About this site

Hello. Welcome to the spiritual home of the Bloody Indian. Please be warned that this toxic waste site contains offensive and explicit language, sweeping generalisations and blatant cynicism. Surfer discretion is advised.

A good place to begin would be with the Frequently Uttered Questions (FUQs). If you're not Indian, may I suggest the Whitewash page?

Comments can be made below most articles.

Typecasting
The Bloody Indians described on this site are divided into standard issue and prime grade. These people usually respond in very different ways to a situation, for example travelling abroad.

The standard-issue Bloody Indian goes abroad and talks only to other Indians. He or she will eat only rice and daal cooked in the communal kitchen where Bloody Indians gather. They complain about foreigners, their loose women, their dirty ways and their disgusting food. They will, however, religiously and respectfully put away these foreigners’ high-exchange-rate money every month.

The prime-grade Bloody Indian will go abroad and get a full-blown accent on the walk from the plane to immigration (some even get one on takeoff, and some of the worst offenders get one even before they’ve left home). They suck up to all the Westerners they meet and try very hard to prove to them that Indians are just Westerners in disguise.

The grading is not, however, to suggest quality differences. Standard issue is tough and hard to swallow, but is at least honest and down-to-earth. Prime grade seems tender and nicely marbled, but has actually gone off, as you’ll discover once you start to chew. As a result, standard issue might make you angry, but unlike prime grade, will not make you sick.

There’s a certain kind of prime grade that is even more rarified – the “faq-yu” beef of Bloody Indians as it were. These people are very pointedly don’t get an accent, are studiedly unimpressed by everything they see, very pointedly know their blue cheese from their armpits and are oh-so-blatantly Indian in their khadi and deep knowledge of Carnatic music.

These usually are people who need to be slapped hard in the face. With earth-moving equipment.

Whitewash

If you say “Indian, and I don’t mean Native American” to the average Westerner, many think of short, dark men with bristly mustaches, a Peter Sellers “Indian” accent and a white skirt.

Or they think of the short, dark man with the bristly mustache and a weird mongrel accent who runs the shop on the street corner. (About the accent, even an Indian finds it startling to have a good Bihari bhaiyya say, “Hi there, howya doing” in an accent that takes the best of Bihar and the worst of America and rolls them together like two curs fighting in the street.)

Anyway, these Westerners are often surprised to find out that Indians, as with other crawling insects, come in a bewildering range of colours and sizes. This can cause some confusion within India as well. Even Malayalis – those much denigrated people – have sons and daughters of the (stereotypically short and dark) South who are tall and startlingly white. How they weren’t burned under the coganut sun to Ban Chip consistency is anybody’s.

If you interact with Indians, the first thing you need to learn is that Indians rarely – if ever – speak “Indian”. This is mostly because Italians, Germans and Swedes, rarely – if ever – speak “European”.

Also remember that most Indians, in addition to English, have a working knowledge of two or more Indian languages, and have the ability to curse in many more. Even I, whose knowledge of languages other than English is shaky, can tell you terrible things about your mother in five distinct Indian languages.

This means that you must be very careful about generalising. Every time you think you've explained the Indian, one who doesn't fit the rule pops up.

With luck, this site will help you generalise with more confidence and stereotype with a sense of fairplay. After all, that's exactly what the site is doing anyway.

Frequently Uttered Questions (FUQs)

1) Who is this site for?

2) Who the hell are you to talk about Indians in this way?

3) I want to stage a rastha roko and burn effigies of you until this site is shut down. How dare you remain anonymous?

4) All this is fine, but why are you so cynical and negative? I hate your outlook.

5) How can you waste time and money on this site when there are people starving in India? Can’t you use your time and talent to help them?



Who is this site for?
The site is for anybody wishing to learn more about the Bloody Indian. May be you’re Indian yourself and want a little insight into the actions of your self, friends and family.

May be you work with Indians and want to learn more about why they are the snivelling little rats they are.

May be you’re moving to India, or about to holiday in India and want to meet the people.

Or may be you’re that idiot who ruined my last holiday with your filthy, selfish habits and I want to put you up here for everybody to read about. I hope that you burn to a crisp with shame.



Who the hell are you to talk about Indians in this way?
Oh I’m a Bloody Indian too; I have no claim to superiority. I have grown up in India, live here at present and am a proud product of the Indian education system. Yes! I learned my perfect English in the colony! Without the benefit of a US/Aus/UK/Can education!

