Don't be fooled by the title. I am not presenting a self-help guide to the art of living. On the contrary, it is a ventsheet (I should not crib if Oxford people sue me for using non-existent terms).
Have you ever noticed how certain questions are posed to us so often, we might as well publish and distribute answer pamphlets. In fact, I have made a list of my favorite 'most-hated FAQs'. (Don't tell me you don't have yours.)
The one that tops the charts, however, straight away is 'so, when are you getting married'. Anyone who has celebrated the silver jubilee of their existence will testify. Anybody asks it. Everybody asks it. Some country our's is -- even people you meet for the first time -- in train/bus/airports would not think twice before dropping the bomb on you.
This question really bugs the Jeezuz (also, Allah, Krishna and all other Gods, since I respect all religions equally) out of me. My most obvious response to this FAQ is -- to whom? My Luggage Bag? (In past ten years it has been my most faithful companion. The most constant one too. Whoever said change was the only constant, HUH!)
My second most obvious response and FGA (frequently given answer) is -- why don't you suggest some options. This is often followed by a sheepish 'you must be having someone' by the questioner. (Sorry Oxfordians!) To which, the questionee (fine sue me), me in this case responds with a helpless shrug. (Silence is Golden is an understatement of all times -- it's Platinum, it's brilliant, it works.)
Finally, the questioner gives a last 'you are hopeless' glance and that is the end of the FAQ session.
What leaves me astounded is the obvious authority with which people present such questions. Recently, I was venting out my distaste towards FAQs to a close friend, when she further enlightened me. "You think, being married it is any more easy for me? Complete strangers ask me when am I planning babies."
WHOAA!!! People actually ask THAT???
Aren't these supposed to be VERY VERY personal questions? Since not many people believe so, I have (shamelessly) prepared a list of crazy FAQs along with (even more shameless) answers.
At Age 5-10
FAQ: What will you become when you grow up?
FGA: Anything but a nosy FAQer like you. Now may I resume my game please?
At Age 12-17
FAQ: It is your BOARD YEAR. Nervous?
FGA: I won't be if YOU would be kind enough to not remind me of it.
At age 16-23
FAQ: Got any BFs/GFs
FGA: Yes, and you, my dear total stranger, are the first person I wanna share it with.
Age 25 onwards:
FAQ: So, when are you getting married?
FGA: Why don't you suggest the date/To whom, my luggage bag?
FAQ: When are you having babies?
FGA: Whenever you are ready.
Dear Readers,
Please suggest if you have got any better responses, considering that such FAQs come from people you barely know.
R.S.V.P.
Mriganka
Friday, December 18, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The CQ and some more jazz
"My kid sister's generation is much more cool than ours", said a guy whom I had met recently.
"Not really, I think our generation is also pretty cool", I retorted.
"Huh! You are cool? You don't even smoke!", pat came the reply.
Whoopsidaisies!!! (Ya, ya Notting Hill -- borrowed from Mr Hugh Grant ...drool, drool).
Anyway, so my only claim to fame in the COOL CLUB has to be my smoking skills (or actually lack of them.) That can't be true, I thought. However, since I don't suffer from 'what-I-think-right-is-the-only-right' syndrome, I started reflecting upon the hapless guy's casual remark. (Cud-chewing on other people's statements is my forte').
While trying to figure out what does cool mean, I realized it is very close to potatoes (ya, right! breathe, breathe I am explaining). Just like potatoes it has a tendency to mingle without spoiling the flavor of the key ingredients. So, you could flaunt a 'cool' t-shirt, check out a 'cool' flick, bump into a 'cool' dude/babe or in fact be 'cool' about what others say/do to you.
Armored with my new-found COOL/POTATO analogy, I then quizzed (read bugged) my friends on their definition of "being cool".
Let me proudly state the humble demography of the survey. Of the near 40 people questioned 18 replied. The age group was 23-30 years. Sadly, I realized that I don't know any teenagers (the coolest of all people). So if you are teenager reading this, please feel free to share your views on the topic.
One I.I.T. graduate (24 years) candidly said, while judging a person's COOL QUOTIENT (CQ) he would give 40 per cent weightage to their appearance. Rest 60 per cent marks would be awarded to their capability to remain undettered under pressure situation. No surprise, his COOL ICON is Salman Khan and here is why -- "The actor remains unfazed by controversy and is stylish." Fair Enough!!
A lot of people quizzed said that looks did not matter. It came as a surprise, kind of anti-climax, going by the fact that a huge chunk of advertising industry actually thrives on "it's all in the looks" brand image. Check out for yourself. You are Gen now if you are seen drinking a particular fizz drink, you have arrived if you are seen chewing a particular gum, you'll get that dream job if you applied a particular cream/lotion/potion for instant beauty (They even have separate magic potions for men now, if that is some reprieve for the feminists) and blah and blah...
So, I posed this question to a friend who has been a brand image consultant for a dubai-based fashion apparel chain. And ladies and gentlemen his response -- In context to a person... "Cool" to me connotes a person who is smart, in control of him/her self, and has the ability to carry him/her self well (regardless of being in fashionable gear or not!).
