Exactly!!

My cell phone brrrrrrrrd softly, flashing it's light - as Ajit "Loin" of Yaadon Ki Baraat would have said - "On" "Aaff", "On" "Aaff". I picked up and said a "Hello" in my usual "voice" (gruff, deep, threatening whatever - I have heard comments about that!) The voice at the other end was soft, polite, gentle and female and it said "Good Afternoon"

My eyes strayed to the bottom right hand corner of my laptop. 11:56 AM. So I replied "Good MORNING" with an eXXtra emphasis on the second word. She fumbled, she mumbled, she hemmed and before she could haw, I said "It's 11:56, it's STILL morning. Who's this?" Who it was, doesn't matter - but she did come back with a "It's 12:04 sir".

Blame the Virgo in me for being such a pr*^k and an a$$*&le

Some little time later, that same afternoon, I was on my way to a client, driving, the radio playing along. Some good music, nice soft & melodious songs interrupted by too many, far too many advertisements. I usually "switch" channels when that happens (you too, don't you?) and happened to catch the RJ announce "The time now is exactly 2:03 on the studio clock" - my digital clock on my dashboard showed MY time to be exactly 1:59. Frowning, I checked the time on my cell phone. Synchronised well (a Virgo cell phone, after all!) it showed 1:59 too (it BETTER!) My mind wandered to my school days when we used to have an implicit, unshaken belief in the "Time" as announced on BBC radio or VoA. There I was, shaking my head regretfully and switching over to another FM channel and - I swear, I am NOT making this up, sheer COINCIDENCE - the announcer says "The time is 1:57 and in a short while you will listen to the voice of ... who will be with you till 5, till then it's bye from me"

A couple of days before that, a very good friend of mine had been to meet a client - this, on a festival holiday, mind you - down in Colaba. A 11:30 AM meeting. Only, when they reached the clients' office the person who had called them was not in yet. He came in, "slightly late" at 12:15. Another team, from another company, who had a prior appointment with this "gentleman" was called in first. My friend finally was granted an audience well after 1:30.

Typical, isn't it? We are so careless with time, whether it is our OWN time or whether it is others' that we squander... and yet, the number of times I have heard people say that in Mumbai time is money!

A couple of days after that "Good morning/Good afternoon" thing happened, I went to a bank near my office - needed to deposit some money. I'd just finished lunch, the time was close to 3. I wasn't too sure whether the banking hours were over. The clerk was polite when she told me that the bank accepted cash till 5 PM. I filled in the paying in slip and stood in a queue. Have you noticed, banks have become quite mechanised? There was a man ahead of me, only one cash counter was open - he had handed over a large amount of cash. The teller, a lady of around my age (OK, OK, an OLD lady, yes!) accepted the bundles and one by one, methodically, placed each bundle in the Currency Note Counting machine behind her.

The machine WHIRRRED and in seconds digitally displayed the number of notes (94) and the denomination (Rs 500). Aunty took the bundle, frowned at the machine, frowned at the bundle, looked at the customer in front of her, a rather quizzical, puzzled, confused look and she smoothened the edges of the notes, shifted the rubber band a bit and placed the bundle in the machine again. Again the machine went WHIRRRRR and said 97. The customer (not me, the guy at the counter) shifted nervously while Aunty went through her motions of frowning, shaking her head and all that... repeat procedure (edges, rubber band, etc) and again WHIRRRRR and magic!! A Tendulkar number, 100!! She kept that bundle aside and took up the next bundle - there were 5 such bundles, various denominations - a bundle of 1000, 3 bundles of 500, and one of 100. Almost every time the WHIRRING machine displayed "multiple choice" questions while Aunty did her frowning, Customer did his fidgeting and Uncle (that's me) went from patient watching to fidgeting to wondering whether I should come back tomorrow to finally enjoying the sheer relief of seeing a second teller open her counter (after lunch, perhaps). While my deposit was processed (thankfully in a few seconds) the other guy remained there still... 

 What struck me was this - by what logic does the teller keep repeating placing the bundle of notes back in the machine till it tallies with what the customer wrote on his paying in slip? Beats me. It seemed to me to be about as "Exact" as the time on the FM radio channels...

Finally, while most of my professional friends and colleagues in the insurance business have been going crazy with hundreds of thousands of renewals to handle, I've been leading a rather more relaxed life these few days. SO much so that I thought I'd spend some time doing some statistical number-crunching, digging deep into the web-site of the insurers to see the various performance parameters. And so, since the insurance regulator has made it mandatory for insurers to display critical information on their web-sites, the data is available.

Oh yes, it IS available - provided one knows where to look for it. Clever guys, insurers! They know how to display this data while keeping it safely disguised so that it does not come easy to the layman. (You wanna know more? Ask "Uncle", I'll tell you!!

