In support of Laziness

Here’s an extract from a conversation I recently had with a friend over chat
…
Friend: Hey, you haven’t written anything on your blog since a while.
Jay: Well, ya I was bored to write. Just being lazy :)
F: :) Well seriously, why haven’t you written anything?
J: Well seriously, I haven’t written only because I just felt lazy to write anything new.
F: Is everything all right? Any problems?
J: No problems at all. Everything is just fine.
F: Then why haven’t you written anything?
J: :) because I was bored to write. I was just being lazy.
F: Hmmm, okay. Write something soon.
J: Ok :) will do.
…
The conversation made me think; think about ‘Boredom’ or rather ‘Laziness’. We all fall victim to boredom, we all get pangs of laziness, and we all procrastinate. Yet, we never appreciate someone else’s laziness. ‘I may be the laziest bum on this planet, but I will not tolerate your laziness’ – is a credo that we all follow very religiously. Somehow ‘laziness’ does not qualify as a legitimate excuse. In fact, most of us won’t even accept it as an excuse at all. It is indeed a pity that in all these years of human existence, laziness hasn’t gained its due appreciation.

Since laziness is not an acceptable excuse, we camouflage it with other excuses: “I was not well”, “I had some important family issues to attend to”, “Something important came up”, “I had a meeting”, “I had prior commitments” and many other excuses that we come up with, all of which mean nothing but “I was just lazy and I was bored to do whatever I was supposed to do. So I just didn’t do it”. And most of the times we do a really sloppy job with these excuses. But we never admit that we were just being lazy. It’s like those bald men who try to cover up their baldness with wigs. They think nobody would ever figure out that it’s a wig, but it doesn’t take a second glance for others to make out that it’s a fake. But these men still go about flaunting their toupees, assuming that the whole world is dumb enough to believe that the synthetic looking strands of black fiber on their head is nothing but real hair. That’s the way we try hard to cover up our laziness with these fake excuses. At times we try harder. We do it by using the word ‘really’ in our excuses. “I was Really not well”, “Something Really important came up” and so on. All that means is that I was ‘Really Lazy’.

Necessity, they say, is the mother of all inventions. Since ‘lazy’ did not manage to find its place in the list of acceptable excuses, we had to invent something that was close enough to ‘lazy’ and yet would sound legitimate enough to be acceptable. That’s when we came up with ‘busy’. ‘Busy’ is the new ‘Lazy’. “I am/was busy” is now a perfectly acceptable excuse. It’s an excuse that fits almost everywhere (except on the leave note of my kid’s school calendar book), and nobody questions it much. And because it can be used in almost any situation, we have started using it all the time. So much so that many have even started believing in it as well; many actually believe that they really are ‘busy’ :)

I still prefer to cherish my laziness. I practice it, and trust me it’s worth every moment of it. Try it out, and if you don’t know how, then here are some simple ways to practice laziness. Whenever you have a not so interesting task to complete, the first thing you do is delegate – that’s nothing but simply passing on the work to someone else. That way you can enjoy your laziness till at least the other person comes up with a legitimate sounding excuse for not completing the work. Then you ‘Automate’. That’s nothing but spending the next few days lazing around hoping that work would get done ‘Automatically’. In case it does, just be happy about it and do not try to investigate on how the automation happened. Now just in case the ‘automate’ option didn’t work either, then try to ‘Eliminate’. That’s like pretending that the task never existed. You can easily kill a few more days this way. By now it’s quite likely that the work you were supposed to do is either completed, or outdated, or forgotten. If not, just wait till ‘urgency’ kicks in. Whoever needs that work to be done will come yelling at you and trust me, it’s a great driver. You will do it then. So the trick is to just be lazy and wait till the absolute last minute when the urgency of the situation will super motivate you to get things done. Go try it out.

‘Laziness’ is a virtue. Nurture it. It has its own advantages. I would have listed them down for you here, but you know what, I am just too lazy to type all that. So go figure it out yourself. Be lazy. Spend time doing things you like or just doing nothing at all. Don’t be too busy. Just enjoy your lazy life.

I Don’t Like You

“Can I come with you?”, my mom’s friend asked our 5 year old daughter Mukta, who was busy getting ready to go to the park. “No”, was Mukta’s instant reply. “Pleaseeeee, can I come?”, the lady asked her again trying to sound as sweet and gullible as she could, but Mukta’s reply was again the same “No”. I was hoping that the lady stopped cajoling the kid further, but she didn’t. She tried different ways to persuade Mukta. She even offered to buy her chocolates and toys, but Mukta’s answer was always a “No”. At one point she asked Mukta “Why don’t you want me to come with you?”. The kid looked at the lady for a while and then very coolly said “Because I don’t like you.”

The other adults in the room managed to salvage the situation and thankfully mom’s friend didn’t take offence of Mukta’s words. Later that evening when Mukta returned from the park, my wife tried having a conversation with Mukta about the episode. Mukta was however not interested in discussing the issue. But my wife was adamant. She wanted the kid realize that her behavior was not right. So she started giving the kid pep talk on manners, courtesy, politeness, feelings and so on. Mukta was a little confused. After hearing all that mommy had to say, she said “but I really don’t like aunty”. My wife tried to argue saying “Why don’t you like her? She is nice to you, she always gets you something – chocolates, toys”. “But I still don’t like her” was Mukta’s counter argument. The discussion went on for a while. Mukta had no particular reasons to cite for her dislike, and my wife was soon losing her patience with the kid.

“You should not talk to people like that, that rude. It’s not right” at one point my wife almost scolded the kid. “But I really don’t like her. Really, really (Mala ti kharach avadat nahi, kharach, kharach)” Mukta tried to sound as convincing as possible, but when she realized that her arguments weren’t good enough to convince mom, she ran away to avoid further confrontation. I was just a silent spectator to this conversation. I chose not to interrupt because I didn’t know whom exactly to support. But when Mukta fled the argument scene, my wife looked at me and said “Your daughter is growing up to be very stubborn and rude” and then after a brief pause she added “just like you”. Her last three words took me by surprise. I couldn’t comprehend why and when had I got dragged into this mess. “What? Now what did I do?” was my instant reaction. “Nothing” was the reply.

‘Oh-O, there comes another Nothing’ I thought as I tried to gauge what this nothing was about. I really dread ‘Nothings’. Now not that I am really good at relationships, but over the years if I have learnt something then it’s knowing for sure that ‘Nothing’ is by far the most complicated expression a woman can throw at you. Nothing is never nothing, it’s definitely something, it’s everything; it’s much more that that actually. Never should you ignore a nothing. But at that moment I chose to ignore the ‘Nothing’. My mind was occupied by my child’s words, and some interesting thought that it had generated, and I didn’t want them to be distracted.

I was actually amused at the ease at which my kid had uttered those words. I wondered, could I be that brutally honest at expressing my feelings too? How would people react if I actually told them “Hey, you know what, I don’t like you”. Would they demand explanations on why I don’t like them, or would they pick up a fight, or would they just benignly accept the fact and walk away with a smile? (I know for sure that some would definitely complain to my mom about my unruly behavior). I soon started having imaginary conversations with some selected acquaintances and family members, conversations that went like: “Hey we should meet up sometimes?”… “No we shouldn’t”... “Why not?”… “Because, I don’t like you”. Another conversation went something like this “Why didn’t you attend my son’s wedding?”… “Because I don’t like you.” I started visualizing reactions of people when I said those words. It was fun, in a very weird way. I was starting to like my idea of being honest instead of being diplomatic. It definitely was a twisted thought, but I was enjoying it :) – enjoying it enough to risk ignoring my wife’s ‘Nothing’.

Later that night I asked my wife “Is there somebody you don’t like?”. My wife gave me the ‘Right now, it’s just you’ kind of looks. But before she could express herself further, I went about explaining my thoughts that had resulted from Mukta’s words; thoughts about being honest and actually telling people the way you feel about them. “What do you think? From now on can we start being absolutely honest with everybody?” She looked at me for a while and said “I think you are just crazy. You have gone mad.” “Well no seriously, can we actually start being totally honest with people?” I tried to clarify my point. “I just did.” came the reply. There was an awkward moment of silence that followed and then a “Goodnight”. That marked the end of the conversation, and my ‘honestly’ plans as well.

Well there is fantasy, and then there is reality. The reality is that I am no more a five year old and thus I can’t exactly enjoy the liberty of being that honest. So I shelved my “I don’t like you” gig (at least for now). But that’s okay. I don’t go about telling a lot of people “I like you” either, even when I do like them. So I guess that balances things off. But when I see my five year old expressing her opinions freely, I at times feel jealous. I secretly wish that I could do that too. Well that’s life. I have come a long way from being a five year old, but at times I am left wondering if over the years did I really grow up, or did I just learn to act?

An Evening at the Police Station

A few weeks ago I, along with few others, was summoned to the police station; the police wanted to record our statements regarding a local dispute that was escalated. Now I had never been to a police station before, and my perception of a police station was entirely based on the knowledge I had garnered watching those hundreds of Hindi films. So what I expected was a well laid out setup, cabins with swinging doors, walls decked with pictures of national leaders and patriotic slogans, nasty looking cops, lockups hosting a few bad men, a torture room with occasional screams coming out of them, a waiting area with a typical wooden bench where we would be made to spend hours waiting for our turn to meet the inspector, and so on; just like they show in films. But alas, there was nothing of that sort.

I was disappointed the moment I stepped into the place. That the place never looked like the picturesque police station I had imagined. It bore the looks of just any other rundown government office – unclean floor, a few broken windows, stained walls, stinky toilets, dust covered files piled up on open racks; I even spotted a few rats running around. People were walking in and out of the place as casually as they do in a park. I couldn’t see anybody being handcuffed, beaten, or being taken away with their faces covered in a black cloth. At least I hoped to see a lockup with bars and a big lock, but I couldn’t find it either. Had there not been a signboard at the gate, I would have never believed that this place was a police station.

