Lord Rama, hopefully watching things unfold from his perch somewhere in the Super-Cosmos, would most definitely be baffled by the way his return is being celebrated all over the country. He would be shocked by the 'Big Dick Mentality'. "My bomb is bigger than yours, my rocket zooms higher than yours, I am burning more money than you in two hours."

(There is a school of thought that believes in the 'Big Dick Paradox'. "The smaller the dick, the more a person is likely to indulge in the Big Dick Mentality." Intuitively, that makes sense. Deep-seated insecurities, perhaps. Or more fundamentally, the ones with the BDs have better things to do in life.)

What must baffle Lord Rama the most, though, is not the noise or the pollution, or even the most bizarre homecoming anniversary celebration that any deity, past or present, receives on an annual basis. It is the mass SMSes.

I vaguely remember having blogged about this a few years back. And encouragingly, my hate for them remains unchanged.

Imagine the predicament of the Lord, watching from his perch in the Super-Cosmos, looking at these emotionless, thoughtless beings sending three corny lines of faintly-veiled fake meaninglessness to their friends, colleagues, relatives and well-wishers. At one go.

"Darling, why are these people celebrating the anniversary of our homecoming in this manner?", the Lord asks his Wife. "Brother, Hanuman, can anyone tell me what (in the name of God) is going on here?", thunders he, fast losing patience with the wonders and conveniences of modern technology.

I always thought festivals were a good time to let the few special people in one's life know how special they were. Isn't it slightly ironic, that festivals are precisely the time when so many of us choose to bucket everyone in their life in one huge mailing list.

"My SMS list is bigger than yours."

Oh, and to the two of you reading this, Happy Diwali.