Subbi gadu got an offer from Microsoft. Dont tell anybody. He wants it to be a secret. How much dowry huh? Do you know any Madhurima at University of Gult-sthan? I even have plans to set up Gult Inc here.
They are like FedEx, but on a small scale and into micro-economics. You want pickles to be sent from Hyd to Norfolk Virginia?
No probs. You want 1 kg Pulla Reddy sweets delivered to Wisconsin-Madison? The airspace between US and AP is shrinking daily. You know why Concorde was built first place?
You didnt read it here, okay? Stats show that there are atleast a dozen gults in air every second travelling the Hyd-US route. You know why telecom shares are rising daily? Try calling Hyderabad on a weekend or festive day from US. Sometimes, it is quicker to fly and wish your loved ones there. Every house in Hyd has atleast one update: just received, it is actually 2 close relative living in US.
PR and contacts are our best asset. Every other Gult has a fat address book and the phonelist is as big as a telephone directory. Rule 4: You are so screwed today Pavan, it being a Friday evening.
Your friends will have a nice time deep-frying you in hot oil. This has reached new heights. Just like Indian BPO learn American accent, team leaders and project managers here are attending telugu courses. Really, Chandrababu Naidu kee kasam. NJ and Cal silicon valley has numerous of our group members running our mission there. My views are very very skewed due to the fact that I hardly stayed in AP and with gults.
So, before you lift those hockey sticks and brickbats, I would like to proclaim this to the world, by shouting from Sears Towers: "I am proud to be gult, and shall do my best to pass on this legacy, by holding great respect to this institution". I mean A- Gulti- men. You have just broken the gult Friday oath.
You are screwed.. Pavan, as Frankfurt comes on the way to the US, could you please drop off a kilo of Pulla reddy sweets here? About getting a girl. Atleast the Gult girls will not run away from you. So you still have a chance. Ravi, I was the first to congratulate you via your blog. But sorry I couldnt make it. I was sleeping by then.
And I posted this in afternoon, not when you were with da gang. Shub, Thanks. Pavan: Naaku Pavan Reddy sugar tablets vaddu. Being a half-gult myself , really enjoyed the Gult-Club part of it :. Jennifer Lopez? That was a real cool one.
Sudha, thanks. Yeah me too, I felt bad initially being labelled as Gulti.. Wonderful post.. It does cover most of NRT non resident Telugu issues.. It was funny, but I hate you you, who went to sambar land and make funny of being gult.
I am not impressed by the fact that you are proud of being gult. I say you were probably talking to a tamil girl here? I could get in detail with you about what you wrote, but I think that would be your next article about Gultis revenge on aravam people.
Attention all those fools who feel that they r gults named by some fools others other than telugus plz ignore this… basically all the admirers to this blog may be frm that so called junk land called Hyd Raaa BAD unfortunately the capital of a great state where one feels SAD to reveal his identity n speak his language. I can definetly assure that there wont be any race or a particular SECT even if they are a group of people who feel shy to show their identity but OUR people has this Syndrome Basically I dont know YYY Ok kk i dont want to bang ur brains with all my F…ing Lecture on this but one thing I would like to say is.
Even english!!! There is centuries of Brutal hard work behind its present Prominence n we guys know that very well. So, Stop doing this n be proud to be in this state where we find our guys in great positions all over the world excuse me if i Hurt n dont think that iM not an IT guy Im in IT and into IT…. But this one totally cracked me up! I have tears in my eyes, I laughed that hard! Thank you! Funny part was since I grew up outside of AP, [read Madras] I never associated with much telugus except till I landed here!
So I land at the U here, and I hear so much telugu in the corridors, in calss, in the cafeteria, I am going nuts! Ive never heard so much telugu in one shot…. In any case, am called Aravam pilla by the telugu group, and am a gulti for the Tams. So I live happily on the fence jumping either side to how situation demands.. On the other hand I came across many people who have given better account of the […].
Amazing post…. I am a proud, self-respecting goltee… defending all the telugus….. I almost had all the experiences you had…. This posting hardly sounds credible to me, and surprising that it should come from a Telugu guy. Anyways stop beating about the dowry part as majority of educated Telugu guys atleast those who have done a masters or Phd DO NOT take dowry.
Rinse, lather repeat. DO NOT take dowry. Hey dude tht was awesome …….. It was really funny.. Hi buddy i belong to the sambar land da machaan.. First of all, this post is hilarious; secondly, it is not because I am a tammie that I find this hilarious. But I knew they would assume that by my arrival, I would go from incomplete to complete. There was much I enjoyed immediately.
