Raising A Boy - A Mother Speaks

“I saw you look at her the way you did. And it’s okay. I get why you did it. I am not shaming you, nor am I judging you. But we will have to talk about it because this very look will matter. It will soon become your character.

Raising a boy in today’s world is beyond difficult. A boy…a man is now come to be seen only as a potential rapist or murderer. In a train, girls would prefer to stand than to sit on an empty seat next to a strange man. It is sad. Very sad. But also true. I am sorry that you have to live with the burden of the ghastly acts of other men. However, it is now up to you to change that image. Please do not react like other men when if in life a random person on the street snubs you. Please do not do the most obvious when your girlfriend ends the relationship and leaves your heart wounded.

Please, my son. Because it’s not just you who will have to bear the consequences. Fingers will point at your mother too.

Don’t believe people when they say that it was that woman who was dressed up inappropriately. That the woman was suggestive in her behavior. That she wants your wrong attention. That she is, in fact, tempting you to look at her with that lustful look.

Believe only this - She can do whatever she wants to. But it is your responsibility to treat her well. Regardless of what she is wearing, have the audacity to look her in the eyes. Don’t blame her for your wandering eyes. Don’t be the victim. Don’t say you are helpless when it comes to your eyes and thoughts. They are yours. Have full control over them. Train them. Discipline yourself to look at her...not her clothes or her body. The moment you play the victim card, you will be lying about your upbringing, about all your values, about what I have taught you.

You may argue, why didn’t she choose to wear proper clothes or choose to not act suggestively. To that, I will say it’s for her parents to answer. Maybe she didn’t have someone to tell her that. Or maybe she simply chose to not pay heed to any of that. Either way, that’s not our concern. Your concern should not be others.

Your concern should be you.

Don’t believe people also when they say that a woman’s body will cause a man to sin.

That is nothing but convenient crap. And you are better than that. Nobody makes you want to rape. If you do stupid things, it is because you chose to do that. It’s not like you do not have a decision making power. You are pretty clear about what you want to do about things that really bother you. Because if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t have forced your way into going for that Friday night party. And you wouldn’t have stayed up watching the football match all night despite all our shouting. And you wouldn’t make a fuss at the dinner table about ‘healthy food’.

Don’t do stupid things. Period.

Your father and I are not going to be around forever. So this moral conduct, this social conduct has to come from within you. Do not look at another girl in a way that she feels the need to protect herself not just from your hands but also from your thoughts. Do not say that you didn’t have a guiding light and hence, you strayed. And please, oh please do not expect sympathy after doing wrong.

Respect all women. Let her be confident. Let her explore the world in her own way. Encourage that confidence. She is not the weaker sex. She is simply the other sex. Look at her. Admire her. Don’t look at her as something that titillates your senses. There is a lot more to her than her body.

She too is intelligent. She too has a sense of humor. She will bring strength to you as a mother, loyalty as a sister, love as a wife and pure bliss as a daughter. Be with her. Enjoy with her.

Because she too wants to be with you. Without the fear of being ridiculed, condemned, judged or objectified.”

"Genius is a curse. Some think that the brilliant comprehend the universe in a way the rest of us can't. No. They see the world how it truly is—and that reality is so horrible they lose their minds.

Clarity leads to insanity."

-Harlan Coben

Caught

"So basically that whole theory is blown to hell," said Myron.
"Not basically", Win corrected. "Entirely."

Book Review. Gone for Good by Harlan Coben.

Just when you think that there can no longer be books that can really really keep you awake at nights, you stumble upon a masterpiece like 'Gone for Good'. What amazingness!

It's primarily a story of two brothers. All Coben books start like that and then within no time, there are a series of characters introduced making it difficult to single out one main hero (or villain).

Will looks up to his elder brother Ken for everything..he looks up to Ken as his protector. And one day, Ken is accused of raping and murdering Julie, their neighbor and Will's ex-girlfriend. Ken disappears and is never to be seen. He is gone for good - so everybody assumes because it's been eleven long years since that incident. And then, after all these years, their mother, while on the death bed, whispers to Will, "Your brother is alive".

