Reports reveal every Indian part of three mobs

DELHI (Dec 1): Recent surveys have finally confirmed a long standing suspicion --- every Indian is a member of an average of 3.1 mobs at any given time of the year. The survey was done on an international scale across continents, with the sole aim of gauging the 'group dynamics' prevalent in various countries.

With 3.1 mobs per capita (mpc), India leads the tally, leaving its nearest competitor Iraq far behind with just 1.2 mpc. Pakistan, Somalia, Serbia and Rwanda were awarded the joint third prize with 1.1 mpc each. The usual suspects --- Finland and Norway, brought up the rear with an mpc of 0.001, that arose because of a fight during a football match between the two countries.

The survey also tried to find the reasons behind such phenomenal Indian success. It appears that while the Middle Eastern and African mobs focus only on Sunni vs Shia conflicts or Military vs Civilian fights, the Indian mobs have cleverly avoided putting all their eggs in one basket. They have successfully diversified into Dalit vs non-Dalit, militant feminism, Ganguly-haters vs worshippers , Kaif vs non-Kaif, idolizers vs idol-desecrators, pro vs anti-reservationists and so on.

"And this is in addition to our major offering --- the classic, good old fashioned Hindu vs Muslim clash, which alone guarantees five carnages every year", gushes a high powered official at the Vishwa Hindu Parishad.

In an order to maintain their world supremacy, the Indian mobs have started thinking about their future already. Taking a leaf from the corporate books, they have started exploring hitherto unknown avenues.

"We cannot reveal all our business plans at the moment but here is one that is in the advanced stages of development. Take, for instance, the airplane toilets with their fancy western commodes. Now what is my Uncle from Jaunpur, who has squatted all his life, supposed to do? Besides, adhering to western standards clearly reflects poorly on our great Indian squatting tradition!!", reveals another animated character from Bangalore division of the Indian Mobs.
"To counter this, we are planning a mass burning of atleast five airplanes, along with 20000 litres of aviation fuel, so that they get our message!", he adds.

Heart-rending indeed. And with such ambitious plans in civil aviation, retail, manufacturing and agriculture, the mobs will need enormous manpower. Luckily, India is the second most populous nation (another shining distinction), with one gullible sucker born every second.

We talked to the chief recruitment officer (CRO) here in Delhi.

"Inside every civilized man, there is an animal waiting to set free. One who wants to burn, destroy, rape, pillage, plunder and in general, enjoy life to the fullest. As an individual, all his dreams will perhaps go unfulfilled. But at Indian Mobs, we let him get in touch with like-minded compatriots and re-educate him. Remember, over here, cowardice is not an affliction, its a god-given gift.", said the CRO, echoing the manifesto of Indian Mobs.

We also got in touch with the CEO of Indian Mobs and asked him what he felt about the 3.1 mpc mark.

"Measly 3.1 !!!! How dare they?? My estimate was atleast a 3.8-3.9. Those damned survey companies!! We'll show them! Two hours of stoning and burning their offices should increase their count to 3.5 atleast", answered the CEO, visibly agitated and getting into character.

"But even with 3.9, we have a long way to go towards our 2010 goal of 5 mpc", he sighed.

Indeed, from the Quit India Movement of 1942 to the Quit Muslim Movement in Godhra 2005, Indian Mobs have indeed so evolved beyond recognition, that it brings a tear to this reporter's eye.

Pardon my self-indulgence

But I was bubbling to say this. This weekend was spent at Hyderabad, and the aim was to run the Hyd half-marathon on Sunday. The stay was very comfortable, courtesy the wonderful hospitality of Raghu's parents and extended family.

Although both Raghu and I were scared because the starting time was 6am and we only had three hours of sleep the previous night, but we somehow made it just five minutes late. The marathon itself was pathetically organized (bad medicinal+water infrastructure), but the run itself was great and there were only 200 odd runners in the half-marathon, with no Kenyans/Ethiopians to spoil the party.

Both of us managed to vastly improve our personal best, clocking 2 hrs 9 mins each. As Raghu rightly mentioned, we managed to finish within twice the winner's time, and thats a mean achievement!

I will stop now before I lose any more readers.

