O-limp-ics II

Say, I am your friend. I know, it is a bit hypothetical since I am not very friendly, but for a moment assume I am.
I come up to you and say, "dost, can you give me 50 bucks?"

Say you know me well enough to understand that I am a black hole when it comes to money, and if you do give me this sum, you have a very slim chance of seeing it again. Although I promise to return it with interest!

So, you naturally ask "Why do you need this, bro?"

Suppose I say, "my pocket got picked. I haven't had food since morning. Starving all day"

How many of you will give me the 50?

Or, suppose I say, "I am very short of money. My mom is very ill and I need to pay the doctor."

Will you be kind enough to give me say, 500 bucks?

Assume in both cases that while you know that I never return money, I am honest when it comes to stating the reason why I need it. I know, it is a stretch, but play along.

Now, suppose I say, "my pocket got picked. I want to pay the entry fee to play in the badminton tournament. If I win, I'll dedicate the prize to you."

Now?

Hold that thought. Let's take this thought experiment a little further.

Imagine the same situation with one small difference. I am not asking you for the money. I know where you keep your money, and I take it without your consent.

You find out and come to me, and ask "Why the hell did you take my money?"

Will you feel less angry if I said I was starving, or my mom was ill, compared to "I wanted to go swimming. I am training for a tournament."

Let's take it one step further.

You don't know me. I am a complete stranger to you, other than the fact that I and you share the same nationality. And I take your money. For one of the three reasons mentioned above. Think what your reaction would be.

And since we are having fun, let's stretch it even more. I know, I am boring you guys, but please bear with me. Not only am I a stranger to you, but you can't even question me as to why I took your money because I have a strong, muscular bully standing behind me. You know the bully can tear you apart if he so wishes.

But I tell you, "Hey, don't feel bad. You had 10000 bucks, I just took 3000, because you see, my entire family is starving and my mom is ill too."

Versus I tell you, "Hey, don't feel bad. You had 10000 bucks, I just took 3500, because you see, my entire family is starving, my mom is ill, and my friend really wanted to take tennis lessons."

Are you slightly more outraged by the second statement, compared to the first? Be honest with yourself.

Now, tell me, when you say "Government should build more sports infrastructure so that we can get more Olympic medals", why should I feel any different from what I feel when a big, strong bully (i.e. the Government) takes money from me forcibly (through taxes) to support a stranger (although each of them share my nationality, I don't know any of them personally) to train for some games?

I don't know about you, but I feel bad enough that I work 4 months out of 12 (as Amit Varma says) free for the Government. I somehow console myself that at least some of that money, after all the bloody politicians have had their share, goes towards feeding people, healing them, building roads, giving them power and water and other basic needs. Now, you want to spend more money on a facility that no one will use once it is built since, hey, it's free for those who were building it. And when cost of something is zero, expectation of return on that is pretty low.

And when I chose to oppose such waste of my effort (because the money you take away from me represents my effort), you question my patriotism! Sigh!

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PS: Theme of this post plagiarized from (inspired by?) the excellent Bryan Caplan

O-limp-ics...

It's that time of the year again. When our archers bow out, boxers hang up their gloves, the only shuttle our badminton players latch on to is the one ferrying them to the airport, tennis players create a racket, shooters fail to fire, wrestlers grapple with the bitter truth, swimmers sink into oblivion, runners go off-track and even the guy on the boat has a har-rowing experience. (Do they give out medals for maximum bad puns in a sentence? No? Dammit!).

That time of the year when Indians suddenly wake up to the fact that we don't have world-class athletes and newspapers start pulling out old cliches like "a nation of one billion plus can't produce even a single Olympic champion." Hello, is it our fault that they don't award gold medals for making babies. At least, we are close to beating China in that indiscipline.

If having sheer numbers were sufficient to throw up some super-achievers, then a trillion houseflies would have produced an Olympian housefly. As one of my friends keeps pointing out, a million monkeys banging on keyboards may produce a Shakespearean drama, but the interesting thing is what they come up with the rest of the time. And in India's case, a million slightly-evolved monkeys banging each other only seem to produce a billion unfit monkeys.

And when all the hoopla is done and dusted, we'll go back to our favourite scapegoats. Too much attention to cricket. Too little money for athletes elsewhere. Corruption. Politics. Government doesn't support sport (Or as the Punjabis would say "Gorment-waale sport ko spport nahi karte hain ji!"). The 'white' judges cheated us since we are brown. Suresh Kalmadi. Aamir Khan didn't make a tragic-senti episode on sports in India. It was rahu-kalam when we left for London. Yada Yada. (Do they give out medals for whining? No? At least for making excuses? Not even that? No wonder we don't win too many medals. They have no events which cater to any of our traditional strengths!)

Meanwhile, we seem to be doing good in some other places. Our kids keep winning the Spelling Bee. And we seem to ace a lot of competitive exams. Is it co-incidence? Or are we innately more brainy than people from other countries? Or is it simply because, every time a kid in India shows some interest in sports and wants to pursue it seriously, his or her parents subtly at first, vehemently later, snatch away the bat / racquet /  hockey stick and shove entrance exam prep papers and say "beta, all this play will not feed you. Concentrate  on your studies, get a good job and settle down."

So the next time we start listing down the reasons why India doesn't do well at the Olympics, may I humbly suggest adding "middle class apathy to sports" to the list of popular scapegoats? Or do I hear a "But it is so much easier to blame politics. And Suresh Kalmadi."? 

It is green, and it makes me turn red with rage...

Warning: Slightly MCPish post. If you are female and sensitive (is there any other kind?), please, please don't read this.

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Time was when a Tambrahm guy could just sit around, playing cards and ogling chicks in their finest silks, on the eve of a relative's marriage. When all he had to do was turn around, and some over-enthu pattu-pavadai-clad-mami-in-the-making would be running around with coffee tumblers and hand him a delicious helping of filter kaapi. With a cute smile too. Ah, those were the days...

The glorious days before the Barjatyas and Johars of the world came up with their Punjabi wedding videos disguised as movies. They introduced alien concepts like designer mehendi and what not, to the hitherto one-big-circle-on-the-palm-and-five-caps-on-the-fingers maamis and their daughters.

And that, dear fellow MCP mamas, was the day when we came to know what women empowerment was, and how it stinks. Much more than the stink of the green goo mehendi.

We would have tolerated it if it were just the bride. After all, it is supposed to be the biggest day of her life and one could tolerate a few eccentric wishes.

But no, the whole female section sits down, gets mehendi all over their hands and feet, and then whenever any work is to be done, they literally throw up their hands...

