Jay Rege’s Blog

“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?

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?

“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.

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.

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.