Anyways, without wandering much, we managed to locate the cabin of the inspector who had summoned us. Surprising the inspector was quite warm at welcoming us and as soon as we entered his cabin he asked if we would like a cup of tea or coffee. I was a bit take aback by this courteous gesture; I should admit I had expected a ruder cop. Our discussion with this cop went pretty well. But while we were discussing our case, there was a small interruption by a junior inspector who came in to discuss a problem. Here’s an extract of the conversation (translated from Marathi) that followed between the junior inspector and his senior:
Junior Inspector (JI): Sir, we don’t have a patrol vehicle for tonight.
Senior Inspector (SI): Why what happened?
JI: Sir, Vehicle 1 is out on duty, and we sent Vehicle 3 for VIP duty.
SI: and Vehicle 2?
JI: Sir it’s not working
SI: Then why did you send Vehicle 3 on VIP duty, you should have sent Vehicle 2.
JI: Vehicle 2 is not working, it doesn’t start. So I sent Vehicle 3
SI: But what’s the use of keeping Vehicle 2 for us, you should have kept the good one for us and sent the bad one on VIP duty.
JI: (repeats) But Vehicle 2 is not working, so I sent Vehicle 3 for VIP duty.
SI: Now what will we do with a non working vehicle.
(JI does not reply).
SI: That why you should have kept vehicle 3 for us, and sent Vehicle 2 instead.
JI: (apparently realizing his mistake) Now what to do sir?
SI: Let me see what to do. But next time always keep the good vehicles for us, and send away bad ones.
JI: Okay Sir (and left the room)

I was very much tempted to ask this senior inspector, “How was he supposed to send away a vehicle that wouldn’t start?” But then I chose to keep quiet and not interfere with police work. Maybe there was something I was missing about the whole vehicle issue. Maybe they had a way of somehow dispatching vehicles that didn’t start. Maybe ‘Vehicle’ was a code word for something else. Well a lot of ‘maybes’ were possible. After all these were detectives at work 

When we finished discussing our case we were asked to meet his assistant and record our statements. Now this assistant was a guy straight out of a comic movie - he was talkative, absent minded, and a wannabe ‘Karamchand’ who apparently had ended up as a police typist. The moment he heard our case, he started off by giving us an elaborate history of similar cases that had happened in the past. He then came up with his own very interesting conspiracy theories on our otherwise straight forward case. When I tried to refute his arguments he tried to convince me by citing many instances of sabotage that he had witnessed in his entire police career. Finally I had to accept his theories so that we could proceed with recording the statement.

When we started recording the statement, our conversation was often interrupted by visitors. Every time there was a visitor he would get involved in a detailed discussion with them. When he would return to me, it would take him a few minutes to recap our prior discussion and refresh his memory. Once it so happened that when the visitor left, he started discussing their case with me, giving me his viewpoints and asking me my opinions on it. By then I had started enjoying this guy’s company. He sure was an entertainer. So when he asked me my opinion on a real police case, I didn’t miss out my opportunity of playing Karamchand either (well I always wanted to be a detective). Finally after a very satisfying investigative brainstorming session with my detective buddy, the only thing I hoped for was a carrot to chew on (Karamchand style). Finally after more than an hour, we finished recording the statement; a simple procedure that should have normally taken not more than 10 minutes – not to mention that there were tea breaks and mava (chewing tobacco) eating and spitting breaks in between too.

My overall experience at the police station was pretty casual. It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t professional either. It just left me wondering – how do they manage to tackle real crime?

Gifts

“The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention”. When I read this quote on one of my friend’s Facebook statuses, like the many other statuses, I really couldn’t comprehend this one either. Now I don’t know about you people, but I have pretty normal family and friends. When we talk of ‘gifts’, we actually mean materialistic things that money (or mastercard) can buy; not such philosophical mumbo jumbo. So I really doubt if ‘attention’ as a gift would actually work with the people I know. Say I show up at a party and while I am there, I do nothing but focus my entire undivided attention on the hosts - I am certain that such a gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. It could actually freak my hosts out. Anyway, I don’t want to try it out. To begin with ‘Gifting’ has never been easy for me, and I don’t intend to complicate it any further.

Gifting is a complex ordeal. It involves a whole socio-psycho-financial analysis that I am not so good at. It starts with analyzing the reason for gifting followed by assessing your relationship with the person you buying the gift for. In most cases you have no idea what this person likes, at the same time you don’t think it’s a wise idea to just ask what gift they want. You don’t want to spend a whole lot of money either, yet you want to make a decent enough impression. All these factors add to the complexity of the situation. But while buying gifts is complex enough, faking happiness when you receive a totally useless gift is far more difficult. I guess that’s why as a kid my parents never let me to open gifts the moment I received them. They said it was bad manners to do so and insisted that I should open the gifts only after the party was over and all guests left. They probably knew that I was not good at hiding disappointments and wanted to avoid any sort of embarrassing situations that would have resulted from my unexpectedly ‘honest’ comments on seeing the gift.

But times have changed. Recently, I have often found myself in situations where my friends and family insist that I open the gift right in front of them. Thankfully over time I have matured as well. I have learnt to camouflage my disappointments. Experience tells me that the use of the words “Wow”, “Nice” and “Thank you” in a sentence followed by explicitly mentioning that you always wanted that gift item, works perfectly: “Wow, I always wanted a nice Pen, Thank You.”; “Wow. Nice. A photo frame, we always wanted one. Thank you”; “Nice, wow, I was just about to buy myself a coffee mug. Thank you”. Try it, it works. It has always worked for me except once when I hastily went “Oh, Nice, I always wanted a …..ehhh, hmmmm….... a wine cork opener?, …a can opener?, no, a screw driver?...a swiss knife??...well what is this?” It happened to be a multi-utility vegetable slicer. But that’s life. Every trick fails sometimes.

As a child, I remember, gifts were a lot less fancy than what they are today. In fact they were boring too – as boring as a stainless steel utensil with the gifter’s name and date engraved on the side/bottom of it. But amongst those many boring gifts that I have received, the most common and my most hated gift was a ‘cut-piece’. Some of you younger folks might not know what that is, but back then we had this tradition of gifting not shirts or pants, but rather long stretches of cloth called a ‘shirt-piece’ or a ‘pant-piece’ (collective known as a cut-piece). You then had to go to a tailor and get the shirt or pant stitched.

Now if you are wondering why I hated the cut-piece so much, well here’s how the story goes. Every time I got a ‘shirt-piece’ as a gift my mom would religiously take me to this old tailor to get the shirt stitched. The tailor would patiently take my measurements and ask us to come back after a week to collect the shirt. We never discussed designs or styles with the tailor. That was left to the tailor’s discretion. The only thing that my mom would request the tailor was to return the leftover pieces of cloth. That was her only concern. Unfortunately the honest tailor always obliged. Now these leftover pieces would end up as a bag (the typical cloth ‘thaili’) that would be used for grocery/vegetable shopping. Now can you imagine my embarrassment having to wear a shirt with two large pockets, large colorful button (yup, that was the tailors idea of fashion), a long collar, and a perfectly matching shopping bag to go with it. Back in those days we didn’t even have all these ‘say no to plastic bags’ campaigns or those ‘save the planet’ facebook kind of groups. If we did, I would definitely join all such online groups and flaunt an ‘environmental friendly activist’ kind of image and somehow use it as a cover up for this whole matching shirt-bag debacle. But unfortunately, I just had to live through all the embarrassment – all because of that ‘cut-piece’ gift.

Talking of environmental friendliness, one thing that my family invariably recycles are ‘gifts’. Many gifts that come into the family get recycled (they are re-gifted). Now I actually don’t have a problem with that. I feel it’s a smart thing to do. The only problem I have is that my parents even recycle the wrapping papers. They have a whole stack of saved up wrapping papers, unwrapped from gifts, folded and kept aside for future use. Unfortunately my parents are not very skilled at this art, nor do they care much about it. So often the wrapping paper on every gift they re-gift is usually crumpled, sometimes it’s a little shorter than the gift, and at times it has few leftover pieces of tape from the earlier wrapping. I have often brought these things to their notice, but their standard reply is “Who cares about the wrapping? It’s the gift that matters” leaving me with nothing more to say. Well on second thoughts, it’s a good thing that they don’t use fancy paper to wrap recycled gifts. At least it doesn’t raise expectation of the recipient. A real exotic paper with an old re-gifted piece of crockery set wrapped inside doesn’t make a great combo anyway.

PS1: What’s with this whole ‘return gift’ thing that popped up these days. It is my humble request to all you people that please don’t invent such new gifting practices. Don’t complicate ‘gifting’ any further.

PS2: I still like wedding invites that explicitly mention ‘No Presents’ on it. That’s one request I always oblige to.

Yes Uncle

In everyone’s life, there comes this defining moment that changes one’s whole outlook towards life. It makes you think, retrospect, ponder, and wonder; you suddenly mature beyond age. This defining moment is thrust upon you unexpectedly, when you are least prepared for it. You are caught off guard, not sure how to react to the situation. And for most of us, this moment is when for the first time in your life some idiotic stranger on the street addresses you as “Uncle” or “Aunty”.

If you happen to live in India, you first experience this being called ‘Uncle/Aunty’ moment sometime in your late 20’s (My sincere sympathies to those who have experienced this tragedy in their early 20’s). You are really lucky or a liar (and mostly the latter) in case you managed to stay away from being addressed as an Uncle/Aunty till you hit 30. But it really doesn’t matter how old you are when you first experience this tragic moment. The effect is equally devastating. And ironically the person addressing you as Uncle/Aunty is generally not a toddler, but some stupid, dumb, overgrown kid in his/her upper teens who does not have any respect for humanity or mankind – going about addressing youngsters like you and me as uncle/aunty.

I remember the time when my wife and I, on a warm and cosy afternoon during our honeymoon, were treading the paths of some hill station in southern India. My wife wanted to visit the local marketplace and so she stopped a school going girl to ask for directions. This kid (must be in her 9th or 10th class) was nice enough to explain us the way to the marketplace. When she was done with her explanation, just to reconfirm I asked “So we take the first left, and then the second right?” Without the slightest hesitation she replied “YES UNCLE”. She was loud, she was clear, and she had no regrets or remorse for what she had just said. But those two words - “Yes Uncle” - had left me speechless, embarrassed, and clueless on how to react. It was as if my whole world had been brought to a screeching halt, and then turned upside down. I was trying my best to remain ‘cool’, but in reality I was an emotional wreck. I looked at my wife, hoping she had not heard those words. But the smile on her face, that was growing wider and wider, told me that she had found one of the most blissful moments of her married life. And then when you think life can’t get any crueller, it just does. With that wide smile my wife looked at that girl and said “Thank You”. I don’t know if the thanking was for helping us with the directions or calling me Uncle. Anyways I was too disoriented to think anything. But what happened next will remain etched in our memories till we die. That girl looked at my wife and as she walked away said “WELCOME AKKA !!” (‘Akka’ means elder sister).

