Slope 45
10 years ago
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Art of Communication: What's the right question?
Jeevan and Mahesh are on the way to a religious service. Jeevan wonders whether it would be all right to smoke while praying.
Mahesh replies, "Why don't you ask the Pujari Ji?"
So Jeevan goes up to the Pujari Ji and asks," Pujari Ji , may I smoke while I pray?"
But the Pujari Ji says, "No, my son, you may not. That's utter disrespect to our religion."
Jeevan goes back to his friend and tells him what the good Pujari Ji told him. Mahesh says, "I'm not surprised. You asked the wrong question. Let me try."
And so Mahesh goes up to the Pujari Ji and asks, "Pujari Ji , may I pray while I smoke?"
To which the Pujari Ji eagerly replies, "By all means, my son. By all means."
Moral: The reply we get depends on the question we ask.
For example: Can I work on this project while I'm on Holidays?
[Ed: This joke is based on an actual incident involving Swami Vivekananda's guru Ramakrishna Paramhans. Ramakrishna used to chant his prayers all through the day, except when, every morning, he would go to the woods to relieve himself. As he grew old, he used to need a disciple's help in walking to the latrine.
The disciple asked, "Swamiji, why do you stop praying while you are relieving yourself?"
Ramakrishna, obviously, said, "Because it is not good to be defecating while I pray."
And the disciple said, "But swamiji, why do you pray at all other times?"
Ramakrishna replied, "Because I want the Lord's name to be on my lips when I die."
The devoted disciple reasoned, "Swamiji, death can come at any time, even when you are relieving yourself. You think defecating while you pray is bad, but it can't be bad to pray while you defecate."
Thereafter, Ramakrishna was praying every waking minute.]
Mahesh replies, "Why don't you ask the Pujari Ji?"
So Jeevan goes up to the Pujari Ji and asks," Pujari Ji , may I smoke while I pray?"
But the Pujari Ji says, "No, my son, you may not. That's utter disrespect to our religion."
Jeevan goes back to his friend and tells him what the good Pujari Ji told him. Mahesh says, "I'm not surprised. You asked the wrong question. Let me try."
And so Mahesh goes up to the Pujari Ji and asks, "Pujari Ji , may I pray while I smoke?"
To which the Pujari Ji eagerly replies, "By all means, my son. By all means."
Moral: The reply we get depends on the question we ask.
For example: Can I work on this project while I'm on Holidays?
[Ed: This joke is based on an actual incident involving Swami Vivekananda's guru Ramakrishna Paramhans. Ramakrishna used to chant his prayers all through the day, except when, every morning, he would go to the woods to relieve himself. As he grew old, he used to need a disciple's help in walking to the latrine.
The disciple asked, "Swamiji, why do you stop praying while you are relieving yourself?"
Ramakrishna, obviously, said, "Because it is not good to be defecating while I pray."
And the disciple said, "But swamiji, why do you pray at all other times?"
Ramakrishna replied, "Because I want the Lord's name to be on my lips when I die."
The devoted disciple reasoned, "Swamiji, death can come at any time, even when you are relieving yourself. You think defecating while you pray is bad, but it can't be bad to pray while you defecate."
Thereafter, Ramakrishna was praying every waking minute.]
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
The travails of single South-Indian men
"The Travails of Single South Indian men of conservative upbringing" or "Why we don't get any..."
Yet another action packed weekend in Mumbai, full of fun, frolic and introspection. I have learnt many things. For example having money when none of your friends have any is as good as not having any. And after spending much time in movie theatres, cafes and restaurants I have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most disheartening. Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant, well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kandus were once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)
Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks otherwise. Name him "Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy" and his inherent capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart, seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His investment banking job doesn't help either. His employer loves him though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40% is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he cant use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with all the girls.
Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just name the poor southern male child and throw him off the balcony. "Yes appa we have named him Goundamani..." THUD. Life would have been less kinder to him anyway.
If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry casanovas with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks. Picture this: "Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponnalagusamy (er.. hello..).." Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan Seminary.
Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence. Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there. However the northy just has to scream "Wakaw!!!" and you have to peel the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin Thapar in the low cut jeans with chaddi strap showing and see through shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gall to talk of foreign origin.)