It gets worse if you happen to be the bride's brother / cousin (especially if you are in your twenties and single). Because, much as one would love to sit back and take in the sight of pretty girls in their pattu podavais and their jhumkis, one would be forced to run around like a dog. Fetch the key we forgot in the house, fetch a rickshaw for the bride's friend, fetch Paati's eye-glasses, fetch, fetch, fetch... At the end of it all, if someone throws a stick, one would go after it like a retreiver. All while the ladeej are sitting around admiring the designs (?) on their hands.

And after they are all done and dusted, they further infuriate you the next day with inane questions like "ain't my mehendi darker than hers?" For all I care, you could have horse shit on your hands lady, and it won't make any difference.

The next big pet peeve is the bride's mehendi. Apparently, the 'bhabhi' (or mausi?) who does mehendi attended some innovation class and decided, for a change, to earn her 1000 bucks per hand. So, she comes up with this great idea of writing the groom's name, one alphabet at a time, in some corner of the strange patterns she makes up.

Now, the bride is not satisfied with just harassing the guy she's getting married to. So, post marriage, while you are taking a 5 min breather before you are asked to fetch something, she'll call you, open her palms, and say (in what she imagines to be a cute voice) "find the letters on the hand".

Geez lady, for one, we are too old to be playing this treasure hunt thingy. And two, that mausi (bhabhi?) could have written "asshole" for all I care. And three, no that squiggle does not look like an 'A', whichever angle you look at it!

But thankfully, before the bride gets a dose of SRK's special brand of sarcasm, someone calls to fetch Paati's rubber chappals which she forgot outside the bathroom.

Believe me guys, I have never felt gladder to go and pick up a pair of slippers...

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PS1: This post has been sitting on the draft folder for quite some time. It is the result of attending too many marriages lately, plus an email discussion on the pre-marriage craziness with some like-minded friends.

PS2: I know some of my friends, and all of my cousins / aunts are gonna hate me for this. But it is ok. Sometimes, a guy's gotta do what he's gotta do...

Ps3: A personal reward of 5000 bucks from my side for anyone who can make mehendi with itching powder...

Rains are a pain!

Bombay has a special relationship with rains. Tired of sweating profusely all summer, people wait eagerly for the first showers to cool down and cleanse the city. People offer prayers if the monsoons are delayed by a week, and some unfortunate frogs/ donkeys are married off.

Pic Credit: Bombay Times.

The city papers run a series every year, a beautiful pic of a star prancing happily along Marine Drive/ Bandra bandstand (this time, they had Amrita Rao, swoon!), accompanied by an article where two-paise worth celebs give their oft-repeated “rains mean romantic walks”, “I love the smell of the earth”, or “a chance to enjoy some hot chai and pakora” quotes. There is also a mandatory pic of some slum kids joyously diving into a pool of water, essentially an overflowing sewer but who cares? Tis the season to be silly.

But I hate rains. Hate them. Hate them. Hate them.

Rains bring back a flood of bad memories. Or memories of bad floods. Whatever.

Rains meant slush and grime on the roads. Mud sticking all over my precious Hercules MTB on the ride to school. And of course mud all over my shoes which had to be polished again and again. And mud getting splattered all over me thanks to potholes on the road and an overspeeding car. (And no, I did not throw a stone at the car. Nor did I grow up to be a milkman singing about cows, fight with my best friend and become a millionaire to extract revenge. The prospect of dancing with Khushboo wasn’t too appealing, you see.)

Rains meant flooding on the streets. Walking through knee-deep water, with pieces of garbage/excreta floating nearby, to get to college. Trains getting cancelled, leading to fights with the rickshaw guy while getting drenched as he nonchalantly refuses to go by the meter and asks for three times the fare.

Rains meant strong cold winds. Umbrella getting overturned, making me feel stupid. Rain coming down at an angle, making me wet in spite of the umbrella. Wet trousers flapping, wet shirts clinging to my back, and wet socks creating a nasty stink. Yuck in all caps cannot even begin to describe it.

Rains meant running noses. And a bad cold. And wheezing through the night, sitting up propped by pillows, unable to lie down, unable to sleep. Having to eat that yucky Chyawanprash. And breathe in that yuckier inhaler thing.

Rains meant no cricket after school. And we never discovered the joy of football in the rains. And damp carrom boards where the coins never moved smoothly unlike in the summer vacations.

Rains meant watching what you eat. And still coming down with a bout of those motions, and having to survive on bread and idly and boiled vegetables. And having to drink boiled water. One would rather die of thirst.

Rains meant shivering baths. For a long time, sudu thanni was a pseudo thing, and real men took cold water baths. Even if they had running noses and wheezing problems later.

I am yet to have a single good experience in the rains. Ok, the long walks on Marine Drive and the chocolate cake at Barista, Bandstand might qualify. But even those were spent envying other cosy couples, while moaning about my loser status to other loser friends.

Maybe a couple of treks to some nearby hills. Matheran. Lohgad. But one place reeked of horseshit and I lost a floater in the other. Had to go around walking barefoot. So, bad there too.

So, all you romantic types can enjoy your walks and chai-pakoras, and smell the earth, whatever that means. I prefer to curl up in my bed and sleep it off. Unless Amrita Rao is walking in the rain. Or Asin. In which case, count me in.

HOW TO FRIGHTEN A TIGER! IN HIS OWN DEN!

There are a plethora of how-to books and articles in the market. How to lose weight, how to score with girls, how to get rich, how to retire early, how to improve your sex life etc etc.

This one below will make as much sense as any of them, IMHO...

So, without boring you further, let's head straight to "How to frighten a tiger! In his own den!"

Step 1: Take a huge, noisy vehicle which clatters and clangs at every bump and trough in the wild road. No rubber lining on the doors, please. See below for illustration.

Pic credit: http://www.indiahotelblog.com/?tag=corbett-hideaway

Step 2: Get a full blown Gujju family as your co-passengers. The ideal family shall include one floral print bush shirt with cream trousers wearing uncle, one ill-fitting tee-wearing aunty, their old, half bent if-I-see-a-tiger-I'll-die-of-fright maaji, two daughters, atleast one of which should be wearing a shocking pink top which glitters in the sunlight.

Step 3: Say nothing while said Gujju family does what typical Gujju families do. (Aside: Whatever you say counts for zilch, so save your breath). Explanations given below for reference.

Explanation 3a: Gujju aunty would loudly open Kurkure packet (1 No.), biscuit packets (2 Nos.) and offer it to everyone in the vehicle. Yes, even to poor Michael from UK sitting in the corner trying to ignore the antics. Offering Nice biscuits is her way of being nice.

Explanation 3b: Gujju aunty would request you to pass on water bottles, shawl, biscuit and miscellaneous other items from her seat in the third row to thirsty, shivering, hungry maaji sitting in the first row. Of course, Gujju aunty would realize that we are not supposed to talk, and thus would whisper loudly to you. Or worse, poke you. Not Facebook style. You, of course, should helpfully sit in the second row.