It is surprising how one of your most embarrassing moments in life can be your spouse’s most cherished moment. But then that’s life and you got to deal with it. But every time you think you have learnt to deal with life, some idiot pops up from nowhere and says “Uncle” – and this new idiot is older than the earlier one who called you Uncle. School kids, college kids, and even the door to door salesman now call you uncle. Even the telemarketer on the phone sometimes used that five lettered word to address you. Soon you lose count of the number of times you have been called Uncle – just like you lose count of the number of your white hair that keep lurking on your head.

Some days ago I was at the local market where I bumped into this kid selling lemons who said “Uncle, limbo le lo na, paanch rupaye ka teen”. This time I thought, let me not let the kid get away with calling me Uncle. After all I was his prospective client. So let me show the kid that I am not (yet) uncle material. So before I let him close the deal on the lemons, I asked “Kya re, tere ko kya mein ‘Uncle’ jaise dikhta hoon?”. I was hoping the kid would say something that would be apologetic in nature. Instead he looked at me rather surprised and said “Aap ko pata nahi? Aaj kal ‘Uncle’ fashion mein hain !!”. Now what more could I say? I was sort of stunned by that answer. I just did an “Hmmm...Oh, Ok!”, smiled at the kid and bought not three but six lemons.

The kid’s answer was sure gratifying enough for me to force myself to believe that all those people who have ever called me Uncle (including that school girl whom we had asked directions) were just following the latest fashion trends, and that those Uncle-ing references had got nothing to do with my age, appearance, or demeanour whatsoever. But still, it’s my humble appeal to all you young and old: Just stay away from this fashion at least when talking to me. I have a name, call me by that name. If you don’t know my name, just ask. I will tell you. But please refrain yourself from using that five letter word, at least for the next decade, however fashionable you might think it is.

My Loo-natic Experience

Last week, on my way back from Pune, when the bus stopped at the rest area on the expressway I was happy to see a McDonalds there. It was a little after eight in the evening, I was hungry, and it had been a long time since I had sunk my teeth in a Mac burger. Now don’t hate me for saying this, but I kind of always liked McDonalds. In the Americas the McDonalds was my occasional getaway for a clean, affordable and a quick hunger quenching experience for under $5. Although not a delicacy, I still enjoyed biting into the big-mac, especially when on a road trip. The Indian version of the McDonalds though not so great, and expensive too, for nostalgic reasons, I decided to dine there.

After I was done with my dining, I asked the restaurant attendant on the whereabouts of the restroom/bathroom. Surprisingly they didn’t have one in their restaurant, but instead he directed me to the one at the other end of the rest area. Now it was dark outside. It was slightly drizzling, so the entire area was mucky. As I headed out waddling my way down that mucky path, at the far end I could see a dimly lit shanty with some hustle bustle around. I assumed that it must be the loo, and continued in that direction. There were no signboards anywhere but as I moved closer, the stench coming from that shanty confirmed that I was headed down the right path. When I finally reached the place, the scene inside was nothing but yuck. It was disgusting.

To begin with, the place was dimly lit; barely enough for one to figure out the architecture of the place. I guess, someone was taking the idea of energy conservation a little too seriously. As I quickly glanced the around, I noticed that one of the urinals had a branch of a tree stuck right in it, Well that wasn’t decoration or a ‘Go Green’ attempt, but rather an indication that the urinal was ‘out of order’ (like they sometimes stick a tree branch in open manholes – that same way). Some of the other urinals were completely broken; they didn’t need those twigs or branches to indicate their non-operational state. The ones that supposedly worked had no flushes. Instead there was a pipe that hung a few feet above that dripped water into them. I never figured out if it was a just a leaking pipe of someone’s idea of an automatic flushing system. I didn’t dare to venture any closer to figure out that mystery. I quickly relieved myself and exited that stink hole.

As I walked out of that place, I realized that what I missed about the American McDonald was not just the burger, but rather the holistic refreshing experience. For that matter not just McDonalds, but most American fast food joints and rest areas come equipped with a fairly clean public toilet system. Having spent about six years in Uncle Sam’s land, and now settled back home in Mumbai, that’s something I really miss in India. A clean restroom with all the necessary accessories is a non existing concept in the Indian public domain. In India if you ever feel the need to ‘go’ while you are on the go, you could be in big trouble. In most places, even finding a public restroom is a rarity. Having found one, being able to use it is an accomplishment in itself.

Well I need not write more about my yucky experiences, but as an end note I would like to cite this notice that was pasted in the toilets of one of the coffee shops in the city. It read “Please Do Not Use the Toilet Paper to Wipe Your Face”. On reading this I looked around, but apparently there was no toilet paper anywhere in there; leaving my mind unnecessary wondering about its disappearance and usage.

I Love You

Warning: If you have never been in love before, please do not read this article. I do not want to spoil the fun for you. So go fall in love. When you are done with the falling part, you may come back and read this. For those who have been in love before, you may continue reading.

Falling in love is a beautiful thing. It seriously is. Some say it’s a naturally occurring phenomenon, but I don’t completely agree. You need to put in some efforts. You really need to take that plunge. But whether you take the plunge, or you get pulled or pushed into it, the fall offers an amazing feeling. It changes your world. Everything around you suddenly seems to be perfect, in fact beautiful too. It makes you smile more; sometimes you just can’t stop smiling even when there isn’t anything to smile about. Some lose appetite, some lose sleep, and some lose both. Songs suddenly appear more meaningful. You tend to become a more emotional person. You pride yourself in doing crazy things that under normal circumstances would deserve a “Are you out of your mind?” sort of an expression, but when in love you just don’t care. Your goodbyes on the phone last all night, you travel cross country just to spend a few hours with the one you love, you spend on expensive gifts, you eat things that you hated all your life just because sweetheart loves it. Reasoning and logic don’t apply to you anymore. You attain a state of trance; a euphoric feeling that not ever the finest champagne offers.

The ‘falling in love’ part is always nice; it’s the ‘standing up’ part where the problem lies. After you are done with the falling, there comes a time when you get up, and get on with life. You suddenly get busy with work, friends, family, and all other things that kept you busy before you fell in love. It’s your ‘catching up with life’ phase. That’s when your troubles begin – because when you took the plunge, you took it in tandem with your sweetheart, but when you decided to get up, you stood up alone. That’s when fights happen. You get accused of not being in love anymore. But that really isn’t the case. You are still in love; it’s just that you are no longer falling in love. You are standing in love - and a standing person behaves more sensibly than a falling one. A standing person also expresses his ‘lovely’ feelings less frequently (except when under the influence of alcohol.)

When in love, there are fights and there are break ups. That’s your opportunity to speak your heart out. You say things that you later claim were not meant to be taken the way they sounded. So now you make up. During the make up sessions you agree that nothing is more important than both of you expressing your true feelings, even if they cause conflict. But trust me, this doesn’t work. Things you said rarely get forgotten or accepted. They just get stacked back in memory, only to be used against you at a later time. All those ‘feelings’ and ‘pleasantries’ you had expressed during the fight, get evoked during the next fight. At times your partner’s memory amazes you and you once again get accused of not being in love anymore. But again, that isn’t the case. Just because you fight does not mean you aren’t in love. You are still standing in love and when you have nothing to do while you stand, you sometimes fight.

When you are standing in love, you often come across articles and forwarded emails that try to teach you what love is, what real love is, and what true love is. But I tell you, like those Nigerian emails that promise you a hefty sum of millions of dollars, these mails on love are nothing but crap. Don’t fall for them. They try to hypnotize you with a lot of philosophical bullshit that create an illusion of what love should be, what it actually means, and also how messed up your love life is. Don’t believe them. Just remember two important things. First, that it is okay to fight with the one you love. In fact I would say that a right partner for you is the one whom you don’t mind fighting with. Rest all is just ‘read and forgot’. So go fight it out. And second, and the most important thing, if your sweetheart ever asks you the reason why you love her/him, your answer should always be “because of your Inner Beauty” (even if you don’t have a clue of what it actually means).

Parenting Advice

To all you parents out there (and to those who intend to be one some day), here is some parenting advice:

Picture this
Scenario 1
Venue: Dining room. Time: 8:00 PM.
- Mom at a dining table - sorting out some bills.
- Her four year old at the table too, playing with dinner (eating some, dropping some)
- Mom goes to kitchen, leaving her bills and cheques on the table.
- Kid gets up from the chair, picks up a pen and draws an apple on mom’s cheque book
- Mom comes back, sees the apple and says “Oh, how cute”. Mom kisses the kid and asks “Did you draw this?” Kid lets out a big smile and a affirmative nod. Mom kisses the kid again and says “Now quickly finish your dinner and I will let you eat a chocolate later”
- Kid gets back to dinner, and mom looks at the apple in admiration

Two weeks later (Scenario 2)
Venue: Same dining room. Time: 8:00 PM.
- Mom again at the dining table - sorting out bills.
- The same four year old is at the table, again playing with dinner (eating some, dropping some)
- Mom goes to kitchen, leaving her bills and cheques on the table.
- Kid gets up from the chair, picks up a pen and this time draws a flower on the cheque book
- Mom comes back, sees the flower and yells “Who asked you to do this? You have started becoming naughtier day by day. Go and finish your dinner” Kid all confused; just stands there staring at mom. Mom shouts again. Kid doesn’t react. Mom gets angrier. Spanks kid. Kid cries. Mom forcibly makes kid sit on the chair and yells “Stop crying and do not get up from there until you finish your dinner”

Now this is what I call good parenting; the key to which lies in the ‘unpredictable behavior’ as a parent

In the above scenario, the kid probably never figures out what went wrong the second time. ‘Why did mom hit me? Last time when I drew the apple, she gave me a chocolate. This time I drew a flower and she hit me. Maybe mom doesn’t like flowers. Maybe she only likes apples. But I can draw a good flower. But I should have drawn an apple’ is what the kid thinks. What the kid doesn’t know is that mom had a bad day at work today, plus the amounts on the bills were higher this time, plus the bills were already a week overdue, plus she had an argument with dad a little while ago, plus the cheque on which the flower was drawn was the last leaf in the cheque book; and hence all the outrage and the spanking. But whatever be the reasons, mom’s actions today will result in making her a good parent.

