We at Balderdesh, have a strong policy. We do not trouble dead men.
We have another strong policy. We trouble Christopher Nolan, relentlessly.
So naturally, in keeping with the laws of rationality, when our newest intern presented us with an unexpected poser this morning, on our plans for September the 17th, the alleged dies sanctus of the Indian populace, we had no option left but to trouble Mr. Nolan once again, and with his blessings, take the temporal highway to drive us far away from all the dead men we know of.
The plot in short: we decided to “borrow” Mr. Nolan’s turnstile to trouble a dead man, back when he was alive.
Now a little heads up – you will not understand why or what happened after this point, trust me none of us still do; but in one swift in-out gesture through the turnstile, that actually lasted nearly two decades on the inside, we launched ourselves headfirst into one of the most intensely constipated battlefields where we temporal pincer attacked some bad guys under the sudden grip of an inexplicable savior syndrome, and just as suddenly as we entered, we pulled the plug early because ol’ Joe felt he just had enough of it. So we finally bid ‘em all a fast byebye and gloriously fell face front out of a Narnia wardrobe, 20 years younger (albeit covered in diarrhea) accomplishing nothing, but also everything at the same time.
Yes, some structures fell apart, some people died, we majorly messed up the timeline and also probably triggered an apocalypse in Afghanistan, but despite all the chaos, you know what we got in return that makes it all worth it?
A warm, happy birthday card.
A birthday card from a very important dead hero who, gloriously born on the very same auspicious day, was very much alive and kicking criminals in the balls a hundred years ago. YOU’RE WELCOME.
All this for a birthday card Balderdash? I know what you’re thinking. I always do in fact, thanks to the labyriths – another Mr. Nolan contraption I understand nothing, yet everything about.
To all of you who think birthdays aren’t worth it – You’re right. Your birthdays aren’t.
We at Balderdesh consider only three birthdays worth mentioning and just one of them worth celebrating; and we’re really not sorry but unless your names rhyme with Ski Jumping, King Kong 1 or Surrender Body and you happen to be the dictator of a nation, you aren’t going to make the list.
Now if you haven’t been part of a party planning committee before, we hardly expect you to understand, but if you can imagine a world where a 11 year old boy gets a magical letter, a magical wand, and a magical giant friend, all on one birthday, the pressure of making an equally magical 71 year old boy feel just as special on his birthday, is a whole new world of pain.
When you’re languishing in said world of pain, there are certain profound epiphanies that have a way of hitting you hard and splitting open your head to brilliant ideas. What is pain but endless caste discrimination? What is pain but gender inequality? What is pain but the folly of religion? What is magic but superstition? What is the absence of pain, but self respect? In the fog of our crisis, we found the street lamps getting turned on one after the other.
Christopher Nolan.
Turnstile.
1925.
Bearded old bespectacled man, rationalist.
A birthday card from the man himself, delivered across time, to another man full of himself.
A bearded old bespectacled jester, megalomaniac.
What happened after these light bulb flashes is only history. So without further ado, we present to the birthday boy our humble gift, a very rational birthday card dated 1925, from Periyar himself!
September, 1925
To the esteemed aryan anniyan onion that my comrade Balderdash spoke so fondly about,
(anniyans and onions are, mutatis mutandis, one and the same if you think about it)
I hear you were born on my birthday. Why. Why did you have to be born. You don’t have to answer it. I insist you merely just think about it.
I hear you also try to look like me. Why. Why haven’t you shaved your beard. I can give you money for the barber. But only if you make sure the barber is an upper caste. I also heard that a hundred years from now you can just cure blindness by sending a strong beam of light, called laser. I want you to consider it. By all costs (which I am willing to bear), can you please try to look not like me.
But regarding your general blindness, it strikes fear in my heart to hear that even our brightest minds of the future haven’t found a way of curing it. By this letter, if I can cure some of it, then that is my greatest gift to you.
I hear you too, like me, don’t believe in the institution of marriage and don’t have an offspring. Good. Of all the things I’ve heard today, that’s the only part which has comforted me. Thumbs up.
Like the many criminals I have encountered in my time, I believe you too are trying to sell the country to elite criminals (read capitalists). What are you fools governing then. The criminal, the crime, or the loot? Once again, I only ask these things so you can look inward and think about them.
You are the sort of man who likes power I imagine. But son, depriving people of their rightful education and other entitlements, just to keep them enslaved, is the foulest way a man can hold on to power. If you ask me, I’d say he’s not a man but a criminal. Worse than the vellaikaran.
I’m not just saying that. Who but someone worse than a vellaikaran would be ready to give citizenship, in a stunning example of divide-and-rule, only to the non-Muslims from Aryan countries.
Who but someone worse than a vellaikaran would be okay with donating acres of land to China but cannot give one dignified shelter for refugees.
Who but someone worse than vellaikaran would be willing to place cows at a higher pedestal than minorities.
In life, there are some abominations that one simply cannot ignore or forget, once one hears about them. You are right. I’m talking about your unnatural obsession with cows. Since when is a human life less than that of a cow’s? The cows I’m sure appreciate your kindness. But neither history nor future, is going to be kind to a clown who cannot see to the welfare of his people.
If nothing has changed in 96 years, I can only hope something will, at least in the 99th year.
Finally, regarding the hype around the double-engine government you seemingly can’t shut up about during elections, I only wish to ask you this. How do you think it is any different from the atrocity of the two sandals that governed our nation for 14 embarrassing years, because of one dysfunctional family that couldn’t get its shit together.
Oh, comrade Balderdash tells me you are bound to take this as a compliment. Well. In that case, I wish to leave you with three more questions to think about.
Why this obsession with folklore? What happened in your childhood? Do you miss your grandmother? It’s okay, we all do. But honestly, seeing how the rest of us have already outgrown these things, it’s high time you grew up as well. You’re 71. I was 7 when I saw through these things damn it. I’m sure you will too.
The force of reason cannot be this elusive. I have stronger faith in humanity.
Before I conclude, I strongly urge you to consider this. Don’t celebrate your birthday. Or rather don’t celebrate anything. Just don’t celebrate. Or better still, don’t do anything. DON’T, JUST DON’T!!!!!!
Self-respectfully,
Your badass dad,
The Badass Dad.
Son, I put the P in OPINION, and without me, it’s just an onion