Explanation 3c: Gujju uncle would shout "Arre, thepla devanu" (ok, pardon my gujrati), when he sees some deer. (note to dim-witted readers: Not even deer in the wild can resist the irresistable urge to taste some methi thepla.)

Explanation 3d: Gujju daughter number one would wave the packet of Kurkure at a herd of elephants. If at first, they ignore, she'd wave harder. GD No.1 would also make strange noises while waving.

Explanation 3e: When the vehicle reaches the spot where there are three other vehicles waiting (noiselessly!) near a bush, and one of the drivers puts a finger on his lips to indicate we should maintain silence, Gujju daughter number two would helpfully make "tch tch tchu" noises, as if trying to call out to a dog. The expression on the face of the firangs who have been waiting there for an hour and a half is a sight to behold, much better than any tiger can offer. 

Step 4: Sit back and marvel at the ability of a single non-violent, peace-loving, Gandhiji-birth state-native, pure-vegetarian-not-even-onion-eating family's ability to frighten the majestic king of the jungle into hiding. Armed with nothing more than a packet of Kurkure, and a shocking pink top.

Step 5 (Bonus tip): Rest your eyes on the bare shoulders of the feminine half of the honeymooning couple in the front row. Try to remember whether the dress she's wearing is what they call a halter-neck. Try not to cringe at the purple bra-straps peeking out. (Important: Resist urge to pull said strap and see whether it snaps back with a pop sound!!!).

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PS: Regional non-discrimination disclaimer: I have nothing against Gujjus. Some of my best friends come from that state. 

PS2: Inspired from Son-of-Bosey's "Wash Basin is not a verb" joke: Spotted Deer is not a verb!!

Silly 6

In the midst of all the PJs and the rhymes, I forgot one of the main reasons why I started this blog. No, not to become world famous and get a million dollar book deal. Honest.

I started the blog so that I can rant to my heart’s content!

The week’s been bad. Work has been kinda hectic. A bad cold on top of that. Perfect time to behave like the Nilgiri Blue Mountain Express (i.e. let out some steam!). Or to inhale some with Vicks in it.
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ONE

I get pissed off with people who demand that the world to bow to their every whim and fancy. You know, the tribe that exudes a sense of being entitled. Now, don’t you ask me why. I am entitled to my opinion!
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TWO

I get pissed off with anyone who acts superior. (Except the boss. Bosses not only act superior but they are entitled to do so!). I mean, being grounded is not a bad thing. Unless you are a fat Indian Airlines air-hostess. In which case, time to go to court, aunty.
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THREE

I get pissed off with people who parrot inanities like ‘adversity toughens people’. It does not. Walking 6 km to school may at the most make you physically fit. (and that too, provided you get some food in your system). I feel it is a big conspiracy by the rich and the middle class to romanticize poverty through the ‘rags to riches’ stories, so that the poor don’t protest about people walking around with a sense of entitlement and acting superior. Heck, I’ll rant about this in another more detailed post.
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FOUR

I get pissed off with a certain smart alec politician constantly harping about ‘change’ and ‘moving forward’. For one, you remind me of the BEST conductor who yells ‘pudhe chala’ and ‘sutte paise dya’ at me every morning. And two, 787 billion dollars is not change, it is big big bucks. Khuda kasam, take out a billion and it still remains a divine number. And while we are at it, let me also sneak in a pathetic PJ about a guy who dressed up as a 1-rupee coin at a fancy dress party. Apparently, a famous leader had remarked, “Be the change you want to be...”
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FIVE

I get pissed off with lawyers. I don’t know which fancy school your superior parents put you in, that you feel entitled to express (or imply) shock that I don’t know what ‘mutatis mutandis’ means. From where I come from, they teach plain English. The kind which ToI writes and wins a prize for. And prima facie, I (hereinafter referred to as “the writer”) wish to make it clear that 'inter alia', 'thereunder', 'pursuant to clause 12' etc are not plain English. And I feel no guilt whatsoever in not knowing what ‘mens rea’ means. Except that it anagrams to the name of a gang of no hopers who incidentally express no mens rea while thrashing up random people for visiting pubs. Ok, let me change the topic and move forward.
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SIX

I get pissed off with telemarketers. Who doesn’t. I know I shouldn’t act superior and make fun of people’s adversity. But today’s call took the cake!
A lady calls me and says, “kya main aapse do minute baat kar sakti hoon?”
Me: “I’m busy, please call later.”
Lady: “accha sir, aapka naam kya hai?”
Me (thinking, oh the call is truly random?): “I told you I am busy!” (irritated tone)
Lady: “Accha, Mr. Busy, aapke paas credit card hai?”
Me: ?????
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PS1: Apologies to anyone who might have mistaken the title of the post for a sarci take on the name of a similar sounding movie. Am yet to watch it. Btw, did I mention that I also get pissed with star kids who feel entitled to their place in Bollywood on the basis of their surname, but act inferior, yet face no adversity, thereby encouraging that nothing changes and the industry doesn't move forward.

PS2: The above PS doesn't apply to Sonam Kapoor. Everything is forgiven, if you look pretty.

Protecting Indian Culture

I have formed a Sene (pronounced Say-Nay, because we say nay to any change in tradition). Members of our army are going through the list of 33 crore names to see which one we can use for our outfit. We need something unique, yet easy to remember. All the top names like Shiv and Sri Ram are already taken. And we all know Brahma was a wimp who lied, and was cursed not to be worshipped.

We plan to go to each and every Udipi and beat up people who eat dosa/idli with spoon and fork. Eating with spoons/forks is definitely not part of Indian culture. It represents blatant westernization, which cannot be allowed to corrupt the age-old practice of using your hands.

Besides, majority of these western culture worshipping apes do not know how to hold a spoon or fork. They use the fork to jab the food. Our ancient text says food is Sri Lakshmi Devi herself. Some of us call her Annapoorneshwari, but then the news anchor told us unpronounceable names are bad for TRPs. And we all know how important it is for cameras to follow us when we thrash people. Out of sight, out of fight. Anyways, coming back to the point, we can’t allow people to jab our Goddess with a pointed instrument.

Don't you dare accusing us of being uneducated loafers. We remember our school teachers telling us that ‘spoon feeding’ is bad. It discourages original thinking. Our ancient seers who wrote the Rig Veda, they were original thinkers because they used their hands. All western civilization copied our texts because they were spoon-fed idiots.

I can already envisage some of you arguing that spoons/forks are cleaner. Heck, you guys don’t trust your own hands, but you trust a spoon which has been used by some strange people (of other religions and lower castes, shudder!). Don’t give us that crap about spoons being sterilized. We will dunk your hand in boiling water, you depraved-slave-of-western-society.