And Will's seemingly uninteresting world takes a 360 degree turn. Because surprisingly, the next day, the love of Will's life, Sheila, disappears without a trace.

Believe it or not - none of what I said counts as spoilers. Because all of this happens in the first ten pages of the book! Now you tell me, how can one put down a book like this?! I finished the book in two straight days..I had to cut down on sleep because it eluded me. The twists and turns are by the page. All the characters are equally important though they may not seem so on the outside. The ending is amazing. All the loose ends are so wonderfully covered up. Now unless, you really want to just find mistakes with the story, you can go ahead and do that, but Coben has mesmerized me with his imagination.

It is engrossing. The characters are well-sketched - Ken, Will, Sunny (their mother), Squares (Will's best friend and personally my favorite), Sheila and the Ghost (again, my favorite). The relationships are wonderfully defined. You actually feel for the characters, the ones who have disappeared, the ones who have spent a good time of their life threatening and murdering others, and the ones who have been betrayed.

Coben's favorite, Hester Crimstein makes a brief appearance in the book. She is such a delight!

Harlan Coben never disappoints! Mark this as one of the must-reads before you die!

Delusions of Life

What happened is sad. 25 years is not an age to die, and it is certainly not an age to end your own  life willingly. Life can get tough, everybody's is. Not just her; look around and you see almost every person struggling with their lives - be it in love or career or family.

Mothers have problems dealing with their teenage children, some women have problem conceiving altogether, fathers are struggling for that better job, that better pay because they have to support their family, kids are having a hard time performing well in all areas be it academic or play.

I am not a cold and cruel person to judge Jiah Khan's problems. I am not saying her problems are very trivial and not a big deal. Her problems must be really troubling. But so troubling that you took your own life? So troubling that you got free by killing yourself and leaving your loving mother to deal with the consequences? So troubling that you hold a fellow that you are supposedly in love with, responsible for your life-ending action?

Am no fan of this Suraj Pancholi. Hell, I hadn't even heard his name till now. So, I am not supporting him. But what was his fault? That he spoke to her rudely? That he maybe fell in love with her? That he maybe advanced his relationship with her under the false pretext of marriage? That he maybe even had an affair with another girl while dating Jiah also?

I agree all of the above deeds are morally wrong. No guy or girl should do this to another. It is the wrongest thing to do and raises fingers on his character and upbringing. But that doesn't mean he is a murderer! He can be the biggest scum on the face of earth. But not a killer.

He was 22 years old. He didn't know better. I don't think, people know what is right and what is wrong even when they reach a mature age. Who's to say that 50 year-old married men with two children do not indulge in infidelity every now and then?

My point is not to support Suraj or to simply accept infidelity as a way of life. My point is that girls need to be stronger. I say, we need to stop showcasing ourselves as the 'poor fragile lot'. That anybody will say a bad word to us and we will jump off the balcony.

After the Jiah Khan debacle, I am sure boys will be scared to commit to girls, fearing what the girl might do, God forbid, something went wrong.

We cannot live all our lives fantasizing about that perfect man and that perfect love story. It happens only in movies. Reality is way different. You cannot step into a relationship (not just love but even friendship) without considering the tiniest possibility that if not now but maybe after a decade, it just might not work.

Now tomorrow, if someone kills himself, saying that his employer chose someone else over him, or because he is troubling him at work, does that mean that the employer should be arrested? Well, if that's the case, then all the directors and producers in Bollywood should be arrested because Jiah also stated her failing career as a reason for her depression.

Who hasn't had a heartbreak? Who hasn't been given false promises? Or wait, who hasn't given another person a heartbreak? We all have been on the giving and receiving side of victimization.

Romance is delusional. A dangerous delusion. In fact, everything is a delusion when compared to the only reality looking at us in the eye - LIFE. Life is too precious to be sacrificed over things such as love and money.

There's a lot more to your being.

Book Review. Miracle Cure by Harlan Coben.