If you want to be a good parent, be unpredictable. Your kids should never be able to predict your behavior. If they do, then trust me, they will manipulate you left, right, and center. Like it or not, you got to understand and accept the fact that your kids are a lot smarter than you. Now whether you lost your smartness with age, or you never had it in the first place; it doesn’t matter. The bottom line is that you cannot outsmart your kids (they are cunning, opportunistic, and manipulative too). Your only defense against them is the fact that you are a generation older. Hence you have the advantage of being titled as a ‘parent’, and when looked at from a height of just 2.5 ft above ground level, you appear slightly demented and scary as well. But soon your kid will outgrow this inherent advantage that you possess. Then the only weapon that you will be left with will be your ‘unpredictability’. Don’t lose it. Let your kid grow up with the thought that ‘Boy my parents are weird. You never know how they would react to anything’. Only then there are high chances that he or she will turn out to be a good kid.

Finally, spanking your kids is absolutely fine. Let not those parenting magazine and the media make you think otherwise. When your child misbehaves, you may try talking to your kid and see if they listen. But be careful, sometimes the kids answer back and you may trip over their arguments. So it’s best not to waste too much breath, and land up in an embarrassing situation where the kid beats you in an argument. Just hit them. 80% of the parents I know spank their kids. The remaining 20% are liars.

The only time you may run into trouble for spanking your kid is when you have your own parents around. You hit your kid and for some strange reason your parents start behaving as if they are the torch bearers of the ‘Anti Kid Spanking’ movement. If you try reminding them of all the spanking you received as a kid (and as a teen), you will realize that they suddenly suffer from selective amnesia. If not, their explanation would be “That’s because you were a spoilt kid”. But that’s okay. Don’t let their behavior bother you too much. They are just being your ‘parents’; ‘unpredictable’ good parents.

Chai-Pani

‘Chai-Pani’ – when translated to English means ‘tea and water’. But if you have lived in Mumbai for long, you know exactly what it means. Yes it means ‘bribe’ - especially the petty ones paid to government officials to get things done. We hear about it, we speak about it, we read about it; it’s part of our system and ironically we have accepted it as standard operating procedures. Yet being in a situation where you experience a ‘chai-pani’ moment firsthand, is a feeling quite queer in itself; definitely not a comfortable one for the first timer.

Offering ‘chai-pani’, is not as easy as you think. You don’t just walk up to the officer on duty, put a few 100 rupee notes on his table and say “Here. Take it. I need my job done ASAP”. Just because you are willing to pay, doesn’t make life any easier for you. You still need to follow the rules and procedures. You still need to run from pillar to post, fill out the required forms, wait in queues, and be confronted by rude officials. At some point during this whole running around you even begin to develop this futile hope that maybe you might just be lucky enough to get things done without having to offer any chai or pani whatsoever. But soon you realize that it isn’t your lucky day and parting with your money is inevitable.

Now your greatest fear is how do you make the offer? What if you get arrested during the illegal act? What if, like they show in movies, the officer you are dealing with turns out to be an out right ethical guy who just fumes at the very mention of ‘chai-pani’? What if there is an anti-corruption squad watching your every move, waiting to pounce on you the moment you pull out the cash? It’s a scary thought. But public officers I guess are good mind readers. They understand your anxiety and apprehensions at making a direct offer. Hence after they are done with all the required formalities, in a mellowed tone they put forth their request “Jara humare chai-pani ka bhi dekho saheb”. For the first time you get addressed as ‘saheb’. That’s when you let out a smile, a sigh of relief, and a few hundred bucks and ask “Par kaam ho jayega na?” “100 percent. Aap befikar raho”, comes a prompt assurance.

Now there is ‘chai-pani’ and then there is ‘Settlement’ or ‘Adjustment’. Settlement/adjustment is ‘chai-pani’ given to cover up your mistakes. So making a ‘settlement’ offer is a little more difficult than offering ‘chai-pani’. A few days ago I was caught by a cop for a traffic violation. After checking my driving license and pointing out my mistake (which of course I admitted) the cop said he would give me a traffic violation notice (a ticket). I was fine with that. But then the procedure was a bit skewed. On issuing me the ticket, he said he would withhold my license. Then anytime within the next three days I would have to report at the police station, pay the fine, and collect my license. I tried to argue that I was willing to pay the fine right there, but the cop refused to accept it. Apparently he was not ‘officially’ allowed to accept money, and I was not in the mood to make any ‘unofficial’ contributions to his kitty. But the problem with the whole procedure was that, to collect my license I had to visit a police station close to the place where I had committed the offence – which was unfortunately an hour’s drive from where I live. Which meant, the next day, I had to drive an hour each way just to pay the fine and get my license back. So finally I decided to go in for the ‘settlement’ route.

“Kuch settlement nahi ho sakta hain kya?” was my benign request. My request brought about a complete change in his demeanor, transforming him from a tough cop to a friendly gentleman. For the first time I saw a smile on his face, which was a good enough indication that he too preferred a ‘settlement’. So looking around, and ensuring that nobody was watching us, I pulled out my wallet. But the moment I opened my wallet, I realized that I only had a 500 rupee note in there. That was way too much a price to pay for ‘settlement’ and I didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask for change in such situations. But left without a choice, hesitatingly I put forth my concern. “Saheb, chutta nahi hain” I said as I showed him the lone 500 rupee note I had. But that didn’t bother him at all. He patiently pulled out his wallet, drew four hundred rupee notes and handed them over to me as he pocketed the 500 rupee one. The ‘settlement’ was complete and I drove away from the crime scene.

But the settlement actually doesn’t end there. Your guilt, your conscience, your so called ethics do not let you get off that easily. But then you try to console yourself: the poor cop is anyways overworked and underpaid; toils all day in the hot sultry weather bearing all the noise and the pollution; probably my 100 rupee would be spent towards fulfilling a need that he or his family has been waiting for long. You try to justify your actions with thoughts like these, as you constantly look back in the rear view mirror to ensure that you are not being followed by an anti corruption squad :)

In-Flight Service

Recently I happened to be at the airport to pick up a friend. When he arrived, I casually asked him “So, how was your flight?” “Oh it was pathetic” was his instant answer. “The food was bad, seats all crammed up, they showed some horrible movies, the airhostesses wouldn’t even smile and were rude; terrible service, I tell you” were details of his in-flight saga. I just smiled; with a sort of ‘Yup I know; they are all the same’ kind of an expression as we drove away. My friend’s complaints weren’t unheard of before. In fact, you ask any air traveler about his/her in-flight experience and you will hear a similar list of complaints. For some odd reason, when it comes to in-flight service, our expectations are always sky high. Not just that, when in a flight we transform into a totally different person. It’s as if, once inside an aircraft, we all experience split personality disorder.

We eat crappy meals day in day out, but at 10,000 ft above ground level we expect nothing but gourmet. We don’t care if our friends, family, or co-workers never smile at us (and it doesn’t bother us that they haven’t done so for years), but from the airhostess we still expect a kind of warm welcoming smile as if we were the only love of her life. And we expect her to be pretty as well (now this expectation is not just that of the male travelers, even the female travelers prefer pretty airhostesses). Most of us pride ourselves on having developed the knack of squeezing our way through crowded buses and packed trains, or being a group of 12 crammed up in an 8 seater vehicle (especially on long journeys), but in an aircraft we all need our space and leg room. We may not have read a book or a magazine or even glanced at a newspaper for ages, but not finding the in-flight magazine and a newspaper in the seat compartment ahead of us makes us restless (and it bothers us even more if the person at the end of the aisle gets one). We see crappy movies all the while, but we get really turned off if the airline shows us one. We don’t care to check if a life jacket actually exists under our seat, but we definitely ensure that our puke bag is intact. We keep a close eye on the flight staff and scrutinize their every move; the only time we ignore them is when they demonstrate flight safety procedures. In life, for meeting, for appointments, we are often late and never in a hurry to get anywhere. The only time we hurry up is when its time to get off the plane (as if the last one to leave would be asked to clean the aircraft). We rarely call friends or family to update them about our whereabouts, but the moment the flight lands we just can’t wait for it to come to a complete halt to switch on our phones and let everyone know that we ‘just landed’.

Fortunately, we all get back to normalcy once we get out of the aircraft. The only thing we do is complain about the pathetic in-flight service and that too just amongst friends. We don’t go about the expecting those same levels of service from others in our life. We get back to our day to day life (crappy food, unsmiling faces, rude gestures and so on) without paying heed to much of it – until we get into a flight again. That’s when again our expectation levels shoot up, our priorities change, and we exhibit a totally different demeanor. We once again crave for attention and we once again demand all that pampering. And we also love that tiny little spotlight in a dimly lit plane and the fan that we can control – because for most of us that’s probably the only time we get to be in ‘spotlight’ and have a dedicated ‘fan’ as well :)

The Telemarketer

I have always been nice to telemarketers. Whenever a telemarketer calls, I listen; and I listen with great interest. If I am busy, I politely request them to call me back at a later time. If I am free to talk, I patiently listen to their entire pitch and sometimes even ask questions about whatever they are trying to sell me. Eventually I, again in all politeness, decline their offer. Anyways the point is that I have never been rude to a telemarketer. I understand that after all it’s their job to call people, and trust me it’s not an easy one. They call and pester people like you and me, only because they are paid to do so. It’s nothing personal. But like they say, everything and everybody has a breaking point and I finally hit mine. After years of being patient and tolerant with telemarketers, I finally snapped.

Recently, on a not so busy morning, I got this call from a telemarketer from ‘The C____ Club’. He claimed that I had won their lucky draw (which I didn’t know I had even participated in), and the prize was a 7 day 6 nights absolutely free stay for me and my family at their five star resort in Goa. I was really excited when I heard that, but my skeptical mind found it a little hard to believe. So I clarified, not once but twice, “Is it absolutely free? Are you sure?”. “Yes Sir, it is absolutely free for two adults and two kids for 7 days and 6 nights” he reassured me “but we wont for your travel” he clarified. I was okay with that. Then he verified my address and other details so that he could mail me the offer and I thought we were done with the call. Just as I was about to hang up and celebrate my winning, the caller interrupted “Thanks for accepting the gift Sir. I would now like to tell you the terms and conditions of this offer”.