While we are at it, let us also make it clear that you can use only your right hand to touch food. Don’t dare using the impure left hand to even hold your plate. No, not even at buffets. They are also western culture, you idiot. What, you claim you were born a leftie? Heck, some people claim they were born homosexual, but that doesn’t mean we allow it. We can’t allow perversion of Indian culture.

So next time you enter an Udipi restaurant, and pick up that fork to jab your onion utthapam, beware. I, or my followers, might just thrash you for betraying ancient Indian culture.

We even have a slogan "Apna haath jagannath"!

Why am I so cynical?

Dec 26 2008

Times of India Headline: “Terrorists attack Mumbai airport, 300 dead!!!”

In yet another audacious assault on India’s secular fabric, armed terrorists attacked Mumbai’s airport last night. The shocking incident which revealed the lax security measures in place, has citizens wondering whether anyone is in charge in this city.

Reliable sources revealed that the intelligence agencies had given a warning on the possibility of an attack on the airports soon after 26/11. It may be noted that Times of India was the first to report on the possibility of these attacks.

Police sources said that while airport security was beefed up, and more scanners were installed, they couldn’t monitor the entire perimeter of the boundary wall surrounding the airport. Police sources claimed that it was impossible to watch over every inch of the boundary wall, given that there were many slums adjacent to the airport. Interestingly, both AAI and BMC have been blaming each other for failure to remove the slums, while a local corporator has been opposing the demolition.

Times of India Editorial: “Vote-bank politics lead to security lapse”

We at the Times Group have always advocated that security of the people should not fall prey to petty vote-bank politics. We have highlighted the aspect of slum-lords occupying more and more land adjacent to the airport, and the security implications this presents. All our warnings have fallen on deaf ears, and innocent lives have been lost. It is time that the authorities concerned pulled their act together.

Bombay Times Page 3: “Our politicians are no better than eunuchs” – Shobhaa De

I was about to give my views on Aamir’s sexy look in Ghajini, but this tragedy has overwhelmed such superfluous issues. Public memory is shorter than Aamir’s in the movie, it seems, and we only have ourselves to blame. Our Deshdrohi politicians are more intent on banning films rather than taking care of our security.

The spirit of this city has been broken, but we’ll bounce back, dahlings.

Bombay Times Page 5: “Numerologists blame the number 26”

A leading numerologist has claimed that he predicted the attacks a month back. “You see, the number 26 adds up to 8 (2 + 6 = 8), which is unlucky for India. We had Mumbai floods on July 26, Mumbai terror attacks on November 26 and Gujarat earthquake on January 26. The number 8, if you observe closely, resembles two circles, and is symbolic of the vicious double cycle of natural and man-made disasters that it signifies.”

Meanwhile, another numerologist also claimed that the number 26 was unlucky. “The number 13 is widely known as an inauspicious number. What people don’t realize is that 26 is double of 13, and is hence doubly unlucky. People should stay indoors on the 26th of every month.”

Indian Express Specials: Arun Shourie

Opposition parties took the state to task by highlighting the inefficiency of the incumbent government to act upon the available intelligence. Arun Shourie attacked the government saying that there have been repeated warnings but the ‘spineless’ government had ignored them every time.

“The Intelligence Bureau (IB) had sent a confidential report to the government about the high possibility of terror attacks on airports as early as 2002. A committee on Airport Security had reiterated the warnings in 2007. However, the ministers seem to be more interested in pleasing their party president than in securing the lives of innocent people”, he said.

“It is time to replace this apology of a government with strong leadership. It is time to choose the party with a difference”, he concluded.

Mumbai Mirror: “Local corporator who opposed slum demolition forced to resign”

The local corporator who opposed the demolition of slums adjacent to the airport has been pressurized to resign. Angry citizens have held that vote-bank interests of one party should not hold the country to ransom. However, is it too little too late? SMS your opinion to 2612.

The Hindu: “Left leaders blame privatization of airport for security lapse”

Members of the Politburo blamed the privatization of the Mumbai airport for the lapse in security. “The private contractors are only interested in lining their pockets, and do not care for the lives of the passengers”, thundered Mr. Prakash Karat. “We have always opposed private interests in critical areas like airports. Did any of the AAI-run airports become targets of terror?” he asked.

The Hindu Editorial: “Social inequality will eventually lead to terror”

Many of the people in the slums live on a monthly income which is far lesser than the cost of even a no-frills airline ticket. They observe the crass consumerism in the airports where a sandwich costs more than their weekly pay. No wonder some of them were disillusioned enough to provide base for some of the terrorists. While this paper by no means condones the act of the slum-dwellers, it is pertinent to note that a large part of Bharat is increasingly sidelined while India hurtles forward in lopsided development.

DNA Headline: “Citizens to go on candle-light march”

The citizens of Mumbai are fed up of being subjected to terror day in and day out. It is time for active citizenship. A silent candle-light protest march is planned on December 27, at 5.00 p.m. “Enough is enough. It is time the elected representatives took us seriously. We will protest till action is taken”, said a college student.

“We will not allow the terrorists to pull us down. We will book tickets and fly tomorrow, just to show them that they can’t challenge our society,” said a businessman.

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PS 1: All newspaper names are real, since I was too lazy to think up spoof names. I apologize in advance for any insult, so don’t throw your lawyers and libel suits at me. These are some of the newspapers I read. I have a friend in HT, so I decided not to do my take on Vir Sanghvi.

PS 2: If you happen to be a cop, I'm NOT in collusion with any of the terrorists. All this is speculation based on today's newspaper headlines.

PS 3: I am not much of a believer, but I do pray that none of the above actually happens.

PS 4: Long post, I know. Not humourous, I know. Not serious enough, I know. Just a follow up on the cynicism that has built up over the past one week. This too shall pass. And then the PJs will be back!

Outrageous apathy or apathetic to outrage...

It would be an understatement to say that the events of the last few days have shaken me. The mood ranges from helplessness to despair to anger, but strangely has settled finally on cynical.

My first reaction was that of every angry citizen. Which is:

Confirm that all your near and dear ones are alive. Check.
Thank God for that. Exchange stories on how close you were to the site, how lucky you feel to be alive etc.

Salute the brave police force, army, NSG, fire brigade, hotel staff. Check.
Forward smart ass sms-es to all and sundry.
The spirit of Mumbai cannot be broken by a few gun wielding terrorists!
Where is Raj T hiding? The NSG came to Mumbai’s rescue, not the MNS.
God may forgive the terrorists, but we will fix their appointment with HIM. Etc. etc.

Watch the repeated gruesome images on TV. Check.
Change channels, just for the heck of it. All of them show the same images. Some of them may gloat about the wonderful work of their cameramen. Etc. etc.

Rant about the insensitivity of Burkha Dutt, Rajdeep Sardesai etc, while watching their programs non-stop. Check.
They are beaming live images, compromising on the commando operation! They are asking insensitive questions to the victims’s families, and to the survivors. They are sensationalizing the incident. Etc. etc.

