Monday, 29 July 2013

Some thoughts

A lot has been going through my head. So much that I am unable to figure out where one thought ends and the other begins. The only way I can get them to appear even slightly coherent is if I try to write it down.So here’s me typing each and every word that comes into my mind. I do not want to think ahead about what I am writing. i want it to be a catharsis; complete. I do not want to stop to correct any errors or typos, because this is just my thoughts flowing out, so it is bound to stumble and change directions.. .Any stream would do that, and so will this.

Why did I want to write? Because I was feeling a little low. My ramadan hasn’t been going the way I planned it to, and now that there’s only 10 days left I am filled with this intense regret and inexplicable grief at what I’ve allowed to take place. I let myself slack, I let myself slow down, I let myself procrastinate. All when I knew this might be the last time I get to witness this blessed month. I feel hypocritical. Am I portraying one image and living another life? I don’t want that to happen because Allah says that hypocrites are the worst of the people. So I find myself coming back, again and again, to the same question- “who am I doing it for?” Do my actions and intentions overlap? Did I do this to please Allah or to feed my ego?

And frankly, it is terrifying.

The last 10 days of Ramadan, the most blessed days one can experience, have come upon us and I am here thinking am I even in right frame. Did I even start the car in the first place, before embarking on this spiritual journey?
It is quite depressing and writing about it makes me feel even worse. But I am doing it anyway because there might be others like me who feel they haven’t done enough (Or anything, actually Sad smile). This post is to pull me, and you out, of this rut. Yes, we are stuck. And yes it’s horrible. But do we just sit around and mope about it? No.

1/3rd of Ramadan is still with us. And, all praise be to Allah, it’s still not too late.

Allah is the most merciful. He forgives and he loves to forgive! So this is the chance to shake off the dust that we managed to bury our soul under and polish our Eeman. Let’s be proactive and not let a single precious second escape without it being used to wipe away our sins or earn us more reward.
The gates of heaven are open and beckoning us. It’s waiting for us to make that one du’a, to shed that one tear of repentance, to give that one note in charity.  Are we ready to go back to Allah? I am. In shaa Allah.

So my du’a for the next 10 days-
Allahumma innaka ‘afuwwun tuhibbul ‘afwa fa’fu ‘annee
( “O Allah You are The One Who pardons greatly, and loves to pardon, so pardon me.”)

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

A Muslim's perspective on God

I have shied away from writing anything in detail about spirituality or religion for a long time now. Faith is something intensely personal, and rightly so. But in this globalized era what's personal has become political. And as one can see from the news, the geopolitics of faith have become more important than the principles of it. Which is quite sad.

So this post is my effort to introduce you to God, from a Muslim perspective. I am not here to proselytize. My only intention is to shed all pretenses and barriers around me and just tell you what God means to me and what place religion occupies in a Muslim's life. I hope you will benefit from this post and will be encouraged to do your own research on this religion. 

At the core of the Islamic faith is the principle of Tawheed, which translates into Oneness of God. God is One. He has no parents, no wife, no husband and no children. Among His attributes is that He is like nothing else we know of. He is not needy like humans are. This is best surmised in Chapter 112 of Qur'an- Surah Ikhlas (The Sincerity):

Say, "He is Allah , [who is] One,
Allah , the Eternal Refuge.
He neither begets nor is born,
Nor is there to Him any equivalent."

This chapter makes it explicit that God, the creator, is different from us humans, His creations. God doesn't have any weaknesses, we do. Thus, we believers don't attribute any image or idol to him because He is beyond this worldly realm and what we procure from our imagination can never ever come close to portraying Him in all His majesty. 

The word Islam means 'Submission to God' and a follower of Islam is a Muslim i.e One who submits himself completely to God. This is what makes Islam a way of life. For a Muslim, the sole purpose of life is to worship and please God almighty. Thus, everything we do in our day to day lives is informed by that love for God. So a Muslim strives on a daily basis to rise above the distractions of the material world (dunya) to worship the Owner of the world(s). 

To make it easier for us to understand HOW to achieve this spiritual state, God sent Prophets to different societies, in different times, with the same message- There is no God worthy of worship except The God. Some of these prophets- as mentioned in the Qur'an- were- Adam, Noah, Moses, Jesus, Jacob, Joseph, Abraham (May peace be upon all of them) and the seal of all Prophets- Prophet Muhammed (Peace and Blessings be upon him).

