Cabbie Cabbie

8.15 pm. Land in Mumbai. And let me begin by bragging- from a business class flight, – you know what that means, you have your own bed in the sky and a clean toilet, so no cattle class woes .. (Did I say that too soon?)

8.40 pm. cleared immigration. Fun of coming in business class that you can move forward while the rest commoners have to toil through the long q.

8.45 pm. waiting for luggage.

9.15 pm. Still waiting for luggage.

9.30 pm. Continue waiting for luggage. 45 minutes now. Whatever happened to the “priority” tag? I thought I would get my luggage like this (with a flick of the finger) and head home.

9.45 pm. fuming now. What the blisters are they doing? The entire world is waiting, so it can’t be lost luggage. And my car must be here by now. I had told them to reach by 9.40 pm. There it comes, finally I can see the pink lace, earmarking my suitcase. (thank God, nobody here knew I came from the elitist class!)

9.45 pm. Call driver. Phone busy. Hmmm, why do I have multiple cabbie/ driver numbers?

9.46 pm. Call again. Are you Sharad? Driver says, Yes, but I am not coming, call the other number. What, why? I am in Pune, it is the other guy. Sigh.

9.47 pm. Call the other driver. Phone busy. What is with the phone busy!

9.48 pm. Call once again. Are you Kesar? No, I am Sandeep. Hain? From the cab service? Yes.

Me: where are you?

He: outside the airport.

Me: why aren’t you here?

He: I will come when you land.

Me: I HAVE LANDED. (you idiot)

He: oh ok, have you landed madam?

Me: No, I am calling from mid-flight. (sarcasm drooling)

He: ok, tell me when you have landed.

Me: I HAVE LANDED. Why aren’t you in the parking? By when will you reach?

He: Oh, you have landed madam, good, I will be there in 5 minutes. Please wait next to chai point.

10.00 pm. Call again. Phone busy.

10.01 pm. Call once again.

Me: where are you, 10 minutes gone!

He: coming madam, there is traffic. Will be there in 2 minutes. pls wait near chai point.

Me: !@#$%, Already there for past 10 minutes.

10.15 pm. Call twice again.

Me: It is half an hour! You still have no reached. You had to be here before 9.40.

He: coming madam. 2 minutes only.

10.30 pm. Call thrice again.

Me: 45 minutes over! What happened?

He: in parking madam, will just come and get you.

10.45 pm. Call fourth time again.

Me: will you come or not? It is 15 minutes past when you said you are in the parking.

He: coming madam.

10.50 pm. Call cabbie agency.

Me: your driver is really late. Been saying coming in 2 minutes for the past 45 minutes!

He: Let me check, madam. I will call you back.

Me: chai point beckoning. think maybe I will finally drink chai from chai point since driver will not come for another “2 minutes” at least. Me stands in queue.

10.55 pm.

He calling: madam, where are you?

Me: Where you told me. Chai point.

He: Can’t see you madam.

Me: look at me dancing away!!! (well not really)

Found each other. Gave him an earful. Heard some sorry madam’s. Too much traffic madams. Let us go, madam’s.

Reached the car. Key inserted in boot. Boot refuses to open. Trying left, right, press, pull, shove. Doesn’t work.

Me: forget the boot, we can keep suitcase inside. Let us go.

He:  madam, key is not coming out, I need the key to start the car!

Me: !@#$

Another 20 minutes of push, pull, shove, kick, press. Finally, he jumped on the car boot and jumped on it till, key finally came out. Phew. Let us go to Pune now please.

20 minutes later, car stopped on side.

11.15 pm.

He: Madam, can you give me 1000 rs now and rest when I drop you?

Me: Why the hell should I, you come an hour late and now you want money, will give only when I reach.

He: No madam, can’t go, I have to give some money to him, (pointing at the other guy,) then I can take you.

11.16 pm.

Me calling cabbie agency

Me: I am not giving him money; I am angry and frustrated.

He: madam, please give na. it is the same amount only, before or after, how does it matter?

Me: rubbing my eyes, what choice do I have at 11.15 in the night. Need to get home as I have meetings. Ok, take it.

We move on. He on the phone. Time noted- from about 11.30 pm till about 12.30 am. Man, the guy can talk. Who is on the other side, I wonder?

We reach the ghats. He keeps the phone down. And is suddenly enegrised. Accelerates from Starts 80 to 120 kmph. Twists and turns. I hold on for dear life.

We cross the ghats. He stops at mid-way.

1.45 pm.