Anyway, the final point here is this - of the many insurers' data that I've accessed so far, only ONE insurer's data appears to be CREDIBLE. All the other insurer's data, accessed on their web-sites, are so patently inaccurate - errors in totalling, errors in carrying forward figures from one quarter to the next, errors in terms of a complete mismatch between what is shown in one form not tallying with another form and so on and so forth...

One would have thought that at least when it comes to submitting data to the regulator (mind you, all this information that I accessed IS filed with the regulator) the insurers would have taken the effort to check and double check. Bah!!

When I left office around 7 this evening, as always, my eye fell on the "scoreboard" outside the Indian Institute of Population Studies, (a deemed university, mind you!) - they have a display board (see pic) that shows the population of India as on the previous day.

Today's score was something like 124,78,93,114 or so... as on 29th March 2012.

How exact!! Sure..... 



I saw her, again, this evening. Around 8 or so, perhaps a quarter past 8 - she was there, in the same place that I had seen her earlier. Which was 2 evenings back. Which was when I actually noticed her for the first time - for all I know, she might have been there even earlier but I noticed her for the first time 2 evenings back.

And then again, yesterday. And today, as well. Three consecutive evenings, more or less at the same time - between 7:30 and 8:30... which, when you think of it, is a coincidence brought on by another - coincidence, I mean - 3 successive days, at that same damn spot (you know, where the road coming from Mankhurd to Ghatkopar meets the Eastern Express Highway) I hit the red light and stopped.

What caught my eye was the fact that the OTHER lady was trying to sell flowers to passers-by. She was (the other lady, I mean) perhaps in her mid 20s looking much older as only poverty can make. Haggard, derelict and dirty. This girl, though, barely 8 or 9 years of age, despite the dirt and dust that coated her face like a pancake, had that look....

she had THAT look which belongs to the street children of Mumbai and ONLY to the street children of Mumbai... it's difficult to describe THAT LOOK but here's a go at it...

it is the look that says "Hey, ain't I pretty?!", or that says "Bindasss rehne ka! Main mast hoon, na?!!" or that says "Kya, bhidu, apunko kya samajh ke rakhela hai?!" - a saucy, happy go lucky, no regrets with life, "today is IT who gives a damn about tomorrow" look... I know, I still haven't got it "just right" but, hey, YOU know what I mean, don't you...

So, THIS little girl, the thing about her was - while the other lady was trying to sell her stock of flowers, this little one was busy gazing at her own reflection in my window glass, preening at herself, totally without any self-consciousness. While the light stayed red, she looked into my glass, at her face, and, even as I was looking at her, she remained totally glued to her own reflection... and suddenly SMILED, a great, BIG, oh-so-happy smile.

Through that glass that smile travelled instantly and I found myself grinning in indescribable joy - and, as the light turned green, I moved on. She remained there while travelling with me in my thoughts and in my smile.

That was 2 days back. Yesterday was another story - or, more truly, a non-event. She was there, somewhere behind my car where I had stopped at the red light again. Luckily (?) the light turned green in seconds and na-da, nothing, zilch...

Today, on a hat-trick of red lights, she (for the first time) made eye contact with me and lifted her tiny arm to show me the flowers that she was selling. A small string of mogras. I slid my window down, not intending to buy anything but just to get a chance to see her smile again. Barely 3 minutes later I was hanging 4 strings of mogra inside my car. "Kitne ka hai?" I heard myself asking. Impishly she smiled and replied "Sab le lo na Uncle, 20 rupya ke liye". "Kitna kum karoge?" "Chalo Uncle, aap ke liye 15 mein" While she counted out the change for the 20/- that I gave her I asked her "Naam kya hai?"

"Reshma" she said and concluded "Kal phir se le lena, OK?" that last bit in stylish English... with a smile, thrown in for free....

I tell you.... I am SO sick and tired of hearing people speak of the "spirit of Mumbai" but when I see the spunk and sheer positivity of Mumbai's street kids I find myself really, truly, believing in that mythical thing.

"I had a dream"

With due apologies to Martin Luther King, I had a dream - that's a lie, I have had many, many, countless many dreams, each one strange, stranger than fiction, stranger than truth...... for a dream lies in that half-real world that exists yet does not.

So, a couple of days back, there we were, four friends - who shall remain unnamed - we were holidaying in Tahiti, which, for the purposes of THIS dream was an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere off the coast of Western Africa instead of being where it truly is

A fabulous beach, spakling clean,  crystal clear waters, mild weather, a perfect holiday. And, my friends and I, enjoying our time, happily chatting among ourselevs - as always about insurance, yuck!! - and people we know. Across the sea, a few miles away, another island, Fiji, this one too, miraculously "transferred" from the Indian Ocean to a few miles away from the African shores. Walking along that beach, a good friend, once upon a time a customer, now a friend.... we get to talking, we can hear each other despite the distance, no cell phones, thank God!