Why should everything come with terms and conditions? I hate terms and conditions. I even hate that tiny asterisk * that comes invariably with all offers which says ‘Terms and Conditions Apply’. Why can’t there be unconditional offers? Before I could say anything he continued “Sir, the offer includes only boarding, and does not include food. You will have to pay for the meal plans”. “Oh, okay” I said, but I was already feeling a little disappointed, “…and..?” I prompted “..and Sir we won’t pay the taxes” he added. “That’s okay, I don’t like to pay taxes either” was my instant response. “No Sir, you will have to pay for the taxes and the meal plans and the total amount would come to Rupees Eleven Thousand Six hundred …bhal blah..” I was now losing my patience with this guy. It was apparent that the so called free offer was not actually free. But somehow my mind was still unwilling to accept it. There is always this hope, you see. I like free stuff and I just couldn’t let it go that easily. So I began to negotiate “Well you see, I don’t think we would like to stay in Goa for 7 days. Why don’t we do this – Why don’t we cut down the free stay to just 3 days and use the money from the balance stay to pay for the taxes and meal plans?” I thought he would say “Wow, what an idea Sirji !”, but instead he chuckled and said “But the stay is anyways free sir, and even if you stay for lesser days, you will still have to pay the entire amount of taxes”. I don’t know if it was his chuckle or his explanation, but I couldn’t stand him any longer “Then why did you earlier say it was all FREE? I had even asked you twice if it was really FREE and you said yes” My voice by now was raised enough, that everyone at home was staring at me. But that didn’t bother me and I continued my yelling “Do you even understand the meaning of FREE? FREE means NO Money - Zero money. You can’t say free and then ask for money. That’s wrong. That’s cheating. I am not interested in your club or your offer and I am never ever going to stay at your club’s resorts. And you know what - Forget free. Even if you actually pay me and beg me to stay at your resorts, I am not going to stay there. And don’t ever call me again”. Without giving him a chance to respond, I just hung up the phone.

I think I sounded like a teenager breaking up with her boyfriend, because she caught him cheating on her. I was angry, emotional, sad, frustrated, and to add to it, by now my entire family was laughing like crazy. “Why do you even talk to those people? I have told you so many times to just say ‘not interested’ and disconnect the phone. They are all cheats” were my dad’s words of wisdom. Maybe dad is right, but I just can’t do that. What if the club guy was genuine? What if he was different? Plus I thought I had really won. I thought maybe this time I was really lucky. And he did say it was all free. How do I know that like everybody else, he too was only after my money? Anyways, I will be careful the next time onwards; especially with those who try to sell me free stuff.

PS: I am still nice to those telemarketers who call to ‘sell’ me stuff and don’t disguise them as freebies.

Hobbies

After a long time, recently somebody again asked me “What are your hobbies?” As always, I fumbled while answering it. But after the initial “Oh Hobbies, well…aaa, ummm…”, I decided against making up something silly for an answer. Instead with a sly smile, I confidently answered “Actually, I don’t have any hobbies.” My smile vanished when I heard the follow up question “Then how do you pass time?”, Now that was a tough one to answer. How did I pass time? “Well I don’t pass time. Time passes by itself. Sometimes it passes with great speed; sometime it just lingers around and drags itself ahead. But even in those slow, dull moments, where time just doesn’t pass, I rarely volunteer to help it gain pace. Instead I just shamelessly wait there, letting it drag its own weight and let it pass on its own. Sometimes I just sleep off.” Now this is what I should have said, but unfortunately I didn’t. To be able to think of the perfect thing to say, and actually say it too, requires an ideal combination of presence of mind, vocabulary, courage, and confidence. The combination didn’t work out for me then. So instead I just said “I pass my time somehow”.

I don’t have a hobby. Most people don’t have one either. Yet ‘What are your hobbies?’ somehow has emerged as the most frequently asked question, especially by people who don’t know you that well. The hobby haunt starts at an early age, when your teachers in school make you write essays on ‘My favorite hobby’. That’s the first time you realize that you are almost good for nothing. Then during interviews, online chats, dates, business networking events; everybody is interested in knowing about your hobbies. Nobody is bothered how you spend most of your life. But what you do in that little spare time of yours, is matter of great interest to everybody. I was even once asked about my hobbies by a co-passenger on a flight. Now unless the guy ran a hobby store, which he didn’t, I didn’t see the relevance of that question. But he still asked it. I don’t remember what I said then, but after I got off the flight I thought I should have said “As a hobby I get on flights and strangle my co-passengers. Yes it’s an expensive hobby, but I still cherish it”. But like always the moment has passed and I couldn’t say it.

As a kid I used to collect stamps and old coins. (I also had a collection of stickers). So for many years I would say that collecting stamps and coins is my hobby. I don’t say that anymore, because I don’t collect them anymore. (I still have my old collection lying around somewhere). Then for some years I would say that ‘reading’ is my hobby. I was told that saying so would make me sound sophisticated and intelligent. People then started asking me on what do I like to read, and I answered ‘Anything. I read anything’. I soon realized that I don’t read because I like to, but I read because I have to. I read because I am literate and if anything ‘written’ flashes before my eyes, I can’t stop myself from reading it. It’s a habit and I can’t get over it. I read newspapers (even as I am eating bhel-puri off it); I read all signboards and billboards on roads; I read emails and forwards; I read subtitles during movies (in Hindi movies, just because I find the English translations amusing, and in English flicks because I find it difficult to follow Bruce Wills’ kind of mumbled accents); I read ingredients and calorie contents on food packets; I read stuff written on other’s t-shirts (and hate it when they walk away before I finish reading); I even read ‘Directions of Use’ on shampoo bottles which says ‘Apply on wet hair. Rinse thoroughly’ followed by a recommendation stating that for ‘best results’ use their brand of conditioner as well. But how much ever and whatever I read, I don’t think reading qualifies as my hobby.

I have seen people mentioning about their hobbies on their resumes too, and some interesting ones as well. While the most common ones that you get to see on resumes are reading, watching movies/TV, playing some sport, listening to music, cooking, net surfing, and so on. Off late I have seen ‘gymming’ (which apparently means going to the gym regularly), emerging as a hobby. But the most uncommon and one of its kind hobbies that I have ever seen, was the one listed on the resume of an ex-colleague. He had actually listed ‘Observing people and making leg pulling remarks’ as his hobby. Now that’s a Hobby. I had known this guy for three years while we worked together, but had never seen him practicing his hobby. When asked he explained that he avoided doing so at work, and did it only during his spare time. He also added that these days life kept him busy and he wasn’t able to devote much time towards the hobby. I just said OK, and wished him luck with his hobby.

Having a hobby is a nice thing. All those who have it, please pursue it. All those who don’t, “Welcome to Club Hobbyless”.

Jaago Re

India voted, many Indians voted, and I voted too. I was amongst the 43% of the adult Mumbai population who exercised their voting right in the 2009 elections. Apparently the ‘Jaago Re’ campaign, with all its fanfare and star appeal proved unsuccessful. Their attempt to awaken the masses and drag them to the polling booths, proved futile. I am not surprised. I think the campaign itself was flawed. Their problem was they tried to correlate ‘not voting’ to sleeping; and like many of my fellow citizens, I couldn’t figure out what’s wrong with sleeping. I love to sleep, and I am sure the majority of Indians who decided not to vote love it too. Thus trying to brainwash a nation that’s a big fan of the ‘I want to sleep for five more minutes’ club, didn’t work. But that’s Ok. I am happy with the candidates that we 43% of us elected for all of us.

My biggest surprise on polling day was the list of candidates contesting from our constituency. There were 23 candidates in all, of which 3 belonged to political parties I was aware of, 14 were nominees of political parties I never even knew existed, and 6 were independents. What was even more surprising was that most of these candidates were not even residents of our area. A few of them, including a few independent candidates, were not even from Mumbai. I mean what were they thinking when they filed for nomination? Now I am no political pundit, nor do I understand or follow exit polls and predications, but isn’t it a no-brainier that these non-local, non-popular candidates, had no chance of winning. Then why were they even contesting? Why did they even bother to nominate themselves? I wonder if they even get the minimum number of votes to get their deposits back.

I am not against independent candidates contesting elections, nor am I against the smaller local parties. What I am trying to assess is the thought process behind these small parties and independent candidates filing a nomination from a constituency they didn’t belong to and where they are almost unheard of? In a city like Mumbai where even both candidates of Professionals Party of India (a party of educated professionals only) lost, and the much hyped independent candidate Meera Sanyal (the ex head honcho of ABN Amro), contesting from south Mumbai did not gather enough votes to even get her deposit back; should be enough food for thought for those over optimistic independents and smaller parties to rethink their election strategy. Jaago Re !!

Well with the elections over, so are the ‘Jaago Re’ campaigns. I am sure they will resurface again five years later (and hopefully not earlier). What’s riding the popularity wave in India now, are the Vodafone Zoozoos. While the Zoozoo’s, no doubt, have become very popular; wonder how much have they helped boost sales? Wonder how many viewers switched over to a Vodafone on seeing Zoozoo being swallowed by a crocodile?

Horn OK Please

The Mumbai traffic police have initiated a ‘No Honking’ campaign in the city. They stated with a ‘No Honking Week’ and are now carrying out a ‘No Honking Drive’. They even have declared certain areas as ‘Silent Zones’. I am not sure how successful their campaign is, but I am surprised that such a campaign was even initiated.

Honking (or Horning, as we locals call it), is a ‘tradition’ in India and as Indian, I think we should try to preserve it rather than abolish it. The credo behind ‘Horn OK Please’, whatever it is, needs to be protected from those who accuse the horn of causing noise pollution. I don’t think honking causes any pollution whatsoever, and hence honking as a tradition should be cherished rather than abolished. Honking is a way of expression. It’s a way of communication. How else do you expect us to alert our fellow drivers of our existence (we don’t use side mirrors), or show our frustration and anger (we don’t use the finger gesture – nobody understands that), or demonstrate our accomplishments (of having jumped a signal just as it turned from yellow to red), or express our anxiety and joy (that we experience when we know that the signal is about to turn green in the next few seconds). How else do we intimate the pedestrians (or the cow or the dog) crossing the street that we do not intend to stop for them? How else do we let people in our neighborhoods know that we have returned home? For all this, we need the horn and we need to use it too. We thus need to follow the doctrine governed by ‘Horn OK Please’.

‘Horn OK Please’, is not just a phrase. It symbolized national integrity; for it is the only phrase that is unanimously used across the nation. Invariably seen on the back of trucks and at times on other commercial vehicles like buses, taxis, and autos too, the phrase signifies our unity in diversity. It’s a belief that we have in our fellow countrymen: ‘Whoever you are, wherever you are, I know you will honk for me’. It’s a phrase that, for some reason, nobody has ever attempted to translate in Hindi or any other regional language. Maybe because nobody really knows what ‘Horn OK Please’ exactly means. Nor does anybody have any information on the origins of this phrase. Hence nobody wants to take the risk of tampering with it. On second thoughts, nobody really knows what a ‘horn’ is called in Hindi or any other regional language for that matter (I know some of you think it’s called ‘Haaran’ in Hindi, but no, that’s not correct). Neither does anybody know how exactly ‘OK’ would translate in a regional language.