I want to read all of Harlan Coben books...aiming to be like the biggest fan ever ! Because seriously, his books are simply amazing. They take me to a totally different world, a world of lies and deception - with justification! Coben's characters never deceive without reason, they always have an excellent reason for lying...for deceiving..for disappearing...and even for murdering!

'Miracle Cure' is Coben's second book after 'Play Dead' but it is my 8th or something...and to be fair, I have read this after books like 'Tell No One' and 'Gone For Good' so my review for the book may be a little biased. Nonetheless, it is an amazing book dealing with an excellent topic. This book is about a subject that was hot in its times, 1990s..it is a story about AIDS.

The basic plot - There's a group of doctors who are striving hard towards the treatment of AIDS, and now they are this close to finding the cure. What they need is funds towards this cause. The biggies and politicians are unwilling to direct money towards AIDS for reasons well-explained. There's a couple involved - a journalist and a basketball player - and now people are getting killed one after the other.

Controversies...lies...deception..murders..they just follow as the pages keep turning. What I really liked in the book besides the plot of course, are the dialogues that the two sides exchange. The group that wants to cure AIDS explains very nicely why it is necessary to remove this evil from the society. On the other hand, the politicians who look down upon AIDS and the people who suffer from them provide an excellent counter argument. I do not agree with the argument, but I definitely appreciate Coben's writing style which makes the reader empathize with both parties.

Amidst all my work, I finished this book in three days. To be honest, I would give this book 4/5 stars and not a complete 5 because I have read other Harlan Coben books and they are far far better. But for someone who has no other Coben book for comparison, he will enjoy this book for sure!

Date a Girl who Reads

Date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with her closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, one who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she is the one because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants.

You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Let her know that you understand that words are love.

Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by God, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read, understand that all things will come to end.

Or that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recount her favorite novel under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable.

If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

-Rosemarie Urquico

'Cook'ing up a story...

The Husband: My friend’s coming over this Saturday. Finally you guys will meet!

The Wife: Oh that’s awesome! Can’t wait! Finally I will see him in person rather than just talking on the phone with him.

The Husband: Yeah…so what are you going to make for dinner?

The Wife: Umm...can’t we go out for dinner? That will give us some time to actually talk.

The Husband: It would be nice if you make something at home. He should also know what a great wife and cook you are.

The Wife: *Frowns*

(The rest of the conversation is not mentioned here for reasons of abusive content but you, the smart reader can more or less imagine the rest of it.)

A regular conversation on a regular bright sunny day took a nasty turn for the 30-something wife.

She was eager to meet this friend. She was eager to have long talks with this fun friend. She would make him feel like a member of the house, and not a guest. Then why, why was it necessary for her to cook a meal for him to please him? Since he was just coming for the evening, why couldn’t they have that one meal at a restaurant? Wouldn’t it be better if they could talk about movies, and the economy, and work, and life over a meal served to them by angels called restaurant chefs?

Because. If they were to stay at home, things would be a little different. She would be busy making food two hours prior to his arrival. When he would come, she would sit with him for a few minutes only to be interrupted by the soup boiling on the stove. And then she would lay the table with bright new crockery and all the delicious recipes. When everything's ready, the men would make an appearance at the table. She would serve them. He would say all the wonderful things in the world about her food that he is still licking off his fingers. The wife would be delighted. The husband would be proud.
 

And then the two men would get up and head to the couch to continue their heated discussion about how the last basketball game could have been better if only Derrick Rose was back in the game. And the wife would gather up the dishes and wash them in the sink. Then after just an hour, she would also join the men where the friend would ask her about her life and how she is doing. Few more minutes and the friend would announce that it was time for him to leave. Goodbyes and see yous. The friend would offer genuine thanks to the wife. And a couple of nice meeting yous later, the friend would leave.

As stated before, if they were to stay at home, things would be only a little different.

And leave the wife wondering – “when did I actually meet the friend I was so eagerly waiting for amidst the mini tornado in the kitchen?!”

It brought her to thinking. Would it be such a bad thing if the wife proposed to go out for dinner instead of cooking at home? Would it be such a terrible idea if the wife asked to have a quality discussion over ready-made restaurant food? Would it be awfully sinful if she refused to spend half a day in the kitchen and instead preferred to actually chat and be friendly to the friend?