He: Madam, 2 minutes only. Bathroom.

Me: ok.

1.20 pm. Half hour later, I see him standing and drinking chai. If he had to drink chai, I could have done that also, why did he say 2 minutes! @#$ People who make me miss chai are like…

1.25 pm. Driver back. Drives on at 140 kmph. Now I am scared. Is he angry because I showed my anger at Mumbai? Should I call the police?

Me: Bhaiya (in my sugar coated tone), can you pls drive slowly. There is no urgency.

He slows down. To 120 kmph.

After some time, he begins watching whatsapp videos while driving.

Me: !@#$. Which was worse, being on phone, or driving at 140 kmph, or watching videos?

Me: Bhaiya (sweetness personified), pls don’t watch videos while driving.

He complies. Finally lands me home.

2.30 am.

He: madam, see I got you home on time.

Me: (!@#$,) bhaiya, your driving is too rash, but then I am in no state to give you feedback.

5.30 am.

Heart palpitations subside. I drift off to sleep.

6.30 am.

Alarm rings. It is Monday morning. Work day begins.

How to act smart and impress people – by Jhil Velli thi

His eyes had a glazed look. He looked up for a few moments. Then stared down at his fried rice intently. His gaze has the perplexity of the philosopher who was trying to figure out the recipe. I wondered – what happened? He looked at me like I had asked the most innocuous question pertaining to the existence of the universe. And then looked back defiantly at the rice. All ok-?- I was beginning to get worried. No, he nodded the Indian no. and finally said – I am thinking. Wow, like wow. The great man is thinking. His grey cells are working. And what, prey, I asked, frustrated, are you thinking? After a poignant pause, he deigned to look up from the fried rice puzzle, and muttered, I will tell you when I have thought. Man, was I impressed!

And then the corn went pop in my mind, this is a clear-cut technique about how to act smart and impress people. Not all mortals can do it. His utterance with the right pauses and at the right time, made me wonder whether he was thinking of how the stars aligned to have fried rice find its way to his stomach. Now, if anyone ever asked me what I was thinking, I would have the most idiotic mundane reply like what was the name of the actor in that bad last movie we saw, see how common place, nothing impressive at all about it.

Acting smart is about saying the unexpected thing at the unexpected time, not the expected normal response. And then the general feeling is- what a guy (or gal), he thinks out of the box. – The question about where and which box we are talking about somehow is never considered and questioned. Are we all living within this invisible box? The person who thinks out of the box, probably crossed that sacred boundary and thought something, that is a big deal, whatever the hell he thought is completely irrelevant.

Today I am going to tell the world about the art to act smart and impress people, have had decades of practice. I will give you all the tips and knowledge and will not even charge for it. Just make sure you adopt these great innovative ideas in your daily life.

  • Look the part, to act the right part. You have to wear spectacles, the large nerdy round ones. With thick lenses, that makes your eyes look quite like an owl’s. Your hair should be plastered in oil (or you can go bald, the smartest ones are believed to be bald. The clothes you should wear have to be
    1. Out of fashion
    2. Shabby, maybe even torn so people think you are so nerdy you have no idea what you are wearing.
    3. Loose so you look hopelessly shapeless.
    4. Colours you wouldn’t want to look dead in.
    5. A viable alternative- to all of the above is to wear a formal suit in summers when outdoors like on a beach. And glares when indoors. That does the trick too.

 What is the first thought that comes to your mind when you see such a person – this guy must be a genius or someone important. Exactly, that is a feeling you need to be able to generate. The finale effect can be created with odourant that reminds people of rotten apples or maybe dead rats.

(There is this another related species, round face, curly hair, big round stomach, black designer saree, big bindi, big and bold matching jewellery (even temples around the neck), and a strong perfumed attitude, that marks the arrival of the bong pseudo-intellectual- saw several while watching a Bong play, and they all fitted to the T)

