Jay Rege’s Blog

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”.

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?

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?” 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.

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.