now have to compete with men, not just women, in their quest for perfection.

Most men reach somewhat of a compromise between God and The Devil. They’ll get that pretty haircut but let some stubble grow. They’ll wear a shiny shirt but pair it with chunky boots. I’m here to tell you my brothers, that’s not gonna work!

Our purpose, our calling from the dawn of humanity is to hunt for wild beasts to bring back to our caves where we are to be adored and satisfied by our eager harem. Men protect, women provide. Men grunt, women giggle. Men command, women obey.

Male dominance in society is blamed for wars and the culture of violence, when the true culprit is distorted masculinity. Unfulfilled passions create repressed desires which come out in ugly and dangerous ways. What are the Taliban if not sexually-repressed schoolboys who’ve grown up and still play with guns? What fuels George Bush’s policy of perpetual war if not the repressed neo-conservative fear of being themselves? Read up on the republican gay sex scandals of 2007 for examples of men who talk about big about morality and get caught repeatedly with their pants down.

Brothers, it is time to claim your masculinity. Be strong and brave hunters as you conquer the world and lead your tribe. We have a million sperm to each woman’s egg. May that inspire us to be bold in our conquests and plant the phallus-shaped flag at the center of our heads so that women from near and far may instantly identify us as the dickheads we are.

The revolution begins now.

If my wife’s ok with it.

Bangkok-Indian Cultural Dimensions

Fat bastard cuts in line when you’re buying movie tix. Do you:
a) Think “mai pen rai, he must be in a hurry”
b) Think “How rude, I hope a bird poops on his head”
c) Tap his shoulder and say “Hey Mister! Please don’t cut in front of me, it really makes me feel bad.”
d) Grab his collar, call him a pucking frick and pound him for five minutes. Look around and notice there’s now a line circumventing you. March to the front and claim your place.

Salesgirl says “mister/madam we have your size…” Do you
a) Check out her merchandise
b) Check out her merchandise and cry internally
c) Tell her how unkind she is for hurting your delicate emotions by implying that you’re so large that your size isn’t standard
d) Chew her ear with big words like “human decency” and “injustice” while waving your arms around knocking over all the merchandise. Demand a discount then pound her. Then buy a smaller size just to show her you’re not that big.

Restaurant serves your food cold and half an hour late. Do you:
a) Eat it quickly before it gets any colder
b) Give the waitress a puppyface then eat it quick before it gets any colder
c) Tell the waitress how she hurt your sensitive feelings
d) Bust into the manager’s room, shove a fork up his rectum and then pound him. When he meekly explains that sushi is supposed to be cold and it’s only been six minutes, pound him some more and say “cold sushi my foot!”

See, back in the late 1960’s an old white guy named Geert Hofstede quizzed people in different countries and split them into different dimensions: Power Distance (PDI), Individualism/Collectivism (IDV), Masculinity/Femininity (MAS), and Uncertainty Avoidance (UAI). Indians, he found, had the highest Power Distance in the world—meaning my people like having everybody else wiggly wormy at our feet.

Indians also had the world’s 3rd highest Masculinity which means we’re rough’n’tough and even our women love a good catfight. Purr-purr! India’s lowest dimension was Uncertainty Avoidance: we don’t like rules and we’re perfectly cool with being a little out-of-control.

But wait—there’s more! See, it takes a wicked Indian like me to figure out that the white guy wasn’t just talking about Indians. His Cultural Dimensions are bang-on about Bangkok circa 2007.

Check this.

PDI, Problems with Democratic Implementation: we like the idea of democracy, hell we love it so much we complain about our governments, overthrow them, and draft new constitutions so often we’re pros at it (except when our Burmese neighbors defy their military rulers and take it to the streets, then we just ignore them, or maybe we’re jealous of their cool-but-inaccurate slogan “The Saffron Revolution”. It’s really more like crimson or cinnamon. Maybe brick.)

IDV, Ignoring Different Voices: Your typical club night is a lesson in sociology. Oh the Indians keep to their corner (close to the bar), the farangs to theirs (edge of the dance floor) the Nigerians to theirs (quick access to the toilets) and bang in the center the Thais and Thai-Chinese. Mandatory musical chairs policy when the Vikster’s Verld Club opens up next April 1^st.

MAS, My Arse is Slippery: When it rains, we slip’n’slide. When it’s hot, we sweat and slip. I hereby declare us the slippy-arse capital of the world. Next.

UAI, United Alcohol Imbibers: Thank gawd for all those chemicals in our drinking water coating our livers. Thailand is the world’s number 5 in alcohol consumption and no, I’m not proud.