The husband said that it is good Indian tradition and values to greet a guest with food. The wife denied saying no to that. Maybe she did say no to being the provider of the food, but she didn’t say no to food per se. Maybe she wanted to use the excuse of the friend to escape what she did anyway for everyday of the week. Would that make her a terrible wife? And a terrible host?

So maybe, after the meal, the husband would be deprived of the words, “You have an amazing and caring wife back there. I had a great time with you guys!” Maybe he would have to hear “Your wife is amazing to talk to. She is fun to hang out with! I had a great time with you guys!”

Now, would THAT be such a horrible thing?

Why, thought the wife, is it necessary to prove to every outsider that she is a responsible and good wife? Why can’t this be reserved for the husband himself? Why does she have to prove her cooking skills and her multi-tasking talents to every friend and every relative? Isn’t it proven from the healthy and not-at-all-pale-and-not-sickly looks of the husband?

But the wife dare not say such words aloud, lest she may be labeled a feminist.

She would rather call her friends for dinner. And then she would ask the husband to get down on his fours and do a 100 push-ups so she can also show off to her friends what a wonderful man she has! J

Disclaimer: ‘The husband’, ‘the wife’ and 'the friend' in this article are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental.

FB...and other drugs

The 72 year old woman walked into the ‘Facebook Addiction’ therapist’s office only to see that there was no place for her to sit. The room was fully occupied – old, young and even kids! She knew she would have to spend good time in the waiting room for her turn. She glanced over at the next room in the building, labelled ‘Smoking Addiction’ and wished she had a smoking problem for there were only two patients there and ample place to sit.

She walked into the room, passing by the crowd that was staring with wide eyes; either into the blank walls or into the screens of their smart phones. A young fellow with an over-grown beard and never-combed hair handed his seat to the old woman saying, “I am too anxious to sit anyway. I found nurses, engineers and technicians for my city. But I still don't have a contractor."

Next to her was a young boy in his early teens frantically shaking his legs. She asked him why he was so nervous and he said, “Before I left home to come here, I updated my status…it’s been 45 minutes since and nobody has ‘liked’ it yet…I really need to figure out what happened…why is this happening to me?!”

The woman said with a smile, “I know the feeling. When I started out on Facebook, I used to put up funny status updates, you know the kinds that are LOL-worthy…but there were times when none of my friends ‘liked’ my updates. So I returned the favour by not ‘liking’ their pictures. It’s okay. It will be all right.”

“You seem to be very mature. Why are you here anyway?”

“To kick off habits my family doesn't approve of…sigh..”

“How did it all start with you?”

“My best friend from college, all her fault…her son introduced her to Facebook and she sent me an invitation. I wasn't even aware of such a thing before!”

“And then you were hooked?”

“Oh yes! I created my profile and before I knew it, I found myself on Facebook more than five times a day…and more times at night. You see I have friends from other time zones so there are many updates to catch up on. My husband doesn't approve much of it. He doesn't like the light flashing in his eyes in our dark room in the night.”

“Why don’t you try hiding inside the blanket? I used to do that with my small TV to watch football, till my mother caught me…”

“Son, we all get caught”, she said with a contemplative look, “Why do you think I am here?”

“Why do you like it so much?”

“It makes me forget my personal problems. Everyone is so happy on Facebook. They are always attending parties and wearing colourful clothes. Nobody has a job or stress. It’s like I am living a Karan Johar film.

Also, this year I had the best birthday ever! So many people posted on my wall. Some even sent me a cake on Facebook. But I am upset at those who didn't wish me. I mean, it’s on Facebook. What excuse do you have for forgetting?! ”

“True. Say, how many friends do you have?”

“In the real world, I have 8 friends but on Facebook, I have 732. It makes me feel social and wanted. I am even friends with Mayank Shetty”

“Who’s he?”

“Dunno. But he’s got more than 2000 friends, so must be famous.”

“That’s true. Making connections is the best part about Facebook. I know exactly what’s happening in the life of my school classmate and her newest boyfriend. Not that we are great friends but it feels special to be informed.”