Only in India

For every smart person in this country, a hundred morons are born to level the equation back to zero.
Consider this hypothetical situation. A guy takes his 10 year old son to a multiplex. But mistakenly, they enter the wrong theatre where the movie has already started. Soon, a couple of adult scenes come up on the screen. Now after the usual reaction of shock and awe, much publicized by Bush in Iraq, the father has the following options:

a) Sit through the movie as if nothing has happened.
b) Walk out of the movie with his son, and ignore this incident.
c) Sue the multiplex for letting a kid enter an auditorium that is screening R-rated movies.
d) File a case with the authorities, asking for the immediate termination of the multiplex as it is showing content that goes against the 'great' Indian heritage.

Now a bold father would go for (a) (I wish my dad was this cool), and a sensible one would go for (b). A slightly firebrand father would accept (c). And remember the moron I talked about earlier? Yes, idiots of those kind would go for (d). I hope that you would agree that anyone who opts for (d) is a Darwin-award qualifier for surviving evolution inspite of nowhere being the smartest.

Now let us replace the hypothetical situation with a real one. Replace 'multiplex' by Orkut, 'movies' by Orkut communities, 'adult content' by an obscure Anti-Shivaji community, and the moronic father figure by this wonder of evolution called 'Subodh Balsaraf'. Yes, he discovered the said community, and has filed a PIL in the high-court, seeking immediate banning of Orkut in India. More details here.

In the not-too-distant past, the Indian government matched such an act with a flawlessly stupid performance of their own --- blocking blogspot for a few days. So this has me worried, because the fate of my 12554 'frenship' requests now hangs in a delicate balance.

I will not go into the details of the dozens of fallacies in Mr. Balsaraf's case. They are too many and too obvious --- freedom of expression, obscure community, low Orkut penetration, American website, state-sponsored censorship and so on.

Just makes me think that is Shivaji's stature so fragile that nincompoops like Mr. Balsaraf have to constantly defend it using such means? Sadly, it seems so.

Of tippers and tippees

Ok ok I admit the last word is made up. But I am talking about one of the great pillars of the Indian cultural heritage --- bakhsheesh a.k.a. 'tip'. Like every good son, I too celebrate Diwali at home with my family. Now, my folks live in Lucknow, which is pretty much a provincial town, the new Pijja Hut and Cafe Coffeeday notwithstanding. Ya ya, I know, a metro doth not a Cafe make, but I guess you know what I am trying to say. The bakhsheesh syndrome (BS) is in full swing in such towns during such occasions.

A few days before any major festival like the D-day, there is palpable BS in the air. Hordes of wannabe and veteran tippees start popping up all over the neighbourhood, like dengue cases in Delhi. They come in all colors and shapes too. You have the postman, the garbageman, the bai, the 23 peons in sarkari offices (my dad is a bank manager in a nationalized bank), the driver, the Blue Dart courier delivery kid, the watchman and so on. Every year, I find a whole new genre of tippees showing up at my folks' house.

Now as all of you know, the tipping process is a three-way handshake. First, the tippee initiates the courting process, where he/she sends out pheromones to allure the tipper. The second phase is when the tipper acknowledges that he/she too feels the same way and the third phase deals with the negotiation and transfer of the tip.

The courting phase is usually almost silent, with all signals exchanged aankho-hi-aankho-mein. I say "almost silent", because, usually phlegm is always involved. For example, the postman shows up to deliver a greeting card from my relative, and then lingers, all the while coughing his lungs out in order to convey his desire for the tip. I part with some of my money, just to keep a safe distance from him. The courier kid is pretty savvy in this aspect. He acts coy, flutters his eyebrows, smiles and tells me that he has come 200 metres out of his way, in the afternoon, just to deliver my junk mail. This ploy always works with me, because I get all weak-kneed and get entangled in throes of passion with him, also involving a 20-rupee note.

The garbageman and the watchman usually do not believe in a silent exchange of vows. They show up at the door and go "SHOW ME THE MONEY!!" (politely ofcourse), as if the Lord himself has chosen them to be tipped on the holi day. Nothing wrong with that, its quick, simple and effective. But lacks that element of romance and elusion, the playing-hard-to-get feeling, which is very essential in a relationship between a tipper and a tippee. It is very important for love and money to co-exist, if you ask me.