Vow, the world ain't all that superfluous.
Not to digress from the topic, another friend who's a sculptor and an artist (We don't mention age when it concerns girls :))said -- "Cool... Any person or thing that APPEALS! Why it appeals! thats an individual liking further related to knowledge, past experience, Our DNA and also the mindset which is made by our surroundings".
Interestingly she made another point. Cool for one is surely uncool for another person sitting somewhere in some corner of this world. So Tattoos, Reptiles, Fashion etc always will have a cool and an uncool side. (That explains the SMOKING bit)
A friend from the US navy (yeah, yeah uniformed people are ubercool), guy, 23, reconfirmed our previous guy's view when he observed -- "Somebody cool means they have a laid-back approach to life and are easy to get along with. They aren't easily flustered or upset." (Hey, hey, I am also easy to get along with, can I make a fresh attempt at the COOL CLUB?)
Interestingly, in response to my e-mail on CQ some people sent me smileys. I am not sure if they meant smileys were cool or my question was too uncool to be answered.
Apart from smileys the other nominations received actually re-instate the potato nature of CQ. (US)President Obama, Indian (ex) Prez Kalam, Jhonny Depp, Salman Khan, Bob Marley, Jack Jhonson, M S Dhoni, Rani Laxmi Bai, Konkona Sen, Shashi Tharoor, SRK...
Gosh that covers almost everybody who's somebody. People with rock star looks juxtaposed against people of mettle and people of substance.
As for me, I think being cool is the capability to choose the right over the popular.
So how much does appearance contribute to CQ. Sum up for yourself. Dice the potato and add to taste. (WINK).
"Not really, I think our generation is also pretty cool", I retorted.
"Huh! You are cool? You don't even smoke!", pat came the reply.
Whoopsidaisies!!! (Ya, ya Notting Hill -- borrowed from Mr Hugh Grant ...drool, drool).
Anyway, so my only claim to fame in the COOL CLUB has to be my smoking skills (or actually lack of them.) That can't be true, I thought. However, since I don't suffer from 'what-I-think-right-is-the-only-right' syndrome, I started reflecting upon the hapless guy's casual remark. (Cud-chewing on other people's statements is my forte').
While trying to figure out what does cool mean, I realized it is very close to potatoes (ya, right! breathe, breathe I am explaining). Just like potatoes it has a tendency to mingle without spoiling the flavor of the key ingredients. So, you could flaunt a 'cool' t-shirt, check out a 'cool' flick, bump into a 'cool' dude/babe or in fact be 'cool' about what others say/do to you.
Armored with my new-found COOL/POTATO analogy, I then quizzed (read bugged) my friends on their definition of "being cool".
Let me proudly state the humble demography of the survey. Of the near 40 people questioned 18 replied. The age group was 23-30 years. Sadly, I realized that I don't know any teenagers (the coolest of all people). So if you are teenager reading this, please feel free to share your views on the topic.
One I.I.T. graduate (24 years) candidly said, while judging a person's COOL QUOTIENT (CQ) he would give 40 per cent weightage to their appearance. Rest 60 per cent marks would be awarded to their capability to remain undettered under pressure situation. No surprise, his COOL ICON is Salman Khan and here is why -- "The actor remains unfazed by controversy and is stylish." Fair Enough!!
A lot of people quizzed said that looks did not matter. It came as a surprise, kind of anti-climax, going by the fact that a huge chunk of advertising industry actually thrives on "it's all in the looks" brand image. Check out for yourself. You are Gen now if you are seen drinking a particular fizz drink, you have arrived if you are seen chewing a particular gum, you'll get that dream job if you applied a particular cream/lotion/potion for instant beauty (They even have separate magic potions for men now, if that is some reprieve for the feminists) and blah and blah...
So, I posed this question to a friend who has been a brand image consultant for a dubai-based fashion apparel chain. And ladies and gentlemen his response -- In context to a person... "Cool" to me connotes a person who is smart, in control of him/her self, and has the ability to carry him/her self well (regardless of being in fashionable gear or not!).
Vow, the world ain't all that superfluous.
Not to digress from the topic, another friend who's a sculptor and an artist (We don't mention age when it concerns girls :))said -- "Cool... Any person or thing that APPEALS! Why it appeals! thats an individual liking further related to knowledge, past experience, Our DNA and also the mindset which is made by our surroundings".
Interestingly she made another point. Cool for one is surely uncool for another person sitting somewhere in some corner of this world. So Tattoos, Reptiles, Fashion etc always will have a cool and an uncool side. (That explains the SMOKING bit)
A friend from the US navy (yeah, yeah uniformed people are ubercool), guy, 23, reconfirmed our previous guy's view when he observed -- "Somebody cool means they have a laid-back approach to life and are easy to get along with. They aren't easily flustered or upset." (Hey, hey, I am also easy to get along with, can I make a fresh attempt at the COOL CLUB?)
Interestingly, in response to my e-mail on CQ some people sent me smileys. I am not sure if they meant smileys were cool or my question was too uncool to be answered.