Each prophet was sent to a particular society and Muhammad (Peace and Blessings be upon him) was sent to the entire mankind. Some of these prophets were sent scriptures, such as Torah, Bible and the Qur'an. Qur'an is considered as the final revelation and is also defined as the 'Criterion' - it is a guide to distinguish right from wrong. In simple terms, it's the user manual for human beings, released by the manufacturer Himself! 

Some people are under the impression that Islam is a religion of do's and don'ts as can often be seen from the Halal-Haram battles on the internet. Islam is so much more than a ritualistic religion. From its follower it requires firstly a complete internal submission followed by a physical one. Faith is a state of mind too, so in the Qur'an Allah asks the believers to have Taqwa i.e. God- consciousness. We are asked to be aware of God and his ultimate power. We are asked to be mindful of the fact that with all its temptations, trials and tribulations, this life is temporary- a test whose results will be out in the afterlife. And it is this very consciousness that makes a Muslim mindful of what he does and does not do. It is his effort to make sure that he doesn't in any way displease God. So he refers to the Qur'an and the Sunnah (the life and etiquette of the Prophet Muhammed) to ensure that he is on the right track. 

The problem occurs when some Muslims lose focus of the bigger picture and occupy themselves with the technicalities and the nitty-gritty of the Halal/ Haram. This takes up so much of their energy and time that in the end they completely lose sight of why those things were required of them in the first place. 
Islam is a religion of action. It's not enough if it's "all there in the heart", we have to translate our intentions into actions too. A demonstration of this is the 5 pillars of Islam. 
They are- 
1)Shahadah-Testimony that there is no God worthy of worship but the God (Allah) and Muhammad (Peace and Blessings be upon him) is the last messenger.
2) Salah - 5 daily prayers spread throughout the day for men, women, children- young and old- alike. 
3) Sawm- Fasting in the month of Ramadan from dawn to dusk.
4) Zakat- Annual charity. This is a pre-calculated portion of your annual salary and assets and is given to the poor and needy of the neighborhood. 
5) Hajj -pilgrimage to Makkah. This is required of all those who can financially and physically afford to make the trip from their homelands to Makkah.

Apart from these the believer is given certain guidelines to live by. Some of them are- Internal and external modesty, generosity with money and time, humility in the demeanour, kindness to those around. Islam is a social religion too. A healthy community is viewed as a pre-requisite for harmonious living. Thus, our neighbours have rights upon us. The poor and oppressed of the society have rights upon us. Even the environment has rights upon us. Charity is given utmost importance in the Qur'an. A believer is asked to give charity from what he loves. He is encouraged to ensure that destitute of the society are looked after. We will be held accountable on the Day of Judgement if our neighbour goes to bed without food while we sleep on full stomachs. 

Islam is also a just religion. This might comes as a shocker for those who follow the middle eastern news. But the sad thing is, none of the countries in the Modern world are completely Islamic. They have made a mockery of the 'Shariah' by being extremely prejudiced against woman and those of other races. However, Islam asks male believers and female believers to respect and honour each other and condemns racism in the strongest possible terms. In front of God, what matters is the piety and depth of belief of the person and not whether he/she is black, white or brown. 

The Qur'an emphasises this in the following verse- 
" O you who have believed, be persistently standing firm in justice, witnesses for Allah, even if it be against yourselves or parents and relatives. Whether one is rich or poor, Allah is more worthy of both. So follow not [personal] inclination, lest you not be just. And if you distort [your testimony] or refuse [to give it], then indeed Allah is ever, with what you do, Acquainted." ( 4:135)

This fairness and sense of justice is also reinforced in the Prophet Muhammad's last sermon, before his death, where he said: 
" O’ Ye people! Allah says, O’ people We created you from one male and one female and made you into tribes and nations, so as to be known to one another. Verily in the sight of Allah, the most honoured amongst you is the one who is most God-fearing. There is no superiority for an Arab over a non-Arab and for a non-Arab over an Arab, nor for the white over the black nor for the black over the white except in God-consciousness."

There are obviously some rulings which may appear confusing to non- Muslims. It's understandable but it doesn't mean you make your own assumptions about what it "could mean". You have to put it in the context of the time and place of revelation and how it relates to the present day. If you wish to understand more about Islam, I advise you to read a translation of the Qur'an in whichever language you are most comfortable in. 