“Yeah, yeah…even I connect to my girls from school and college. I hadn't heard from them in decades but now it is good to know who’s working, who’s retired, who’s still beautiful, who’s not…I love browsing through their profiles and pictures…I have even copied from their profiles. Apparently they have seen all the latest movies and read all the latest novels. They even have great political and religious views. Impressive stuff!”

“Do you do anything besides checking others’ profiles?”

“Of course I do! I play a lot of games on Facebook.”

“Yeah. Like Cityville and Farmville?”

“No, Warlords. I am ‘the Undead’. Nobody messes with me!”

“Don’t you go out and meet people?”

“Nah..that’s too much work. It’s easier on Facebook, no need to put on make-up or look good…no need to take a bath or put on perfume. Everybody looks so pretty on Facebook because they put up only their best profile pictures. One of my girls is using a picture where none of her blemishes are visible. Go Instagram!”

“Which profile picture are you using?”

“I spent a lot of time looking for a good picture but I realized I didn't have any Facebook-worthy picture. You see in my times, we used to take pictures for memories…not for getting approval of others. So I had to get out of my house and go to the nearest beauty parlour.”

“To make yourself prettier?”

“Yeah, that too. I also took a picture with two of the most beautiful girls there. That’s the picture I am using. With those two beauties flanking me, nobody notices me and I get all the likes.”

“It’s all going good for you. Why is Facebook a problem then?”

“Last weekend, when I was on Facebook, I saw a message on my wall from my son: “Just thought you should know Ma, we have moved out of the house couple of days ago.”

“Oh my god! Then?”

“What else?! I unfriended him, of course!”

Something so ordinary...

Something so ordinary as the way you smiled at me

And made my day.

Something so ordinary as you moved the hair off my forehead

And said all those things I wish you would say.

Something so ordinary as your tucking the covers around me

Or just standing by the door and watch me sleep.

Such an ordinary look, and yet you looked deep inside of me.

Unknowingly you stilled something so restless inside of me.

Catching a little lie, so ordinary

Playing along, even more ordinary.

Something so ordinary your head in my lap

And my fingers in your hair.

Something so ordinary the sound of your breathing

My sense of comfort that you are still there.

Laughing at all my tantrums, something so ordinary

Missing them when I don’t throw them, even more ordinary.

Being yourself, something so ordinary

Being my whole world, not all that ordinary.

Such an ordinary life

Such an ordinary lack of momentum

Like we are caught up unawares in a loss of time

And then you unknowingly cover my hand

And tell me all over that you won’t leave.

Love will stay…

…In all your ordinary ways

“Very few people believe in God.”

“Of course they do. Billions of people believe in God.”

“Four billion people say they believe in God, but few genuinely believe. If people believed in God, they would live every minute of their lives in support of that belief. Rich people would give their wealth to the needy. No one would be uncomfortable in the thought that they might have picked the wrong religion and blundered into eternal damnation, or bad reincarnation or some other unthinkable consequence.

A belief in God would demand hundred percent obsessive devotion, influencing every other waking moment of this brief life on earth. But your four billion so-called believers do not live their lives in that fashion, except for a few.

They say that they believe because pretending to believe is necessary to get the benefits of religion. They tell other people that they believe and they do believer-like things, like praying and reading holy books. But they don’t do the things that a true believer would do, the things a true believer would have to do.

It is not belief to say God exists and then continue sinning. When belief does not control your most important decision, it is not belief in the underlying reality; it is belief in the usefulness of believing.”

-Scott Adams, God’s Debris: A Thought Experiment

"It is not the critic that counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly, who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds."

-Theodore Roosevelt

Romance goes Mobile

Whilst we were young, what terrified us the most about schools were the surprise spelling tests; terrified of being unprepared for it and messing up the spellings. Two decades hence and a world of a change later, spelling tests are still the most terrifying subject, this time for the teachers. With the ‘sms generation’ and the rapid increase in the ‘let’s-tell-the-world-every-damn-uninteresting-thing-I’m-doing-in-140-characters’ population, correct grammar and correct spellings have become an ancient concept.