Apart from smileys the other nominations received actually re-instate the potato nature of CQ. (US)President Obama, Indian (ex) Prez Kalam, Jhonny Depp, Salman Khan, Bob Marley, Jack Jhonson, M S Dhoni, Rani Laxmi Bai, Konkona Sen, Shashi Tharoor, SRK...
Gosh that covers almost everybody who's somebody. People with rock star looks juxtaposed against people of mettle and people of substance.
As for me, I think being cool is the capability to choose the right over the popular.
So how much does appearance contribute to CQ. Sum up for yourself. Dice the potato and add to taste. (WINK).
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Chemistry behind Selection!
I was wondering if there is a theory behind the 'CHEMISTRY OF SELECTION'. No, not the 'natural selection' one. Monsieur Darwin did a pretty neat job of that.
On a more day-to-day basis, for example, why in a roomful of strangers, we choose a particular stranger to talk to. Is there a push button in the sub-conscious that triggers -- "this is the stranger I am most comfortable talking to" -- response? Or is it the force of negative elimination which helps us rule out the other possibilities until we zero in on The ONE?
In either case, my question is why do we make the choice that we make? If you have been reading so far, clearly, you are also intrigued by this mystery. If there exists a theory which explains the science of behavioural pattern/randomness, please enlighten me too.
From the previous statement stems another question -- hope you figured it out already. (Please say yes!) Is our behaviour random or does it have a pattern? That is, to say, if put in the same situation again, would we still make the same/similar choice or would it be an arbitrary selection?
Ditto goes for books, by the way. In a libray/bookstore full of books how we tend to choose the book that we do? (I mean when we pick up a copy instinctively)
I can't say surely about strangers but as far as books are concerned, the right ones have always gotten themselves picked up. (Yepp, it's not the other way round, I swear.)
Does this happen to you too? While walking down an aisle full of books, one of them (at times even more than one) screams -- 'Dudette! You ar not going to leave me here' or a more civilised 'Hey Lady! I got something to say and you will definitely be interested in hearing it'.
On a slightly different note, red apples and green spinach also scream out to me. (This I state at the risk of being labelled eccentric). OK, last stupid confession -- Once, I heard a stuffed toy call out to me. It clearly said, I am getting bugged in this toy store, take me home. The guy is now an honored member of our family.
Anyway, going back to books, yesterday while waiting for a few friends, I loitered into a lavish bookstore. Honestly, I had no intentions of picking up anything. It was more of a timepass gimmick.
However, as luck would have it, I ended up reading a copy of 'Who'll cry when you die' by motivational author Robin Sharma. It clicked. In fact, I silently hoped that my friends get a little more late so I could finish the book then and there. (No, it did not happen).
Here is a quote which stayed with me: "If you don't act on life, it will act on you".
A thought also stayed with me. In one of the chapters, the author asks his readers to make a list of people they would ideally have as neighbors(SELECTION AGAIN!!!)
Pretty, Damn, Cool -- PDC, i think. So, here is a list of people (I am including the alive ones only).
1. Stephen Hawking (to sit under the stars and listen to him recount the brief history of time, in typical grand pa fashion)
2. Paulo Coelho (to muse over philosophy while enjoying a steaming cuppa coffee)
3. Michael Schumacher (It would not hurt to get an occasional lift from one of the world's fastest/handsomest man -- in a Ferrari OMG!)
4. Lata Mangeshkar/Celine Dion/Enrique Iglesias (If music be food for love, play on)
5. Tom Cruise (Inspirational)
6. Priyanka Chopra (Aspirational)
7. Sachin Tendulkar (to remind that humility is a virtue of great men)
8. Steven Speilberg (might approve of one of my scripts :D)
9. Shiamak Dawar (so, I would learn to dance as if there is no tomorrow)
10.Sudha Murthy (In the end, it is all about doing something for our society)
A Whimsical but truly Inspiring exercise. Mr Robin Sharma, thanks for suggesting this idea -- I think just by listing my neighbours, I know what are the virtues I should live by.
PS: I need to get back to that bookstore and pick up a copy of this book for two reasons:
1. I need to finish it ..Lol
2.There is nothing called a free advice, the man who just enriched my life deserves his share of royalty.
Ciao
On a more day-to-day basis, for example, why in a roomful of strangers, we choose a particular stranger to talk to. Is there a push button in the sub-conscious that triggers -- "this is the stranger I am most comfortable talking to" -- response? Or is it the force of negative elimination which helps us rule out the other possibilities until we zero in on The ONE?
In either case, my question is why do we make the choice that we make? If you have been reading so far, clearly, you are also intrigued by this mystery. If there exists a theory which explains the science of behavioural pattern/randomness, please enlighten me too.
From the previous statement stems another question -- hope you figured it out already. (Please say yes!) Is our behaviour random or does it have a pattern? That is, to say, if put in the same situation again, would we still make the same/similar choice or would it be an arbitrary selection?
Ditto goes for books, by the way. In a libray/bookstore full of books how we tend to choose the book that we do? (I mean when we pick up a copy instinctively)
I can't say surely about strangers but as far as books are concerned, the right ones have always gotten themselves picked up. (Yepp, it's not the other way round, I swear.)