Rant about the callousness of the panel of experts lined up by those channels. Check.
The usual suspects would be Alyque Padamsee/Prahlad Kakkar (‘the South Bombay angle’), Shabana Azmi/Mahesh Bhatt (‘the minority angle’), Shobhaa De (‘the socialite angle’), Rahul Bajaj (‘the business magnate angle’), Rahul Bose (‘the intellectual actor angle’), Rakhi Sawant (‘the outrageous quotes angle’), and one spokesperson each from BJP/Congress/Left (‘the politics angle’). That the same ‘experts’ are lined up for every issue from gay rights to smooching in Bollywood, from economic slowdown to terrorism, does not deter outraged citizens from ranting “Do these guys know anything about ground realities?” Etc. etc.

Rant about the spineless opportunistic politicians. Check.
Why did Modi go to the scene of attack before Manmohan? Why wasn’t the PM more emotional in his speech? Why did Shivraj Patil change his outfit in the middle of the crisis? Where was Raj Thackeray hiding? How can RR Patil call this a ‘minor incident that happens in big cities’? How can RGV accompany the CM? Etc. etc.

Rant about the system failures. Check.
What was the intelligence doing? Why don’t we have NSG type units in every state? How can lathi wielding policemen be expected to counter AK-47 wielding terrorists? What happened to the federal agency which was supposed to co-ordinate intelligence from various agencies? Why did it take 15 hours for a relative to claim the body of a victim? How many more attacks before the country takes it seriously? Etc. etc.

Think up ways to show ‘solidarity’. Check
We’ll go to Leopold and have chilled beer. We’ll arrange candle light marches. We’ll donate blood. Join a ‘Say NO to Terrorism’ community online. Etc. etc.

I must confess that I went through each and every one of the above emotions over the last 3-4 days.

Then, thanks to my perverted understanding of a glorious religion, which tells me that what is destined will happen no matter what. And it happens for good. And, if you die today, you always have the next birth to fulfill your remaining dreams.

So, I finally settled on the easiest path. Pure cynicism.

Come and shoot me. Bomb me to hell. I just bloody don’t care.

***************************************************************************

PS: Neither does the state. But they won't say it outright...

Bachelors and Dogs not allowed!

The last few days, one has been involved in an activity that is considerably more difficult than getting the Left to support the nuclear deal, or bringing the oil price below $100.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, one has been on the look-out for a place to rent in Mumbai.

For those who have never stayed in Mumbai, one recommends the following exercise. Go to your bathroom, and mentally imagine that there is a TV in place of your wash basin and a sofa in place of the potty. Voila, you just saw the hall of the ‘Mumbai house’. Now, locate the cupboard in your house, yes, the old trusted Godrej wala, empty it of all the junk you have, and then get into it. Yes, get into it. What do you mean you cannot? How do you plan to bathe and do other morning tasks if you have to live in Mumbai? You expect a bathroom which is larger than that? Huh, who are you, the guy whose father owns an oil well in Saudi Arabia? Better tell him to start digging another if you want a bigger bathroom.

Oh, you are willing to adjust to the cramped place? Nice. That will be 30 grand rent and ten times that as deposit. What do you mean “that’s too much”? Go back to your stone age village then, and shit all you want in open air fields.

Where do you work? IDFC? Oh, the bank? No? Not HDFC? Why didn’t you get a job in a nice bank, like SBI? Anyways, who cares where you work as long as I receive my monthly rent. Half in cash please. Don't want to attract the taxman.

Accha, I hope you are a vegetarian? You see, we have nothing against people who eat non-veg. After all, we do have a modern outlook. We even allowed our daughter to eat at her friend Fatima's birthday. We just don’t want to pollute our house. Hope you understand.

By the way, where is your family? What do you mean, they are living in Tamil Nadu? Where is your wife then? Oh, you are not married? Are you *shudder* a bachelor? The same species that does nothing but drink beer, play loud music late into the night and brings *oh my god* girls over to stay the night?

What do you mean you don’t listen to music, leave alone loudly? All bachelors do. And do you frankly expect me to believe that girls don’t even say hi to you, leave alone come over to stay the night? You don’t have a girlfriend? Do I look like I got kicked out of Paanchvi Paas in the first round? Bah! How many bachelors I have seen in my life? Why, I was one a few years back, lest you forget! So what if I did not have any girls over to stay the night? I belong to a generation that knew what discipline meant. “Aaj kal ke bacche, hey ram, ab bolne ke liye bacha hi kya hai!”

I am sorry, please come back when you are married. We only give houses to respectable families.

Numerically speaking...

How much did the baby weigh?
It’s already nine months, and he hasn’t started crawling yet?
He is three years old, have you put him in school yet?
Beta, How many marks did you get?
What is your rank? Oh, you lost the first rank by 2 marks?
How did you lose the centum in Maths? So what if it is by only one mark, a centum is a perfect score. Anything less is imperfect.
How fast did you run the 100 metre race? What?? You came last?
What is your height? At your age, it should be more.
How much did you score in X std?
How much is the cut off for admission in that college/course?
What is your CAT percentile?
How many calls did you get? How many did you convert?
What is your CGPA?
How many job offers did you get?
What is the package? What is the take-home? What is the variable pay?
How much is your increment? What was the bonus?
What is your weight? Waist size? It is too much for your age!
How much rent do you pay? What is the area of your house?
How many girlfriends do you have?
When are you getting married?
How many kids do you plan to have?
What is the price of your home? How many sq. ft?
How many homes do you own?
What did you pay for that car?
When do you plan to retire?
How much money would you want before retiring?
How much is your mediclaim cover?
How much is your pension plan?
Oh, he is dead! What is his life insurance worth? How much did he leave behind for his kids?

*************************************************************************
For a guy who makes a living crunching numbers, I am sometimes fed up of people measuring everything numerically...

The Land of the Kama Sutra...

Sometime, very very long ago, some kinked up guy let his imagination run wild, and came up with a book on the 'Art of Loving'...
Little did he know that centuries later, every pseudo-journalist in the country would take his name and the name of his book as their stock argument for any debate...

Yes sirree, "The Land of the Kamasutra" seems to be the most abused term in the media today... we'll see how...
Some weirdo politician realizes that what was one of his VIP perks (watching half-naked firang chicks gyrate) is suddenly available to the masses in the name of 'cheerleaders'... now, if every tom with a dick can enjoy the privileges of VVIP, what is the point of being a VVIP... something like every guy driving around with a beacon flashing on top of his vehicle... so, the netaji in his infinte wisdom and in the interest of serving the nation decides "Cheerleaders must cover up"... and bingo, you have journalists protesting... what they use as an argument is not the cheerleaders' right to do what they please, the people's right to watch what they please... no sir, leave such logical points aside... what we'll use is our brahma astra... "How, in the Land of the Kamasutra, can a politician be so regressive?" Indeed, how sir!