I indulge a lot in sms, oh yes I do! I think it is the single most effective and inexpensive tool to be in touch with people (whom otherwise I wouldn’t want to be face-to-face with) According to some survey, about 4.5 crore smses are sent across daily, some across miles and others just a few meters.

Mother: “Y r u nt cming dwn fr diner swthrt...ur dad n I miss u”

Kid: “Crckt mtch goin on...wl cum soon”

If you had no trouble reading these words, then you, my friend, are addicted to smsing too. You are also a member of the organisation created to butcher English like never before. Membership is open to all. The requirements are pretty basic: forget spelling, forget punctuations, forget the lecture that your English teacher gave you when you said, “I am not understanding why grammar be important.”

Also, you can write anything in an sms and people will even make good meanings of your msg (message). But sometimes, it’s easily misunderstood too. Like when my friend wrote “u gv me lc”, her boyfriend proudly replied “I know, I always give people good luck!”, her confused aunt replied “I don’t remember when I gave you any lace” and I was simply apologetic “Oh my god! I am so sorry dear, I didn’t mean to give you lice!”

The character constraint even takes off your burden to type a lot many letters. What used to be “I love you so much” became “luv u so mch” to now a very simple “lv u”. Speaking of reducing the burden, the “Send To Many” option helps you from typing it over and over again to multiple recipients! Not just that, smses also give you all the privacy you need. You can effortlessly read messages from your girlfriend while doing something important, such as having dinner with your wife.

Having said enough, I love technology. It does wonders for me, with many of my close ones not staying in the same city as I do, I would be absolutely exhausted from visiting the mailbox every other day sending out handwritten letters. Instead, I have it all at my fingertip – phones, smses, emails and other such networking aids. So let me not push my sarcasm to that extent that Vodafone gets miffed with me and disconnects my number, so here’s to technology!!!

And it’s not all that bad. Smses actually have allowed couples to get more intimate, to break beyond the restraints their cultures and values have imposed upon them. Even a simple “thnkng abt u” brings a smile to a wife’s face, allowing her to feel closer to her husband and look forward to seeing him again, as soon as the Test series is over.

Survival of the Fittest, Redefined

I have often marveled at the thought of meeting a sane person hailing from a busy city like Mumbai and a crowded country like India. I didn’t realise it much till I actually opened my eyes and started taking notice of activities around me. Right from the morning when I wake up and not get water in the tap to the minute when I step out of my house to catch a bus to work to going to a trial room in a mall on a Sunday (or any other day of the week, it hardly makes any difference really) to watching a cricket match in the stadium to getting sweets from the shop on a non-festive day to even waiting for the elevator in my building to reach my home in the evening, I realised – I.Live.In.A.Very.Crowded.City!

So what is it like to live in a country of nearly 1.21 billion people, a country that’s one-third the size of Canada, yet has thirty times the population? What is it like to live in the second most populous country in the world, dangerously close to the first one being China and very far from the third one being United States of America? And to top it all, what is it like to live in the most populous city of India-Mumbai?!

It’s not that bad. Really. It’s not all that bad (as people think) even if you happen to be the last person on the bus. You can very well enjoy the view on the last step of the bus while hanging to the door and convince yourself that getting on the bus is much better than getting in the bus. Sure you cannot stretch your hands and your legs, sure you will be travelling with a few others on the outside of the bus, sure you will be grabbing on to whatever you can, be it the frame of the door or the next person’s shirt sleeve, but you will actually be one of those many who know what it means to “catch the bus”.

Buses and trains in Mumbai pronounce our population better than any other medium. Although rickshaws are fast catching up with people spilling out of them at any given time. Trains are often crammed with people, beyond their capacity. While some passengers get the seats, many others are pressed together in the aisle, close enough to know what each other had for lunch.