Does this happen to you too? While walking down an aisle full of books, one of them (at times even more than one) screams -- 'Dudette! You ar not going to leave me here' or a more civilised 'Hey Lady! I got something to say and you will definitely be interested in hearing it'.
On a slightly different note, red apples and green spinach also scream out to me. (This I state at the risk of being labelled eccentric). OK, last stupid confession -- Once, I heard a stuffed toy call out to me. It clearly said, I am getting bugged in this toy store, take me home. The guy is now an honored member of our family.
Anyway, going back to books, yesterday while waiting for a few friends, I loitered into a lavish bookstore. Honestly, I had no intentions of picking up anything. It was more of a timepass gimmick.
However, as luck would have it, I ended up reading a copy of 'Who'll cry when you die' by motivational author Robin Sharma. It clicked. In fact, I silently hoped that my friends get a little more late so I could finish the book then and there. (No, it did not happen).
Here is a quote which stayed with me: "If you don't act on life, it will act on you".
A thought also stayed with me. In one of the chapters, the author asks his readers to make a list of people they would ideally have as neighbors(SELECTION AGAIN!!!)
Pretty, Damn, Cool -- PDC, i think. So, here is a list of people (I am including the alive ones only).
1. Stephen Hawking (to sit under the stars and listen to him recount the brief history of time, in typical grand pa fashion)
2. Paulo Coelho (to muse over philosophy while enjoying a steaming cuppa coffee)
3. Michael Schumacher (It would not hurt to get an occasional lift from one of the world's fastest/handsomest man -- in a Ferrari OMG!)
4. Lata Mangeshkar/Celine Dion/Enrique Iglesias (If music be food for love, play on)
5. Tom Cruise (Inspirational)
6. Priyanka Chopra (Aspirational)
7. Sachin Tendulkar (to remind that humility is a virtue of great men)
8. Steven Speilberg (might approve of one of my scripts :D)
9. Shiamak Dawar (so, I would learn to dance as if there is no tomorrow)
10.Sudha Murthy (In the end, it is all about doing something for our society)
A Whimsical but truly Inspiring exercise. Mr Robin Sharma, thanks for suggesting this idea -- I think just by listing my neighbours, I know what are the virtues I should live by.
PS: I need to get back to that bookstore and pick up a copy of this book for two reasons:
1. I need to finish it ..Lol
2.There is nothing called a free advice, the man who just enriched my life deserves his share of royalty.
Ciao
Friday, October 23, 2009
Just a passing thought
Happiness is something we stumble upon on our own, Luck is something destiny makes us stumble upon when we are dumb enough to miss it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Adios Amigo!
26 is an age when people live, drink, party and may be date. 26 is not an age when people die. Especially when the "people" I am talking about are fit enough to explore Ladakh, jovial enough to burst fire-crackers and ambitious enough to switch jobs every 6 months (on an average).
I am talking of an ex-colleague and a good friend. By good I mean good enough to wake up at 4:00 am to ensure I got dropped off at bus terminal just in time to board an early morning service to Hrishikesh.
Not many people do this for others -- this, I have learned from personal experience. I owed you this one but not the way it turned out to be.If this is the way you want to wake friends up, SORRY, I am not game.
In one of my worst mornings ever, I got a call mid-slumber and from what I could make between persistent sobs on the other end was that this particular friend of mine was no more. (Is it mere co-incidence that last night my sign off status on facebook was 'Murphy have Mercy'.)
His best friend was on line with me. He was inconsolable and all I could utter was -- "This can't be true". It's strange how grief can turn the most verbose of us into complete taciturns. The guy on the other end was a complete wreck and I seemed to have lost my vocabulary. What could I have said when I myself felt as if someone just pulled ground from beneath my feet. How superfluous words can be at times!
My friend died of heart attack. He never smoked. He never boozeed.
I know dude, you would not be scrapping me or commenting on this anymore and I really regret not responding to yor scrap last night. Yet, I want to say this as our final goodbye that it was so much fun shooting Festive Specials and Fashion Weeks with you. You will be missed by all of us but that indefatigable spirit of yours, that always craved for adventure, will be cherished by all. Rest in Peace. Adios Amigo!!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Let's set our God free
Sometimes when Sun's nothing
but a golden spill
Long after it's set
on its way downhill,
In the luminance of
the magic hour,
My soul revels
in the cosmic shower.
When the wind caresses
the green grass blades,
The sound of the Universe
All but fades.
With my arms outstretched,
sometimes I lie,
Listening to the silence,
under the sky.
When the roof of the world
turns velvety dark,
And the stars arise
like mystery spark.
I close my eyes
and travel in time,
Till mind becomes
a state sublime.
It's at times like these
that the God I feel
is much more strong,
is much more real;
Than the one at the times of war
and the one whom religions put afar
Let's set our God free
Oh ye! let's set him free . . .
Monday, October 5, 2009
Of Blondies, Sultans and Puppy loves . . .
Sometimes simplest of the people teach us yet simpler lessons.
One of these days, I was waiting at a railway station. The wait was not for one of the perpetually 'running late' trains but for the infamously famous Mumbai downpour to stop. The bad part about Mumbai rain is that once it starts you can count on it to go on for at least a couple of hours. The good part is that you know in advance that you have at least two hours to kill/waste/utilise/daydream.