  • Never answer a question directly. If asked even the time, you should sigh, look up and down as if wondering about space time travel and NASA, take down your spectacles and clean then with your dirty clothes, wear them again and then say with a resigned look, the times are really bad, my son. The moment has gone, the microsecond when you asked the question is lost in the eon and now after 1/ 23467th eon, do you think that time will come back again, in that fraction you could have achieved so much. Trust me, though the poor fellow may wonder why he ever spoke to you, he will confidently tell the rest of the world, what a guy, his thoughts are out of the world and will send some of his smarter enemies your way. But never, never give a direct response.
  • In a meeting, you can choose an article in the room to focus on, which can be a flower vase, or the aforementioned fried rice plate or maybe your handkerchief. Or maybe close your eyes with a weary look. Let everyone around talk. And in between a heated discussion and a flurry of emotions, suddenly pipe up loud enough- what if ? everyone will stop and look at you. Don’t complete your sentence and go back to the tranced state of detailed examination of the handkerchief. After a while people will go back to their discussion. After five minutes repeat yourself. And after about 5 times of doing this frustrating everyone out of their wits, finally say- what if we now took a break? The brain cells are heating up and the solution is right there, but I can see it only after gulping the coffee. They will all want to hit you, but dare not, in case you do pop out the genius answer of the year, post coffee.
  • Learn some very relevant phrases. Remember that the right phrase at the right time can make a world’s difference between whether you are perceived as a fool or a smart ass.
    1. Do you mean to say that…
    2. I feel what you are saying makes sense but…
    3. There is a saying that explains it all, just that it is eluding me…
    4. Under the given circumstances, can u say with authority that…
    5. My experience of past 20 years says that…
    6. Hmmmm
    7. (sigh) hmmmm
    8. (laugh) hmmmm
    9. (Smirk) hmmmm
    10. (snort) hmmmm

This hmmmm is a universally understood language depicting a range of emotions- based on the tone and can convey almost anything from – “are you dumb”, to “this is perfect”. This always confuses and when you have successfully confused people around you, they will think you are a direct disciple of Einstein.

  • The last rule, act asshole class confident. If nothing else works, this will. When you walk in, look like you own the place. Signalling people with the flick of finger or a raised eyebrow indicates best in class. Don’t introduce yourself, assume people know you and if they don’t, it is their loss. “You don’t know me” with an incredulous look does wonders. You can follow it with “who is the owner of this godforsaken dump?” If it is a quiet place, shout loudly – maybe at the receptionist. Everyone is sure to notice and wonder who this VIP is. Or if this is too tough, just be downright rude. Profanities can be used to sprinkle flavours. Only mango people are humble and respectful.

Well, if you can’t do any of this, maybe you really aren’t smart, or you can’t act, or just not born to be a class apart. If you are not a smart ass, I guess you are just a dumb ass.

Gl(amorous)

A few days back I got an invitation to attend an event for celebrities, hosted by celebrities, of celebrities and for shmucks. I am a shmuck.

Wow, I thought. I have never seen ramp-walk for real, up close and personal. It will be fun. Mrs India like. All the hot babes in swimsuits, the eminent jury, ex Mrs/ Ms/Mr Indias, and an opportunity for selfie with a celebrity. I must go and ogle. 377 egged me on. Now I can stare at girls without guilt.

So along with few more of my amorous friends, I went. Trust me it was tough. I had work at home. Leaving work alone almost broke my heart. But opportunity had knocked, if I missed it (or Mrs-ed it), I would never be able to forgive myself for the lack of respect shown towards all the females who were out there to make a mark in the …. carpet with their high heeled shoes.

Reached sharp at 7.00 pm. And bagged the first row. The event started sharp at 8.00 pm, just an hour late. And with the side-kicks. With the host and dost, Aman Verma, who needed to find a joker in the pack for all his punchlines. As he scouted the audience, his eyes passed by me, paused and stopped …. at the guy next and he became the butt of the attraction for the rest of the show “Hello Sharma ji”, “are you enjoying”, “breathe normally” in the insinuating hosting liberty, the “Sharma ji” enjoyed the attention from the host and the audience for rest of the 4-5 hours and refused to leave his chair, just in case he lost his 15 minutes.

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you got a few laughs

The side-kicks continued for a while, taking photos with so many partners, I quickly forgot. I started getting a feel of the event. It doesn’t matter if you are tall or short, thin or obese, if you can speak or not, all you need is your guts and …. the right wardrobe and connections to be right up there looking down at us plebs.

And then there was a break, go have some drinks and snacks before we start the main event, and as we wait for the celebrities who we know are going to be late. Too many hungry people, and not enough to eat. By the time the waiter reached, his plate was hounded and emptied. Once I managed to grab the tissue and a toothpick, yeee! And with all sugary “cold” drinks around, there wasn’t much choice. In my current stuck-on-calorie-count days, when I am counting every morsel, I stayed hungry.

We didn’t want to lose our front row seat so rushed back in 20 minutes, the timeout imposed on us. After half hour, we were asked to “can you pls sit somewhere else” by a girl with a large mouth and a larger derriere. This one is for organisers. Every man around me complied meekly, they were mesmerized by her moving …mouth, what did you think 🙂  And there lies the advantage of the back seat, you can’t be seen watching the backside from the back row.