Now baby, we’ve talked of Indians and Bangkokians, but to really mash up into the mind of the Bangkok Indian you need to mash up against Dr. Vikster. I’ve done hours of hands-on research at the bhangra nites, facebook walls and the hottest share groups in town. Come sit with me while I give you a lesson. There’s room aplenty on my lap.

Vikster’s Bangkok-Indian Cultural Dimensions:

Accent Switching (ASW)

Our long lost friend comes home for the hols and busts out a swanky American accent and we instantly drop our “lor?” tinged Thindian accent for a chic Californian one. Week later a rel from India drops by and it’s all hanji-hanji like we just fell off the back of a bullock cart from the motherland.

Food Mixing (FMX)

Cholay with som tum anybody? Khao-pad with achaar and yogurt? Our alu tikki spills into our kaeng thai sharing real estate with dhal and sen-mee-pad and somehow that’s perfectly fine? We Thai-Indians have mastered the science of matching the perfect Thai dish to its Indian soul mate. Of course it helps to Indianize the names of Thai dishes so khao-pad sounds more like cow fart.

Hangover Working (HWK)

Drink like Mr.Walker was our uncle and grunt our way through class/work the next day. But then. We're always grunting our way through class/work so nobody notices.

Parent Management System (PMS)

The ‘rents slap a 10 p.m. curfew and Taliban-style dress code? No sweat. The clever Thindian gurly gets her kicks before sunset. There’s always that friend with the dorm near the university because it’s just so unsafe to go home all the way from Srinakharain to Tha Pra (sounds like thappar) late night after class. She keeps a little black cardigan with her to cover up those sexy spag straps and comes home right on time like a perfectly well-mannered respectable Indian girl.

Yogic Driving (YDV)

Just as all Chinese people are kung-fu experts, all Indians are secretly yoga masters. Mundane activities like cutting toenails activate our higher chakras and lotus flowers bloom atop our heads. Sipping a cup of tea lets us swim through the 11 dimensions of the universe and sprinkle fairy dust on all sentient beings. The unique properties of whiskey allow it to flow directly into the left side of our brain, leaving half our heads totally sober. Let old leftie enjoy the boozefest while we save the right brain for more important skills like flirting with the waitress and driving home.

Manboob Concealment (MBC)

There’s a disproportionately high number of Thai-Indian guys with funny lumps on their chests. Granted, men with titties account for only a small percentage of the Thai-Indian population. There are, for example, far more Thai men with titties (owing to the fact that there are no Thai-Indian ladyboys). I’m not talkin’ silicone here, these the Thai-Indian man-boobs have been nursed since childhood with milk and butter; supplemented with ice-cream, pizza, and instant noodles; enriched further with whisky and those addictively good moo pings on Convent Road. Somebody's going to make big bucks producing the male bra (be it the “bro” or the “over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder”) koz this is the market.

Good news is, there are also a disproportionately high number of Indian tailors, and they’re pro's in the art of manboob concealment. A few clever stitches and some strategically placed vertical stripes and those lovelumps look like they were sculpted by Matt Daemon's personal trainer.

Gossip Magnification (GMF)

You started a tale that started the whole world talking? Our love for drama makes us the world's number one talksters. Like that whisper game we played as kids, tell somebody that "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water" and pretty soon the whole town is on fire. Everybody's talking about how shameless Jack was for tricking innocent Jill by taking her all the way up that isolated hill and how they kept on and on fetching all these pails of goodness-knows-what. Just SEE how they walk around with those cheeky smiles as if it was perfectly normal my gawd these young people now days are just too much!

All men are invited to compete in Bangkok's first-ever Mr. Manboob Competition. To enter, send your picture and details to viksters.verld@gmail.com. Vikster's Thai-Indian Cultural Dimensions are totally made up. Comment on this story or read the archives at http://vikstersverld.blogspot.com. Your comments may be published in future articles, anonymous feedback is allowed.

Vikster's Vocab Share Group: See next week's story Hanji-Hanji: The only words in Hindi or Punjabi you'll ever need to know when talking respectfully with elders. Translates to "yes yes". Cholay: Chick peas Achaar: Pickles that tickle Alu Tikki: The Alu Tikki is a mystical gift from the afterworlds. This alchemy of base materials that requires not a master’s hand, but a heart of gold. It is a clear statement of the glory one might attain by living a life of perfect balance and harmony. It is solid proof of God’s existence. This tender potato croquette packs a gushing surge of heat that hints at molten lava is encased nonchalantly in a tissue-thin carbon crust that recalls sun baked volcanic ash. Atop this exoskeleton sits chutney. Mighty and proud, chutney does not begin to describe this exquisite tamarind emulsion. Sweet, tart and pungent clinging for dear life to this puck-shaped wonder with the determination of an octopus’ tentacles sucking the ocean surface. This chutney is at once thick, and yet weightless, with the litheness of a hovering Tibetan monk making love to a ballet dancer. The Tikki’s outer crust has no reason to ever suspect its amorous intruder. The chutnification process is the yin to the Tikki’s yang. The Shiva to its Shakti—yet the pure Tikki-wala (a Tikki craftsman) is well aware of the textural crunch vital to completing perfect the Tikki. Upon the chutney layer, the Tikki-wala lovingly balances some shredded carrots and turnips adding a final precarious flourish the Alu Tikki w/ Chutney. Dhal: Lentels Thappar: Slap