I liked driving around Hyderabad and seeing how many stores had our family name, Balareddy. And I had never seen my parents so confident and so relaxed, showing me their high schools and colleges and introducing me to their childhood friends. I remembered how they were in celebrations back home in Alexandria; we would go out to some fancy restaurant in the Old Town for their wedding anniversaries and I would be in charge of ordering, because my parents were terrified of pronouncing "haricots verts" and "gnocchi.
But back in Andhra, they were comfortable. At endless family gatherings, they held court—I had never seen them make anyone laugh before; I had never understood before how much time in the States they spent worrying about doing something the wrong way. And their marriage never looked better. We would walk along the streets together and as I trailed behind, I would see my mother sneaking her hand into my father's, a mouse in its cubbyhole.
Meanwhile, my grandmothers would just shiver with delight at the sight of me. They fawned over how tall I was 5' 4" and how "wheatish" my complexion. They understood barely a word I said, but they loved to watch me chatting away in English. The sheer fact that the language did not intimidate me made me seem like a genius. These tiny, pudgy women tried to get me on their laps and feed me by hand.
Every afternoon, they made me plates of sweets, beige tiles of milk fudge that apparently represented one of the summits of Indian cooking, taking many hours, much sweat, and much saffron to produce. Of course, I told no one that they tasted only like sugar cubes mashed into butter.
My grandmothers marveled at the fact that I liked to take a shower as soon as I got up in the morning. I did this only so that I wouldn't have to use the bathroom after anyone else, but they seemed to think my cleanly habits marked some kind of beatitude. And in return for their affection, I was affectionate too, covering them with hugs and kisses.
But there was neither the recognition nor the warmth of homecoming. They were totems more than people, placeholders for notions of family and authenticity that I would want to further develop one day, but right then I did not have the energy to engage them as people.
When I returned to the States, I thought of my family back there, but not often, and I never wrote or called. My grandfathers reminded me of that. They would invite me to their Masonic halls and ex-military lodges, clubs with the allure of a church basement feted for bingo night, fake wooden floor tiles, plastic tables, and red velvet awning wreathing the ceiling.
I went along to be agreeable. My grandfathers' friends liked the scandal of being seen in such places with a young unmarried woman, a scandal excused only because I was American and because they never, ever let me actually drink. When the men returned me home at midnight, my parents would be fast asleep but my grandmother would be awake, to check my breath and to let my grandfather know how many potential suitors of mine he had scared away. My grandfathers' friends all fit the pattern of old Andhra men—the dark, crickety eyes, the skinny thighs and arms, and their indulged bellies—and as they got drunker through the night, they started swiveling their chins and pausing in between sentences with such self-delight that made me think their next words would be revelations.
And they were: they were shitty revelations. My grandfathers' friends insisted on having me explain my curiously denuded, barren, woeful self to them.
Why didn't I know Telugu? Why didn't I want to learn? They asked me to pronounce my name and they shuddered as my flat Beltway accent steamrolled over the inflections.
My grandfathers came to my rescue, explaining that I was an American, but that made it worse, like I was too decadent or self-absorbed to care. To get back some pride, I asked the old men what great Telugu novels or poems they would recommend, but they had no recommendations and preferred to talk about Wodehouse, Dickens, and Archer.
I turned to Telugu philosophers or playwrights and again they had no names. They told me I was missing the point. You learn the language, they said, so that your grandmothers can bloody understand you.
I kept thinking back to a summer road trip we all took, through the Civil War battlefields in the mid-Atlantic: Gettysburg, Antietam, Bull Run. This trip was something my father had been talking about for a while. It was the sort of trip that only fathers want to make. I tried to beg off, but my mother would not let me.
She always liked to indulge any kind of enthusiasm in my father since it was a difficult emotion for him. So, to avoid putting mileage on our Lexus, we rented a car and lit out for the territories. My father exploited our captivity to the hilt and held forth on the historic importance of each stop on the itinerary. It had been a storm-filled summer and I still remember the battlefields: stone-stacked clouds above the bright green plains.
Once we entered the park gates, we never said anything. We did not talk. We just watched. The hills rode up and down like waves and the hay-like grass shone like gold. We could hear terns and blackbirds in the distance.
Follow Us. Message Board Post Reply. GV Reddy 1. Posted : Sep 26 PM. It is warning to all desi who call Telugu Guys as Gulty or Gulti. I work in GM and noticed telugu people as Gulty in front of me. I may take stern action against those guys who insult us by name calling. We also educated and render same job as you. Yes I second this proposal. My punishment will be severe. Prasath 0. Sach Bolo Agar Gulti ko Gulti na bolona to kaia Ulti bolu.
Even we don't have any clue why the hell others calling us by that name gulti? Why can't other race in India be called by any name? Why only Telugus are called Gulti?
0コメント