When the bus is packed to its maximum capacity, getting on and off is a major challenge, but so is getting in and out. You could try to empty the bus by screaming out that there is an explosive in the bus. However, with the frequency with which they are found almost everywhere in the city, yelling out “Oh my God! Amitabh Bachchan!” will empty the bus faster than anything else. Another method could be to drop to your hands and knees and crawl between people’s legs and reach the exit. Although, experience teaches that this method doesn’t work that well, considering the women of our country wear saris.

While Amitabh Bachchan can very well empty a bus, what he cannot empty are movie theatres. We love movies and we love cricket. So when half the population wants to watch every latest blockbuster, the chances of getting tickets on the first day are similar to the chances of running into Rakhi Sawant at a ghazal concert.

In India, you stand in the line everywhere. You stand in the queue to get a movie ticket, you stand in a queue to take a leak in the public toilet, you stand in the queue to vote for your candidate at the general elections, you stand in the queue report a stolen bike at the police station, you even stand in a queue to get out of a boring lecture by any renowned philosopher. Long queues are a norm. If you accept the fact, you save a lot of energy spent in cribbing about it everywhere.

When you visit a doctor, the receptionist may be poor in grammar but she’s not incorrect when she asks, “Are you patient?”

It is a fact that Indians encounter crowds almost everywhere. With this sudden revelation, I marvel at how everybody is dealing with the immense population and its exaggerated growth of 10 million every year. So much that if rabbits would be having general meetings, they would use the phrase “breeding like Indians”.

We’ve Only Just Begun....

Lately, I have been getting a feeling of uncontrollable anxiety. For no good reason, when I run into a boy and/or man, I start running in the other direction frantically with my hands raised in the air. I have also stopped functioning normally because I have noticed that I keep staring into my computer endlessly and even work slower than it does!

I gave going to the psychiatrist a thought, but learnt that the solution was at home. Because the problem was also there! My family worked on me and figured out that the symptoms I showed were of a troubled childhood.

The fear of marriage would be an exaggerated phrase. I am not afraid of it. I simply, I repeat, run in the opposite direction frantically with my hands raised up in the air. And not without reason. Let me explain from where I have developed the fear of the unknown (or the known, in this case)

Let’s give the reasons some names. For now, to make things simple, let’s hypothetically name them my mom, my dad, my bhabhi and my brother.

My mom and dad will soon celebrate their 30^th anniversary. Yes, it’s been three whole decades since they stood in front of family and friends, looked into each other’s eyes and thought, “Who is this person?” After spending 30 years together and raising two children, at least one thing is clear, they still don’t know each other.

But theirs was an arranged marriage. What amuses me is that my brother and bhabhi, who arranged for a love marriage 2 years back, too, look at each other with the “Do I know you?” look.

And they sure don’t know each other. If they did, my bhabhi wouldn’t get annoyed whenever she finds my brother in his ill-fitting shorts on the couch on Sunday afternoon. If my dad knew my mom well, he wouldn’t be waiting patiently for her outside the mall when she is shopping. He would have simply rented a tow truck and used the hooks and chains to pull her out.

Despite not knowing each other, my mom and dad have somehow managed to stay married and together for 30 years. It may not be a big thing for those married for a good 50 years but it is truly amazing for my brother and bhabhi that they are still together. What is even more amazing for them is that my mom and dad still occasionally talk to each other.

It may sound a bit of an exaggeration but it’s not because just a month back, my brother and bhabhi spoke to each other. He asked, “Our anniversary is coming up. How do you want to celebrate it?” And she said, “I would like to try out the new Chinese restaurant in our neighbourhood. Do you want me to bring something home for you?”

My parents have been explaining the tricks of the trade to my brother and bhabhi whenever time permits. They revealed that the key to their successful marriage was my brother and me. Thanks to us, they never got to speak a lot to each other. With my brother and me being 10 and 6, at any given point of time one of us was singing and the other was screaming.

However, they also pointed out that with children around, they couldn’t have affectionate conversations. So they developed a special code (which they say happens very naturally during a marriage). Whenever mom wants to say “I love you”, she would say, “Are you watching your stupid CNBC again?” And whenever dad wants to say “I love you”, he would say, “So how many pairs of shoes do you need anyway?”