And talk to your Muslim friends too! We may not have all the answers all the time, but we will help you look for it (and in the process learn ourselves too). 
This post has stretched out more than I wanted it to and I still can't do justice to it. I hope this was an informative read for you and would love it if you have any feedback or questions. If I don't the answer to any question, I am going to say just that- 'I don't know' ! I am extremely lacking in terms of Islamic knowledge, but I'll try my best to point you to authentic sources from where you can clarify your doubts.

I pray to God that he blesses us with that which is true and pure. And I pray he blesses our lives with peace and contentment. 

Sunday, 21 July 2013


My slightly weird family of five is un-settled. Literally. Dad's jobs never let us stay in one place for long. He works for some secretive organisation which needs its employs to be always on the run. Ha! Got you! My old man's just a harmless diplomat.

While growing up like a nomad isn't really the ideal situation, if I had to do it all over again, I would, without any hesitation. By my 12th grade I had studied in about 10 schools, I am not kidding! Every place we went I made tons of friends (and a few enemies) and generally had a ball. Before it was time to leave. Farewells were the norm and all of us tried our best to not get emotionally attached to any place or person in our postings. But boy was it hard!
I remember crying each time I left a place...and each time set my foot into a new school, new neighborhood  new city. Much to my embarrassment, it has sort of become our family's inside joke. Apparently I cry and cry and cry. And then forget everyone I left behind. Of course it's all lies. I love each one of the amazing friends I have made so far and will always treasure the unique perspective each new place has offered me. 

What made each move easier was that we were always in it together. It was rough at times, but we still sailed together! And what I love about my family, and which probably holds true for all families in some way or the other, is that we are a bunch of oddballs. I am not kidding, we are insane! Each one of us has some or the other eccentricity which all of us have to put up with( (there's no other way around it, is there?). If I had to give examples- My dad has a hat fetish. He LOVES collecting hats. So wherever we go he manages to buy a hat AND wear it around for the rest of the trip. Of course, like a good wife my mom absolutely HATES this. So often our family walks would end up with my mom pleading with my dad to leave the hat behind and then eventually storming off herself. Rumour has it that my mom has unintentionally *cough cough* lost a few of his prized possessions each time we moved. I think I saw a few homeless people sporting his hats in each city we lived...

My two younger brothers- where do I begin? If I could (or, more precisely, were allowed to) I would fill books after books with their stories. There are SO many stories just languishing in my memory, so it's really sad that I can't share it with world. However, I do have to give credits to my brothers for (un)graciously featuring in some of my better articles. They are the ones who provide the most comedic material for me to flex my writing muscles on. For that, I am grateful!

Coming back to oddities. My mom's main pastime is international smuggling. I have written about it in my previous post, but it won't hurt to mention again. She *adores* cutlery from different parts of the world. So most of our airline woes are because of her really heavy secret stash of wooden spoons. Maybe it's a married woman thing, I don't know, because even my aunts, when asked what they want from Italy/ Malaysia say- don't choke- Kitchen knives. What in the name of everything else that is lovely and nice does it mean? Why would you want kitchen knives and meat scissors from all corners of the world? 

Moving on, my brothers- Both of them have unique personalities and are interested in completely different things. Their shared love in life, though, is making sure I am miserable. I am kidding of course. But there were times, as a young girl, when I absolutely dreaded this deadly duo. Whenever they used to get into fights with each other, I would try to be all suave and get in between them and make things worse, just so that I could have one of them on my side. Sadly, it never worked out. They always smelt out my scheme and would gang up against me with renewed vigour. *sigh*

We weren't all that bad of course. The three of us had a blast growing up- going to summer camps, badminton coaching and generally breaking each others' teeth and bones. It was mostly fun, really. One thing that all three of us hated in equal measure was our Sunday Arabic classes with a local maulvi. A few times, when our parents were out, we put a lock on our front door and feeling like ninjas snuck back into the house through the back door. This elaborate set up was to mislead our teacher into thinking that we were not at home (duh!). And he did fall for it. The first two times. The third time he saw three nervous faces peaking back at him from the window. It was then inevitable then that our adventure ended there... 

Another family feature I am thankful for is our common interest in travelling. We all were bitten by the travel bug at birth and, thanks to God, we were given plenty of opportunities to travel to different around the world. The past three years especially, have been pretty amazing. We have covered most of Western Europe by now.