But whatever the reasons, I feel ‘Horn OK Please’ should be valued as an icon of national heritage. Despite there being no traffic rule that mandates the inscription of ‘Horn OK Please’ on vehicles, vehicle owners all across the country have been doing so for decades (and often in decorative fonts and styling). We ought to respect this tradition; and the philosophy of honking that it preaches ought to be followed.

So ladies and gentlemen, when in India, do as the Indians do. Horn Please. OK.

Are You In Line?

“Are you in line?” the guy standing behind me in the queue at the bank enquired. I nodded, indicating that I indeed was. “To fir thoda aage badho na” came his instant reply. Well he was not being rude to me. If you have lived in Mumbai for a while, you will realize that this is how we converse. His statement was actually a request, asking me to move ahead a little. And the reason for his request was obvious. I was standing almost two feet away from the person ahead of me, and this is not acceptable ‘line’ behavior.

I lack ‘Indian Line Etiquettes’. I seriously do. When in line, I just cannot get myself to stand close enough to the person ahead of me. Nor do I like the person behind me lurking over my shoulders. I like to keep distance. But in India, it is an unwritten rule that the human bodies that constitute a line should get as close to each other as possible, irrespective of where, when, and why the line is being formed. Wasting even an inch of space is not permitted. I term this as the ‘Line Proximity’ rule and when in line, I invariably end up being the rule defaulter. At times I get frowned at for doing so, while at times I get the ‘Thoda aage badho na’ requests from my trailing line-mates.

I have often wondered why people like to get so close to each other in a line. Is it the fear that if vacant space is left between the line occupants, somebody might creep in between? Or is it that a compact line gives a psychological feeling of being closer to the destination, than what you really are? Or is it just a way of expressing that we as Indians have still not lost the ‘human touch’? But whatever is the reason and whatever be the line for, the close bonding amongst line-mates invariably exists. Be it a line for a movie ticket, a railway ticket, a temple, a line to pay a utility bill, or even a line at the public toilet, the proximity rule is always followed. Even when people line up at the airport security check, or when they get in line to board the plane, they ensure that they don’t default on the rule. For some strange reason, everybody wants to be the first one to hop on to the aircraft. Surprisingly enough, as soon as the flight lands, everyone is back in line, desperately trying to be the first one to get out.

My worst in-line experience so far has been while boarding an Air Deccan flight. It was during those days when Air Decaan would not assign seat numbers to passengers (they do now). I was actually warned by a friend that an Air Deccan boarding at times leads to an almost stampede situation, with everyone rushing ahead to grab the best seats. But I dismissed it as one of those exaggerated jokes about low cost carriers. It however turned out to be true. Even before the boarding announcement was made, a line had started forming at the gate. When the boarding announcement was made, I too went and stood in the line. But the moment the boarding gates were opened, the line turned into a big pile up. It was like a transformation of a human chain to a human ball. Everybody was pushing each other, trying their best to get ahead of each other. The aircraft crew tried to control the crowd by saying “Please get in line, please get in line”, but after a couple of attempts they gave up. I guess it was routine for them. Needless to say, I managed to excuse myself from the pile up and was the last to board the aircraft. Thankfully Air Deccan now assigns seat numbers, and people are back to forming close knit lines.

Lines form an integral part of the Indian culture and hopefully someday I will tune myself to the Indian Line Etiquettes and be an efficient ‘linesman’. I am working on it. Following are extracts from my research notes towards my endeavor of being a good linesman:

Apart from the proximity factor, I have noted that people in a line also exhibit the following traits.
- Being the ‘first in line’ is euphoric to the core. Being second, is a feeling as bad as missing a lottery by a digit.
- When in line, it does not matter how many people are ahead of you; not being able to see the end of the line and thus knowing that you are better off than many others, is gratifying enough.
- When in line you will always crosscheck with your fellow lines mates with the following question “Bhaisaab, yeh line kiske liye hain?”. One of those line mates will invariably answer “pata nahi”, yet continue to stand in line.
- Letting somebody get ahead of you in the line, is intolerable. It hurts your ego.
- When in line, you will always try to form mental sketches of the people ahead of you in line.
- In spite of the ‘proximity rule’, somebody will at some point try to get ahead of you in the line claiming “mein idhar hi tha” or “mein bolke gaya tha”, leading to commotion. (Your mental sketches come handy at resolving such conflict situations.)
- Spotting such line intruders and removing them from the line with full public support, qualifies for an act of heroism.
- Appointing a representative to stand in place of you is allowed. The representative can be a bag, kerchief, or any such lifeless object, but only prior to the opening of the counter (for which you are lining up). Once the counters are open, only human forms of representations are accepted.

Sketches

A couple, whom we had known for a while, invited us for dinner. It was really nice of them to do so and after a quick background verification, we accepted the invitation. If you are wondering, what kind of verification I do before accepting dinner invitations; well it’s just to ensure that the dinner isn’t a trap to coax me into joining an Amway, Quikstar, Goldquest etc kind of MLM scheme. And how do I go about doing my verification? Well it’s simple. I just ask my host directly – “Are you a member of Amway, Quikstar, or any such kind of MLM/membership schemes? If yes then during or after dinner, or anytime later, will you pester me to join the scheme?”. Well in this case there were no hidden agendas and the dinner invitation was a genuine friendly gesture of their part.

Our hosts were very hospitable. The dinner was nice, and the dessert was nicer. While we were enjoying the dessert the lady host suddenly said “Hey, let me show you something” and run off to her room. I was almost certain that she would return with a big fat album of their wedding pictures. I have actually never understood people’s obsession behind showing others their wedding pictures, even after years of marriage. And they won’t just let you flip through the album, but rather ensure that you understand every minute detail about those pictures – understand how everyone in those pictures is related to wedded couple, some behind the scenes info on what happened while the rituals were being performed, sometimes the story goes off on a tangent detailing what some of those people in the photograph are currently doing in life, and so on. Anyways, I thought, since our hosts had been nice to us, I wouldn’t mind sitting through the ordeal of watching their wedding album, and pretend that I am enjoying it. Moreover I wanted a second helping of the dessert as well (the dessert was really nice).

As I was coming out of my thoughts, I saw our host walking into the room with a big book in hand. It wasn’t their wedding album. (That was a relief). It was a sketch book. Apparently our host had taken up sketching and painting as a hobby, and she wanted us to have a look at her art work. Now to be really frank, I am not a connoisseur of art. I don’t really understand the finer nuances of art and artistry. But nevertheless, I still started browsing through those abstract sketches and paintings, pretending to like them. On one occasion I even said “Wow, this is nice”, but when our host asked me “Oh really, what did you like in the painting?” I realized that I better not go overboard with my compliments. So to evade the situation I just said “I like the colors you have used, they look very lively.” I guess the compliment was a good one. There was a beaming smile on our host face and I thought this was the right time for me to ask for a second helping of the dessert.

But like they say ‘There's many a slip between cup and lip’. Before I could come up with my request for more dessert, our host had flipped the page of her book. On this new page was a sketch of a pair of eyes. And as I was staring at them, our host popped up a question “Guess whose eyes are these?”. ‘Now that’s a tough one’, I thought. How do I know whose eyes are these? I looked around the room to see if there were any pictures of people around. There were none. Then on the corner table I saw a copy of the magazine ‘India Today’ with a picture of Amitabh Bachchan on it. ‘Bingo! That’s where she had copied those eyes from’ was what I thought, and without even the slightest hesitation I announced “These are Amitabh’s eyes”. “Whose?” asked my host. “Amitabh Bachchan” I said, loud and clear.

There was silence in the room for a moment. The lady kept staring at me for a while, and after a few second she managed to speak up. “No, these aren’t Amitabh’s eyes. These are my eyes. I drew it looking at one of my own pictures”, she revealed; the disappointment very obvious on her face. ‘Oh boy, I need to do some serious damage control now’ was what I was thinking when suddenly the lady’s husband, who all this while was just a silent spectator to our art appreciation parade, burst out laughing. My wife tried to console her saying that I am not good at recognizing pictures and all, but that didn’t help. I also tried to cover up saying that I always felt Amitabh had girly eyes, but that didn’t work either. I knew I had messed up. The damage has already been done.

Why did that magazine have a cover picture of Amitabh? Why couldn’t they just have Aishwarya Rai’s picture on it?. I sat there cursing those India Today guys as I stared at my empty bowl of desert. No, I didn’t ask for the second helping.

Recession

Dear PS – This one’s on your request.

Frankly, I don’t understand what a ‘Recession’ is. But off late, I have been hearing a lot about it. It’s like the most happening thing around. From my college going cousins to my friends in investment banking, everybody is talking about it. The ‘Recession’, they say is back and everybody seems to be worried about it. And yet I don’t know what it actually means. I had heard about the recession back in 2001 too. Even then it had become extremely popular. Everybody used to talk about it. While some said it was just a ‘slowdown’, most argued that it was definitely a ‘recession’, while some even branded it as a ‘depression’. But I never figured out what they actually meant by those terms. Eventually people got bored talking about it and so the recession went away. And now it has resurfaced.

Different people have different views on the recession. Some say that it’s just a momentary thing that would end in a few months, while some confidently say that it would last for at least for a couple of years. A real estate agent I met last week was more than 100% sure that this was the best time to buy real estate. His reason: The recession would end in two months and property prices would shoot up again. Whereas a distant relative of mine, who has now doubled as an insurance agent, claimed that the recession would last for at least two more years and hence an ‘insurance plan’ was the best thing to invest my money in. (Just on a side note –distant family members and friends suddenly turning into ‘Insurance agents’ and coaxing you to buy insurance policies, can give you some of the most awkward moments in life ! ). But whatever the claim people make about the recession, I am sure, they are all baseless and just biased to promote some personal interest.