How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts? All I can do is don my worn "comfort fit" jeans and floral shirt. Which is pretty low on the "Look at me lady" scale, just above fig leaf skirt and feather headgear a la caveman, and a mite below Khakhi Shirt over a red t shirt and baggy khakhi pants and white trainers a la Rajni in "Badsha".
Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three grandparents, three sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children. Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated "WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!" at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks.
Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We are just not built to be "The Ladies Man". The black man has hip hop, the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and whispers back "But amma has said only on second saturdays..."
In one last effort here we attractive young men have taken on alter egos which may interest some of you women:
1. Gautam Kumar Raja, will now be known as Joshua Perreira
2. Sidin Sunny Vadukut, henceforth will be known as Dev Chopra
3. Ashwath Venkataraman is now Vijay Desai
4. Sudarshan Ramakrishnan no more, from now he is Barath Sharma
5. Gautam Chandrasekharan will now respond to Alyque Shah
Do mail me any time for a meeting with one of the above. One week notice if Italian or Chinese food is involved, or if the individual is expected to dance.
[Ed: This is actually an original blog entry by Sidin Vadukut http://sidin.blogspot.com/2004/05/travails-of-single-south-indian-men-of.html]
Yet another action packed weekend in Mumbai, full of fun, frolic and introspection. I have learnt many things. For example having money when none of your friends have any is as good as not having any. And after spending much time in movie theatres, cafes and restaurants I have gathered many insights into the endless monotony that is the love life of south Indian men. What I have unearthed is most disheartening. Disheartening because comprehension of these truths will not change our status anytime soon. However there is also cause for joy. We never stood a chance anyway. What loads the dice against virile, gallant, well educated, good looking, sincere mallus and tams? (Kandus were once among us, but Bangalore has changed all that.)
Our futures are shot to hell as soon as our parents bestow upon us names that are anything but alluring. I cannot imagine a more foolproof way of making sure the child remains single till classified advertisements or that maternal uncle in San Francisco thinks otherwise. Name him "Parthasarathy Venkatachalapthy" and his inherent capability to combat celibacy is obliterated before he could even talk. He will grow to be known as Partha. Before he knows, his smart, seductively named northy classmates start calling him Paratha. No woman in their right minds will go anyway near poor Parthasarathy. His investment banking job doesn't help either. His employer loves him though. He has no personal life you see. By this time the Sanjay Singhs and Bobby Khans from his class have small businesses of their own and spend 60% of their lives in discos and pubs. The remaining 40% is spent coochicooing with leather and denim clad muses in their penthouse flats on Nepean Sea Road. Business is safely in the hands of the Mallu manager. After all with a name like Blossom Babykutty he cant use his 30000 salary anywhere. Blossom gave up on society when in school they automatically enrolled him for Cookery Classes. Along with all the girls.
Yes my dear reader, nomenclature is the first nail in a coffin of neglect and hormonal pandemonium. In a kinder world they would just name the poor southern male child and throw him off the balcony. "Yes appa we have named him Goundamani..." THUD. Life would have been less kinder to him anyway.
If all the women the Upadhyays, Kumars, Pintos and, god forbid, the Sens and Roys in the world have met were distributed amongst the Arunkumars, Vadukuts and Chandramogans we would all be merry casanovas with 3 to 4 pretty things at each arm. But alas it is not to be. Of course the south Indian women have no such issues. They have names which are like sweet poetry to the ravenous northie hormone tanks. Picture this: "Welcome, and this is my family. This is my daughter Poorni (what a sweet name!!) and my son Ponnalagusamy (er.. hello..).." Cyanide would not be fast enough for poor Samy. Nothing Samy does will help him. He can pump iron, drive fast cars and wear snazzy clothes, but against a braindead dude called Arjun Singhania he has as much chance of getting any as a Benedictine Monk in a Saharan Seminary.