Bestselling Author / Comedian / Investor urges Vikster to be a Monkey, not a Monk

A high-flying, high-stakes writer-gone-rich recently took time away from the Mile High Club to meet Vikster for drinks. He give Vikster a signed copy of his best selling book and lashed out the following pep talk in response to the controversy (including threats of police action, harassment of Vikster's family members, and accusations of racism) generated by this article. Read the original story and the author's response, a double page spread in the Bangkok Post Newspaper's Guru Magazine.

Wow! Its like just landing from a Time Machine!

Kushwant Singh or Russell Peters didnt happen? The Kumars shifted from No. 42 to .. what? 32? What are you saying: Mind Your Language didnt mind but Kruengthep does? It Aint Half Hot Mom became a cold Bhaji? Pinch me, somebody! What a bizaaare correspondence!! Am I in now back in The Punjabi Enclave That Time Forgot ! (-- Remind me, someone, not to throw a coke can out of my aeroplane over Sukhumvit!).

Hey, whats going on here? A jokester stands up to make you laugh and you want to PILLORY him? Are we in the F*&%$ MIDDLE ages? You're mad at the guy cause he talks about HAIR and hair OIL? Arranged marriages? About Indian television? THIS is what makes you hot under the turban? (Whats coming next: a sloganfest in BKPost or a demonstration in Siam Square?) .

Who exactly are you worried about? Are you worried about what fellow-Thais (liberal minded folks who publish your rantings, even!) will think of you? Is it the Khaik next door? Who is THAT worried about your false and overblown 'dignity', oye Thai-Punjabi? Are you worried about looking at wonky mirror at the fairground? You, Oy Punjabi? You who come from a land of warriors, of laughter, of danciing drums that churns the blood and and a fertile earth that could and often does feed most of the rest of India? Oyee Ballaaaaay!

Some guy makes our funny foibles interesting enough to appear in the 'mainstream' media and you castigate him instead of breaking out the laddoos (with varak, if you please!)? Listen, I know that some of our forefathers in India and those of the colonial diaspora had to remain self-effacing and scurry about sometimes instead of walking Punjabi-tall.. and that false humility was woven into our genes (soffly soffly catchee dollah, Heyah?). Ok... Okay!!

But hey, hallelujah! Gather round, fellow Punjabis, I have good news for you: We dont have to stay under the radar ANY MORE ---- because (with Indian minds and in Indian factories!) we MAKE the f&^$@ radar now, capish??!!

Listen: (Make Notes, please!): News Flash:The colonial overlords all went home, all over the world, quite a few decades ago! ( Presumably for a spot of tea and kippers.)

Yippee! Spread the word (Are you noting this down?): We are free! Muang Thai, baaaby! We can be who we are or want to be! Our poets are free to write our songs in hip hop and bhangra if they choose to! We are free to make faces, pinch our cheeks and pigtails! Free to get rich beyond the dreams of avarice! Our jesters are free to laugh at ourselves and the world! Wheeeeeee!

And the only folks we -- certainly I do!-- have to be afraid of henceforth is YOU lathi-weilding Little-Endians who are trying trying to scalp this Vikster who dares to hold up a funny looking egg to your face in jest and in laughter!

Yo, dudes! Dont chuck juttis at the Vikster ... Chuck marigolds, chuck jasmine, chuck barfees... oye, bhappa, CHUCK DE!

Quick, someone PUHLEEZE build a statue to this Vikster guy for LIVING in Thailand where I have chosen to re-settle just recently....may he stay here forever and continue to amuse me! AND puhleeze dont forget to build another one for his editor --- who had the testicular fortitude to put a double page spread to air this discussion!

The Vikster is good, because his voice is true and funny. Naturally, it resonates with the young. Young who have a past, sure, but also a future! Tradidition should not be a weight that bows you down but the wind beneat your wings, and a song that sets you free!

