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.”