Couple this with the other failures that have plagued our existence. Any attempt at spiking hair with gel fails miserably. In an hour I have a crown of greasy, smelly fibrous mush. My night ends there. However the northy just has to scream "Wakaw!!!" and you have to peel the women off him to let him breathe. In a disco while we can manage the medium hip shake with neck curls, once the Bhangra starts pumping we are as fluid as cement and gravel in a mixer. Karan Kapoor or Jatin Thapar in the low cut jeans with chaddi strap showing and see through shirt throws his elbows perfectly, the cynosure of all attention. The women love a man who digs pasta and fondue. But why do they not see the simple pleasures of curd rice and coconut chutney? When poor Senthilnathan opens his tiffin box in the office lunch room his female coworkers just dissappear when they see the tamarind rice and poppadums. The have all rematerialised around Bobby Singh who has ordered in Pizza and Garlic bread. (And they have the gall to talk of foreign origin.)
How can a man like me brought up in roomy lungis and oversized polyester shirts ever walk the walk in painted on jeans (that makes a big impression) and neon yellow rib hugging t shirts? All I can do is don my worn "comfort fit" jeans and floral shirt. Which is pretty low on the "Look at me lady" scale, just above fig leaf skirt and feather headgear a la caveman, and a mite below Khakhi Shirt over a red t shirt and baggy khakhi pants and white trainers a la Rajni in "Badsha".
Sociologically too the tam or mallu man is severely sidelined. An average tam stud stays in a house with, on average, three grandparents, three sets of uncles and aunts, and over 10 children. Not the ideal atmosphere for some intimacy and some full throated "WHOSE YOUR DADDY!!!" at the 3 in the morning. The mallu guy of course is almost always in the gulf working alone on some onshore oil rig in the desert. Rheumatic elbows me thinks.
Alas dear friends we are not just meant to set the nights on fire. We are just not built to be "The Ladies Man". The black man has hip hop, the white man has rock, the southie guy only has idlis and tomato rasam or an NRI account in South Indian Bank Ernakulam Branch. Alas as our destiny was determined in one fell swoop by our nomenclature, so will our future be. A nice arranged little love story. But the agony of course does not end there. On the first night, as the stud sits on his bed finally within touching distance and whispers his sweet desires into her delectable ear, she blushes, turns around and whispers back "But amma has said only on second saturdays..."
In one last effort here we attractive young men have taken on alter egos which may interest some of you women:
1. Gautam Kumar Raja, will now be known as Joshua Perreira
2. Sidin Sunny Vadukut, henceforth will be known as Dev Chopra
3. Ashwath Venkataraman is now Vijay Desai
4. Sudarshan Ramakrishnan no more, from now he is Barath Sharma
5. Gautam Chandrasekharan will now respond to Alyque Shah
Do mail me any time for a meeting with one of the above. One week notice if Italian or Chinese food is involved, or if the individual is expected to dance.
[Ed: This is actually an original blog entry by Sidin Vadukut http://sidin.blogspot.com/2004/05/travails-of-single-south-indian-men-of.html]
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
VIDEO: Conan O'Brien on Indian Call-centers
7 mts 49 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Conan O'Brien Late Night Show staff writer Andy Blitz traverses the seven seas to seek a cure for his computer. Hilarious!
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Conan O'Brien Late Night Show staff writer Andy Blitz traverses the seven seas to seek a cure for his computer. Hilarious!
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
Sunday, September 19, 2004
VIDEO: We Were Humans
3 mts 10 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Lucca Co's presentation for peace.
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Lucca Co's presentation for peace.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Friday, September 10, 2004
Smart Asian kid in American history class
A smart Japanese child joined a new primary school when her family moved to the United States. Her first American class was on world historical events!! The
teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American History:"
Who said 'Give me Liberty, or give me Death?'"
She saw a sea of blank faces, except for Suzuki, who had her hand up.
"Patrick Henry,1775." She said.
"Very good! Who said 'Government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the Earth'"
Again, no response except from Suzuki.
"Abraham Lincoln, 1863."
The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed. Suzuki, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do.
She heard a loud whisper: "F**k the Japs."
"Who said that?" she demanded.
Suzuki put her hand up. "Lee Iacocca, 1982."
At that point, a student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke [vomit]"
The teacher glares and asks "All right! Now, who said that?"
Again, Suzuki says, "George Bush [Sr.] to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."
Now furious, another student yells, "Oh yeah? Suck this!"
Suzuki jumps out of her chair waving his hand and shouts to the teacher, "Bill Clinton, to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"
Now with almost a mob hysteria someone said, "You little shit. If you say anything else, I'll kill you."