Unless of course you are feeling Don Quixotic and intend to take the onslaught of pouring cats and dogs. In my case, I decided otherwise (fringe benefit of becoming a freelancer). Once again, I decided to wear my favorite (read psychoanalytic) shoes.
My attention was caught by a group of ladies dressed in flamboyant fuchsias and greens. Clearly they belonged to the labour class. How beautiful their features looked set against a smooth dark complexion, how infectious their laughter sounded set against the noise of arriving/departing trains. Let me confess here, although, that the only pangs of jealousy I felt came from a little girl whose hair were a shade of shabby blonde. An effect I had spent 6000 bucks to attain a few years back. (my biggest faux pas ever, I admit.) Here, this girl's malnutritioned scalp has given her hair that look naturally. What a crude joke, I thought. The joke was on her dire poverty or my sheer stupidity or both, I can't say with certainty.
While I was pondering over how life is a great equaliser, a bunch of college kids came to stand within an earshot. (I swear I was not eavesdropping). As such the college bunch seemed to have no qualms about their presence being felt and noticed. The cutest part about them was that they were all speaking at the same time and this did not seem to hamper their communication with each other.
One of the girls, fashionably dressed in denim Capri's and graffiti T shirt, opened her umbrella. She was just about to move when one of her friends, of course a boy, magically appeared under her umbrella. Before others could protest the boy gave her a story about how he had forgotten his umbrella and needed to reach home urgently.
The two looked an Eastman color version of Raj Kapoor-Nargis in 'pyar hua, ikrar hua'. Few minutes later the same guy and same umbrella were walking back minus the girl. The umbrella was passed onto other needy friends as the guy mischievously took out his raincoat from his bag, much to the jeering and cheering of his friends. MENN! I thought but could not resist smiling at the kid and his puppy love romance.
The most important lesson of the day, however, came from a guy much younger. He could not have been more than 10 years old. He walked along the platform with an authority that comes only when you have been born and bred at such a place. He even stopped twice to impart instructions to elders who were apparently feeling lost at the station.
The little 'sultan of platform no. 10' walked up to me brimming with confidence and pointed to the parcel in my hand. I had bought roasted groundnuts to pass time while the rain lasts. Now let me clarify, the kid did NOT beg for it. He pointed towards the parcel as if it was always meant for him. I held his look for a few moments more than necessary only to see if he'll cast his eyes down. The kid did not even bat an eyelid. Such confidence, boy, I loved it. Suddenly it seemed that the kid had earned the parcel rightfully. I gave it to him merrily.
A 10 year old taught me a simple lesson. When we want something from God, we need not cry and beg as if we don't deserve it. Just walk up to the old man/woman up there and tell them exactly what we want. Chances are He/She will grant it to us much more readily and merrily. AMEN!!
One of these days, I was waiting at a railway station. The wait was not for one of the perpetually 'running late' trains but for the infamously famous Mumbai downpour to stop. The bad part about Mumbai rain is that once it starts you can count on it to go on for at least a couple of hours. The good part is that you know in advance that you have at least two hours to kill/waste/utilise/daydream.
Unless of course you are feeling Don Quixotic and intend to take the onslaught of pouring cats and dogs. In my case, I decided otherwise (fringe benefit of becoming a freelancer). Once again, I decided to wear my favorite (read psychoanalytic) shoes.
My attention was caught by a group of ladies dressed in flamboyant fuchsias and greens. Clearly they belonged to the labour class. How beautiful their features looked set against a smooth dark complexion, how infectious their laughter sounded set against the noise of arriving/departing trains. Let me confess here, although, that the only pangs of jealousy I felt came from a little girl whose hair were a shade of shabby blonde. An effect I had spent 6000 bucks to attain a few years back. (my biggest faux pas ever, I admit.) Here, this girl's malnutritioned scalp has given her hair that look naturally. What a crude joke, I thought. The joke was on her dire poverty or my sheer stupidity or both, I can't say with certainty.
While I was pondering over how life is a great equaliser, a bunch of college kids came to stand within an earshot. (I swear I was not eavesdropping). As such the college bunch seemed to have no qualms about their presence being felt and noticed. The cutest part about them was that they were all speaking at the same time and this did not seem to hamper their communication with each other.
One of the girls, fashionably dressed in denim Capri's and graffiti T shirt, opened her umbrella. She was just about to move when one of her friends, of course a boy, magically appeared under her umbrella. Before others could protest the boy gave her a story about how he had forgotten his umbrella and needed to reach home urgently.
The two looked an Eastman color version of Raj Kapoor-Nargis in 'pyar hua, ikrar hua'. Few minutes later the same guy and same umbrella were walking back minus the girl. The umbrella was passed onto other needy friends as the guy mischievously took out his raincoat from his bag, much to the jeering and cheering of his friends. MENN! I thought but could not resist smiling at the kid and his puppy love romance.
The most important lesson of the day, however, came from a guy much younger. He could not have been more than 10 years old. He walked along the platform with an authority that comes only when you have been born and bred at such a place. He even stopped twice to impart instructions to elders who were apparently feeling lost at the station.
