Decoding One Indian Girl

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Decoding One Indian Girl

Illustration: Saachi Mehta/ Arré

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hetan Bhagat recently announced his latest book, One Indian Girl, on social media. Starring an investment-banking, opinion-holding, sex-having female protagonist named Radhika, the book claims to be a revelation that will help guys understand, at last, the mysterious ways of the surprisingly inaccessible creatures known as Their Own Fucking Girlfriends.

Now, the shitpile of gender stereotypes is already higher than Antilia and stinkier than Dharavi, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Mr Bhagat’s well-intentioned book will only add to its height and fragrance. Therefore, I’m going to beat him to the punchline and help you understand millions like Radhika with my quick, fun, and in-depth guide on women – Just Human Beings With Vaginas.

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Let’s begin slow, let’s begin with the basics – What is a woman?

Now this is one of life’s enduring mysteries (next only to “Who Let the Dogs Out?” and “Why did Kattappa kill Baahubali?”), to which everyone has a different theory.

For example, for those who believe in WhatsApp forwards, these creatures are similar to flowers, candies, and diamonds that must be wrapped and hidden in order to be safe from men. For the people who believe in age-old texts that are replete with stuff like “Sunshine is God’s pee!”, women are baby-vending machines with breasts as an added bonus (#ShitAncientDudesSay). Yet another bunch of people, who believe in aliens, suspect that women migrated all the way from Venus, especially to procreate with ‘em Homo sapien hotties. Chetan Bhagat has helpfully distilled her down to three insightful lines – I make a lot of money. I have an opinion on everything. I have had sex before. But since that’s true of Donald Trump also, I’m afraid he won’t leave you any wiser. However, through an elaborate scientific procedure known as Googling, you will learn that women are, in fact, human beings – the exact same species as men.

There are women who’re as mysterious as the plot line of an Agatha Christie novel, and those who’re as banal as the plot line of a Chetan Bhagat novel.

The question pertaining to the anatomy of women, a subject that consumes the waking hours of every Indian male, but one that Mr Bhagat will safely stay away from, is in fact easier to answer. After hours of observing naked and attractive men and women engage in on-screen coitus (as I’m sure you have), you will discover that women are anatomically rather similar to men. Give and take a few sexual organs, they seem to have the same stuff inside – right from a helluva brain at the top to a hairy butthole somewhere near the bottom. Radhika, I assure you, will have the same too. To borrow from the iconic lyrics of a flop Bollywood song, we are (mostly) same-same, but (a little) different.

A survey I conducted on the subject “What Women Want” with a representative sample comprising 28 people and two eggs who follow me on Twitter, pointed out that 99 per cent of the respondents from both genders broke down and replied that it was roti, kapda, makaan, sex, and love (#urbanpoor, #foreveralone). The remaining one per cent provided stray responses like “send nudes”, which were not taken into account.

On dissecting the female responses deeper by applying inferential statistics, it was found that some women want to spend every bit of their inheritance on shopping, while others want to sit, sulk, and pick their noses in trial rooms, as an act of defiance against friends who’ve tagged them along. There are women who make it their life’s mission to keep their rooms cleaner than a toilet that has been Harpic-ed by Hussain, and those whose crumb-covered beds will make Bhishma Pitamah shudder in his grave. There are women who’re as mysterious as the plot line of an Agatha Christie novel, and those who’re as banal as the plot line of a Chetan Bhagat novel. In other words, any statement that takes the form “women are X” is as redundant as the career of Bobby Deol.

To reiterate mathematically, on a scale of white money to Olympic medallists in India, Radhika and other women like her are just about as exotic as Amma’s pictures in Tamil Nadu – that is, not at all. They’re normal, distinct individuals, just like men. So, the next time you find yourself mystified by a woman again, may I suggest you use four magic words on her –What’s on your mind? – before you imagine what the whole tribe is? Just don’t follow it up with, “Deti hai toh de, warna katt le.” That the Vagina People definitely don’t like.

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