Suzuki frantically yells at the top of his voice, "[California Congressman] Gary Condit to Chandra Levy 2001."
The teacher fainted.
And as the class gathered around the teacher on the floor, someone said, "Oh shit, we're f**ked!"
Suzuki said, "Americans,... in Iraq 2004!"
teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American History:"
Who said 'Give me Liberty, or give me Death?'"
She saw a sea of blank faces, except for Suzuki, who had her hand up.
"Patrick Henry,1775." She said.
"Very good! Who said 'Government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the Earth'"
Again, no response except from Suzuki.
"Abraham Lincoln, 1863."
The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed. Suzuki, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do.
She heard a loud whisper: "F**k the Japs."
"Who said that?" she demanded.
Suzuki put her hand up. "Lee Iacocca, 1982."
At that point, a student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke [vomit]"
The teacher glares and asks "All right! Now, who said that?"
Again, Suzuki says, "George Bush [Sr.] to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."
Now furious, another student yells, "Oh yeah? Suck this!"
Suzuki jumps out of her chair waving his hand and shouts to the teacher, "Bill Clinton, to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"
Now with almost a mob hysteria someone said, "You little shit. If you say anything else, I'll kill you."
Suzuki frantically yells at the top of his voice, "[California Congressman] Gary Condit to Chandra Levy 2001."
The teacher fainted.
And as the class gathered around the teacher on the floor, someone said, "Oh shit, we're f**ked!"
Suzuki said, "Americans,... in Iraq 2004!"
Stress Release
Click here to download the stress release file.
Once downloaded, double-click on it to execute it. The computer might give you a warning, but just proceed...the computer will give a warning for any executable file...this file has no viruses.
Once downloaded, double-click on it to execute it. The computer might give you a warning, but just proceed...the computer will give a warning for any executable file...this file has no viruses.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Friday, September 03, 2004
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
The Ten Commandments (of Marriage)
Commandment 1. Marriages are made in heaven. But then again, are thunder and lightning.
Commandment 2. If you want your wife to listen and pay strict attention to every word you say, talk in your sleep.
Commandment 3. Marriage is grand - and divorce is at least 100 grand!
Commandment 4. Married life is very frustrating. In the first year of marriage, the man speaks and the woman listens. In the second year, the woman speaks and the man listens. In the third year, they both speak and the neighbours listen.
Commandment 5. When a man opens the door of his car for his wife, you can be sure of one thing: Either the car is new or the wife is.
Commandment 6. Marriage is when a man and woman become as one; The trouble starts when they try to decide which one.
Commandment 7. Before marriage, a man will lie awake all night thinking about something you say. After marriage, he will fall asleep before you finish.
Commandment 8. Every man wants a wife who is beautiful, understanding, economical, and a good cook. But the law allows only one wife.
Commandment 9. Marriage and love are purely matter of chemistry. That is why the wife treats the husband like toxic waste.
Commandment 10. A man is incomplete until he is married. After that, he is finished.
Bonus Commandment story. A long married couple came upon a wishing well. The wife leaned over, made a wish and threw in a penny. The husband decided to make a wish too. But he leaned over too much, fell into the well, and drowned. The wife was stunned for a moment but then smiled, "Wow!This stuff really works!"
[Ed: I don't know why the writer called them "commandments"...these seem more like statements]
Commandment 2. If you want your wife to listen and pay strict attention to every word you say, talk in your sleep.
Commandment 3. Marriage is grand - and divorce is at least 100 grand!
Commandment 4. Married life is very frustrating. In the first year of marriage, the man speaks and the woman listens. In the second year, the woman speaks and the man listens. In the third year, they both speak and the neighbours listen.
Commandment 5. When a man opens the door of his car for his wife, you can be sure of one thing: Either the car is new or the wife is.
Commandment 6. Marriage is when a man and woman become as one; The trouble starts when they try to decide which one.
Commandment 7. Before marriage, a man will lie awake all night thinking about something you say. After marriage, he will fall asleep before you finish.
Commandment 8. Every man wants a wife who is beautiful, understanding, economical, and a good cook. But the law allows only one wife.
Commandment 9. Marriage and love are purely matter of chemistry. That is why the wife treats the husband like toxic waste.
