Open Letter: The ‘Madrasi’ Girl’s Letter To Delhi Dude – Courtesy TOI and Internet

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This Letter has spread like a virus over the Internet and I too decided to put it on my Blog. I had first hand experience of this. I am a North Indian and I spent nearly a fourth of my life South India (Kerala, and not Madras) for five years. I feel really embarrassed that such a picture of us of being super ignorant has been created. Its a funny letter, hope you enjoy it. But experiencing it first hand is what you need. What follows this amazingly written letter is the reaction, do read that too.

Dear Delhi boy,

Namaskaram from the South of India, or as you may like to believe, the countries south of the Vindhyas. I came to your city 2 years ago with a brand new job and a bucketload of expectations. My friends and family here thought I was completely insane to choose Delhi over more female conducive cities like Bangalore or even Bombay. I am very sad to report that your reputation of being an ignorant, chauvinistic oaf with the intelligence levels of an autistic 3 year old on crack precedes you and it hurts me even more to admit to this rather accurate description.
Your reputation has travelled far and wide, to countries outside South India as well. And believe me man, it is not a pretty situation. I understand that your stone faded, ripped jeans, your V-neck cleavage showing t-shirts that reveal to the world that you have infact inherited your mother’s voluptuous shaved Punjabi bosom, are what you think maketh a man, but it does not. It only maketh for a man who gets a pity license to share his girlfriend’s bra. I write to you as a woman who has been brought up in a society free of any discrimination towards women so thanks to you, my living in Delhi is as safe as Hugh Hefner’s playmate of the year living in Jeddah.
You meet me at a friend’s birthday, talk to me about nightclubs and your new SUV and when I look like I’m in desperate need of a barf bag, you think I have an attitude problem. I understand this completely. But let me remind you that I am from SOUTH INDIA and not SOUTH DELHI, so no ,I am not scrawny, I am not fair, I don’t have straight hair and my topics of conversation go beyond the Fendi I saw in last month’s Vogue. I am olive-skinned, have lower –back-length lustrous cascading tresses that sometimes make me look like I fell out Jim Morrison’s tour bus. Got a problem with that? Well just suck it up coz I was born into a society where a woman can whoop your Punjabi patoutie to pulp. While your mother pretends to be very progressive but still cows down to the whims of her husband every single time, mine on the other hand was born into a matriarchal home where every single possession is in the rightful name of the girl child. Could you ever, my hunky handsome, cash throwing pig, imagine this kind of power in your society? So stop telling me that women are not treated like trash where you come from. Just shut up and admit to it. It’s just easier that way. And lest we forget that we’ve managed to curtail the number of rape cases despite not having a female Chief Minister. Amma ‘s body composition generates way too much heat for her get out of her AC room anyway, so don’t even bring that up.
And your English. Good Lord, what in the world is up with that? I don’t want you to ‘explain me’ anything. It’s like you need to go to primary school all over again. And call them your parents, not your ‘peerents’ or what your cooler, more happening brethren call them—‘mere mom-dad’. Like what are they? Conjoined twins? Are they joined at the hip? Your South India counterparts may not have your looks, but are way more mentally stimulating, a quality that eludes you obviously, but has been the single most sexy factor for us Southie chicks since the age of five. I mean once again, who can blame you? You were brought up on Gurdas Mann and the heroic deeds of Devinder Singh Bhullar and the ever so fair concepts such as elections in Phugwada while we mere ‘black-colour waale’ mortals had to make do with Bharatnatyam classes, M.S Subhalakshmi and chess. Shame no? And yes, if by a slight chance, you do find my big dancer eyes attractive enough for you to prolong our conversations and meetings and if by an even slighter chance you fall in love with me and decide to marry me, you will have to wear a mundu and you will have to lie prostrate shirtless at the Guruvayurappan temple. A small price to pay for all the genuine independence I am giving up for you. And that’s the real thing, not what you see the Delhi girls at LSR and Stephen’s doing during their fake as hell protest marches coz ultimately they’re going home to a family who’re putting together money for Bobby beta’s bail coz he just ran over his girlfriend’s ex, by mistake of course.
I understand that I come from the land of ugly. I mean obviously Hema Malini, Sri Devi and Aishwarya Rai with their natural banal looks don’t even hold a candle to Priyanka Chopra after her two nose jobs and one lip reconstruction surgery. Not a chance in hell. But when you do come to ask for my hand, remember I am part Maharashtrian and part South Indian and NO, they are not the same thing. So please tell your family, not to drop racist bombs like “Arey woh sab toh ‘Sawth’ ke hi hote hai na?” And YOU—don’t walk up to mother in an attempt to make flattering conversation and say shit like “Aunty you don’t look like a South Indian You are so fair” In return she will verbally Texas chainsaw massacre your face so badly, your dead Dadi will haunt you the very same night, telling you how fleeing Pakistan was less traumatic. So don’t. Better still just don’t speak. Just glean and flex your muscles a little and keep smiling. Just whatever you do, don’t talk.
You may not like our food, but then we don’t like you, which is worse. We may not be even that into food, but then that’s coz we have other things to do with our lives, like crack IIT or become writers, journalists, activists and do things that we are very passionate about. The South Indian woman has a voice and boy can she yell. So if you want to Sambhar ‘Chawl’ your way into my life, then you got to toe the line. Be way more aware than what your are. Remember Delhi is not a country and we are not Black. If I ever hear you utter that name of that colour, I will Kalaripayattu your tongue out of your rear. Yes , that is the secret behind our awesome sex ratio. Just so you know.
For someone who is so confident of his physical abilities you really suck at luring an intelligent woman. Don’t send me text messages that say ‘happy guru purab’, you freakshow and if you want to be cute with your ever so charming (not) Punjabi advances, then don’t send texts that say “Dil laye gayee kudi Madrraaas di”! NO. It’s just not cool man. I may have have missed on a lot in this letter, but that’s ok because you’ll forget to read it and even if you do , you’ll get your cousin Jassi from Defence Callonny to translate it for you. And this letter can’t go on forever like the Punjabi male ego.
So long my love, and here’s two steps of gidda just for you, just to show that I can be traditional and will not accidently kick your sister while doing so.
Love, hugs, kisses aka ‘muah’ (only I shall ‘muah’, you please don’t do anything coz you tend to forget that these are my lips and not a piece of Tandoori Chicken from Kakke- Da- Dhabba)