Something I should tell you- we get crazier when we travel. Yes, it's possible. We love trying out 'different' things when travelling, but the idea of different is, uh, different for each one of us. My dad, obviously, thinks HATS. For my mom it means the local cuisine and probably the cutlery it's served in. For Shereef it's just wandering around with a camera taking self pictures. And for Bilal it's trying the Coca cola there. Me? I am not a pleasant co-traveller from what I hear. I spend an awfully long time in front of each scenery/relic/ building and it drives my family crazy. I also enjoy taking a few million pictures of each leaf and twig within a 50 mile radius. I can see why that can be a teeny weeny bit annoying for the rest of the fam...

Oh, we also do this EXTREMELY brown thing of going to Indian/Pakistani restaurants in European countries. I can never really get my head around it. We are in Italy- the land of pizzas, spaghetti and delicious lasagnas- and what do we have for lunch? Dal Tadka with butter naan. How much more desi can anyone get? This probably features first in the desi 'Things to do when travelling abroad'.

What I have noticed, in my immediate and extended family, is that each one of us have some or the other crazy quirk. However, I really cherish these oddities now. Yes, they may be a bit annoying at times, but they are what makes one family different from the other. These lil' things lend flavour to our memories. It's what makes the trip down the nostalgia lane more colourful and fun! So years down the line, when I am enthralling my kids with our childhood stories, I'll be glad that my dad loved hats and my mom courted knives. And most of all, I look forward to telling them what great fun their mother and uncles had, the time they went to an Indian restaurant in Italy... 

Friday, 19 July 2013


The end was near. Voices hovered over  my head. Time is running out, they said.

'Wait', I said, It's not over yet.

"He's still alive"

"But he's almost gone"

Not yet

"He's our son, Phil. I can't let go. Not now"

"That's it, Deb. It has been a month. He can't even hear us"

But I can, Dad. I hear you.

"Just give him one more day, Phil"

 I may need more than a day, you know

"He's as good as dead, for heaven's sake! I... I can't take this anymore, Deb."

A whisper in my ear: Sorry son, we waited and you never came. We are sending you to a better place. 

And then they pulled the plug.

I was just there. Almost. Waiting for another day.

It never came.

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

D for Drama

D for Drama

Oh come on now! You never saw this coming? I am Indian (and me) how can I not write about drama?

On the 7th of March 1992, in an unknown hospital in a dusty town in Kerala, I was delivered. With the first scent of the drama that my life is going to be, my little self launched into a long, tortured cry which was mistaken by the doctors to be a normal 'just-got-butt-slapped-by-the-doctor' cry. 

Fast forward to 2013 and here I am, a 21 year old wearied woman who has seen all the lemons that life has to offer. Well, most of 'em.

"What's wrong with this weirdo?", isn't that what you are thinking. No, don't hide it. It's too late. Plus, unlike Sheldon Cooper's mother, my mom didn't get me tested. So I can never really be sure if I am not the very house of crazy.

The thing is, drama pursues me no matter which corner of the world I go. My life has this very irritating habit of recreating worn out Bollywood clichés just for the heck of it. I can see your raised eyebrow, so here's an example:

In my 21 years, I can count on one hand the number of times I've boarded a train without, um, dying. The rest of the time, I've had to run like a crazy woman, buckets of sweat pouring out of me, and my fifty thousand bags clutched to my chest, finally to get into the train in the nick of time. And just when I am about the flash the victory sign I realize there's a good 10 minutes before departure. What am I to do with all the adrenaline lying around after a sprint through probably the most crowded railway station in the world? Well, my now jittery body decides I can just make it worse and hit every single person on the way to my seat with my bags, and maybe step on a few toes too. 

Oh my public transport woes don't end there! There was once when I ran behind a moving bus (like all good Indians do) and jumped into it. It was my first time and I was elated. Till I found out I was on the wrong bus. Imagine my embarrassment when after all this-oh, I don't know DRAMA?-I had to make the driver stop the bus. I could FEEL the disapproving eyes of the entire bus on me as I got down.