He is upset with something - some wrong advice, some loss that seems to have been lost in the fine print of his insurance policy. In a fit of anger, petulantly, he stomps on the beach and the waves rise menacingly and come racing like a tsunami across the miles between Fiji and Tahiti. On THIS beach the four of us scrmable for higher ground while, away on Fiji my friend laughs at our plight. Suddenly he dpesn't look all that friendly, no more!

We scamper, running as fast as we could, reach the hilly slops and climb.... and climb.... and climb until we're at the very top

From our vantage point we look below, behind and realise we've just managed to escape death and destruction. On the other side, behind the hills, there is a road, looks familiar to two of us. We walk along the road as it curves to the right and, in minutes, we realise that we've reached Mangor Hill, in Vasco da Gama, Goa, India! Sheer relief, having reached safety and our own country! And, Goa, after all, is Goa - carnival time, carnival country! Gargling our mouths with Kings beers we now walk into THE casino, for, when in Goa one must life life large!!

So, there we are, in a small, seedy looking hall, redolent of the smells of beers and sausages, sorpotel and vindaloo.... it is "early morning" yet, just around 11 or so. A few tables, desultorily occupied by a few hard-core casino junkies, playing - yes, I joke not - playing CARROM! Not baccarat, not poker, not blackjack but carrom with Cashew feni on the side.



My friend decides to play because, as he solemnly explains to me, he was a junior national champ in Table tennis and carrom is a table game too. Perhaps its the beers that we gargled, but the rest of us agree and help him along. So, pretty damn quick there we are, rooting for him as he splurges all his cash away, cheering him every time his striker goes into the pocket! "Ace!", "Ace!!" we cry lustily, all the while the bored board man sweeps our cash right into his bank.  

All of a sudden the beers lose their gargle effect and we wake up to the realisation that our man is losing us our money! We remember that all of us had given our wallets to him for safekeeping back when we were still in Tahiti before the tsunami. So now, that "bored banker" has suddenly become our Enemy - and all hell breaks loose. Goa has never seen a gang of insurance goons on the rampage before and before you can say "Vasco da Gama" we've broken a few heads, taken ALL the cash out of the counter and are sauntering our way back to our official quarters at Hill Crest Apartments at Mangor Hill, Vasco da Gama, Goa, India....

I woke, silently convulsed with laughter, shaking with mirth. My wife mumbled, grumbled and peeped into her cell-phone to see the time. "It's 5:15 in the morning!" she chid-chidaoed, "Go back to sleep" she said....

Isn't there something, somewhere, about early morning dreams coming true???? God Forbid!!

An "Identity Crisis"

Remember all those "politically incorrect" jokes - many of which are, usually, grounded in sadly unavoidable reality - about Negroes and/or Chinese who look all alike? (I wonder, when a Nigerian comes to India, do WE all look the same to him/her?? I guess we would - just imagine, Okolie Odafa, ex captain, Churchill Brothers football team - confuses Aishwarya Rai and Katrina Kaif, thinking they're the same person?!!!) To hell with all that, but just stay with that thought and remember all those politically incorrect jokes.... for a little while.

There I was, seated in the comfort of the drivers' seat of my aged and soon to become dilapidated (getting there - 1 lakh plus kilometres on the odometer) - somewhere in Chembur market, a few days back. A Sunday evening, for some strange reason the bitter-half had decided to venture into this unknown neighbourhood far away from her usual hunting grounds, in search of vegetables and victuals... my role, as a dutiful husband, being restricted (this, mind you, was a truly hard fought victory for me) to being a driver, I parked there, opposite Grand Central restaurant (residents of Mumbai, familiar with Chembur will realise that THIS, ALONE, makes me eligible for a Bharat Ratna - Sachin T, get behind me in the queue please) while the Mrs sauntered off in search of GKW (God knows what)
 

This is evening time, getting on to night... around 7:30 or so. The skies were darkening, the area teeming with a multitude of people moving about in search of GKW (I've explained, already) and I, sitting in my car, lost in the music of Mohd. Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey and so on.. well, not exactly "lost" in that music, I will confess to keeping a sharp eye, looking out for comely figures (don't tell my wife this! - she's marked in on this mail, honestly, but, like always, she doesn't listen when I talk and she doesn't read what I write!)

Anyway....... sitting in my car, observing "life" (you know!) something "different" caught my eye.... (I won't use the word "peculiar", "odd", "strange" etc because someone may just decide that I'm being heretical and issue a fatwa or something, and that would be a wee bit tiresome, what, eh?)

There were these two, presumably young, women walking past my car. Dressed, from head to toe in a long black burqa, faces covered, just their eyes visible (such beautiful eyes, most women have, no?). I wasn't even LOOKING at them, seriously, just happened to notice them pass my car. And THEN, the "thing" happened.