Then, one MF Husain does a nude painting of some Goddess, or of Bharat Mata herself... now, I am not going to go into the merits of allowing or disallowing "freedom of expression"... for a moment, set that aside... again, journalists and learned judges are not going to say "let us protect freedom of expression"... or even "let us leave an old man and his wild fantasies alone"... no, what they'll say is "How, in the Land of the Kamasutra, can people be so prudish about nudity?"...

and thus it goes on... Mahesh Bhatt will make his heroines parade around half-naked, and say "In the Land of the Kamasutra", this is nothing... Emraan Kiss-me will do the only thing they taught him in his acting school... when people protest about them not getting a chance to get up, close and personal with miscellaneous starlets, Emraan would not ask "Who's your uncle, mister?"... no he would say, "In the Land of the Kamasutra..."

A Miss World contest will be held, beautiful ladies in skimpy swimsuits would proclaim their ambition to save the world, foolish people would protest that they don't want to be saved by bikini clad bimbos, and the organizers would not say "What's your problem, buddy?"... they would say, "In the Land of the Kamasutra..."

At this rate, sychophants of various orders would kiss the ass of Madame S, and justify it saying, "In the metaphorical Land of Kamasutra"... Manmohan would bend over backwards to accommodate the demands of the Left, and justify it saying "bending over backwards is a rare position in the famous book..."

Finally, the next time I read this, I would like to take the newspaper and shove it up the journalist's you-know-where... and tell them to read what Mr. Vatsayayana had written about the pleasures of shoving things up people's you-know-wheres...

Some generic rant...

I am pissed. Genuinely pissed.
Nothing wrong with my life. Good job, loving parents, comfortable life, no one standing on my toes in the morning train, in short, no "life eej hard" feelings... but I am pissed all the same...

It is the little things tht irritate...
Like the other day, when I caught a cab... sat in the front seat (instead of the usual back seat)... and relaxed... had some wet feeling on the back of my shirt... thought I was sweating more than usual, blamed the mumbai weather for being soooo humid, and jus relaxed... I get down, and my shirt is practically clinging on to me... and then I look back, only to find a wet, dirty rag draped over the seat... I look at the cabbie questioningly, and he says, "arre saab, aapko batana bhool gaya... woh kya hai na... gaadi saaf karke kapde sukhane ke liye seat pe daal diya..."
and so, I go to office with a suspicious stain on the back of my white shirt... but, I did not get pissed then... you see, positive thinking, deep breathing and all that load of shit...

I come back home after a hard day, find the lift is not working, climb six floors, panting, huffing, thinking 'weight kam karna padega'... and remove my shirt... see that the stain is not too bad... or atleast i try to convince myself so... and while I switch on the TV, there goes a tag line "Daag acche hain"... grrr, THAT was when I got pissed...

Or this other day, after flying to and from Delhi, on an airline that prides itself on releasing a calendar full of hotties year after year... and finding, much to my dismay, that THIS particular flight did not have any stunning airhostesses... blaming my bad luck... not pissed... deep breathing you see... not panting, deep breathing...
I come back, switch on the same TV, and see this stupid chick saying "I rebelled against society from my childhood..." and "I love my mother, I just don't want to be like her"... and showing a trekking, adventurous chick, and I am thinking "Oh, seems to be some new Roadies style program..." and slowly realise it is a stupid airhostess training commercial...
Grr... all that societal rebellion and brave statements sound good... but for now, just run along, and fetch that coffee...
"No offence to dignity of labour and all that..."

Then, there are times like these... waiting in office, for some obscure document to be signed by a non-obscure person... with nothing better to do... so, writing a blog post full of crap...
pissed man... PISSED!

What is 'it'?

What is it?

Its entry into your life denotes a dramatic new phase in your life – a phase which is supposed to make you more responsible.

Once it enters your life, it becomes the centre of attraction. You forgo your hobbies, leisure, social life, everything just to be around it. It just has to whimper a bit and you drop whatever you are doing to attend to it.

You look at it and think, “I wish I could be in its place – living life without a care in the world.”

You are willing to crawl on your knees just to amuse it and bring a smile to its face.

Just when you thought you have it all under control, it proceeds to piss on you.

It shits in its pants and waits for other people to do the cleaning up. And surprisingly, there are always some people ready to wipe its ass.

It is notorious for screaming at the top of its voice, especially at the middle of the night.

It can drool all it wants, and all the pretty women find it cute. You do the same, and you are branded a perverted MCP.

It experiences wide mood swings, happily smiling one moment and bawling away the next. The worse thing is, your mood entirely depends on its moods.

People bring it gifts whenever they come to pay it a visit. It can grab the gift and throw it right back at their faces, and yet they don’t feel offended.

There are books to teach you to deal with it. People write newspaper columns advising you on the same subject. But, most of those systems and techniques work only on paper.

Every little word it speaks, every little step it takes is regarded as a great achievement.

Some people may say it is God’s gift. But the truth is, it came into being because someone screwed up sometime.

It is a four letter word, starting with B.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Guess what is 'it'?

'It' is called BOSS

HR goes to war!

The Hell Raisers (HR) group was tired of gaalis hurled at it by all and sundry... in fact, people had made it a habit to dial HR from anonymous numbers, and mouth the foulest words they can manage, whenever they felt bored of the mind numbing work...

"We can't let this go on", thundered Head of HR, who called himself Great Wise Brain (GWB)...
"We will show them our true might"... agreed VP of HR, who headed the War Against Tirade-ism... he also heads the COmpensation LImiting Network (COLIN)...
"People can be with us or against us... since nobody wants to be with us, inspite of the pretty faces in our department, they must be against us", the Chief announced, steam coming out of his ears...
"We will accuse them of WMDs (Workers Mocking Discipline) and bomb the hell out of them", agreed VP-HR, fantasizing about stripping the workers and dragging them around on a leash, in a prison called ABUse the Gharibs...

And so it was decided... HR will go to war against... against... er, they had as much idea about the enemy as any GWB ever will...

HR is very meticulous... So, before they announced their war, they went about planning religiously...

They first organized a seminar on "How to go to war", and invited GWB's father to lecture on how to telecast the same on Cartoon Network Nextgen (CNN)... but the troops fell asleep... live on camera

Then, they had a motivational lecture series for their troops, in which they simulated war games... after all, playing games together builds team spirit and enhances morale... but there was much infighting over the points sytem used for appraisal... with the troops accusing their bosses of favoritism... some men even accused their bosses of giving extra points to pretty faces...

Once they returned from the all expenses paid vacation called 'Training Workshop for War', they printed a long form, with questions like "What was your most significant learning?" and "Feedback for the next training program"... but the troops were too tired to write those answers down... they simply ticked "yes" under all questions, including the one on "Is the mess food the most delicious you have ever tasted?"... which is when GWB realized that the troops are not even reading the questions...

