Male Privilege and its Disadvantages


Hey everyone,

What I have uploaded here is a college assignment on Group Identity, Privilege and Disadvantages as part of my Personal and Interpersonal Development of the Counsellor Course. Since the internet (particularly certain blogs) was a great source of help for me while writing this essay, I decided to put my final product up on the internet as well. Should you choose to refer to, quote or borrow from this article for any purpose, I request that you acknowledge me as the author and link to

Preferably, email me at parryshamsatgmaildotcom and let me know how you’ve used it!

Right – click on the link below and click ‘Save Link As’ to download this file

Group Identity

Happy Reading,


God by K. Satchidanandan


God is one for all

But our God is one, and a half.

Everybody’s faith is holy

But our faith is more than holy

The colour of blood is one for all

To prove this it was that

We let out your blood on the streets

And still if we pray, mind,

It is to save ourselves from you,

And not to save you from us!

How’s The View From Your High-Horse?


Go ahead, do it,
If you feel like snapping her neck
In one swift motion
Like a helpless little twig,
Sincerely, be my guest.

If you want to tell him to his face
What a crap-filled hypocrite he is,
Instead of plastering on a fake smile
And playing along, God-speed to you!

If you feel like not-so-subtly reminding her
That its her twisted personality
And not ‘stress’ that makes her
Act like a class-A pain in the ass.
I say why tomorrow, do it now.

But if you can’t,
Or don’t want to,
Or think that its not like ‘you’,
Or that it’s uncharacteristic of your friggin’ moon-sign
By all means,
Put a sock in it when someone else does!

Maybe Next Time


I wanted to write a poem
That was dark, deep and intense,
Full of clever wordplay, obscure references,
And strictly NOT for the dense.

But things, I’m afraid,
Just didn’t turn out so well
I set my sights on doing a Plath
And ended up with doggerel!

How Do I Love Thee? I’ll Tell What?


How do I love thee,
Hmm, one minute, let me see,
Actually no, if try to say,
I’ll count and count
For so many days!

I love you more than Abhi love Ash
I love you more than minister love cash,
I love you more than Hrithik love ‘Kites’
I love you more than moth love tubelight

I love you more than bird love air
I love you more than lice love hair
I love you more than fish love sea
I love you more than monkey love tree

I love you more than Kasab love blast
I love you more than Empty Virar fast
I love you more than Paratha with Ghee,
I love thee more than you love me!

Now you only tell how can I count
I love you more than infinite amount!

Ode to a diva


Hate’s too strong,
Dislike’s too weak,
There’s not a word,
To describe this freak!

With rose-tinted glasses
And cheap bleached hair,
She walks around,
Without a care.

It beats me how
She can live in a bubble
And turn a blind eye
To all signs of trouble.

The apple of her daddy’s eye,
She hides the rotten core inside,
She says, “I’m worried bout the masses”
And thinks their heads are up their asses.

You poor, ignorant narcissist
You’re at the top of my hate list,
But then again how does it matter
I bet you think this poem flatters!

Sultans of Swing – Punjabi Version


You get a shiver in the dark
Its been raining in the park in sector 9
Side of the dhaba you stop and hold everything
A band is playing bhangra over loudspeakers
You feel the ground the shake as dholaks play

You step inside and you see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain to eat a butter naan
You hear the word ‘haddippa’ in so many places
But these guys do it better than Babboo Mann
Way on down south, way on down south bhatinda town!

Check out Bunty Singh, as he goes about doing his thing,
Playing strictly bhangra, he doesnt like those remix songs,
That old, worn out dhol is all he can afford,
When he gets up on the stage to dance and sing.

And Preeto doesn’t mind, if she doesn’t make the scene,
Her Bauji’s got a brand new truck, they’re doing allright,
She can dance the gidda like anything,
Clapping her hands and shaking her hips,
With the paltan, with the paltan of Singhs!

And a crowd of young Jats are fooling around in the corner
Screaming at the waiter, “Phen de takke where’s our makhni daal?”
They don’t give damn about Bunty and his troupe,
They just like those sexy Miss Pooja songs
And then the paltan,
And then the paltan they scream ‘Haddipa!’

And then Bunty’s bauji suddenly calls him on his phone
And Bunty turns white, as Bauji screams,
“Khottay! kaar aake roti te khaa!”
And then he wraps it up with one more thing
“We are the Paltan,
We are the Paltan of Singhs!”