I must say, that my mom and my dad love each other tremendously, considering the number of times they have said it each day.

My mom and dad have evolved and matured slowly and gradually. Not like my brother and bhabhi. Two years into marriage and they are already able to communicate without saying a word to each other. For example, if my brother is on the couch watching a cricket match and a pumpkin lands on his head, he knows that my bhabhi needs help in the kitchen.

Marriage is all about special codes and romantic nothings. In spite of the bloodshed at home, my heart warms when I see my dad and brother feel incomplete, anxious, frenzied and clueless at a social function without their other halves by their side.

I guess, the brutality hidden underneath too has a special charm to it.

No wonder the Carpenters have said,
“We’ll find a place where there is room to grow...
...coz, we’ve only just begun...”

(T)rick(Y) Business

Travelling on the roads of a city like Mumbai or Ahmedabad can be an eye-opener. It makes one realise the importance of his life. Statistics have even been revised to push smoking down to the number two spot in the list of ‘What Might Kill you Today’.

While I was in one of the death rides in an auto (rickshaw, as we call it) with my little brother, we swerved through in between two cars, overtook them and took a u-turn from the second lane during a red signal. Before sitting in the rickshaw, I remember (and now regret) asking the driver to ‘move it’ since we didn’t want to miss our appointment at the dentist. He sure kept his promise. While I dug inside my bag looking for change and also trying to keep my electrically-charged hair out of my face, I could see my younger brother gaping proudly at the driver. He seemed to be contemplating how awesome it would be to become a rickshaw driver. Ambitious, the little one!

He later told me how he would become a rickshaw driver and rule the roads, cruise around the city, all the whilst blowing his horn constantly and charging regular non-smart citizens twice the normal fare. I let him continue because I didn’t have the heart to break the little one’s heart. I couldn’t come to telling him that he would have a tough time becoming an auto driver unless he works hard and stays focussed. If not for these factors, he will never be able to make it through the auto-driving school.

For instance, I really don’t think everybody has the ability to start the vehicle, make it go forward a few miles and then, say with a straight face “Meter not working”.

Rickshaw drivers also have a unique ability to make use of their limbs. The hands are not just to steer the vehicle and simultaneously honk the horn but also to rub them gleefully on spotting a tourist. One may wonder why the rickshaw driver is stretching his legs in the midst of the journey. When he does it more-than-often, you will realise that he is actually giving the “I am going to turn right now jackasses” or “Steer out of my way because I am going to take a left even though I am in the right-most lane” signal to the vehicles behind him.

To claim eligibility for the auto-driving course, he would also need to know how to take a u-turn on a one-way street or how to turn a 3-km ride to the shopping mall in a distant eastern suburb into an all-India tour. He will have to (again) keep a straight face and convince the passenger that he does in fact know the route and that he is not going in circles.

Once, the basics are done with, it is important to move on to the advanced stage lest you want the other rickshaw drivers to overtake you in this competitive world and be able to cheat more passengers than you do. That you have passed the basics means the course has accepted you. Smile and now learn how to maximise your earnings. Over a period of time, you will learn how to turn the meter on and off while the passenger thinks you are simply brushing the dust off it. While one part of the course teaches you how to make the meter run faster, the other teaches you how to say ‘meter not working” in 18 languages.

The course also teaches aspiring rickshaw drivers to improve fuel economy by turning off the engines when stuck in traffic or using hands as paddles during the monsoons.

A special ‘Personality Detection’ intensive programme has also been incorporated. It helps the driver to size up each potential customer and to determine how much money they will be ready to part with. This helps them start with a very high figure and reduce it by a third or even half, depending on the customer - how big his nose blows up and how much steam comes out of his ears.

When all of these levels are passed successfully, last comes the part where the driver learns to decorate his rickshaw with flowers, stickers, cheesy sayings, lipstick marks on the rear mirror and pictures of movie stars and gods as well as movie stars who act like gods. This activity saves him a lot of time and energy. It saves him that trip to the temple where he prays for more business, “My wife wants a new sari and my son wants a new cricket bat. Please bring me a rich tourist today, dear Sachin.”