Commandment 10. A man is incomplete until he is married. After that, he is finished.
Bonus Commandment story. A long married couple came upon a wishing well. The wife leaned over, made a wish and threw in a penny. The husband decided to make a wish too. But he leaned over too much, fell into the well, and drowned. The wife was stunned for a moment but then smiled, "Wow!This stuff really works!"
[Ed: I don't know why the writer called them "commandments"...these seem more like statements]
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Ads I Love: Double A Paper
0 mts 30 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
This ad takes a rather risqué approach that is very unusual for a paper company, though the fact that the company is Dutch does, to some extent, explain it.
The setup is a copy center. A very attractive girl walks in just as a young man gets done with his work, places a reem of Double A paper on a slab and goes out. He does not, of course, leave uncharmed by the captivating lady.
Alone in the copy room, the girl finds that the copier tray does not have the paper she wants. The reems she needs to refill the copier tray are placed too high for her to reach. Thus she climbs up on the copier machine in order to get a reem of Double A paper.
In the meantime, the guy realizes that he made a mistake...copied the wrong papers? left the originals in the room? So he goes back to the copy room.
In the copy room, the hot girl has mounted the copier, and as she is reaching for the reem, she accidentally presses the copy button, and the copier starts printing photocopies of her private area.
Yes, it IS a real ad. Go to http://www.doubleapaper.nl/sites/nl/double_reclame.asp and click on "Commercials". Then, of the three images, click on the middle one.
The first commercial at the site is equally breezy, even salacious. I must say, though, that I like the last one even better. A color copier is churning out copies of toasted bread. SUPER: No Jam. VO: Double A Paper: The smoothest paper to go into, and come out of your copier.
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
This ad takes a rather risqué approach that is very unusual for a paper company, though the fact that the company is Dutch does, to some extent, explain it.
The setup is a copy center. A very attractive girl walks in just as a young man gets done with his work, places a reem of Double A paper on a slab and goes out. He does not, of course, leave uncharmed by the captivating lady.
Alone in the copy room, the girl finds that the copier tray does not have the paper she wants. The reems she needs to refill the copier tray are placed too high for her to reach. Thus she climbs up on the copier machine in order to get a reem of Double A paper.
In the meantime, the guy realizes that he made a mistake...copied the wrong papers? left the originals in the room? So he goes back to the copy room.
In the copy room, the hot girl has mounted the copier, and as she is reaching for the reem, she accidentally presses the copy button, and the copier starts printing photocopies of her private area.
Yes, it IS a real ad. Go to http://www.doubleapaper.nl/sites/nl/double_reclame.asp and click on "Commercials". Then, of the three images, click on the middle one.
The first commercial at the site is equally breezy, even salacious. I must say, though, that I like the last one even better. A color copier is churning out copies of toasted bread. SUPER: No Jam. VO: Double A Paper: The smoothest paper to go into, and come out of your copier.
VIDEO: Korean Laodung Noodles
0 mts 41 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Ads I Love: Mazda 2 - Way to Park
0 mts 35 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
This commercial plays on the common notion that women can't park/ have trouble parking. Even as a couple of truckers are mocking her, and declaring that "she's never gonna get in there", our protagonist demonstrates the control, maneuverability, small size and coolness of the Mazda by parking it in a very tight spot in an ingenious way.
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
This commercial plays on the common notion that women can't park/ have trouble parking. Even as a couple of truckers are mocking her, and declaring that "she's never gonna get in there", our protagonist demonstrates the control, maneuverability, small size and coolness of the Mazda by parking it in a very tight spot in an ingenious way.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Sunday, August 15, 2004
VIDEO: Miley Sur Mera Tumhara
5 mts 47 secs
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Finally, people, after a long and frustrating search, I have managed to procure the Doordarshan/ DAVP national integration film from yesteryears. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby present for your viewing pleasure the real, the original Miley Sur Mera Tumhara video. Remember, you saw it here first.
And happy independence day folks!
Click on the image above, and then click on play button once it becomes available.
Finally, people, after a long and frustrating search, I have managed to procure the Doordarshan/ DAVP national integration film from yesteryears. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby present for your viewing pleasure the real, the original Miley Sur Mera Tumhara video. Remember, you saw it here first.
And happy independence day folks!
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