But the most interesting view I have heard about the recession is from this friend of mine who believes that it is the Chinese who are causing it. Last week, over coffee, he had the opportunity to enlighten me with his theory. He said and I quote “Once the recession kicks in, people will start losing money. Once people start losing money, they would no longer be able to afford expensive stuff. So they will have to buy the cheap goods. And who makes cheap goods?” With raised eyebrows and the excitement to prove his conspiracy theory on the ‘Recession’, waiting for me to answer his question seemed like a long wait. So before I could say anything, he with all enthusiasm, continued “Of course the Chinese do. The Chinese make cheap goods and they are the ones behind all this. It’s their big master plan to emerge as superpowers.” For a moment I was kind of awestruck by this explanation. I had not heard of anything bizarre like this for a long time, but my friend was pretty serious about his theory. I was about to break into a fit of laughter but I somehow gathered myself and asked “What exactly are the Chinese doing?” “Causing a recession”, was his reply. “But what exactly is a recession?” I asked. My friend took offence to that question. I knew I shouldn’t have smiled while asking him that. He felt I was mocking his intelligence and his theory, and refused to discuss anything about the recession with me. And so I missed by chance of understanding what a ‘recession’ is.

But whatever the ‘recession’ is I don’t see much of it anyways. Last week I was at a mall and it was as crowded as always. There were people standing on the very next step behind me on the escalator. (Wonder why people get so close while standing in queues, elevators and on escalators?) Unfortunately I couldn’t move a step up as then that would make me just a step away from the crowd in front of me, and I don’t enjoy getting into such close proximity of strangers. Anyways, people were shopping, spending, and having a gala time. I didn’t see any recession there. Then just a couple of days ago, a friend of mine, who is supposed to graduate with an MBA from the USA in a few months, was all excited about bagging a job offer. I am sure ‘getting a job in a recession’ is definitely reason to cheer about. I am happy for him, and also happy that fuel prices are down. I can now afford to get stuck in traffic for a little longer than usual.

Well whatever the ‘Recession’ is, I am sure it’s not something to be worried or depressed about. Like last time, even this time it will go away and fuel prices, stock prices, property prices, and salaries will rise again. Then again one day after a few years the recession will be back. Till then at least I hope that I actually understand what really a ‘Recession’ is.

PS: By definition the term ‘Recession’ generally describes the reduction of a country's gross domestic product (GDP) for at least two quarters. – Yup, I Googled it out :)

Awesome

Have you noticed how everything is so ‘Awesome’ these days? Nothing is ‘good’ anymore; if it’s good, it’s just ‘Awesome’. The new movie you saw was ‘Awesome’, your vacation was ‘Awesome’, the artifacts shop at the mall is ‘Awesome’, your cousin’s wedding was ‘Awesome’, the pasta at the new Italian restaurant is ‘Awesome’, your pictures are ‘Awesome’, your grandma is ‘Awesome’, my blogs are ‘Awesome’ – I am so bored of ‘Awesome’.

My first encounter with ‘Awesome’ was during my initial days in the USA. Over a casual discussion over lunch with my American colleagues the topic drifted towards the Indian tradition of ‘Arranged Marriages’, and all of a sudden I was bombarded with questions on how, why, and what about the tradition. While I was trying my best to tackle those questions, trying to explain how parents go about the whole matchmaking process, when suddenly Mr. Bob Levinson in the most expressionless tone and with a heavy Texan accent remarked “Oh that’s Awesome”; and I had no clue what that meant. Frankly, I had never heard ‘Awesome’ before and hence I was not sure how to react to his awesome remark. I had no idea what it meant. I knew ‘Awful’ and I thought ‘Awesome’ must be something similar. But then I thought maybe not. I was very much tempted to ask ‘What is Awesome?’, but I didn’t have the courage to admit my ignorance. So I let the situation pass with an awkward smile on my face and a slight wobble like nod of the head.

Well you could blame my awesome ignorance on my poor vocabulary, but then back in my younger days nothing around was ‘Awesome’. Things were just ‘good’ and ‘nice’ and occasionally they were ‘very good’ or ‘superb’ or just ‘suuuuperrr’ (especially with my friends from the southern part of the subcontinent). Then sometime in the early 90’s everything was ‘sexy’ – from Yamaha’s new bike model, to the pav-bhaji opposite VT station, to those big bulky mobile phones – all just sexy. We lived in a sexy world. Nike’s made sexy shoes, ‘Andaz Apna Apna’ was a sexy movie, Internet and email was sexy, and Govinda even claimed his shirt, pant, hair and rumaal to be sexy. But now nothing is sexy anymore (baring a few exceptions of course!). Things are just awesome these days. Everything is just so awesome. Awesome is sexy.

A few days back I met a friend who had just returned from a vacation from the Andaman Islands, and I asked him how his vacation was. I was expecting an ‘Awesome’ reply but much to my surprise he didn’t say it. ‘Mind-blowing’ is what he said instead. I was taken aback. I knew Awesome had found competition and my countless urbanites fellows would soon be blowing away their minds with a plethora of what they would claim to be ‘Mind-Blowing’ experiences.

Rainman Syndrome

Remember Dustin Hoffman from the movie Rainman? In the movie the character played by Mr. Hoffman has autism with savant syndrome, and amongst the many queer things that he does, one of them is to memorize the entire telephone directory. Now in real life I have not met anyone with such peculiar traits, but I have seen traces of what I call the ‘Rainman Syndrome’ in many.

Over the weekend I was having coffee with a friend when his cell phone kept on the table started ringing. While I expected my friend to just pick up the phone and answer the call, what followed instead was something different. First for a good three seconds my friend gave the phone a cold stare, turning his neck at a slightly inclined position. Then he held the phone at face level, and muttered “..97385 .. Wonder who could this be?” (97385 were apparently the last five digits of the incoming call). While doing so his gaze shifted from the phone to a level up and into a distance, his eyes narrowed a bit, and his face wore the expression as if his mind was doing a complete directory scan to match the identity of the caller. I knew the Rainman had cast his spell on my friend and my friend was experiencing the ‘Rainman Syndrome’. Five seconds later the Rainman gave up and my friend eventually answered the call.

The Rainman is everywhere. He strikes often, especially when the cell phone rings and the caller’s number is not stored in your cell i.e. when you see just a flashing number on your phone screen and not a name. That’s when many phone users experience the Rainman Syndrome. It is rare that someone would pick up their phone the moment it rings. Before the call is answered, there has to invariably be a desperate (and mostly unsuccessful) attempt at guessing the identity of the caller. For some strange reason, knowing the identity of the caller before saying ‘hello’ is really important to us. That’s why we have the caller id in the first place; and when the caller id fails us, then there is The Rainman.

One of the worst hit by the Rainman syndrome is my dad. Now my dad has only 4 numbers stored in his cell phone, so the Rainman has enough scope to cast his spell on him. And trust me the Rainman doesn’t miss an opportunity to strike; sometime to the point that the ‘call’ eventually ends up as a ‘missed call’, just because the Rainman decided not to call quits. The Rainman in dad follows an elaborate process at the caller guessing game. When the phone rings, he first starts with a search for his reading glasses. What follows next is a mental scan of the flashing number. When the scan fails (and it always does), the Rainman actually cheats. He asks family members around him “Do you know whose number this is?” This sometimes triggers the Rainman in the entire family, everyone trying their hand at the guessing game. I have often asked dad to just pick up the phone when it rings. “Is there anybody whom you would not want to talk to? Then why do you even bother to find out who the caller is” I have often questioned him. But apparently having caller id on the phone, and still being clueless about the identity of the caller, is I guess a feeling too difficult for many (including dad) to deal with. Hence the Rainman!

Having said all this, I should admit, that I have my own Rainman moments too. So the next time you call me, and I take a little longer than expected to pick up, you could safely assume that the Rainman is trying his best to guess your identity.

FWD:

After a long time I received an email from a friend. The subject said ‘IMP, Please Read’. The email contained a long story of how some foreign politician, some actor and many others, ended up with severe bad luck just because they had ignored the warning in this email. At the end of the email was a note in BOLD which threatened the reader saying that, if the email didn’t get forwarded to at least a dozen others, then doom was inevitable. Reading this email brought about mixed feelings. I was a little saddened at the thought that my friend, whom I had assumed to be a sensible chap, believed in this superstitious crap. But at the same time it was quite gratifying to know that I actually featured amongst the top 12 list of people he remembered when he thought his life was in distress.

This email once again raised questions that have been boggling my mind for long time now - questions, not about the authenticity of this email, but in general about forwarded emails. I have always wondered on where do these ‘forwards’ originate? Who writes them? Since the time I started using emails, I have received umpteen forwards, but yet not a single what I would term as a ‘firsthand’ forward. By the time I receive the forwarded email it has usually passed through the mailboxes of so many people that in ALL cases the original writer’s name or identity is lost in the hierarchy. I have NEVER received a ‘firsthand’ forward – an email that someone I knew wrote and sent it to me (and others), that eventually went on to become a ‘forward’. Whatever be the kind of forwards– be it an email about Yahoo and Microsoft paying money to forwards emails; a Banta/Santa joke; pictures of some funny hoardings; some pretty/weird looking artistic decorations; a video on cannibalism; a PowerPoint presentation reminding me on how attitude is only thing that matters; a hopelessly romantic story that they think would make me cry; or just a calculation on how every misfortune in the world till date, right from JFK assassination, to Diana’s accident, to 9/11 is somehow associated with the number 11 – I have never received any of these emails directly from the writer. Now there are some people I know who always sign their name at the bottom of these forwarded emails hoping to take credit for the work, but I know too well that they are not the originators of these emails.

But that’s fine. Most people I know aren’t creative enough to come up with their original stuff. But what really surprises me is how come the stuff I write never ends up becoming a ‘forward’? I write good stuff, don’t I? How come those very people who claim to enjoy reading my blogs, send out forwarded emails written by anonymous people (and sometimes include me in their ‘undisclosed-recipients’ – bcc list), but don’t send out my writings to others? When the essay written by an IAS aspirant on ‘The Cow’ can end up becoming a ‘forward’, why can't my writings become one too? Hmmm, maybe I should start forwarding my own writings and also put a warning in BOLD RED at the bottom saying that if you don’t forward my writings to at least 20 people and don’t laugh for at least 30 seconds on reading it, you will be engulfed by the dark clouds of misery and misfortune. He ha ha ha ha ha ha (that’s my evil laugh by the way!).

Well someday I plan to publish my writings as a book. Till then, at least let my writings end up as email forwards. So readers, please forward my stuff :) but yes, please don’t let my name and identity get lost in the process.

