This was written by an 'ABCD' but I think it applies to a lot of Nepali dudes as well...
Raj Patel (or Raj Koirala): YOU ARE NOT BLACK
Although we all might look alike in the club light, Indian guys come in several different varieties. While there are probably a couple dozen types, I have chosen to profile three of them: the Ghetto guy, the I-Banker, and the Cry-Baby. I would have done more types but quite honestly, I?m lazy.
The Ghetto Guy
The hip-hop culture has heavily affected these individuals into thinking they are actually 50 Cent or part of his entourage. You can usually pick them out of the crowd by the ?bling? on their neck, Ohm tattoos, their pants that sag halfway off their behind and wearing a XXXL basketball jersey. And let?s not forget the thin, jaw-line side-burns and the crooked hat. News Flash: Look in the mirror Raj Patel: YOU ARE NOT BLACK. You?re not even dark skinned. Your parents were born in a village in Gujarat and you live the suburbs. At no point during your life will someone confuse you for Method Man. There?s nothing ghetto about you, so drop the act. If it were possible to morph into another race simply by altering the way you dress and talk, my dad would be considered a Jew.
A Ghetto Guy?s Ideal Night:
Drinking 40?s with your boys and cruise around in daddy?s overpriced Lexus SUV with deafening rap music. Try to pick up ghetto Indian girls with prime pickup lines like ?Aye shawtee holla at your boy-boy.? When that doesn?t work, start a group fight at the club. Get pissed off at the cops as they drag your friends to jail for gun possession and public intoxication. Run around the parking lot like the sexually-frustrated primates that you are. Go home, smoke an ounce of weed and pour out some liquor for your ?homies? in jail. Eat a bag of Funyuns. Pass out.
The I-Banker
These guys come out of the top-tier schools and are the self-proclaimed ?cream of the crop?. Pretentious and irrefutably cocky, they usually think they are superior to everyone else in the world. To add to their already high-flying swagger, Indian girls flock to them. Why? Because I-Bankers have the ultimate aphrodisiac: large penises. Just kidding! They have money and lots of it.
I-Banker?s Typical Day:
Wake up hung over at dawn. Look in the mirror for 20-25 minutes and convince yourself that you?re not balding. Be sure to thank god that you?re not anybody else. Go to work for a minimum of 13-14 hours filling out Excel spreadsheets. Drink beer at happy hour with other people in your tax bracket in an effort to forget your meaningless day. Go home and get in a quick workout (your body is a temple). Shave chest, take shower, spike hair, spray plenty of cologne? and don?t forget, it?s horizontal-stripped-clubbing-shirt day. Check your blackberry. Pheww... don't have to go back to work tonight. Meet up friends at a techno-club with $30 cover. Drop $150 at the bar. Dance like an idiot. Choose your pick of marginally attractive Indian girls after notifying them where you work and how much money you earn; making sure to include pre-tax bonuses and exercised stock options. But then the drunken girl's friends convince her not to go home with you because you're a balding douchebag. Doesn't matter though! You're a f**king I-Banker! Who need's girls? Gorging at an after-hours gyro place with your closest guy friends and talking about how many "bangin' hot" girls you turned down tonight turns into watching Tivo at home on the new plasma TV. If you have enough energy, masturbation is on the to-do list. But get some shut-eye because you have work in 2 hours.
The Cry-Baby
If the Indian scene were the animal kingdom, this guy would be a baby gazelle. Lovable and delicate, he eventually gets eaten by a pride of lions. The ?Cry-Baby? loves to snuggle up and watch Hindi-movies, go on long walks on the beach, and express his feelings through mediocre art. By and large consisting of exceedingly nice guys, they can be spotted at most clubs standing around either with a gloomy look of despair or with tears flowing from their bloodshot eyes. He?s usually being consoled by a pipeline of people throughout the night; each waiting to hand him off to the next person begrudgingly stuck trying to cheer him up*: ?She?s not worth it Sandeep. You?re too good for her anyways? here, drink this water.? But why is our friend Sandeep so somber? To explain, let?s go back 18 months:
Sandeep met Deepa through a mutual friend. They hit it off instantly and begin chatting on AIM and/or the phone all day and night. Instead of asking her out on a proper date, he waits until they get plastered at a club and happen to hookup, signifying ?dating? in most Indian circles. Weeks of dating turn into something more and finally, on one sunny afternoon after dry-humping, they declare their love for each other. They even came up with witty/cute names like ?Sandeepa? to describe their relationship. He demonstrates his affection by showering her with surprise gifts: flowers, candy, teddy bears, music CD compilations of ?their? songs, framed pictures of them, and even love poems with clever lines like ?What?s up my girlfriend Deepa / you are definitely a Keepa!? Although it is clear from these gifts of endearment that Sandeep is whipped and Deepa is the proud owner of his balls, things begin to go wrong after a midget** named ?Neal? comes into the picture. Playing the charming new-guy routine, Neal ?platonically? befriends Deepa to become the bipartisan ear to which she can complain about her boyfriend?s imperfections. After a night of wine-filled banter, she complains to him ?Sandeep just smothers me and I feel like I?m suffocating.? Neal calmingly replies ?you know someone as beautiful as you shouldn?t have to deal with all this.? ?Oh Neal, you?re the only one that understands me.? Neal makes his move for the inevitable hookup, capitalizing on the vulnerability of Deepa, who would have made out with the toaster if it were a little more animated. BAM! Just like that another Cry-Baby is born!
Cut back to present time. Sandeep, months later and strong in his conviction that he?s over her, for some reason shows up at every single god damn Indian party attended by Deepa and the midget named Neal. Without fail he falls to pieces at the sight of them coddling each other. Boo-Hoo. Luckily, time heals all wounds and eventually Sandeep finds the next girl and repeats the vicious cycle until he?s 29, at which point he will get his parents to mail-order a bride from India.
* I?ve taken the liberty to prepare a few frequent phrases that are commonly used to console a Cry-Baby, usually occurring at a club-setting. I realize that these aren't really funny so if you can add to this list, please leave it in a comment:
Girls consoling the Cry-Baby:
- ?We?ve all been there? at least she still really, really, really cares about you??
- ?You?re such a good guy, I?m sure you?ll end up with someone great. No tears...? (carefully wipes tears)
- ?Are you gonna be okay? Here, I got you some water.? (As if water has the magic ability to make you not a pu**y)
Guys consoling the Cry-Baby:
- ?I didn?t want to have to tell you this, but I never really liked that hairy bitch anyways. This round of shots is on me.?
- ?After all you did for that bitch? You want me to kill her??
- ?Your dog die or something? Cheer the f**k up.?
- ?Dude, two words: Strip. Club.?
- ?What are you a 12 year old girl? Do us all a favor, go home and cry yourself to sleep?? (drunken laughter)
** In my eyes a midget is any male under 5?7?
.png)
