Homo Indicus

I wonder what would Charles Darwin have to say about stuff such as "survival of the fittest" and "theory of evolution" if he were to drive a car in Mumbai. Or Delhi. Or perhaps even Bengaluru, Pune, or any other place in Mera Bharat Mahan.....

Don't get me wrong, this ain't a complaint. I'm about as patriotic as the next guy who takes forever to stand up when the Jana Gana Mana is played... and I wholly preserve his right to honk as loudly and as often as he pleases. After all, that's what horns are for, right? So, no, this ain't a litany of complaints - I'm merely wondering, what if....

What if Charles Darwin, instead of wasting his time in the Galapagos, were to spend a month here... let's see, where would we take him? For the limited purposes of this academic discussion, let's stick with amchi Mumbai, ok...

Saki Naka is an absolute must, of course. 

As is that truly magical stretch of road from Everard Nagar going towards Sion where, strictly under laboratory conditions we shall insist that Darwin should stay in that outermost lane and attempt to take that one lane flyoover/bridge...

Let's also throw in that stretch of road coming back from Chheda Nagar towards Ghatkopar/Thane where there is a small bridge as well as there isn't a small bridge (doesn't make sense? You're not a Mumbaikar, then, so just shut up, ok, all of US know what I'm talking about here)

Oh, and how could I not mention the first turning, at Chakala, while coming from the domestic airport towards the international airport? You know, the one where there is that traffic light that, after 7:30, serves a decorative purpose?

Actually, why bother to select roads or routes.... let's just leave it to the poor sot to drive damn well anywhere he wishes, and to make observations as to the sheer adaptability of Homo Indicus Drivus... I'm sure, some of the startling discoveries (and this is, by no means, an exhaustive list) would include:

• The average Mumbai driver (ok, I guess the average Indian driver) is possessed of 360 degree vision, he can see traffic that is behind his head, coming in from all sides and is equipped with high speed neurons that are capable of discerning that nano-metre gap that is as yet non existent in the space just ahead of him.                                                                                         
• The average driver (see, I am generous) is possessed of an uncanny sense of deafness, enabling him to continuously ignore the continuously blaring horn from the vehicle behind him. And the vehicle beside him. And the vehicle ahead of him. And, from his own vehicle, of course...
• The average driver exists in multiple dimensions AND in multiple lanes. One moment he is in the middle lane and in the same moment, seamlessly, he has slid across 2, sometimes 3 lanes on a road that is chock-a-block with noisy, speeding vehicles driven by honky, swearing drivers.
• The average driver, having executed above mentioned maneuver with insouciant panace, suddenly loses that 360 degree vision, in fact, he goes temporarily but totally blind - this is a defensive mechanism that has evolved to enable him to be blasely unaware of the glares that other average drivers turn in his direction, for if looks could kill the average driver would have a million deaths each day. So, while lesser than average drivers glare, this supreme being, having overtaken one from the wrong side (which is the right side, actually) he remains blissfully insulated from one's glares, gaalis etc.
• The average driver also has developed X ray vision and is able to see that invisible scourge, the traffic police, frantically waving his arms while trying to regulate the irregulatable... so, the arms keep waving while the traffic, like an inexorable force, keeps flowing...    

I haven't even begun to mention such other unparalleled skills as: talking on the phone while driving, spitting paan/gutkha every 314 metres, etc. Those are too mundane, Charles would yawn...

Insects, it is said, have compound eyes. I submit, so does Homo Indicus Drivus.... pests!!

The many faces of LOVE

It's been a while since she left us. A little bit over two years. While she was alive, she was "love" personified. Ever smiling, ready to help, filled with an energy that belied her age. Ever smiling, that is, except with her husband of over sixty years. 

With him, I have seen, the love used to take on a different form. For a couple hailing from a generation unused to any kind of PDA - whether Public Display of Affection or Private, I guess the only available means to display emotions was through endearing arguments on petty matters. He, my father-in-law, these several many years retired, was - and remains - an avid cricket enthusiast for whom Sachin Tendulkar (or a Saurav Ganguly or a VVS Laxman or a Rahul Dravid or a .... ) could rise to Godhood as spontaneously as they could fall to the depths of corrupt mercenaries in the flash of an outer edge to third slip. 

He was - and remains - a die hard fan who, when India is bowling, expects a wicket off every over failing which his choicest invectives would reveal his police origins. Equally, when India bats, a six off every over is not too much to ask for, no? Freely, then, would the abuses flow - in Hindi and Marathi. 

Which is perfectly fine by me. 

My m-i-l, however, used to think otherwise. And would give voice to her thoughts. Without having to indulge in abusive language, in words that were always in excess of 6 or 8 letters - eschewing the so-called 4 letter words in any language, AND without having to raise her voice - she could and would berate him. And then the fight would start. he'd switch off the telly, turn his back to her, lie down on his cot, facing the wall, and put on a sulk the likes of which Brezhnev could have learned to use to deal with Jimmy Carter back in the days of the Cold War. And she, unmoved by this temper tantrum, would smile at the rest of us - so long as we were there in the same room. 

We'd leave them alone for a while - and one could then hear her, whispering sweet nothings, trying to mollify this child who was 80 plus. And he, in turn, would pretend to remain angry, till one of us enters the room. Witnesses present, he would pretend to ungraciously, gruffly, accept that never proffered apology. 

Love, I guess, comes in all forms. 

And then, one day, she left us, left this world. 

He continues to watch the TV, continues to curse and rant and rave at the foibles of the Indian cricket team - having "discovered" his latest victim, Virat Kohli. No one stops him or his abuses now. My wife, his daughter, tries ineffectually to try and ensure that he does not get over excited. She doesn't have that skill which my MIL had. 

These days, I've noticed something - perhaps it has been there all along and perhaps it is only NOW that I'm noticing it. 

On most mornings, as I sit and read the newspapers and an drinking my mug of SIFC, around 8:30 or so my FIL ventures from his room - fresh, neatly combed hair, freshly cleaned/brushed dentures et al. A very alert and crisp "Good Morning" to me as he goes to the kitchen, as briskly as someone who's 90 plus can be. Then, a bottle of water in hand, he returns to his room.

Slightly less brisk on the return journey. As he crosses me, he slows down even further, almost stopping for a couple of seconds between each step. He stands, immobile, for a little while and seems to gaze, vacantly, at nothing. 

I watch him, silently, out of the corner of my eye. I say not a word, hiding behind my newspaper. 

When he is sure that no one is watching him, he reaches out a hand, gently, and touches that laminated photo, secretly. His wife of 60 odd years smiles at the touch. I can see him, looking back to ensure that I haven't noticed. 

A different generation, a different age. Public Display of Affection? Forget it!

But he loves her, in ways that none of us could ever hope to understand fully.