Waiting and tapping your feet, it will start, be patient, we shall overcome some day, mood. Maybe an hour or so later, things started moving. Few low priced, affordable celebs came in, a former Mrs India, an actress of dubious origin, a singer, a TV star. Trust me, I have nothing against celebrities, they are the ones who have arrived… even if late. People hovered around them, I was somehow reminded of moths. Everyone took photos, their selfies, videos, and they smiled the same pouted smile reserved for such mindless activities.

Finally it started, at 9.30, more than 2.5 hrs later than the scheduled time. Half an hour was reserved for the introduction of the rich and the famous, with Aman falling all over the place reminding them of “Of I know you from so many years” “do you remember when” and “my very good friend”. The falseness was dripping and drooling all over the place. Most pseudo-celebs had a gown on, tight, skin fitted, with fat jutting out unglamorously from a number of places I would not care to describe.

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Ah my legs beyond compare

Then the ladies started walking on the ramp. Various shapes and sizes, tall to the short, married women, coming from all walks of life, from Pune and Chennai, from Assam and Bengal. They all looked cloned, wearing a saree with golden blouse, hair tied up tightly into a bun on top of the head, swaying hips, tons of makeup and still angular pose with a hand on the hips. They would all look so much better if real and normal. Mostly they looked stressed out, fake smiles, standing straight but still looking as if they had a back problem.

Interestingly a bunch of software engineers among them. As an engineer myself, all I can say is, nerds and glamour in the same package is rare and the sooner we realize it, the better for the world.

And then some of the divas opened their mouth to speak. Seriously, they should be banned from speaking. Most lost whatever little charm they held, as soon as they uttered their first sentence. Why? Did no one ever tell them, Hindi is also a language, if you can’t handle English, it is ok. Rote learning long poems to introduce themselves, and partially forgotten in the stress. Remember the children that are lined up “son, one poem for uncle ”.And everyone wanting to change the world since Sush did. It was so.. for a change I have no word to describe it, so unreal. To be honest, it was just a “show” (pun intended ) put on that tried to reek of glitz and charm, but ended up feeling fake and hollow.

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I have a backache pose

By the time it was almost 10.30 and I was hungry. I needed my daily dose of calories so decided to pass on rest of the evening for those who have the right level of interest in page 3. I had absolutely no inclination to continue for the rest 3-4 hours without food. The more amorous continued to wait with bated breadth for the Baywatch round that never came.

P.S. No intention to discredit any individual, the glamour industry involves tons of hard work and effort, just imagine the hours in the gym and parlours, and it is easy to find faults, maybe not everyone’s cup of (very sugary) tea.

The sarcasm shop

I was feeling sick. For multiple weeks inspiration had eluded me. I had done the world a great disservice by not writing. By not vomiting out my venomous spit of sarcasm. On thorough analysis, I realised the symptoms were not good. I was feeling quite all right with the world, I had not laughed at people for ages, I had not put down anyone for weeks. Something was wrong with me, was I turning over a bad loaf, I questioned myself. And shuddered at the idea. I can’t imagine myself oozing with goodness and other likewise characteristics and unless I did something quickly enough to recover into my usual mean, badass self, the infection might spread to my heart and then it would be all over.

So, I decided to indulge myself to some well-deserved dose of sarcasm, a perk-me-up. Such shops are pretty elusive and exclusive and unless you know the right brands and neighbourhoods, it is very easy to be duped with what has the appearance of sarcasm but is merely an endeavour to save self-esteem, and just plain mean, not the real real thing. This was a shop tucked away in a corner, with exclusive oozing from all corners. What the heck, I said to myself, let me see what brands this quaint witty shop has to offer to a world class cynic like me.

The aroma of well-cooked wit, cynicism and sarcasm was quite obnoxious, and I discovered a lot of interesting brands as I went from aisle to aisle. The first brand was a South Delhi brand, a quite down-market model which had the mis-assumption of being upmarket. As I opened the bottle, various anglicised accents littered out and started falling all over the place. It reeked of imported “maal” (stuff) and fake accents, of polluted minds and too many cars. Farmhouses and clubs and drugs bought out of “baap ka maal” (dad’s money). I think I will use that brand, especially after watching “the south Delhi girls” videos with their “baaaiiyyaa” (bro) intonation.