No, this is not the end either. My life decided that buses and trains weren't enough and I should embarrass myself in international airports too. First things first, my family has this very weird obsession of carting things back and forth between countries. By my family, I mean my mother. So every time we fly to Italy, to my dad, our bags are filled to the brim with all sorts of pickles that the world has to offer, CLAY POTS ( I am not joking, my mom apparently HAS to have it to make 'authentic Kerala fish curry'), and an assortment of  Indian snacks and sweets.  And from Italy to India she carts back Italian cutlery and culinary contraptions.  The worst thing is that we are almost always carrying more baggage than we are allowed. This inevitably results in a few frantic minutes of rearranging luggage (where we take out the excess baggage and stuff it into our handbags in front of the entire airline staff) praying we are let through. 

The worst incident so far happened on our recent trip to Langkawi island, Malaysia. We reached the check in counter exactly 15 minutes before the boarding time. So we weren't allowed to check in our baggage despite me procuring a few tears and begging them to let our precious bag in. The stone faced lady at the counter printed our boarding pass and told us we could just take our cabin bags in. This resulted in us basically just sitting on the floor right there and emptying everything in our suitcase. I don't know what people thought of us as they saw us stuffing  undergarments and sanitary napkins (which seemed to have reproduced themselves in the suitcase) into plastic bags. My beautiful red suitcase was left behind in the cold airport floor and we boarded the flight looking like a family of sweaty nomads.

What terrifies me is that this is probably just the beginning of a lifetime of last minute luggage betrayal. *Sigh*

And this, my friends, is just an extract from the 'Transport' section of the volumes that make the drama that is my life. 

Another section for another day...

C for Chocolate

C for Chocolate

My name is Nazreen and I am a chocoholic.

There. I said it.

It all started when I was still an embryo in my mother's womb. One day my mom tried to ward off a bout of morning sickness with a bit of chocolate. Little did she know that this tiny piece of heaven was going to be the cause of a genetic mutation so severe that in the future her daughter would susceptible to life threatening diseases if deprived from chocolate for long.  And thus, was I introduced to a lifetime of medicinal chocolate.

Not buying it? Well, this is the story that seems most plausible as in the face of my irrational love for chocolate. People who have seen me with Chocolate will back me when I say I need it in my life. From the time I can remember it has made me weak in the knees like no man has ever. I won't be far off if I say in my world all the love sonnets and songs are dedicated to my beloved chocolate. If I could write odes, I would. Chocolate, dear reader, is my best friend, lover, muse, inspiration and at times my worst enemy. Of course, I don't take it personally, because I knew what I was getting into when I first got into this relationship. Even though my heart sang when we were together, my body didn't like it in particular. Especially since I completely neglected my body once Choci came into my life.

courtesy: Alicia D'souza

It really wasn't deliberate. When it started it was something innocent. I mean, I never thought it would get this serious. I should have heeded the warning signs but by the time I realized, I was head over heels in love. And you know how it is when one is in love, everything else just blurs and you and your beloved are all that matters; all unicorns and rainbows, I guarantee. With my love, my waistline also expanded. Exponentially. But for centuries people have died for love, so what's a few extra pounds in comparison?

I was so smitten that I stood by choci not matter what form he took. I was loyal through the milk chocolate, dark chocolate, Hazelnut phases. I did falter once when choci turned up at my door with those twins of questionable repute- fruit and nut. But I didn't turn Choci away because that's what love is, embracing your partner- flaws, nuts, raisins and all. After that incident Choci was so grateful that he didn't tell me about his 'experiments' with mint, coconut and orange, because he knew that would break my heart. That's our love, strong and intolerant to weird people trying to make my choci someone who he isn't. Come on, you all, who in their right mind would ever think that my beloved choci can gel with that annoyingly upbeat mint? That's as blasphemous as it can get. I think I'll leave it at that because my blood pressure rises every time I think about what they tried to do to my poor choci.

The thing is, I knew Choci like no one else does. People like to think he is great when accompanied with these silly nuts, but he is best natural. Just pure Choci. He's loyal. And he is by my side as I brave through depression, fall outs with friends, fights with my body....and he NEVER avoids me when I am PMSing. That's love right there.

However, evil that the world is, people have begun to call our love an 'obsession'. Then last time I was looking at choci adoringly in the supermarket someone told me it is 'Unnatural'.  It's a wonder that I didn't faint right then. This isn't natural? Choci and I, we....We are meant to be..Right?

But the doubts had now begun to wriggle their way through our love and to make things worse the weighing scale landed a heavy blow. As I stepped on the scale, my world fell apart. I began to see where this would lead. I could see myself, a few years down the line, stuck in a relationship where the only thing I gained was weight. Don't mistake me, we are crazy about each other, but our love can only destroy me. Completely.

