This is a guest column by my dear crude friend (but not so so so crude like the Dravidians, though!) Sacha ‘Borat’ Baron Cohen. I thank him for his candour.

It has three Make Benefit parts: Lemuria, Chennai Flooding & Tamilnadu Law(lessness) and Order(=Chaos, actually).

What’s more – as Borat adds in his forwarding note, the current CM of TN, MK Stalin is actually implementing his Kazakhstani Model for make benefit glorious TN – but calls it ‘Dravidian Model.’

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Make Benefit Lemuria

Greetings, my dear friends of the world! Borat here, cultural ambassador from glorious Kazakhstan. Today, I embark on a most exciting adventure, a journey into the heart of Tamilnadu, a land that promises cultural learnings for make benefit of the #DravidianModel Nation!

As I arrived in Tamilnadu, I was greeted by the warm stupid smiles of the dravidian locals, who seemed genuinely thrilled to meet a man from a place they probably think is just a dot on the map – somewhere in the North beyond Gummidippoondi, it being northernmost border of geographical knowledge of an average dravidian.

Little did they know, I come with the gift of cultural insight, the kind of knowledge that can elevate their great dumb Dravidian model to new heights!

First stop, the mystical land of Lemuria! Now, some say Lemuria is a lost continent, but I say it’s just hiding, like Waldo in a game of hide and seek. I asked the locals if they’ve seen Lemuria lately, and they gave me puzzled looks as if I asked them to solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded. 

Apparently, Lemuria is like the proverbial needle in a haystack – everyone talks about it, tonnes of paper have been wasted on it, fat dravidian intellectuals have written about it a lot, but alas, no one can find it. But then there is also another thingie called Kumari Condom, which is the local Tamil adaptation of the Lemurian model and where allegedly first Sangam pornographic literatures were first published in the world!

Next, I ventured into the bustling streets of Madurai, the city that never sleeps because it’s too busy arguing about whether idlis are better than biriyani or vice versa. The locals are fiercely passionate about their food, and they take their rice and lentils very seriously. I tried to blend in by wearing a lungi, but my attempt at looking like a local ended up with me being mistaken for a lost Bollywood extra that Kamal Hassan, the man who copulates with goats, while gurgling out free-to-air advice and philosophy.

The language here is a challenge. Tamil sounds like a mix of someone singing a song about spitting in Kazakhstani while trying to clear his throat. I tried spitting, erm, speaking it, and the locals looked at me like I was reciting Udhay Stalin’s sanatan dharma speech backwards.

Note to self: Next time, stick to the universal language of pointing to left, saying right and nodding.

As I strolled through the dirty streets, I discovered a fascinating blend of tradition and modernity. Whatever remains of  the temple-breaking efforts of my ancient Muslim cousins from Central Asia- are a sight to behold, with intricate carvings that tell stories more complex than my cousin Bilo’s love life.

Everywhere I saw there were statues and statues warning, regulating traffic and showing the finger, bad bad… I even tried to participate in a local dance performance for taking a dead dravidian body to burial, but let’s just say my attempts at Bharatanatyam were more like a drunken flamingo attempting salsa. The loud drums were something, mommee I tore my eardrums.

The people here are so friendly that they invited me to a ‘drinks party.’ I thought it would be an elegant affair with finger sandwiches and polite conversation. Instead, it was an excuse for the locals to drink gallons of local liquor from Government run booze shops, argue about politics and show off their dravidian pricks in public; there are so many things common between Kazakhstan and Tamilnadu! I truly felt like I stumbled into a liquor-fueled United Nations meeting discussing Hamas, while enjoying samosas.

Now, let’s talk about the glorious Dravidian model! I asked the locals about it, and they looked at me like I had just asked them to explain the theory of relativity using interpretive dance. I gathered that the Dravidian model involves a deep appreciation for history, tradition, and a strong desire to prove that Tamil is the superior language. I nodded along, pretending to understand, but my mind was still on the drinks party.

In conclusion, my cultural learnings in Tamilnadu have been most enlightening. I leave with a newfound appreciation for idlis, a questionable understanding of Lemuria’s whereabouts, and the distinct feeling that my attempt at blending in was about as successful as a fish riding a bicycle.

Thank you, Tamilnadu, for the memories, the confusion, and the delightful drinks-induced debates. May your dosas always be crispy, your temples always grand, inshallah, and your Lemuria forever lost in the vast ocean of cultural mysteries. And may our common Kazaksthani Dravidian Model progress!

Borat out!

2

Make Benefit Chennai Floods

Ah, my friends, let us delve into the wonders of Chennai, a city so vibrant and dynamic that even the monsoon rains couldn’t resist joining the drinks-party! As I navigated the waterlogged streets, it became clear that Chennai’s drainage system is like a sieve – not the most effective, but definitely entertaining for an outsider.

The flooded apartments were a sight to behold! I felt like I was in a swimming pool, but instead of a lifeguard blowing a whistle, it was an angry neighbor shouting about a leaking roof. The water was so high that the fish & crocodiles were probably having a better time than the residents. I couldn’t help but wonder if Chennai’s apartments were designed by Aquaman’s less competent cousin.