Further down, I found the Big C brand. This was formed of the smartasses on whose foreheads you can find “C” written in capital if you look closely enough. This is the brand whose only agenda in life is to talk about self and who cannot utter a sentence without “I”, “me” and “myself” and sometimes they use the royal “we”. They are the ones who appear bright till they open their big mouths. By ignoring everyone else in their lives, the narcissistic attitude often leads to headache for others and they live in the well-oiled isolation of self-praise. A lot of this Big C brand value get further accentuated when they travel to “phoren”(foreign) lands.

Now this one was interesting. The NRI model (a subclass of the Big C). This is the fellow who reeks of dollars and whose eyes are bright green with eyeballs the shape of $. The attitude is that of the people who have arrived and now only give “Gyan” to the relatives and friends who have nothing better to do than listen and nod their head at appropriate occasions. They go to all “desi” festivals and religious gatherings, which they avoided in their country, but it is the thing to do in the America, so how could they not follow the mass, literally. This NRI class has trouble breathing the desi air when they come back to God’s own land and tend to fall sick unless they drink bottled water.

Within the NRI, there was this exclusive Middle East Gold-man, dazzling with gold and diamonds. With foul tongue and no skills except that of earning tax free money and bringing jewellery back for their families, this is a self-proclaimed royal label who enjoy having devotes around them hanging on their every word and would follow them everywhere like the Vodafone bulldog and with almost the same expression. The ego is way up and the IQ way down. I mean, why isn’t stupidity a crime yet? Applies equally to the devotee and the deity.

Tucked away towards the fag end, I found the I-know-someone lineage who always knew someone who knew someone and claimed a mesh of connections like a spider’s web. Their solution to every problem and claim to fame is “I will talk to Mr. so and so and he will solve the problem”. They threw names around the way some of the others threw dollars and gold and reserved the rights to reach out to the “Bhai”. I mean, I understand, just because you are not related to Salmaan Khan doesn’t imply you are a nobody, right. When I say stuff like this, people think I don’t care, but I do. If you weren’t yourself, how would I find material to write?

By this time, having browsed through so many, I was feeling quite myself and raring to go but something was still missing. So, I went to the shopkeeper and told him you are missing a big make, the BS brand, which I could supply since I had in abundance. This brand is a pseudo intellectual weirdo who loves putting everyone down through their sharp tongue and ready wit and who does not mince words no matter who minded, (so someone who has a mind, would mind it, but then, never mind!). This brand believes they are the next biggest thing since Khushwant Singh and Shobha De and the only solution to the humankind’s misery. I told him I owned the exclusive rights to this and could license it to him, he could keep the money but had to give me the credits.

He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, full of mirth, crystal clear laughter. And then it struck me. This was Ah-I-don’t-give-a-shit model and actually didn’t give a (u know what I mean) to my BS. He was just doing his job without being impressed by anything in the sarcasm shop and was totally unaffected by the dollars and the gold and the accents and the imported cars. This is probably the most rare and exclusive of us but unfortunately not for sale.

Majuli – बीच मे

Literally meaning- in the middle of. Majuli is the largest river island in Brahmaputra in Assam, almost 50-by-25 kms across, largely populated by the Mising tribe, speaking Mising, weaving stuff and using bamboo.

Phew, Wikipedia can tell you much more by just one click.

When we decided to spend a couple of days in Majuli, I wasn’t sure what to expect, not having done my usual homework.

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somewhere at Kaziranga

The terrain from Guwahati to Majuli, via Kaziranga is interesting, with a mix of potholed roads under the guise of construction, ability to see elephants and Rhinos lazing around (try using binoculars, else they are just a speck). And a horde of two and four legged creatures crossing the highway including but not limited to

  • ducks- full family evening walk with two baby ducks and parents
  • pregnant goats (why was every goat I saw, expecting? I guess it is something to do with fertility)
  • chickens who were not too chicken to cross the road
  • cows
  • elephants
  • and of course, humans who know no better than to cross roads and drivers paying no heed to screeching tires and cursing drivers.

Having reached Jorhat by nightfall, with the accelerometer fooled into thinking we had walked all the way, we decided to spend the night in a dubious hotel where waiters did not understand the meaning of Jain food and that cooking is possible without onions too. And promptly refused to serve us. Sigh, somehow passed the night since our गुटखा eating drivers wanted to leave at 6 am sharp and with a family of 7 ranging from 17 to 70, trust me, it is near-impossible.