The little 'sultan of platform no. 10' walked up to me brimming with confidence and pointed to the parcel in my hand. I had bought roasted groundnuts to pass time while the rain lasts. Now let me clarify, the kid did NOT beg for it. He pointed towards the parcel as if it was always meant for him. I held his look for a few moments more than necessary only to see if he'll cast his eyes down. The kid did not even bat an eyelid. Such confidence, boy, I loved it. Suddenly it seemed that the kid had earned the parcel rightfully. I gave it to him merrily.
A 10 year old taught me a simple lesson. When we want something from God, we need not cry and beg as if we don't deserve it. Just walk up to the old man/woman up there and tell them exactly what we want. Chances are He/She will grant it to us much more readily and merrily. AMEN!!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
LITTER, litter everywhere, Urban India STINKS!!!
Yes, the limerick is a modified version of the Water, water rhyme. Before we dive into that rubble, though, I want you to sample these separate incidents.
KANPUR: I take an overnight train from Delhi to Kanpur. Early in the morning, I am woken up by the sound of a particularly inquisitive kid. You know how it is with those pre-nursery ones. He has an endless ammunition of 'W's -- what, when, where, hoW. His father bats around patiently with -- Have we reached Kanpur, When will we reach Kanpur, and then the kid hurls a googly at dad -- How would I know we have reached Kanpur?
To this, the father answers matter-of-factly, "You'll know you have reached Kanpur when we spot filthy pigs on either side of the railway tracks." The man draws suppressed giggles and nods of endorsement from his co-passengers and sure as hell, there they are. As the tracks start multiplying we spot ... 2,3,4, . . .8,9,10... numerous pigs pigging out (literally) on a sumptuous diet of litter and waste. All this amongst people in various stages of sleeping, waking, bathing.
NEW DELHI: Being a Lifestyle Correspondent, my work takes me to the Taj's, Maurya's and Hyatt's of the city much more often than my humble salary could otherwise afford. I pass instructions to my driver to take us to The Oberoi's for a shoot.
"What, we'll have to eat at The Oberoi's today," the man is visibly irritated. Wondering if he's missing home food, just like me, I ask him to bear with 'outside food' for the day."No, no Madam," he declares, "it's not the outside food, just that I prefer the lunch buffet at The Graaaaand!"
Such selective display of gastronomical preferences leaves me flabbergasted for a while. I try to offer him an olive branch . .. well, errr . . . Lays chips. In two quick munches he finishes the carb-laden diet. Then with the swiftness of an acrobat that pack is tossed, heaven forbid, right in the middle of the expressway."What was that. . ." I start to protest.
"Madam, now don't start your lecture on road cleanliness (such audacity, I miss in drivers elsewhere). Have you ever thought how many people will become jobless if we stop littering?"
That was a knock-out punch. I didn't even realise what hit me. The, how do you say it, Graaaand Finale'. A voice in my mind told me you can't buy that logic but let's admit it, my wits were beaten black and blue. Just then, I did not know how to answer him.
NOIDA: I and my high-profile stylist grab a quick take-away from McDies, pick my outfit for the weekend show and rush officewards to meet some uncalled for, god-damned deadline.
Again that acrobatic pitching-of-litter-in-the-middle-of-the-road performance is repeated. This time, by my suave-looking, globe-trotting, self-proclaimed gay stylist. He catches my eye (and the look of disgust in it) and offers apologetically, "It's Ok Baba, sorry na. Besides, no one was watching."Ya right! I sigh.
MUMBAI: Finally a city where people are said to be lot more courteous than those in north India. I stay with a friend in her posh Hiranandani Estate apartment. This place has got a swanky club house, crystal clear swimming pool and sprawling well-manicured gardens.
Nothing can go wrong here, I tell myself when I see the roads being swept clean early morning. Three days into our morning walk, we come across -- what else -- litter. Wrappers of fancy chocolates, plastic bottles of Gatorade and Red Bull, man this is high profile litter.
Even before I can voice my disgust, my friend -- an Aries girl (and therefore obssessed with cleanliness), dives down and with acrobatic precision aims the litter (thankfuly) into -- where it should always have been -- a waste bin.
At last, I take in a breath of relief. Then I recount to my Australia-returned friend, what my driver had said. "If we don't litter so many people will remain jobless." "What nonsense", she snaps, "In Australia, roads are washed everyday. Why would sweepers lose jobs, they will become the cleansing squad."
That was easy. Why did it not hit my Indian mindset? Conditioning, I say. That's bad conditioning.
PS: I have long been the unofficial ragpicker of my society. There are many such posts lying vacant in your vicinity. Interested parties need not apply. Just get started. Else, this is the new age jingle for your kids:
LITTER, litter everywhere,
Urban India STINKS!!!
KANPUR: I take an overnight train from Delhi to Kanpur. Early in the morning, I am woken up by the sound of a particularly inquisitive kid. You know how it is with those pre-nursery ones. He has an endless ammunition of 'W's -- what, when, where, hoW. His father bats around patiently with -- Have we reached Kanpur, When will we reach Kanpur, and then the kid hurls a googly at dad -- How would I know we have reached Kanpur?