Then comes the mothership of all tippees -- yes, thats right! The bai. Unlike the watchman and the courier-kid, this one doesn't have to indulge in any foreplay or dirty-talk to get her tip (Ya I know what you are thinking, you SICKO!, it doesn't mean that). It is tacit that the day before Diwali, she is going to get a big load of gifts from my mom. This time, I was fortunate enough to witness the holy transaction. It involved a saree, two boxes of sweets, a packet of almonds and some trinkets. The goodwill, the bonhomie was too much for me to handle and I had to turn towards my computer-game, lest they see my tears of joy. A happy home is definitely one where the parents and the bai live in perfect symbiotic harmony.

Apart from the fine gentlemen and ladies who comprise the class of tippees, we have the extortionists who take undue advantage of the situation (ya i know, the word "undue" is unduly used). These are usually members of some vague mandir committee, who wish to construct a western style toliet in the temple compound, for the squatting pleasure of the priest. These people show a matter-of-fact attitude, as if my wallet really belongs to the Lord (Hindus say there are 84 crores of them, so which one?). Then begins the stare game, where I try to act macho and unyielding, but something about the triple-stripe tilak on their foreheads convinces me that they will break my bones if I don't pay up.

The other kind of extortionists usually consist of some people representing an orphanage, who soul-stirringly explain how the orphans will celebrate a dark diwali unless I fork out fifty bucks. All fine and good, except that the orphanage's name has three spelling errors, and there is no register, which makes me suspect the entire operation. Sometimes they do end up taking my hard earned dough, but mostly, I too give an Oscar-winning performance on the lines of "Aapke sahyogi [colleague] aaye the, unko hum de chuke hain. Diwali ki shubh-kaamnaayein".

The final kind of tippees comprise of the lucky ones, who usually are not looking to get involved, but circumstances throws them into the relationship. Allow me to elaborate. In the few days after Diwali, somehow there usually is some electrical and/or plumbing problem with the house, which requires minor repairs. The repairmen show up and do their task diligently. Now before they leave, and here comes the good part, my mom usually shows up with a box of cashews for them to take home. Strictly, this is not a tip, because they don't ask for it, and we don't grudge giving it. But the sight of a quintal of dry fruits and a ton of barfis as gifts is enough to break the strongest of us. Strong enough for my mom atleast.

I hope I have convinced you of the rich cultural heritage we carry, and as a sign of being patriotic, I hereby request you...ahem! ahem! (cough)....to shell out a buck or two whenever you read my blog.

Asterix
PS: I thought I had seen it all, but a week after Diwali, my Delhi-waala garbageman showed up for a tip. It was also the first time he had offered to pick up the garbage of my house. I told him that I am flattered, but I am already seeing someone. Fidelity is important to me.

Its done. Its over

Thats what Frodo said when he finally threw the One Ring in the fiery chasm of Mount Doom. I say this because I finally successfully finished the 21 km Half-Marathon in Delhi this Sunday.

It had been a dream of a small boy living in a big city, aka me. Finally joining my ranks, was Goldie-Boy, who was running to impress his fiancee. And so we ran, finishing the race in two and a half hours each, thereby setting a personal record of sorts.

The race was rife with all elements of a successful drama --- will power, focus, the inevitable cramp at 16 kms, limping, mixing jogging and walking, and the cheerleaders. Goldie did it for his fiancee and I did it for those unnamed cheerleaders from Kingfisher.

If there was ever a sight prettier than those Kingfisher-ians doing their stuff, it was the sight of the 20km milestone, which signified that the end was nigh.

I will stop here and nurse my sore legs and will advise all of you to go and do it atleast once. A warm fuzzy feeling is guaranteed.

What's in a face?

So I ask. Vehemently. Roxette's "Look" was sung for people like me, albeit with a tad different context. This face of mine has led me to nothing but misery all these years. Let me offer some sample evidences from a long list, gleaned over all these tiresome years.

a) I show up at my hostel on the first day of my college life. Its September and I am sweating like a pig. Ten other freshies are standing like fools in the hallway, looking like nothing but prime beef to a group of seniors. They walk across us, sizing us up and making up their mind as to who to rag first. "Let us begin with this idiot", says one overlord, pointing straight at me. "He looks dazed, scared and is sweating already", he justifies. Now anyone who has lived in Delhi knows what September heat is like, but nooooo!, I have "got the look", and hence it is I who will begin the ragging saga of 1997. And in the process, become one of the most ragged freshmen in my batch.

