Jay Rege’s Blog

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?

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.

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).

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.