As a kid, whenever someone told me that WWE was fake, I used to feel highly offended. “They drop people from such heights, and you are saying it’s fake! So many people in the audiences are fools or what?”

Now, though I know it is fake. (Why did I ever grow up?) I have seen a documentary which revealed all the wrestling secrets. (How heartbroken was I when I found out that these guys used a blade to cut their forehead, and the bleeding was not a result of a strong steelchair rammed into their head.)

Still, a little while ago, I was watching Aap Ki Adalat, where Rajat Sharma asked none other than The Great Khali, about the authenticity of these fights. Khali, in his weird accent answered, “Jisko bhi yeh nakli lagta hai, woh mereko baahar aake mile. Fir bataunga, kitna nakli hota hai..”

In fact, I owe a lot of my internet addiction to wwe.com. The thing was that in India, the episodes were telecast 2 weeks late, so in order to curb my curiosity, I went to the cyber cafe and checked all the results. How angry I used to get when I saw that Triple H had retained his title. How eagerly I supported Chris Jericho in an elimination chamber match even though his chances of winning looked bleak. How much passion I was filled with whenever this took place. And how funny this felt.

Even now, I sometimes go to YouTube to look for Bikini contests between Torrie Wilson and Sable. These were the fortunate females, along with Trish Stratus who through their excellent photo-shoots and all, introduced me to the actual pleasures of internet. (Do yourself a favor and watch these videos, if only to see how excited the commentators get whenever Torrie drops one of her garments.)

Anyway, WWE to me is a symbol of boyhood. And how much we enjoy violence and sport. And Divas. It’s been around 5 years since I took active interest in WWE. But, before that, there was no better pleasure than getting to watch 2 hours of Monday Night RAW. Which, I thought was way better than Smack Down. 

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