The route to Majuli took us through a ferry that takes humans, luggage and two and four wheelers. So 8.00 am saw our cars lined up door to door, while we were all on the ferry roof, holding on to dear life as we sailed across the river. An uneventful 45 minute but photographic journey later, we entered what looked like the Run of Kutch.

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As you enter Majuli

Yeah, you heard me right. It is an unending stretch of white sand, which my brother promptly declared to be quicksand. I was a trifle doubtful as cars and dogs seem to be running fine on the same. The banks rose sharply to about 8-10 feet into this stretch as our ferry eased its belly into a nook made for this purpose.

It is indescribably beautiful. Stretches of white sand, followed by stretches of blue water, wherever you see, warm sun, no human construction, save bamboo huts and boats close by.

We drank in the sights using our cameras and eyes, sipping #AssamRunsOnChai positivi-tea. After about an hour, post a refill and release, we decided to drive into the city.

Majuli no longer felt like an island, a couple of kilometres inland. It looked every inch a normal dirty Indian town, with its full share of Oppo and Coke and Kurkure hoardings. Seriously, these guys are everywhere, including no man’s land.

As we moved past the dirt roads, we could only see bamboo huts on stilts. Since water comes in easily during monsoon, a few kilometres inland, the tribes mostly live on first floor, ground floor being left for scavenger pigs who also contribute to the स्वच्छ भारत अभियान. Toilets have arrived at the village, you can actually see a lone one concealed by a crowd of huts. Shy girls weaving clothes, unruly children playing around, mind you- no men.

Moving on, we crossed the north India in the East, stretches of सरसों के खेत, where the kids had their DDLJ moment. A few brick houses, and lots of bamboo and banana trees later, we landed at our resort. Yeah, the place has a resort, and it was all bamboo. The huts, floor, lamps, tables, chairs, झूला, washroom shower panels, and the toothpick stand. (and we also ate boiled bamboo shoots).

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Our home for the next two days

Lovely place, awesome food, decent service. It was surreal to see nightfall at 4.30 pm, so we decided to light a bonfire, try some local beer (made from burnt husk) and play अंताक्षरी and dumb charades with the kids. All of us middle aged people trying to enact Bollywood movies was seriously hilarious and we had a riot. (The word came to mind as I am writing this, the news on TV is shrieking riots at Pune).

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The DDLJ view

Of course we had teething problems like no lights, no water, specially no hot water, plethora of mosquitoes and red ants.

The city does not have a sunset point (strange, all man defined tourist places ought to have a sunset or a sunrise point, basic qualifier), but a bamboo bridge (yeah, and you can also drive on it) from where you can see the sun set. Not really being subject to the sight of sun setting from the high rises we stay in normally, it was a pretty serene view.

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The bamboo bridge

Next day saw us take a long walk in the woods early morning. A dog with a curled tail discovered us, (couple of them actually) and escorted us through the walk and all the way back to our adobe. Funny fellow, maybe he didn’t want other dogs in his territory.

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walk with the dog

Post local breakfast of curd and jaggery with a fibrous poha kind of stuff, delicious, we decided to go traditional and visit temples. Learnt that the island and its people are mostly self-sufficient. They grow the rice and सरसों and vegetables locally, and just buy the spices.

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the Mising villagers (but they are not really missing)

We had just missed Raas Leela that is quite a well-known three-day fest.  The city has a few Satras which are places of Vishnu worship as well as art and culture. With one showing mask making, some featuring artefacts, and some famous for its dance forms. The only issue was we had to take the shoes and socks off at the gate while the actual places were about half a kilometre in. (why socks?)

One fellow these guys worship is Garuda, whose statues are found everywhere, protecting the gates. The island probably has more goats and cows than humans, you can always see dozens grazing in the fields. Mr Gadkari decided to visit the place a day after us, announcing a sanction of some 330 Cr INR for Majuli development. If only I knew my चरण धूलि would make such a difference, I would have blessed the place long back.

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The Garuda

 

What I don’t like about US of A

Travelling to US is always a matter of pleasure. I love being driven around in limos, friends making time to take you out in their shining cars and helping you shop (though they may never do that with their wives, but when you land in US, they consider it their sacred duty to show you all the local attractions), no need to clean and cook, and the flights with free booze.

But there are a few things I am totally pissed with. And someone with yellow hair and a grumpy face should listen and act upon it.

I can’t figure out why they must use tissues. I mean, wastage of paper, environment and all that shit apart, you hate the feel of it, butt. In fact, it feels shit hole hard! (pun intended) There is water everywhere, in the taps, shower, tub, bottles, fountains, but not a drop to jet wash the most vulnerable part of your anatomy. Being a जुगाड़ू Indian, water bottles come to the rescue, somehow reminding me of the times of toilet an old katha.