To this, the father answers matter-of-factly, "You'll know you have reached Kanpur when we spot filthy pigs on either side of the railway tracks." The man draws suppressed giggles and nods of endorsement from his co-passengers and sure as hell, there they are. As the tracks start multiplying we spot ... 2,3,4, . . .8,9,10... numerous pigs pigging out (literally) on a sumptuous diet of litter and waste. All this amongst people in various stages of sleeping, waking, bathing.
NEW DELHI: Being a Lifestyle Correspondent, my work takes me to the Taj's, Maurya's and Hyatt's of the city much more often than my humble salary could otherwise afford. I pass instructions to my driver to take us to The Oberoi's for a shoot.
"What, we'll have to eat at The Oberoi's today," the man is visibly irritated. Wondering if he's missing home food, just like me, I ask him to bear with 'outside food' for the day."No, no Madam," he declares, "it's not the outside food, just that I prefer the lunch buffet at The Graaaaand!"
Such selective display of gastronomical preferences leaves me flabbergasted for a while. I try to offer him an olive branch . .. well, errr . . . Lays chips. In two quick munches he finishes the carb-laden diet. Then with the swiftness of an acrobat that pack is tossed, heaven forbid, right in the middle of the expressway."What was that. . ." I start to protest.
"Madam, now don't start your lecture on road cleanliness (such audacity, I miss in drivers elsewhere). Have you ever thought how many people will become jobless if we stop littering?"
That was a knock-out punch. I didn't even realise what hit me. The, how do you say it, Graaaand Finale'. A voice in my mind told me you can't buy that logic but let's admit it, my wits were beaten black and blue. Just then, I did not know how to answer him.
NOIDA: I and my high-profile stylist grab a quick take-away from McDies, pick my outfit for the weekend show and rush officewards to meet some uncalled for, god-damned deadline.
Again that acrobatic pitching-of-litter-in-the-middle-of-the-road performance is repeated. This time, by my suave-looking, globe-trotting, self-proclaimed gay stylist. He catches my eye (and the look of disgust in it) and offers apologetically, "It's Ok Baba, sorry na. Besides, no one was watching."Ya right! I sigh.
MUMBAI: Finally a city where people are said to be lot more courteous than those in north India. I stay with a friend in her posh Hiranandani Estate apartment. This place has got a swanky club house, crystal clear swimming pool and sprawling well-manicured gardens.
Nothing can go wrong here, I tell myself when I see the roads being swept clean early morning. Three days into our morning walk, we come across -- what else -- litter. Wrappers of fancy chocolates, plastic bottles of Gatorade and Red Bull, man this is high profile litter.
Even before I can voice my disgust, my friend -- an Aries girl (and therefore obssessed with cleanliness), dives down and with acrobatic precision aims the litter (thankfuly) into -- where it should always have been -- a waste bin.
At last, I take in a breath of relief. Then I recount to my Australia-returned friend, what my driver had said. "If we don't litter so many people will remain jobless." "What nonsense", she snaps, "In Australia, roads are washed everyday. Why would sweepers lose jobs, they will become the cleansing squad."
That was easy. Why did it not hit my Indian mindset? Conditioning, I say. That's bad conditioning.
PS: I have long been the unofficial ragpicker of my society. There are many such posts lying vacant in your vicinity. Interested parties need not apply. Just get started. Else, this is the new age jingle for your kids:
LITTER, litter everywhere,
Urban India STINKS!!!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Dirty Indians
Ever came across a handful of men staring at you in great resentment?
I did in the market-place today. Their coal black eyes resembled ambers. Their mannerism looked serious as if to say -- Dude, I mean no-nonsense! Worst of all, piercing arrows of all those pairs of eyes were directed at me.
ADRENALIN RUSH happened. FIGHT or FLIGHT, my mind asked, simultaneously wondering what had I done to invoke their wrath? TRUCE -- my higher self intervened. [I am high on Yoga and meditation these days.]
So, I strutted towards, oh don't-ask-where -- electricity bill collection centre. Suddenly, it dawned upon me that the men I have been referring to were not an angry mob, they were an angry queue. REALISATION No. 2: The queue was lined-up for paying up electricity bills. (This is what months of making online reservations and paying OL bills does to your sense of reality.) I had completely discounted the idea that if I were to continue enjoying my digital lifestyle, I'll have to stand at the rear end of this human chain. [In true saggi spirit I was paying my bills in the last hour of the last day of the given deadline. Going by the length of queue, though, it seems my status as a lazybum is under severe threat.]
Anyway, like any other law-abiding citizen I took my position at the tail-end. Now, that men's gaze had shifted from me and I had enough time to kill, I decided to wear my psychoanalyst shoes. The topic of analysis being -- why those men looked angry? Few reasons I worked out, go like this:
1. Their wives might have nagged them into this.
2. They might have pesky bosses, back there to report to
3. They might have *taboo -bad-sex-life- taboo*
OR
4. May be meditation has made me a calmer being. I have evolved while rest of my species has been entangled in the mess of "maya".