A Close Shave

In continuation with my previous write up on Toiletries…

Now can somebody tell me the difference between the variants of Gillette Shaving Gel: ‘Original’, ‘Sensitive’, ‘Conditioning’, and ‘Ultra Comfort’? How does one decide which one gels with you best, especially when all are priced the same, all come in similar looking cans, and all are greenish blue in color. They have similar variants in shaving foams too. So every time at a retail store, I walk past the shaving accessories isle, I get bogged down by questions - questions that I haven’t found an answer for yet - Does their original shave gel not offer a comfortable shaving experience? Is so, why do they still have it when they have managed to invent the ‘ultra comfort’ one? Why would you want to condition your stubs when all you want is to get rid of them? Would an insensitive man feel less macho if he shaves with a ‘Sensitive’ gel? Why did they have to make a simple thing like shaving so complicated?

And I thought the shaving accessory shopping could not get any further complex, until a few days back I saw a shaving gel (yes again from Gillette) which said ‘for tough beard’. Now what is tough beard, and how am I supposed to know if I have tough beard? Aren’t beards supposed to be tough? Isn’t that the reason why we shave it off? Does anybody have a soft and silky beard (apart from those old Chinese looking guys in some martial arts movies with long white beards). And how tough is ‘tough’?. Is my beard tough enough? Well I don’t know. Definitely mine’s not that tough that I have ever cracked a razor trying to shave it off. Nor have I ever caressed the face of any adult male to experience a ‘Teri daadhi, meri daadhi se ‘tough’ kaise?’ moment. So how am I supposed to know if my beard is tough enough for me to actually use this shaving gel?

Nevertheless, you still start investigating. You carcass your face trying to assess the toughness of your stubs. ‘Yup, it’s tough’ you say to yourself with a hint of machoism. But you are still not convinced. So with the hope of deciphering the toughness of my own stubs, you start scouting for unshaven faces in the store. Checking out people (irrespective of their gender), I should admit, is an art which I have not yet mastered to perfection. Hence my endeavor of checking out the stubbed faces, often returns strange glares and at times odd smiles. Eventually my uncomfortable demeanor, my attempt at checking out the not to pretty faces, and my idling at the same isle for durations longer than necessary, draws suspicion in the minds of the store personnel. They start hovering around me trying to ensure that I don’t succeed in, what they suspect, are my shoplifting plans. Some even go to the extent of asking me ‘May I help you sir?’, and while I am tempted to say ‘Yes, I need help. I need help trying to figure out if I have a tough beard’, I just politely decline the help saying ‘No, thank you’.

The last time this happened, I actually picked up the can of gel for ‘tough beard’. I don’t know why, but when I took it at the checkout counter, the cashier gave me the ‘hmmm, so you think you have tough beard? haaa..’ kind of looks, only adding to my confusion. On a prior occasion when I had checked out the shave gel for sensitive skin, the cashier had the ‘Ohhh, Mr. Sensitive skin…sissy’ kind of looks. Now come on. Don’t give me those looks. I just like trying stuff out or maybe I am just a well groomed metrosexual. What’s the big deal? Don’t give me those looks. I seriously think that cashiers at retail stores should be blindfolded so that they don’t give you those judgmental looks based on the items you check out, especially when you are shopping for personal stuff.

Anyways, I have now tried out all versions of shave gels and foams. All feel the same. All are as comfortable as that tiny soap that came complimentary in that hotel room. Wonder what brand that soap was?

Toiletries

A few months ago, on a two day business trip, I forgot to pack my can of shaving gel. I realized this the following morning in my hotel room when I was ready to head for a shave. I could have run down to a nearby store and purchased shaving cream, but I didn’t. Instead I built up a lather using the small complimentary soap that the hotel had provided, spread it over my stubbed face and put my razor to work. Did my razor complaint about missing its daily shaving mate? Not really. At least it didn’t make me feel that way. Did the many people I met that day notice the difference? I don’t think so. At least nobody walked up to me saying “Oh.., you shaved with soap today?”

That day, that tiny little soap had quadrupled as handwash, facewash, bodywash, and as shaving cream too. I would have promoted it as shampoo too, but then the hotel had provided me with a tiny bottle of shampoo that I didn’t want to let go unused. But as I was admiring that tini-tiny soap for its accomplishments, my mind raced back in flashback mode to a time around a decade ago. I was young and naïve then, and I had committed the blunder of washing my face with a handwash liquid. This was at an acquaintance’s place (in the USA), in whose bathroom was a nice looking bottle which oozed out a sweet smelling milky white soapy liquid. The bottle even had a picture of some fruit on it (must have been papaya), and I had used the contents of the bottle to cleanse my face. Well nothing happened to my face, if that’s what you are thinking – no rashes, no redness, no blisters of any sort. My face just got cleaner, and smelt nicer too. But when my acquaintance found out that I had used that handwash liquid to clean my face, she freaked out. “How could you use it on your face, that’s handwash !!”. Her expressions were as bizarre as if I had just washed my face with a toilet cleaner. “Isn’t it soap?” was what I said in my defense, but all I got back was a ‘Duh…how dumb’ kind of an expression.

Well you can’t blame me for what happened back then. As I said, I was naïve and my knowledge on toiletries was fairly limited. Soaps, shampoos, and shaving creams were the only three broader categories that I knew existed. I didn’t know of the existence of the finer nuances in the form of handwash, facewash, face scrub, foot cleansers, shampoo, and of course bodywash (to clean up the remaining parts of the human anatomy). But I am well educated now. Now I know that these products exist. But at times I wonder on why can’t the bodywash liquid be doubled as handwash? Would hands be any less clean if washed with the bodywash liquid? Never mind. I still use my red colored lifebuoy soap for most of my cleansing purposes and I have no complaints with it. But still some questions remain unanswered – would it really make a difference if one actually had a complete shower with just handwash soap or with shampoo for that matter? - And no you wouldn’t have hair growing all over your body just because you scrubbed yourself with shampoo :) (if that’s what you are thinking).

Shopping for toiletries is yet another complex thing. There is so much variety out there to clean you up, that at times you are really tempted to get dirty (no double meanings here.. :) plzzzz). But when it comes to brand loyalty, toiletries are the worst products to be loyal to. The moment you start showing a little attachment to a brand, there comes a ‘new and improved’ version of the same and that too at a discounted price, only to make you feel cheated. Seriously, I mean it. When something like this happens I get the feeling that all these days I was being duped into using a product that was not just inferior in quality, but also overpriced. It’s like heartbreak, and I have been through it often.

But the most complex of them all is the shaving cream/gel/foam and I completely blame Gillette for it. They have taken a simple thing like shaving to a whole new level of complexities. I will blog about it soon.

Help Wanted

We had visitors last evening. My old time buddy and his wife dropped by to say hello. The nice thing was that they got us a gift. The not so nice thing was that the gift was a bag of tomatoes. Now I have known my friends doing weird things that at times freak me out, but I still could not understand the whole idea behind gifting me a bag of tomatoes. I am no tomato connoisseur to fancy them (for that matter I don’t fancy any vegetable at all). So why gift me tomatoes? Well I have heard mom complain about growing vegetable prices, so I can understand that a kilo of tomatoes would have cost my friend dearly, but still I feel that a bar of chocolate (Dairy Milk – the Fruit and Nuts one preferred) for my daughter (which of course I would gulp down most of) would have made a better gift than a bag of tomatoes – however expensive tomatoes might be. The bottom line is that tomatoes don’t make gifts. Period!

Now as I was staring at the tomatoes in disappointment, my friend’s wife blurted out “They are farm fresh tomatoes. Straight from the farm.”. There was an unusual excitement in her voice with an extra emphasis on the word ‘farm’. ‘Oh, so giving me tomatoes you got for free. That’s even more horrible’ was what I thought. Well no, I didn’t say that. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a tomato farm” was what I said instead. “No we don’t have a farm, we went to one yesterday”. Apparently my friends had spent the weekend at a farm at Lonvala (a two hour drive from Mumbai) doing what they termed as ‘Vegetable Picking’.

Now I have heard of people doing such things. I have known my friends in the US going ‘Strawberry Picking’ and ‘Potato Picking’ and all. I personally have never done that. I have never understood the whole excitement of getting a vegetable or a fruit straight from the farm. Don’t they all come from farms? So what’s the big deal in going all the way to the farm and getting it yourself, when you can get an equally good (and often better ones too) from the vendor just a few blocks away. I frankly cannot tell the difference between a ‘straight from farm’ fruit or vegetable, from the one purchased from the market. Anyways, people do strange things. This is just one of them. Never mind. Now as I was trying to discard those tomatoes from my mind, my friend said “You should go there sometime. They just charge 400 bucks per head and you can spend a whole three to four hours picking vegetables. And then you can buy the ones you pick too. That’s extra though.”. (So the tomatoes were not actually free ones)

I have heard people say that there comes a moment in your life when your whole perception changes. It’s like your ‘defining moment’ the ‘Eureka Moment’ of your life. That is exactly how I felt when I heard my friend talking about paying the 400 bucks for picking tomatoes. ‘Wow’ I though ‘what a brilliant idea was that. Getting people to work for you and then making them pay you too. Why did I not think of it before?’. My mind was racing in all directions and I was seeing things in new light. I could visualize the happy farmer sitting and counting his money while people queued up to work for him, all eager to pay him too. I could also see the smile on the winemaker’s face who made people pay for letting them stomp his grapes. Even the old lady outside the temple who sat there with her cow and some grass, whom people paid just to feed her cow that grass, suddenly seemed to me like a smart entrepreneur.

I had actually found a brilliant idea. I should also do that, is what I decided that very moment. I should also let others do my work and let them to pay me for it. That would be perfect. When I came up with this idea last evening, I had a ready customer sitting there right in front of me. I did offer him to work for me for a day and pay me for it, but he didn’t seem interested. He mocked me off. He thought I was just kidding (These days, people have stopped taking me seriously. Wonder why?). Never mind, I thought. I will find somebody else. There will be many others who would be interested in ‘Working in Jay’s office’.

So here’s an open offer to all. ‘Work as Jay for a day’ only for Rs. 1000 (Remember: You are the one who’s going to pay me the money, just like you do when you go when you go fruit/veg picking). You get to work from my office, from my desk. You can reply to my emails, answer my phone calls and even talk to those who come to meet me. And as a special limited time offer, I would even grant you permission to write my blog, I bet you will find it as exciting as working in the farm or stomping grapes. Hurry, offer ends soon !!! Only limited entries !!! (Damn, I suck at writing sales pitches)

Well, any takers?