The encroached lakes were another marvel of urban planning. I asked a local about the lakes, and they shrugged as if to say, “Lakes? What lakes?” It seems the city has a unique talent for turning water bodies into prime real estate. Forget waterfront views; here, you get a lakeside apartment without the lake – a true Dravidian innovation.

And the potholed roads, oh my! It’s like driving through a lunar landscape, but instead of moon rocks, you have craters that could swallow a small car. I took a ride in an auto-rickshaw, and it felt like a roller coaster, but without the safety features. I must say, Chennai’s roads are a true test of a driver’s skill – and a suspension system’s endurance.

The perennial protests added a touch of activism to my cultural exploration. Everywhere I turned, there were people marching, chanting, and holding up signs angry with the ruling corrupt DMK party. I asked a protester what they were demonstrating against, and they said, “Everything!” It seems the Dravidian spirit includes a healthy dose of dissent, and the streets are the canvas for their vocal artwork.

Traffic, my dear friends, is not just a daily inconvenience; it’s a way of life. 

I witnessed a traffic jam so epic that it could rival the Great Wall of China in length. Horns blared, tempers flared, and I sat in my taxi contemplating the meaning of life while moving at a pace slower than a snail with a limp.
Now, let’s talk about the film star adulation nonsense. The locals treat their film stars, all of them worse looking than a typical C grade porn film star – like demigods. I tried to join in the hysteria, but when I asked who the greatest star was, I got a list longer than a Sangam literature nonsense. It seems everyone has their favorite hero, and debates about their on-screen prowess can rival the drinks-party discussions.

And then there’s the all-pervasive corruption, a feature of the Dravidian model that adds a touch of drama to the political landscape. It’s like a soap opera where the plot twist is always someone getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I asked a local about corruption, and they winked at me, saying it’s a time-honored tradition  in Tamilnadu, thanks to Missionaries & British colonialism – a true make benefit cultural gem.

In conclusion, my friends, Chennai is a city of contrasts, a place where tradition and chaos coexist like long-lost relatives at a family reunion. The rain-ravaged streets, flooded apartments, encroached lakes, potholed roads, protests, traffic, film star adulation nonsense, and dravidian corruption – all these are but threads in the rich tapestry of the Dravidian model. I leave with memories of a city that dances to its own monsoon-soaked rhythm.

Borat out, with a splash!

3

Make Benefit Tamilnadu Police

Ah, my dear friends, let me regale you with tales of the impeccable law and order situation in Chennai, a city where the only thing faster than the traffic is the swift response of the local authorities to criticism. It’s truly a marvel how seamlessly the ruling Dravidian party dynasty has perfected the art of maintaining order – or should I say, the illusion of order?

Criticism against the governance is treated with the utmost care, much like handling delicate porcelain. If you dare to speak against the ruling powers, you might find yourself in a tête-à-tête with the friendly goons (locally known as udanpirappus – or udanparuppus, or the low hanging scrotum) who have a peculiar way of expressing their disagreement. It’s like a game of charades, but instead of acting out the word, they act out your demise – a true testament to their commitment to the performing arts.

And oh, the IT wing of the ruling party, the unsung heroes of online discourse. They’re like digital vigilantes, swooping in to silence dissent with memes and emojis. Nothing says “shut up” quite like a well-placed GIF. It’s a modern-day fairy tale where the trolls live happily ever after, secure in the knowledge that their online prowess is protecting the sanctity of the Dravidian model.

Now, let me tell you about the fascinating phenomenon of random cases being foisted on every critic. It’s like a lottery, but instead of winning a jackpot, you get the opportunity to navigate the labyrinthine legal system for the crime of expressing an opinion. It’s a fun game of “Guess the Charge,” where even the accused often has no idea what they’re being accused of until the judge reads out the verdict.

In one of my adventures, I had a delightful conversation with a local political counselor and a cop. I asked them about the state of affairs, and they assured me that all was well. When I inquired about the critics facing legal troubles, the counselor winked and said, “It’s just a friendly way of reminding people to choose their words wisely – a sort of linguistic yoga, if you will.”

The cop chimed in, “Yes, we believe in maintaining order, and sometimes, a well-timed FIR is like a spa day for the legal system.” It was a revelation, really. Who knew that the key to a well-functioning society was a judicious use of legal paperwork?

In conclusion, my friends, Chennai’s law and order situation is a symphony of power dynamics, where criticism is gently muzzled, dissent is redirected through legal acrobatics, and the ruling party’s IT wing is the unsung hero of the internet. It’s a masterclass in governance, a dance of bureaucracy that would make even the most seasoned ballerina jealous.

Borat, standing on the sidelines with a front-row ticket to the chaos, bids you farewell with a sarcastic salute!

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Post script: Never believe in the unfounded rumour that the current CM of Tamilnadu, Mr MK Stalin is not an Evil Twin of mine!