"Big Fish is the harbinger of a cultural revolution." ***** Wadi Street Journal
India loves rats. It is the new epicenter of the rat race, the scene for the largest plague since the middle ages, and also one of the only places in the world where rats command divinity. So, it is only natural that when the government was looking for a media event which would numb the collective senses of the populace, and transform them into weak pushovers (rats) waiting to be crushed by the big, red corporate dick (a mousetrap rigged with a lump of cheese), the IPL was born.Need: There was a void in the system, considering the last big mass mind numbing tactic, known to all as K-serials had begun to wane in popularity. The rats were evolving and slowly realizing that they had already seen the episode they were watching two generations ago, both on screen and off screen! There was a need to plug their evolution, and in stepped Jan-hith Modi, with his eerily evil, satanic rat like looks and his big idea, the IPL.
How it works: Two different methodologies are adopted by the IPL to effectively drain the mental resources of the nation. We shall classify them as ‘Slow death’ and ‘Fatal Sting’.
Slow death: This method is fine tuned for maximum reach and to draw people towards ‘Fatal Sting’. The media used is television, the internet and even newspapers. Of all these, TV is the most dangerous kind of exposure, after ‘Fatal Sting’. It is targeted at all stratas of society, under the pretext of ‘complete family entertainment’. Logically, there exists no such thing as ‘complete family entertainment’. People from different generations must think differently and hence, watch different things. The term ‘Complete Family Entertainment’ is thus marketing genius, and by extension, pure bullshit.
The first point of contact are men returning from their utterly brain dead, ‘could be better performed by a robot’ jobs. These ‘breadwinners’ in dire need of rest and sex, are fed four continuous hours of zero IQ VJs pretending to be cricket pundits, cricket pundits pretending to be VJs, baseball players pretending to be cricketers, 1001 incredibly annoying TV commercials, and lastly, glimpses of skimpily clad white women unachievable by aforementioned ‘breadwinner’ in aforementioned job. The ‘white woman’ glimpses make the man lose all interest in his humble wife, and work harder in his dead end job the next day, so that he may get that ‘off-shore’, or ‘on-site’ project. The wife, meanwhile, gets increasingly frustrated with her eternally tired husband lording over the Television during primetime, and dozing off without any sexual reprisal during the presentation ceremony. She starts voicing her annoyance, resulting in husband putting in more hours at work and watching the IPL at the bar, resulting in even lesser sexual reprisal.
Slowly but surely, the productive people in our society are overworked, devoid of sex and of time to think things over. And all this happens voluntarily. People become frustrated, brain dead and job happy out of their own will. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
Fatal Sting: As the name suggests, this is deadlier and quicker than ‘Slow Death’. This occurs when the subject brings it upon himself by buying an overpriced ticket to watch the match, LIVE.
The conditions at the stadium are simulated like in a Jewish concentration camp, only worse. First, the stadiums are in areas where infrastructure cannot keep up with the maddening crowd, leading to traffic jams; jam packed trains and serpentine queues. Then, the people in queue are made to wait outside endlessly till stampede like situations arise. Then, at breaking point, they are let in, trampling a few. Once in, people are sweating profusely and are thirsty, hungry and angry. They are then mugged of their money by feeding them watery colas, and woody burgers at thrice their usual price. To compensate, loud music is played and white cheerleaders, specks of skin to the spectators, are ordered to dance. This makes 15/16th of the crowd happy and they climb onto their seats to dance and celebrate nothing. They are provided with annoyingly loud horns and chant mindless slogans, all in the name of supporting the home team. They are also egged on by some dick less stadium announcer, and a 3 second soundtrack, which sounds like a dinosaur’s fart, but which results in maniacal celebrations among 15/16ths of the crowd. The other 1/16ths have by now, killed themselves.
Then, the match starts. More of what has happened already, another stampede during the interval and an inhuman last train/bus/walk home and the average Indian male takes a week to recuperate, and have sex again. But he loves the IPL. And he loves his job. And India loves being the greatest service economy in the world. And Jan-hith Modi loves coming out and waving to the crowd!
We all love the IPL.
Why India Loves The IPL
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