And so my message to the Vikster today is: DONT STOP THE FUN! DONT DILUTE! And most importantly: DONT LET THE TURKEYS TAKE THE SONG AND THE LAUGHTER OUT OF YOUR VOICE!

And so also, I say unto you Little-Endians, re-read Swift, and laugh at yourselves and the world, with The Vikster.

Laughter is where life truly lives.

And enjoy your uniqueness, oye Punjabi! In dull, drab world: flaunt it, write it, sing it, dance it, CELEBRATE it!

If you truly love your culture, that is what will make it grow, evolve, survive!

Vikster Shaves Head, Becomes Monk

Overwhelmed by deep regret for bringing shame and embarrassment to his community; and in solidarity with the oppressed Burmese monks, Vikster joined a forest monastery. Future columns will feature discourses on living according to the Noble Eightfold Path.

Crying Indians Laughing Indians: Vikster Explains Himself

This double page spread in the Bangkok Post Newspaper's Guru Magazine is the author's response to the controversy caused by his satire published a week prior.

My grandfather’s coffin went bump-bump-bump as I spoke with Voranai. One hour to my dearly departed grandfather’s cremation, sitting on the coffin-bus and my editor was on the phone in frenzy. “Have you been checking your mails?” he asked.

"No" I replied, "I'm on my way to... a... um... a meeting."

“I’ve been getting calls all morning. It’s pretty serious.” He told me of angry women crying on the phone. Of treats to shut down the Bangkok Post, reporting them to the Indian Embassy, and claims that the police were on their way to his office. A police report? “On what charge?” he asked.

“For accusing Indians of being hairy” one of his callers replied.

My first article was published in this magazine last week. The Punjabi Playa’s Guide was a cheeky advice column full of misinformation and exaggeration about Bangkok’s Punjabi community to which I belong.

After the funeral rites I went home, washed my hair and checked my email. 23 messages and one blog post complimenting me vs. three angry emails that Friday evening. I called the editor back, “what’s the fuss?” I asked him. At the time of this writing, I have received around 35 messages complimenting my work and six complaints. I hear that a very angry group is writing to the Bangkok Post.

Voranai told me that I had some explaining to do. I had until Monday to write a new article telling his angry Indian readers exactly what mischief I’m up to.

I’m not a diplomat or a philosopher. I don’t have a PhD in Thai-Indian culture and I don’t speak on behalf of all Thai-Indians. I’m not even being paid. I hope other Indians express themselves publicly, and I’m sure there’s more to talk about than Bollywood and Indian restaurants. I welcome your comments, good or bad. I provide a space for all your opinions. Debate is good.

I’ll explain myself, but be gentle. I’m just here to tell a few jokes to entertain my generation. This is a lifestyle and entertainment magazine. Feedback shows that the majority loves my comedy and wants me to continue.

Here’s an email from somebody who disagrees: [Brackets added by me]

Subject: how dare u insult we indians
raise your voice against this article !!!!

well mr […] the one who thinks he knows indians very well & the siamese wanna be .... but sounds to be like a jerk for the rest of the world. we know you work for the siamese but that doesnt mean you should be butterin them up by insulting indians...!!! every indian men,women,kids & old ppl are against your article in guru magazine page 12 about punjabi's ...what r u if not namthari's [Namdharis are a type of Sikh] or hindu but hey dude you still fall in the hairy categories so watch out before you speak !!!

the overall page plus the words used are soooooooo rude, full of nonsense & bullshit. you should have been slapped non-stop. you mentioned about being hairy wellll you are one of them.... we do know that we hate being hairy but that doesnt mean that we are ashamed about being an indian...& dude about waxing this is 20th century they have something called laser which not only indians are allowed but every race ... i've seen so many siamese & the gora's [westerners] doin it ... so next time before you published such a shit article do find out more !!!

about the zee tv i think u must be complaining about your mom & grandmom who has nothin else to do besides being a potato couch watching childish zee tv soap thats y such a childish son is born from her soaps womb !!! and hey btw the zee tv has more sense than thai tv .... with all those nonsense screamings & servants role !!!

and about the long hair with the vatika oil i think your sister is the only indians using it in thailand or your mom still forced your dad to put it on his hair.....HELLLLL00000 it wud me more appropriate if you could just say baby johnson oil !!!!!

about the arrange marriage may b ur m0m just fix urs like what last weeek..??? and hey if sum1 has da $$$$$$ to study abroad wats up ur ass???? y are siamese studyin abroad ....????

and hey facebook & hi5 are used worldwide not only in indians in bkk ....does that means all the siamese & americans r also jerks....EVEN THE SIAMESE HAVE 1 OF THHOSE PROFILE & HEY JERK STOP SURFING ONLY SHAADI.COM [an Indian matrimonial service] WEBSITES FINDIN A NICE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW FROM INDIA 4 UR MOM !!!