That's when I decided, it's time to end it. And just like that, I let Choci out of my life.

For a few days.

I am ashamed to say that I cheated, more than few times, by letting Choci in again. But what was I to do when he looked at me with that dark, brooding face of his? How could I not give him one more chance?

But it was a cycle. And I found myself again on the scale- which was now about to give in to the weight- wondering how could I mess things up so badly, TWICE.

So here I am, dear reader, spilling my heart to you, hoping that you will help me out. Let me out of this misery, tell me if this love is worth it. You will be honest, won't you? 

B for Bollywood

B for Bollywood

I do not take well, to the question where I am from. We have moved so many times that there is no 'permanent' home. Just a string of homes which were inhabited for three years each. If you persist I will let you know that I am Indian. Back in Malaysia no one would believe me when I told them I am from India. It's the headscarf that threw them off. See, they can't believe that there are Muslims in India. The first time I went to the 'International' (my foot) café in my Uni, the Bangladeshi server at the counter started speaking to me Arabic. It's highly possible that I ran away that time, leaving his 'ahlan wa sahlan' hanging in the air. Since then I've had loads of people come up to me and play the guessing game with my nationality. 'Are you Yemeni? No? Omani? Saudi? Sudanese I know! Pakistani? ' They almost never get it right. And I love to see the game draw to an end as I reveal to them my real origin. 'What? NO WAY! So you are Hindu?'.

Sigh. Better than the time someone asked me if I 'speak Hindu'.

I can't really blame them though, to an international audience, Bollywood and curry blind all other diversity that exists within the great subcontinent.

I have never been able to escape the glittery shadow of Bollywood which follows Indians around wherever they go. I have had taxi drivers in Malaysia exclaim ' Amita Baccha! Sharoook Kaan!' when they discover I am Indian. Then there was a student (who went on to become a very close friend) who asked me if we actually dance on the streets in India. Thank you, Bollywood, for making us look like a bunch of loonies who just need a whisper of an excuse to bring out all the bling and bhangra on the streets. *slow clap*

Since going abroad and seeing everyone's fascination with Bollywood, I've really begun to hate it. And I mean some serious hate here. I hated Bollywood so much that I made sexist gender portrayals in Hindi films my dissertation topic. This is probably my second biggest regret in life (the first being getting talked into getting side bangs when I went for my last haircut). I now had to watch four Hindi films a million and one times. And I kid you not, this is some major mind numbing stuff. The last semester of my degree saw me in the library with my laptop, willing my eyes not to bleed as Salman Khan did yet another Physics defying, gag inducing stunt, hoping all the while I don't get caught with this.

Dabangg poster. Not my property bro!

This was when my other friends were rocking themselves to sleep with Marx and Foucault. They were courting all the theories and here I was, with the most ridiculous lyrics stuck in my head in a loop accompanied with all that screeching which passed off as singing... I really earned my degree, dear reader. This dissertation tested my endurance to the limit. There were moments when I thought I'd rather jump into the campus lake and let myself be consumed by the zombie ducks than watch Salman Khan kill yet another villain with his nostrils WHILE wooing his lady love who has an IQ in the negative. Then there was the constant teasing from my friends who went 'Oh, your thesis is so easy! You just have to watch movies!!'.  If I hadn't loved them so much I might have pushed them into the above mentioned lake.

What I realised, when travelling abroad and while bluffing my way through the thesis, was that Bollywood's reach is really unprecedented. In India and outside. And it doesn't make me proud one bit. It is embarrassing, in fact, because I feel it has just made caricatures out of us. In the international playground we are that weird kid who runs around screaming and finally falls off the slide head first making all the normal kids laugh. No, sir, I do not like it one bit.
I don't want the first thing people think when they hear 'India' to be 'Slumdog Millionaire'. ( I am not kidding when I say I have had people tell me "Oh, you are Indian? I LOVE Slumdog Millionaire!"  Oh really? that's weird, 'cause I don't remember producing, directing, or acting in that movie). We already have enough stereotypes to be mocked with till the end of time, so we don't really need a couple of hundred more each year (Fun Fact: Did you know that Bollywood releases 800+ films EVERY YEAR?).

You might be thinking 'now this is one angry woman!'. Well, I am angry! I had to watch Salman Khan kill people with his armpits for three bloody months!