The last one was a chewy thought but before I could savour it, I heard angry shouts. I turned just-in-time to notice that a lady was walking past us, clearly ignoring others' protests to stand in the queue.
She seemed, to me, a great follower of Alexander. Veni, Vidi, Vici . . .she came, she paid, she left. Actually she could not execute the last leg of her invasion plan as she was mobbed. Amongst angry shouts, I heard a familiar voice - - MINE. What was I saying-- " This is what you gonna teach your kids, SCHMUCK WOMAN!!!" (Here goes my higher self for a toss.)
So this is it. The resentful eyes of those men, they were not directed at me. They were trying to pre-empt this phenomena UNIQUE to and PATENTED by Indians. That of breaking and bending all rules. That of showing middle finger to law and order. I mean, that lady looked well literarte (apparently not educated though) and well-to-do. While senior citizens, daily-wagers and even lazy ME wait for our respective turns, this woman has to be in time for her scheduled appointment with the PM. HUH!!
This is why resentment grows and stays in local trains. Road rage becomes more of a style statetment. This is why most of the Indians walk on the streets with a big frown on their foreheads. (I swear, I stood on an overbridge once, to check out how many smiling faces I could encounter. Result = ZERO!!)
This anger, probably stems from the realisation that we as a country have no civic sense, no collective conscience. We are dirty opportunists. I bet, that lady would be the first to point fingers if a political thug were to outshine her in another similar queue (Since queues are such a universal phenomena in India.)
Few months back, a local Reuters correspondent (a British guy) had written a particulary unflattering article about "habits of Indians". I was the first one to call him and give it to him left, right, centre . . .top, bottom -- whatever. "Magi, you don't understand. You are not complete India. You are a behavioural minority", he had said.
I so wish, he was wrong. How I wish, some day he would be wrong about it.
I did in the market-place today. Their coal black eyes resembled ambers. Their mannerism looked serious as if to say -- Dude, I mean no-nonsense! Worst of all, piercing arrows of all those pairs of eyes were directed at me.
ADRENALIN RUSH happened. FIGHT or FLIGHT, my mind asked, simultaneously wondering what had I done to invoke their wrath? TRUCE -- my higher self intervened. [I am high on Yoga and meditation these days.]
So, I strutted towards, oh don't-ask-where -- electricity bill collection centre. Suddenly, it dawned upon me that the men I have been referring to were not an angry mob, they were an angry queue. REALISATION No. 2: The queue was lined-up for paying up electricity bills. (This is what months of making online reservations and paying OL bills does to your sense of reality.) I had completely discounted the idea that if I were to continue enjoying my digital lifestyle, I'll have to stand at the rear end of this human chain. [In true saggi spirit I was paying my bills in the last hour of the last day of the given deadline. Going by the length of queue, though, it seems my status as a lazybum is under severe threat.]
Anyway, like any other law-abiding citizen I took my position at the tail-end. Now, that men's gaze had shifted from me and I had enough time to kill, I decided to wear my psychoanalyst shoes. The topic of analysis being -- why those men looked angry? Few reasons I worked out, go like this:
1. Their wives might have nagged them into this.
2. They might have pesky bosses, back there to report to
3. They might have *taboo -bad-sex-life- taboo*
OR
4. May be meditation has made me a calmer being. I have evolved while rest of my species has been entangled in the mess of "maya".
The last one was a chewy thought but before I could savour it, I heard angry shouts. I turned just-in-time to notice that a lady was walking past us, clearly ignoring others' protests to stand in the queue.
She seemed, to me, a great follower of Alexander. Veni, Vidi, Vici . . .she came, she paid, she left. Actually she could not execute the last leg of her invasion plan as she was mobbed. Amongst angry shouts, I heard a familiar voice - - MINE. What was I saying-- " This is what you gonna teach your kids, SCHMUCK WOMAN!!!" (Here goes my higher self for a toss.)
So this is it. The resentful eyes of those men, they were not directed at me. They were trying to pre-empt this phenomena UNIQUE to and PATENTED by Indians. That of breaking and bending all rules. That of showing middle finger to law and order. I mean, that lady looked well literarte (apparently not educated though) and well-to-do. While senior citizens, daily-wagers and even lazy ME wait for our respective turns, this woman has to be in time for her scheduled appointment with the PM. HUH!!
This is why resentment grows and stays in local trains. Road rage becomes more of a style statetment. This is why most of the Indians walk on the streets with a big frown on their foreheads. (I swear, I stood on an overbridge once, to check out how many smiling faces I could encounter. Result = ZERO!!)
This anger, probably stems from the realisation that we as a country have no civic sense, no collective conscience. We are dirty opportunists. I bet, that lady would be the first to point fingers if a political thug were to outshine her in another similar queue (Since queues are such a universal phenomena in India.)
Few months back, a local Reuters correspondent (a British guy) had written a particulary unflattering article about "habits of Indians". I was the first one to call him and give it to him left, right, centre . . .top, bottom -- whatever. "Magi, you don't understand. You are not complete India. You are a behavioural minority", he had said.
I so wish, he was wrong. How I wish, some day he would be wrong about it.
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