b) Chweeet little cherubic kids, who are otherwise cooing away peacefully, turn to stone, or worse, start crying when I offer them a glimpse of my mug. This has happened way too often to be a freaking coincidence. I have been beaten in this game by foul-smelling alcoholic males who instantly turn the little tear producers into laughing Budhdhas again. Doesn't help my sagging confidence, if you ask me. However, sometimes crying babies stop their routine on my sight. I guess thats because their vocal cords develop rigor-mortis or something.

c) I can't even count the number of times strangers have looked at me and said, "Oh come on! You look like the kinda guy who won't hesitate to drink or eat non-veg food". Repeatedly denying any such accusations have proven futile. Such conversations usually include dialogues of the kind: "Sweet Moses!!! Really!!!! No meat all all!! I could have bet my right hand that you would chase a chicken and gulp it down". It became so bad a few years back, that I turned to alcohol for support and started the odd non-veg meal, ironically turning the accusation into a tautology. People still haven't stopped using that sentence, but nowadays I just shrug my shoulders and reply, "Yeah I am *that* kinda guy."

d) All my efforts at naive diplomacy fails miserably. Plenty of people have told me that my face is like an open-book, that I can't hide stuff for long. This means that when I am face to face with Shahrukh Khan, I won't be able to mask my disgust for more than two seconds. That should count as a plus, and it is, except that it causes more trouble than gain. When girls ask me if I have thought of them "that" way, it is hard for me to maintain a straight face and say "no". This inevitably leads to sandal-assisted bashings, accusations of perversions, and general curses of the kind that "all men are dogs". All this drama inspite of the fact that I believe in the maxim of "ek ladka aur ek ladki shayad kabhi kabhi dost ho sakte hain".

e) Due to my "non-veg eating and booze-swallowing" looks (see (c) above), many people also think that I am a real bad-ass. Couple that with my Haryanvi roots, and people invariably conclude that I am a war-mongering Jaat. It doesn't matter to them that I am neither war-mongering (usually) nor a Jaat. While in Bombay, this helps me ward people off without lifting a finger, which is good. But the exact reverse happens in Delhi, where almost every guy wakes up in the morning with an excuse to fight.

I could go on and on, but I guess you get my drift. This face has been nothing but trouble for me. I think of changing it at times. But then I look at what happened to Michael Jackson, and say "^@$% that" !! A face like mine is better than an alien's face anyday.

The Midas Touch

Most people are born ordinary. A few are given a special gift. Today I crossed the boundary from the former category to the latter. I realized that I am indeed special. No, not in the my-mom-keeps-telling-me-I-am-special way, but indeed extraordinary. And before this cup of narcissism spills over, let me explain how I came to possess the Midas Touch.

This May, I moved from Bombay to Delhi for a few months and took shelter in Solzaire's spacious abode. Nothing serious, just fooling around and having a good time. But in two months, Solzaire announced something grand. No its not what you think, you sickos! He announced that he is gonna get married in July. This came as a shock to me, as I had no clue about any of this. Dismissing this as a one-off incident, I changed houses and took off to the States for a brief vacation (read: conference). Stayed with a friend in New York for a few days and a few days ago I got an email containing a similar announcement. Yes! he is getting hitched in two weeks.

Slightly startled at this fascinating turn of events, I returned to Delhi to pick up the threads of my life. On one fateful Sunday, I spent an afternoon at a wingmate's place in Noida. Again, nothing special, just two guys engaged in good old fashioned 'fun'. And, yes, you guessed it right, a week back he announced that he too is going to be a family man in December.

By now, I was 90% sure that I had a gift of certain sort. Whomsoever I touched (figuratively) suddenly found his soulmate in a few weeks time. Whatever uncertainty I had, was soon to be demolished. My colleague and new roommate in Delhi and Bombay, announced yesterday that he too has found the love of his life (whatever that means).

I am in the "zone" now. I am da man! The divine matchmaker. Offers have started pouring in. Single men from all over the country are calling me to spend a night at their place (no, not for that). They are ready to pay me handsomely for my "services". I am seriously contemplating of leaving my full-time job and throw myself completely into this unique social service.

A toll-free number is on cards. Watch out!