They also designed a psychometric test to verify whether the troops has the Emotional Quotient to go to War... but most of the troops flunked the test big time, even when there are no correct answers...

Finally, one bright young HR manager (yes, they do exist!) saw the 'big picture' and told GWB, "If our troops get so frustrated doing all this, why not inflict the same on those who give us gaalis? So much more effective than bombing the hell out of them, plus we won't even lose a single soldier from our side..."

GWB, having read Sun Tzu and realizing that the greatest victory is in defeating the enemy before he swipes his access card, smiled an evil smile, and said "So be it"

And, thus, my dear friends, HR waged a war and won it without us even realizing it...

Why should girls have all the fun?

At the outset, let me state categorically that I have nothing against women. I adore them. I admire them. When I was younger, I even used to whistle at some of the better looking specimens. And to be very frank, they do make for good eye-candy. I am yet to fall for one (not for any lack of interest or effort from my part though).

But some days, I just hate them for their hypocrisy. From the bottom of my heart. Today was one of those days.

I am standing in the queue for a ‘shared taxi’ with my friend, at Churchgate station. For some reason best known to the taxi union and the RTO, they have deemed that the wonderful ladies should not travel with lowly creatures such as males, while they go to work. So, they have ensured that there are 2 queues, one general, and another ‘ladies only’. (Please note, it is not a ‘gents only’ versus ‘ladies only’; a ‘general queue’ versus ‘ladies only’). I have absolutely no issues with that. Though I would love to travel with some of the lovelier ones, I am willing to allow them their exclusive cabs.

What I do have an issue with is that, while no guy dares to interfere in their queue, lots of them happily come and stand in the ‘general queue’, along with their sundry husbands, boyfriends, brothers and bosses. (Ok, before you start accusing me of implying that only guys are bosses, let me state that I am yet to see a lady boss come and travel with her subordinate; I see lots of lady underlings happily cling to their bosses). I do not appreciate them breaking into our line, but I grin and bear it. (Do I have a choice?).

But what makes me really loath them, is that when the taxis arrive, 5 out of 6 will go for the ladies’ queue. Yes, we get one, they get five. Now, I pay the same fare as she does. I go the same distance as she does. Economically, the taxi driver has no ‘incentive’ to go to the ladies’ queue. He may have his own reasons, but I suspect he is thinking like a typical guy. Why not combine business with pleasure? Why not enjoy some good company (typically fair, slim, smelling nice, all smiles) instead of ferrying sweaty, overweight males? I am ok with the taxi drivers’ mentality. In fact, in his place, I would have probably done the same.

What I have an issue with is the girls' hypocrisy. I look at one, smile appreciatingly and that is called 'eve teasing'. The taxi driver looks at them, smiles appreciatingly, and goes to their queue and that is called 'chivalry'?

When I see a ladies only coach in a Mumbai local going empty while men hang from their fingertips; when I see ‘ladies only’ seats in a bus which are occupied by fully fit (courtesy all those gym sessions) happily seated while some senior citizen guy gets jolted around in the crowd; when I see girls being allowed free entry into discs and clubs; when I see 33% reservation demands in Parliament; when I see an unspoken ‘quota’ in certain colleges; when I see the government giving free education, not on the basis of your economic status, but based on your gender; when I see all these things, I ask myself: Is this what they call ‘equality’?

I mean, either you can call yourselves equal and compete with the rest; or accept that you are inferior, and ask for privileges. You can’t have your cake and hope to remain slim too. First, you proudly proclaim that women are equal, nay superior, to men. That, you have better emotional understanding to actually manage businesses. Then, you turn around and ask for separate queues, separate seats, free entry, concessions and what not? This, dear ladies, is just not done.


That is why I have decide to brand you the ‘unfair’ sex.

TDS - That Deadly Sting!!!

The only things certain in life are death and taxes – Mark Twain.

Or was it Benjamin Franklin? I don’t know, you tell me!

I used to laugh at this statement – why would anyone want to equate the taxman with the deadly Yamraj? I admit, money flowing out of our pockets is not a very happy feeling, but death is at an altogether different level. Or so I used to think.

Until I saw my paycheck, and realized that the taxman taketh away his share before I got to even see my money. He euphemistically calls it ‘TDS’ – “Thanks, Dumb Sucker!”

I consider myself a straightforward guy. I like to keep out of trouble and tread the straight path. I like to remain on the right side of the law and like to keep my money white. Not for me, the cheap tricks that people employ to cheat the taxman. Or so I used to think.

I remember reading in my taxation subject, long ago, that Salary is just one of the different heads of Income – the others being Income from House Property, Business Income, Capital Gains and Income from Other Sources. (yeah, if you earn something, and they don’t know what to call it, they use this heading!). I also remember learning that all the other heads of Income, except Salary, are taxed after some deduction. House Property gets a standard deduction, Business and Other Sources get deduction for all ‘legal’ expenses, Capital Gains gets a deduction for Cost of Asset. Salary used to have a standard deduction, but then some smart Finance Minister figured that the salaried suckers have nowhere to hide, so let’s spare them no deduction. (Well, if you thought that was a boring paragraph, spare a thought for the poor CA souls who have to endure 1000+ pages of such crap!!!).

Anyways, the simple truth is that the salaried class gets hit the most because of that deadly thing – TDS.

I used to think that this was pretty unfair. I mean, if I go to work in an unimaginably crowded train compartment, hanging on for dear life, all I get is a conveyance allowance for which I have to pay tax. But, the owner of the company can come to work in an air-conditioned Merc, and claim the depreciation of the car, the fuel, the driver’s salary et al as expenses and reduce his tax. I, as an employee, am not deemed fit by the Government to stay in a house where the rent is more than 10% of my basic salary. But the owner of the business can stay in a bungalow at Malabar Hill and claim the rent paid as expense if he can prove that he does ‘business’ at the bungalow. Not fair at all, screams my conscience.

But, in spite of all these unfair measures, I still thought of the ‘jawan’ in Kashmir, guarding the borders in freezing climate, and decided that if my paying taxes helps pay for their sacrifice, I shouldn’t grumble about it. Or so I used to think.

But, when I see roads with potholes, thanks to some contractor who greased some babu’s palms, when I see my money going down Mumbai’s drains instead of the rainwater, when I see politicians dole out freebies to all and sundry, I sometimes begin to wonder if every citizen should dutifully pay his/her taxes. And, I doubt if it is moral duty to pay taxes when I know that it is not being efficiently used.

I begin to think, “I’d rather die than pay these bloody suckers.”

And, I slowly realize the wisdom of Mark Twain’s words.

PS: If you are a taxman, let me assure you that I have no intention of hiding my income, and will declare everything I earn, in spite of what I have written above.