Why does everything have to be in dollars? In the world of Uber, Google maps and Amazon delivery, data is a basic necessity. But being the बनिया that you are, you don’t turn it on as every time you do, you can hear the meter turning nickels into quarters. and quickly turn it off again. And how do you shop? I mean everything gets totally multiplied by the cheap Indian mind-set and then you expostulate, 30$ (in disbelief), you mean 2000 Rs, soooo expensive, and refuse to buy it, (But then go to India and pay 5000 Rs for something worse). It is called misplaced patriotism.

Breakfast not included! Any self-respecting Indian always desires to chooses a hotel that provides free wifi and breakfast while paying no more than 120$ per night and if he finds one, Eureka! I mean, who on earth would pay 12$ (plus taxes plus gratuity) for toast and cornflakes and potatoes which is what a typical vegetarian ends up eating. Hence you skip breakfast (unless of course the company is paying for it).

These long flights are so cramped. Normally everything long is good, long legs, long.. oops, change the topic. but flights – when in cattle class, isn’t the best for your back and your legs, specially in your late forties. You can’t catch a wink; it is smelly all around with people releasing odours and socks which have no means to get out of the aircraft pores, and it is cold, the thin blanket is mostly useless. Your neck keeps rolling off, literally, and the foot starts swelling. So, though you intended to work, you end up watching worthless movies fiddling with earphones that don’t work very well and a screen that needs you to tap thrice to achieve any result (much like are you sure, are you very sure of the Microsoft fame). The only saving grace are when she asks you “and what would you like to drink, madam”.

This is followed by the lag of the jet. Sleepy in Seattle at 3 in the afternoon bang in the middle of a meeting doesn’t send the right message though everyone is looking at you in amazement, you survived 10+10 hours of flight, you are a hero. Interestingly you will find, for most folks here, Hawaii is the biggest adventure of their life. You drink some water, doesn’t work, and you hardly listen to the discussion around, focussing on fighting the deadly sleep, which finally you get rid of as soon as the meeting is over. Phew! By that time sleep is so upset with you, she refuses to come back when you need her. So, you are wide awake watching whatever it is ABC is telecasting at midnight. After a lot of cajoling, you manage to land into a slumber only to feel roaring awake at 3 am.

Who imagined getting a nice warm cuppa tea can be such a pain in the same body part discussed above. One would tend to believe that chai latte is the easiest thing to make other than Maggi. But you know, these guys have no bloody idea. They think dipping a porous bag in warm water and pointing you towards sugar sachet is the definition of making tea. And they charge you bloody 3$ (and some cents) for something which is barely lukewarm. So, in mutiny, I carry my own tea bags from desh. But my hotel refuses to provide milk powder (or creamer as they call it here, Americans are probably the ones who would call Rose by the name of crimson and get away with it). Since I have not developed the taste for black tea so far. I called and asked for it, and the girl refused to understand me, maybe it is my hinglish, i was tempted to resort to साली, दूध माँगा था, but resisted. So, black tea it is. Next time I resolved to carry my own Nestle dairy whitener.

And the food. I love the cuisines, trying various veggies and fruits and breads and chutneys and salads. But why do we say only Gujjus make food that is sweet, everything here is either cheesy or sweet, sometimes both. After a week, I am so missing, दाल चावल, curries and the spices. I almost salivate when I check out the Indian food available online, but I take one look at the price and realise that delivery charge is more than the cost of the dish, so swallow my saliva and pride and survive on my cold storage पूरीs. Yeah, पूरी and भुजिया is heaven when in the Americas.

The next time you travel to this part of the world, all fellow desi travellers are advised to add as a necessary part of their survival kit

  • A mug (or spare water bottles)
  • Tea bags and creamer
  • पूरी and भुजिया

And definitely leave behind your mental calculator.

But what happens only in America is having an ex-marine, future SeattlePD, muscular, tanned, girl in shorts driving your cab.