Yours
Madrasan
(Only I can call myself that. If you EVER call me by this name, I will shove so many coconuts down your system that your little saver pack versions will begin to sprout coir.)

… And the sharp reaction it evoked from a fellow ‘Madrasan’

Dear Shahana,

I’m part ‘Madrasan’ just like you (Tamil for those who want to know)! I live in Delhia dn am very aware of the foibles of the the Dilliwalas. I love it nonetheless for embracing me and giving me a home. About five lines down your post, I felt a little ashamed of having ever thought that I was ‘just like you’. For every Daalli boy living in Defence Callony there is a Medraus boy getting up ‘yearly in the maarning’. Why do we, as a people, make fun of our regional accents and aspire to more ‘neutral’ (read as American/Brit) accent? Autistic three year old on coke? Classy. Witty. And also so compassionate of you to make fun of a child with a disability. If you are playing for the south Indian team, I think you just scored a self goal. I have never understood the issue with muscular Punjabi men either – are you really saying we lovely doe-eyed ladies prefer pot-bellies and skinny legs peeping out from under mundus? What was that again about SUVs and big cars? If I had a buck for every South Indian man who talked about cars and gizmos, I’d be on a cruise instead of wasting my time writing this post right now. Who are you to define my South Indianness for me?

I am dark and I accept it – why do you need to sugarcoat it? Bug you much? You’re not scrawny. My sympathies – I could offer you the number of a dietician. Generally we are built much smaller and petite than Punjabans and Haryanavis (God bless their souls and the ghee loaded parathas) who make an effort to stay fit. One tiny matriarchal community does not a trend make. Have you missed the acid attacks? And the dowry we offer for our lovely daughters is mind-numbing. If I’m paying three crores for an engineer I’d like him to lose the pot belly and hair oil please! Amma-appa sound cooler than mom-dad to you? How could you be so petty as to pick up something so ridiculous? You lost me at girls doing fake marches (check out what these LSR girls are doing, by the way)? What exactly is it that other college kids are doing that is so much more significant? As for them liking our food, you’ll find dosas at every corner stall in Delhi. If we pick on the lowest common  denominator to judge them by, they have every right to define us by the elbow lickers. By the end, I was embarrassed by you. I have no idea what brought it on, but a good bottle of wine and some girl friends and a box of tissues might have been more effective

Lowe, MM (I proudly spell it Yem-Yay-Dee, Yem-O-Yem-Yem-Yay), yet another mocha coloured Madarasan married to a sweet fayer South Indian boy

Great response, both the letters are filled with grammatical errors. But when the emotions are running so high, who cares about the grammar. Enjoy!
View the original post here . The response was seen in Delhi Times

Anshuman

About Anshuman

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4 Comments


  1. m wondering how sick dis girl must be dat she had to write a letter in d newsppr..good lord why the hell cant dey jus digest dat dey r nt cool enuf..in dis letter also she herself has told dere dirty eatin habits.n wat can we do if punjabis are all over???have u evr heard madrasi songs in any marriage o function???dude if u cant adjust den stay back at ur place…n above dat we also crack iits n all other things but with enjoyment….so dear go get a life……


  2. Well said Bhawna, I spent five years there and didn’t have any problems.


  3. first of al dat gal s nt a madarasi….
    she s frm kerala frm heaven sake….

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