Coming in from the opposite side, a man and (presumably) his wife, the latter also dressed in a burqa, equally black, equally simple and elegant, (the man, in jeans and a T-shirt, looking every bit the modern Indian, no signs of Islam - a beard minus the moustache, or a skull cap, nothing). The lady stops, greets the pair of burqa clad ladies coming in her direction, and the chat for a while, animated conversations, hands gesturing, voices raised in amused yet gentle laughter, heads shaking, eyes smiling broadly, and then, in a few minutes, they shake hands and move on....

..... while I remain, wondering.....

How, EXACTLY, did the lady figure out who the other two ladies were?!! I mean, go back a li'l while and read that opening paragraph of mine, that politically incorrect one..... if one Chinaman looks like another (or, if an Aishwarya Rai looks just like a Kat K to a Nigerian!), to poor old me, one burqa clad woman looks just like another, no? I mean, come to think of it, wasn't that the whole POINT?!!!!!

Or what?

I was still thinking this, pondering it, WONDERING about it when, off in the distance, a few hundred metres away, in the crowd of thronging people I spotted the wife, returning. I sat up straight, rolled up the windows, switched on the engine, turned on the A.C, and git ready ......... (driver) duty called.... from a few hundred metres away, even in the looming twilight darkness, I could recognise SHE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED..... amen.

MLAs "Privileges"

The only "golden rule" that really applies is "Don't Get Caught" especially on camera. Go ahead, do "it" but remember, don't get CAUGHT. THAT is unpardonable....

........ and a fool is not someone who does not make a mistake, a fool is someone who does not learn from the mistake...

So, barely (and I use the word "bare" with intent) a month after 3 MLA's were caught watching porn in Karnataka, we have another story of 2 MLAs doing eggjactly the same, this time in Gujarat. It is purely coincidental that on both occasions the "culprits" belonged to the same party - I wonder when (as surely one day it must) will MLAs of other "holier than thou" parties will be caught with egg of their faces.

Remember the "dignity" of the Governor's bungalow in Andhra Pradesh, courtesy an "evergreen" ND Tiwari?

What "crime" has Suresh Kalmadi committed? Or an ARaja? Poor Sukh Ram, he made the cardinal mistake of getting cuaght...

Remember that gentleman, Bangaru Laxman? President of the BJP, and that too not too long ago..... but I don't blame you, what with a fresh, brand new, breaking news scandal virtually every other day, keeping track of "The Daily Shame" is getting to be "mushkil nahin, na mumkin hai"...



Happiness is....

Happiness is driving from your office to meet a client all the way across town, with just 30 minutes left to reach destination and....... getting a string of 8 consecutive green signals all the way!!

Delight/ecstacy is reaching the destination with 5 minutes to spare AND finding a parking slot too, in a normally congested part of town!!

Law, Crime and Punishment

My morning newspaper, the Indian Express, has been front-paging a story about a "radical muslim cleric" based in London who wants to start an agitation/movement to make Islamic Sharia law compulsory here in India. Among the various statements he has allegedly made by Anjem Choudhary are such gems as "I do not believe in Indian law so there is no question of seeking permission from the authorities there".

At a purely "pseudo - intellectual" level I would have simply laughed this whole story away, pehaps shaking my head in mock disbelief. Sharia? In India? Bullshit! I would have also shaken my head to wonder, doesn't the Indian Express have any better stories to carry/run instead of fanning reactionary protests from all around.

Ok, honestly, I'll amend that "I would have..." and actually confess that I did both. Stupid cleric, stupid Indian Express, damn them both.

Two pages later, tucked away somewhere on page 5 was this small little story of 2 six year old girls having been raped. I went cold with rage - yes, RAGE is not an intellectual or a pseudo intellectual state. It is raw, gut wrenching, it is pure savagery, an emotion that craves for action, release, relief.

What kind of an animal would even think of venting out his depraved sexual urges on a 6 year old girl? Look around you, in your neighbourhood, in your pretty fancy colonies and apartments. Our 6 year old daughters, daughters of our neighbours, looking like such lovely angels, getting ready to go to school, playing little childrens games, laughing, smiling, telling stories, such animated faces that give birth to a smile..... how can one even begin to understand why such little, innocent kids get raped?!!

It was worse... of the two girls that were so brutally victimised, one was even burnt with cigarette marks all over her body.

I think we could do with some dose of Islamic law for crimes such as these. Damn it. The perpetrators should not be allowed to serve 2 or 3 years in jail for THIS!!

ADDENDUM: Someone very "kindly informed" me that according to the Sharia Law, a woman who accuses a man of rape must be able to produce 4 male eye-witnesses to corroborate her statement; failing which she can be prosecuted for adultery and sentenced to death by stoning.

Is this true? Or is it just one more cooked up Islamophobic story?