Jay Rege’s Blog

“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.

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”.

“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.

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.

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.