25 Years of DDLJ: How to Be an Adarsh Hindustani Mard by Raj


25 Years of DDLJ: How to Be an Adarsh Hindustani Mard by Raj

Illustration: Arati Gujar

Hello, Señoritas! It’s Raj, naam toh suna hoga. Shit, that’s not this film, is it? Okay look, I know that all I do is talk about the racist women I met during my umpteen trips, who didn’t like Hindustanis. But yesterday, Pops was like, “Opochi” and I realised that he was right: I really do need to challenge myself. Days later, when I was on my weekly pigeon-feeding sesh with Bauji, in the middle of “Aao, aao,” I went “Phurrr?” Things just clicked in my brain. Today, I’m going to talk to y’all about what it takes to be an Adarsh Hindustani Mard. Like me.

First things first. Behind every Adarsh Hindustani Mard is an amazing father who wants us to never stop partying. Ask me for instance. Y’all only know stories about me from my college days. But what you don’t know is that back in middle school, I was the first boy in my class to flirt with girls. The trick is to always catch them off guard and sneak your head into their laps. No other boys in my class had the guts to do that, but you know me, I’m an adarsh lover.

Unfortunately, the girl complained to the teachers (I hate girls!) and I was sent to the principal’s office. But why fear when Pops is here? He just laughed it off and told the principal that boys will be boys. That dumbass principal, though, tried to argue back so Pops wrote the school a cheque for 1000 pounds and everything was okay. Olola!

An Adarsh Hindustani Mard also sows his wild oats, but only with “mehmaan shemaans”. You must understand the importance of a Hindustani girl’s izzat and know that they’re the ones you settle down with. England might be good for the freedom, cleanliness, and ease of getting laid, but if you marry an Indian girl, you never have to worry about being compared to anyone else in bed, LOLOL. Not that I need to worry, obviously. I’ve done lots of sex.

An Adarsh Hindustani Mard like me gets turned on only by sanskar. It’s why Simran seemed like the perfect girl for me. I used all my best moves to woo her: I complimented her, tried getting close, made her depend on me by getting her to miss the train that had her passport, tore her top “accidently” so that she would get really mad and tell me to fuck off. And then rescued her from cops and made it seem like I’m Prince Charming and she’s the arrogant princess. The usual stages of courtship, basically.

Here’s what no one will tell you: Being an Adarsh Hindustani Mard is an exhausting, full-time job, like being a mother.

Naturally, it worked hook, line, and sinker, although I didn’t account for her being an idiot and blabbing about me at home. In hindsight, I realised that truly proved my mettle and made me deserving of my prize: Simran. Adarsh Hindustani Mards always respect other men’s amanat. Simran was Bauji’s amanat and I had to earn her, which is what I exactly did. You see, an Adarsh Hindustani Mard must always know how to kill two birds with one stone. Unless they’re Hindustani pigeons.

The other thing is that, you need to be perennially prepared to solve complex mathematical equations involving sanskar and parivaar at the drop of a hat. In Punjab, I instantly arrived at the conclusion that one rescued groom + three sacks of agricultural produce + family ki sevamax + 7392656 well-fed pigeons + one septic pigeon due to Hindustani mitti + one sahi rasta vs galat rasta emo speech = Adarsh Hindustani Mard.

Here’s what no one will tell you: Being an Adarsh Hindustani Mard is an exhausting, full-time job, like being a mother. Don’t let anyone give you grief for not getting a “real” job (Simran, this is for you and your nagging!). Besides, Pops had always told me to live out my jawaani for as long as I want to, and I wasn’t going to disrespect him by getting a bloody job!

However, I was never prepared for how thankless the job of an Adarsh Hindustani Mard is. Simran just never appreciated the stuff I did to win her. I had to ship a Swiss cow to Punjab to surprise Simran in the fields. I learned to make tiger sounds just to scare Kuljeet. I peeled carrots for Ma ji, made lassis for Tai ji and Parjai ji, and read up on the latest wedding fashion trends for Bua ji. Even tougher were the chess lessons I took to impress Bauji. Now, Simran tells me that we could’ve just eloped and all I can do is shake my Adarsh Hindustani head (I hate girls).

Nowadays I spend most of my days feeding pigeons and passing down my skills to my son. He and I are just like how Pops and I used to be. I’m teaching him all the tricks of the trade. I just hope Pops doesn’t get tired of writing all those cheques to his school. Bade bade desh, chhoti chhoti baatein, amirite?