Farewells... and all that crap

Two years in SP are coming to an end. We have had our farewell, and most will pack up and leave in 10 days. Good byes are being said, senti testimonials being written, and people are getting nostalgic. I, for one, can’t understand what the fuss is all about. It is not like I am going to a different planet.

I mean, it feels a lot like those Hindi movies – you know the dramatic climax where the heroine is set to fly off to some exotic foreign locale with her fiancé; and the hero comes running in braving bad traffic, evil villains, and stupid airline rules to finally catch up with her; that too, when the plane has already started taxiing for take-off; suddenly, the pilot makes a halt, and announces, “Miss. XYZ, someone special is waiting for you!”

Well, if you felt the above paragraph was full of bull, all I can say is that is how I feel about farewells. I mean, do we really believe that if the plane had taken off, the hero would never have met the heroine again? I mean, whatever happened to mobile phones, email contacts, and at worst, catching the next flight to that place. I know, I am sounding stupid, but then, that is what you get for reading a stupid blog.

Now, coming back to the ‘farewell’ issue, the rate at which people are going senti, it seems to me that I am the heroine flying away (when the farthest I can go now is to Bhavani, though I confess it is as inaccessible to ppl here as Mars), and there are my dear ‘hero’ friends, who have to wish me good bye and write testimonials, or risk being burnt in hell for ditching friendship!

Not that I have an issue with writing testimonials, or people writing one for me. In fact, I appreciate it. Thanks for letting me know that I am a witty, smart, intelligent, sharp person with a good sense of humour! (I feel sooo flattered!) Thanks also for writing that you will miss my PJs and MCs (yeah, I actually believe that!) But, I seriously cannot understand the fuss behind saying good bye.

I mean, if you mean anything to me, I will keep in touch. Somehow. Mails, Phone, Orkut, pigeons, whatever, but I will be in touch. The least I will do is say “Happy Budday” in Orkut, every year. And, if I mean anything to you, I expect you to remain in touch too. And, if this communication link gets broken due to some future event like job (no time dude, work pressure), beautiful wife (24 hours is too less to admire my wifey, where the hell do I find time for you?), stubborn kids (pester power is no longer just a marketing jargon to me), or plain laziness (c’mon da, I don need to call you to prove that I am ur friend), well, I will understand. And, if you manage to keep in touch beyond all this, yippiieeeeeee!

But, if we don’t keep in touch, 2 days after leaving SP, doesn’t it say something about our ‘depth’ of friendship? Yeah, we were in the same batch, we shared so many wonderful moments, batch unity, etc etc etc… But, we could very well have been in two different worlds, and just happened to share 2 years in SP. I promise you, I will NOT miss you. Not even one bit. Yeah, this may sound like I am a cold hearted guy, who doesn’t know the value of networking, but as I said, I am stupid and this is what you get for being a stupid guy’s batch mate (note: batch mate, not friend).

Since you are equally smart, I can assume you understand what I have been trying to say all along. So, why the senti farewell messages, the testimonials, the “keep in touch” lines, the “time to move on”, “fare well thee”, “10 days to go L” IP groups and status messages? Why can’t we just go our separate ways without behaving like long lost lovers?

P.S: The big hypocrite that I am, I wrote “keep in touch” to many people while writing testimonials.

Group Discussions

Q. What is the difference between a GD and a fish market?
A. In a fish market, they manage to sell some fish.

'Bloody Slum Dwellers' - Taking a Free Ride???

Recently, I overheard a group of people in a local train talking about slum-dwellers. There were four of them, two ladies and two gentlemen, all senior citizens. They were in the ‘oh-what-has-this-city-come-to?’ mode, reflecting how Mumbai was such a great place to live in before these ‘dirty’ slum-dwellers came and squatted on every inch of land.

Here is the general tone of the conversation… (Gentlemen 1 & 2, Ladies 1 & 2)
GM1: “These bloody slum dwellers, they are a scar on the face of our beautiful city.”
L1: “Yes, every morning when we travel, we are greeted by the sight of naked men along the tracks. It’s so disgusting. Why can’t these people use toilets?”
GM2: “You know, they constitute a major vote bank and hence, even the politicians support them. Whenever a Khairnar comes along to demolish these illegal settlements, these politicians come out and stay the proceedings.”
GM1: “And, even when the Government comes out with a rehabilitation programme, and gives free houses to these bastards, they rent out those pucca houses and come right back into the slums in the hope of getting more such benefits.”
L2: “And to think, we pay for it all. These people get electricity free, water free, houses free, and it all comes from our tax money. These people run small, unorganized businesses and never pay a single paisa of tax.”

And so on and on, it went…

Now, I am no great supporter of slums or illegal squatting, nor do I particularly admire the sight of naked male buttocks on early morning train trips. I do, like so many other ‘self righteous middle class people’ think that the Government is not fair in giving away free houses to squatters while we sweat it out to get a roof over our heads. In fact, not too long ago, I used to cheer whenever news reports came that Khairnar and his ilk had demolished yet another illegal settlement.

That is why I almost fell out my seat in surprise when I heard the term ‘poverty premium’. Poverty premium is defined to be the differential between the "real cost" per unit of a commodity paid by the urban poor and the formal market price paid by more affluent residents.

A study reveals that the poor pay more than you and me and the self righteous middle class for amenities as basic as electricity, water, medical facilities, sanitation, education, credit… you name it…

Contrary to popular belief, the poor do not automatically draw power from the lines passing overhead. Nor do they get water by making holes in the pipes passing underground.

I personally know of banks refusing to issue a credit card, if one’s address is in Dharavi. These people borrow from money-lenders at rates of 5% per month (yes, you read it right, 60% a year). The Government puts millionaire farmers under priority sector lending at concessional rates, but no one cares for the driver, maid or plumber living in Dharavi.

I have personally seen the condition of the public toilets in slums. No water, no proper drainage, and you can see shit actually floating during the monsoons. Believe me, once you have stepped inside one of those, you will feel shitting in public view along the tracks is heaven.

Another common accusation is that these people are not actually poor and they have TVs and ACs in their homes (if you can call a 10x10 box in which 8 people squeeze in a ‘home’). Now, how many of us have actually visited a slum, taken a proper sample before jumping to this conclusion? And, who said owning a TV makes a person ‘non-poor’? A second-hand TV costs 6000 bucks, the smallest house in Mumbai might cost 6 lakhs…

So, the next time some pompous, tax-paying, middle class bugger (who, btw gets a subsidy on gas cylinders, education and God knows what else) moans about slum dwellers getting a free ride, I am going to ask him, “If you think they get such a wonderful deal, why the f*** don’t you go and stay there?”

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References:
http://www.indiatogether.org/2006/dec/pov-premium.htm#continue
http://www.theworld.org/?q=node/6780