May be this site is a way for me to get more in touch with my Bloody Indian self. I exhibit several important characteristics.

1) Show me free food and I’ll eat it – whatever it is. Even if it’s the caked, congealed tail-end of a buffet, I’ll scrape myself a decent helping and chow down – just because it’s free. And if there’s a chance of a free meal, I’ll do foolish and humiliating things to get it. I’ll bark like a dog. I’ll attend press conferences at which I’ll talk to the painted PR. I’ll gatecrash dinner invitations with friends. I’ll rummage through stranger’s refrigerators.

2) I never let a hotel room stay cluttered with all those shampoos and conditioners – even though I KNOW I’ll never use them myself. However, unlike many Bloody Indians, I know that taking the little booze bottles from the minibar is a big no-no.

(If a Bloody Indian makes this error, he or she will put those bottles in the home “showcase” where they will remain for several centuries. And one day, the great, great grandchildren of the original hotel thief will say, “Oh what the hell, let’s splash out” and open up the bottles… only to
find that the alcohol evaporated away at some point in their father’s childhood.)

3) If there’s a way to do something cheaper or for no money, I’ll find it. Few Indians are born without this talent. Once, I was living abroad and had to use a laundry room now and then for my clothes. The dryer took coins and sometimes, if the coins weren’t put in at the right angle, they fell into some mysterious part of the dryer never to return. After much bending and peering I found out where those coins went and also discovered that I could retrieve them using a piece of Blu-Tac attached to a pencil. The use of the dryer was free for the rest of my stay there. And I got some pocket money for soft drinks.

4) Being somewhere between a prime-grade and faq-yu (see About this site) Bloody Indian, I’m very snotty about my English. I instantly dismiss somebody who pronounces the ‘h’ in vehicle. And then, in typically Bloody Indian fashion, I won’t know that you don’t pronounce the ‘h’ in vehement.

5) Once I’ve paid for something, I bloody well make sure I get my money’s worth. If I’ve hired a car for four days, I’ll make sure that I go driving every single day, even if I’m dying of exhaustion. If I’ve paid for a day tour, I make sure I spend the day touring, even it’s 45 degrees C in the shade.



I want to stage a rastha roko and burn effigies of you until this site is shut down. How dare you remain anonymous?
In real life, I’m a somebody who hates to be rude to people. Staying anonymous gives me the ability to be scathing and abrasive and to say things about your sister without you finding me too easily.



All this is fine, but why are you so cynical and negative? I hate your outlook.
Oh I’m so sorry that a delicate darling like you has been forced to come here by that nasty man standing behind you and threatening to bludgeon your pet rabbit to death with a pipe wrench unless you read and are offended by every post on this site. I’ll make it up to you I promise. I’ll say nice things about rabbits to everyone I meet.

I’ll tell them how tender and juicy they are when cooked slowly with lots of herbs.

And I sincerely hope that once you’re done here you’ll go to all the porn sites you can find and post messages about the objectification and exploitation of women. Go to Bonsaikitten.com and tell them that it’s just not funny. Find spammers and tell them that they are very naughty men.

Once you’re done, your usefulness on Earth has come to an end. Therefore, you should make a large bowl of nice, warm vermicelli payasam, take it to the temple and gently dunk your head in it for at least one minute longer than you can hold your breath. Unless you’re a free-diver, four minutes should be plenty.

Why vermicelli? Because the rice can get in your nose and choke you. Oh, and vermicelli payasum is much nicer – rice in payasum is like one-day-dead maggots.



How can you waste time and money on this site when there are people starving in India? Can’t you use your time and talent to help them?
Why are you suddenly so concerned about how I spend my time and money? This site costs less to host a year than it does to have four drinks at an average Banglore pub. Why didn’t you come up to me when I was slugging my rum and colas and tell me not to waste my money on booze when I could be building nursery schools in outer Doddagutlihalli?

And regarding my time, before this site, I used to spend my days lying on my bed and gazing at the ceiling. Where were you then, when I needed you the most?

If you’d come to me then I could have joined you where you are now, undoubtably in the poorest parts of India (but not so poor as to not be within driving distance of an internet café), where you build walls from shovelled shit and teach children how to read by the light of the shine in your eyes.