IMG_1963

The girl with the groot tattoo

tattoo

#Bizarre1

She was sitting diagonally across me in the flight.  Adorning a low back gown, quite an unsuitable garment for a flight, of course with a looong slit exposing most of her limb. The gown elegantly showed off a groot-like barren tree tattoo covering the exposed back (hence the backless). She seemed to have a great affinity towards being inked and pierced. I could see another tattoo around her neck extending all the way up to her ears and looking quite like a two headed snake but could not be sure as I could not stare too hard. Couple of more stars were visible on her right wrist. (of what I could see). She had four observable rings, one through her nose, two through her eyebrows and one on her lip. (Maybe more)

Her hair was confusing. Rooted as Brunette, a few centimeters later, became blonde and at the edges turned into a rainbow of greens and pinks. She had several wrist bands, I counted 7. Then she felt cold, and did something pretty funny, took out her jacket and put her arms through it and left the back open, well, (maybe only her arms felt cold, I am just a silent observer). She looked so cult like, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she brought out a dagger and started killing people around. But then this was a United flight and you get dragged out for far less reasons than this. After settling down on her seat, she took out her phone, adjusted her hair, said oats and took a selfie, (seems she had a phone full of selfies as I could see her later watching them narcisstically (the auto-correct insists that I must spell it as sarcastically- which is fine too).

A while before the plane landed, she spent half an hour making up, using a large convex mirror to observe and hide the blemishes better, face, eyes, lips, till she got it done to her satisfaction and certified by a pouting selfie again.

#Bizarre2

On the way to Los Angeles, I had plenty of time to observe the folks around. Wondered who next to choose for #weird

  • The tattooed guy at the metro station, with all four limbs fully tattooed in color.
  • The two guys who walked like one, step in step, one fair and other dark, the white fellow staring at the other in complete adoration, without blinking and without taking eyes away for a second. Unfortunately the duo ran away from the train (in unison) as soon as the guy in uniform came in to check the tickets, so the story ended there, without more ado, or was it duo.
  • The girl driving the sports car on Rodeo drive, wearing nothing save a half open shirt with one leg perched up on the seat, a gymnastic miracle of driving with one foot. Look pretty adventurous, sport.
  • And the award goes to

The big-bad-momma who pulled her child to her knees and gave him four hard spanks, which could be heard several meters away. The howling child, who suddenly stopped howling as he was too scared, and the bad momma held his face hard and shouted at him, scaring him to do her bid and listen to her, whatever the hell she was upset about. My hands itched to give her a similar slap. Nobody at the station objected, the guards around looked away. The platform full of people appeared stunned, everyone looked at her for a bit and then forced themselves to look away, knowing better than to intervene. The train came, they went away, but the resounding echo still lingered and while the child’s bottom may bear the marks for a few hours, his heart will bear the scars forever.

#Bizarre3

This time it was a whole breed. A bunch of people loitering at the airport, with an aura not unlike an Indian railway station. It was the noisiest gate in entire Frankfurt airport. It was a complete cacophony of humanity who insisted on speaking in loud volume at the silent airport and who had to play their whatsapp videos out loud for the world to hear with blasting Bollywood music. And then there was this guy who snored through all this, his torso occupying four chairs, while lot of others were standing, his T shirt well above his swollen torso. We Indians give too hoots about others’ discomfort.

As we boarded the aircraft, I realized, on just how dirty this noisy crowd could be just as I visited the loo. Eieeks, is that how they use it at their homes, tissues thrown all around, basin blocked, loo not flushed, I mean, come on, it is all well documented, well labeled, all you need to do is follow instructions beyond nature’s call as well. But no, Lufthansa is more Indian than India, but still not a part of Swacha Bharat looks like (Microsoft has yet to add the word Swacha in its dictionary, Mr Gates, are you listening?).

By the time the flight landed in India, I deduced that this noisy, dirty crowd was also unruly. The air hostess kept on repeating, please sit down, the plane hasn’t reached its destination yet, please sit down as her voice raised a few decibels, and people just ignored her plea and shouts and displayed their bus-mindset by getting up, and blocking the aisle while the plane was still taxiing in an urgency to get out. I guess we are an overzealous lot, in a hurry to load ourselves and in an equal hurry to unload.

A bunch of 12th standard kids were on the flight and the most laudable and noteworthy joke they cracked was about stuffing a nipple into the mouth of one of the boys as they laughed heartily and loudly at the vision. I just mentally raised my eyebrows, let me forgive them, they know not what they are saying.

The last straw being the Gujju bhai at Delhi immigration just before me, who while waiting suddenly found his voice and shouted to someone standing far away “अरे jignesh bhai, passport तो देते जाओ”.  About 200 people turned and looked at him, while he remained unfazed as he waited for Jignesh Bhai. It is just after I have gone through turbulent and emotional experiences like this when I feel so proud of my fellow countrymen. What a loud covfefe aggressive bunch we are!