Mob justice

What is it about our cops that makes people prefer to stay away from them? Instead of approaching the police to resolve problems, often the public decides to take things into their own hands for a speedy solution. Something of this nature happened on Wednesday night at Govandi railway station. With the rain beating down in the background, three men were taking turns—as if they were Bollywood heroes—beating the daylights out of a suspected pickpocket. According to them, he had tried to nick a wallet from one of them. When i intervened and suggested that they should hand him over to the railway police, they brushed me off, saying, “Public dhulai se hi aise log seekhte hain,” and continued bashing the man. This went on for a while before the trio called it a night and let their 'perpetrator' go free.  

Food night!

I don't hate lizards. They've got every right to be creepily smooth, sleek and to revel in their evolutionary trademarks. I just happen to be scared of them. But it doesn't matter as both hatred and fear leave little scope for rationality. OK. Scared is a mild word, to be precise. For a 28-year-old, that is. Last night, i reached home late although i left office at a rather decent time. This so happened because of a detour that took place at Govandi railway station. A mob was beating the bachao out of a suspected pickpocket. With the incessant rain in the background, one could make sense why the public was enjoying the spectacle. I got down from the crowded train and intervened. It took me a while to make things right (read: less violent). Lesson learnt: It's heartbreaking to be a pacifist in a world full of bloodshot eyes. Anyway, when i FINALLY got home and into my kitchen—hungry like anyone who had nothing but  lunch about nine hours ago—to my horror, i saw a lizard on the wall praying or preying or something. It was fairly healthy, comparatively longer than the ones i've seen before in our house. Needless to add, i trembled. There's this thing you do when you confront your worst fear: you question your existence before running away in the opposite direction. And that's exactly what i did. When i found myself in the living room, my hunger was irrevocably dead. I was shaken and stirred the way Bond always ordered. If i'm not mistaken, this is what enlightenment is all about. You don't feel anything except consciousness about what really happened and how you reacted. There's nothing in between. Just you and your circumstances. I didn't dare go back into that wicked room. As expected, i couldn't fall asleep either. It usually takes me few minutes to zone out but last night, i couldn't help but think of what my friend's dad once told me during dinner. In their house, right above the dining table, two fat lizards lived. During the day, the couple (presumably, of course) hid behind the tube-light. At night, they came out and traversed across the wall looking for their hunt. Nobody in my friend's family seemed to be bothered by these two unregistered members. I certainly was. So to ease my concerns, uncle reminded me, "We are all here to fill our stomach, aren't we?"

God bless him

Every time he squeezes his eyes shut to sneeze, he thinks of her. After involuntarily releasing his nose like a falcon's flight downwards, with the nasal thrust faster than Dale Steyn's delivery, he slowly opens his eyes and fails to see her beside him. It's all in his head. Everything. From little pictures to prolonged sequences written and directed by him. It's bright daylight outside as the clouds give way to the sun. But he's cold inside. Fortunately, he's getting used to it. 

Long live longevity!

I often joke that i don’t wish to die until i’m 250. Sounds far-fetched, i know. But i’m dead sure about this curious ambition of mine. (OK, not dead enough.) I’m serious though. Furthermore, i’ve already taken some baby steps towards my attempt at elongated immortality. For instance, i’m embracing optimism like Pope John Paul embraced AIDS patients (and contributed more to the cause than any of our Facebook likes). The key to healthy living is not succumbing to pessimism. I’m cynical by nature and i’m trying to change that. I don’t drink nor smoke. Never did, anyway. Gotta do justice to liver’s name while breathing life into lungs. (I reckon that sounds as stupid on this page as it did in my head!) I sleep before the clock strikes 12 and wake up before 7.30 in the morning. I’ve started eating as little as possible—at one go—like those KateMosslike sadhus in the Himalayas. I breathe deeply and drink lot of water. I’ve abandoned coffee (once again) and working on giving up morning tea as well. I don’t hold back pee as I used to, earlier. My job ain’t going to last forever. Neither will my bladder. But 250 is a huge number and i’ll appreciate proper bodily functions in the long run. Speaking of running, i walk like Gandhi. I don’t advise anyone anymore. There’s no point in guiding others while you yourself are lost and raring to be found. I’m content. I’ve stopped worrying about questions related to my future. (What’s-going-to-happen, Why-was-Fassbender-alloted-bigger-penis, Is-it-because-of-the-closeness-between-ass-and-bend-in-his-surname, etc). I don’t argue. In any case, that was done with my family members. Been there, not doing it again. I let them win by repeating what i’m so damn good at: letting others win. The lesson i’ve learnt is there’s no such thing as a future. We’ve got only one thing going for us: the present. The moment we drop dead, all the set equations change. Back to cipher it goes. The world is kindest to those who’ve run their course. So the plan is to prolong this very course by staying back and not budging until India lifts the football World Cup. And thus outlive your enemies, wondering how to celebrate your victory over them without them to witness it.

Erasable

God exists, therefore you're able to read the above note in my handwriting. And you can't erase it. Booyah!

Cash, not kind

On paper, India can claim to be a nation that has banned begging but the mundane reality begs to differ. In Mumbai, beggars are everywhere but quite prominent inside local trains and on the over-bridge at railway stations. However, a recent incident made us notice the difference between performing and begging. A little girl in ragged clothes entered a second class compartment only to belt some old Bollywood numbers. Although her immature voice and lack of training was apparent, she came into her own while doing the rounds for collecting money from the passengers. On being harangued by an elderly gentleman—"Chutta nahi hai"—our pocketsized heroine had a ready reply. “Toh note dono na saab! Bheek todhe hi maang rahi hoon?”, which not only earned her laughs but also some forthcoming contributions.

Posthumous musicals

My neighbouring colleague is a reticent dignified lady. She doesn't believe in wasting breath on words. If i'm silent, she's stone. However, over the past (almost) three years i've spent in her company, she has been kind enough to drop some gems of wisdom—from time to time—with no warning whatsoever. Like me, she approves of frugal existentialism. And that allows me to take my ceaseless inquisition into the gorgeous topic of death with her. It so happened that i recently asked her what song would she like me to play at her funeral. After a bout of mouth-covered-by-palm laughs, she asks me, "Who's inviting you?" I had no choice but to lie that since i'm the DJ of Death, i don't require invitation. After much reflection, "Play 'Baby Doll' for me," was her stunning reply. Turns out, like me, she'll say anything to end a lame conversation.