Hands up those of you who believed I was writing a genuine advice column last week. Nobody, Indains, Thais or “Goras” took that article seriously. The positive comments were from Bangkok-Indians, mostly female, who joined me in laughing at ourselves.

A human-rights activist and my friend, Pooja, had the following to say about me in her blog (read the complete story on http://beyond-skin.blogspot.com/ ):

His first article […] touches upon [our] idiosyncrasies and says “yes, we are a little pathetic, but we know how to laugh at ourselves because we’ve come a long way since spinach farming.” […] he addresses the stereotypes with humour and mischief rather than perpetuating this idea that Indians only have the authority to discuss yoga and bhangra. I hope other Indians in Bangkok are able to also pick up on [his] thinly-veiled challenge: is this who we want to be, or can we redefine ourselves?

The ability to laugh at ourselves represents a maturity among the majority of readers who contacted me. It’s a sign that we’re not ashamed. Let the world see us for who we really are: beautiful and tacky.

I’ve been accused of not being a “proud” Punjabi. Pride doesn’t mean sweeping our embarrassing quirks under the carpet. I love my culture: the wonderful parts and the silly. By identifying the silly parts we can start to change them (if, at all they need changing). It also makes us more human. Why lie that we’re perfect? We’re human, we have flaws. Be proud of the flaws!

There was a time when we had to hide. Unlike the Chinese, we rarely married Thais. Our distinctive look set us apart so we remained in our small incestuous communities. We were avoided and misunderstood by the public and we did precious little to change their views. This has resulted in some deep insecurities. Some of us walk around with a chip on our shoulders, ready to pounce on anybody who might be laughing. We developed a fierce conservatism.

The conservative ideology is based on fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of change. Fear of being individuals in public because we’re so used to being shot down and laughed at. Sisters and brothers, times have changed!

We’re approaching a cultural renaissance. People don’t necessarily hate us, sometimes they’re just curious. In most cases they’re so busy in their own lives they don’t care either way. Sure they have stereotypes about us, but we have stereotypes about them too, don’t we? Should we pretend those stereotypes don’t exist? Perhaps the stereotypes mean we should look in the mirror and see if there’s somebody in there that could use some improvement.

My dear grandfather worked hard to build a good life here, as did many of yours’. Did they mean for us to remain insular? Laughing at ourselves and sharing the joke with Thais and Expats doesn’t mean we’re becoming liberal.
The liberal mentality is equally as unstable as conservatism. It suggests that we don’t care about the past; it hints that we're letting go of our values, and that maybe we’re being too influenced by “the others”.

That’s not what modern Thai-Indians are about. If anything we’re re-inventing ourselves. We're creating a new definition of what it means to be Thai-Indian. We love our Sikhism, our Hinduism and we’re taking it forward. We’re integrating with other cultures and learning form them, and they’re learning from us. The term for this isn’t “liberal”, it’s “progressive”.

One of the most enjoyable ways to teach others is through humor. Admit it; we laugh at our own Sardar (and Gujju and Sindhi) jokes. Are Sardars really as silly as the jokes make them seem? Are all Sindhis stingy? No. We find the jokes funny because there's something in the stereotypes we relate to.
There's nothing wrong with Vatika Oil even though most Bangkok Indians don’t use it (I use Johnson’s Baby Oil as my angry reader suggests). All of us know somebody's somebody who's addicted to Zee TV. It's funny; it’s a quirk of ours. We're mature enough to laugh at our quirks. Our forward messages, magazines and movies have material far worse than my Punjabi Playa’s Guide. V.S. Naipaul and Kushwant Singh have been bashing their own tribe for years. Russell Peters and co. laugh at their fellow Indians for a living, and everybody (Indians and non-Indians) loves their comedy. I’m peanuts compared to them!

Our communities have grown and diversified. Diversification brings an acceptance of who are and identification of areas needing improvement. I’m a symptom of change. My views aren’t unique. Shoot me down and you’ll have ten more Viksters’ pop up. Join me and we can grow together.

Indians are in all levels of Thai society. Sure we dominate textiles, real estate and jewelry but we’ve also moved far beyond that. We’ve become entertainers, thinkers, social workers and scientists. We’re doctors and lawyers and business executives. There’s nothing tacky about that.

We’re far more comfortable than we’ve ever been!

Sit back, grab some tea and pakoras and laugh with me.

Next week I go back to telling jokes.

As published in Guru Magazine, 14th September 2007.