To Aid or not to Aid?

The latest kidnap-rape strategy that is making waves in Chennai is to get a small kid to wail in the road. The kid would then approach girls who appear to be travelling alone, and go, ‘Akka, akka, please help..’ They would have an address in hand; the address would be a house located only a street away. Out of sheer good will, the girl accompanies the kid to the doorstep, gets forcibly pulled inside and robbed/raped depending on the mood/taste of the creeps.
This bit of news was playing in my head when I got out of the train on my way back home, from work. Railway stations here are miserable places. You find all sorts of sick, old and homeless people in the railway station, because it offers them a free roof. It is such a crime to allow them shelter in a public space such as this because it gives one such a heart wrenching start to the day, every day!(“Why can’t the Government DO something??!!”) The other day I saw a drunk man roll down the stairs and drop down limp at the foot of the stair case, where his family was squatting. Everything went still, like for 2 seconds, then it was as if nothing happened. Trust me; you get to see all sorts of drama when you look close enough. I’ll save that for another post.
So yes, my mum had drilled it into my head- No talking to strange people, run away from kids asking you for help, never trust an unknown face, etc. As I walk out, there is this family- one boy and his mum, who is holding a baby. They are dressed in rags and it is drizzling. Everybody is rushing home to escape the torrent; and the boy is crying loudly- ‘Koi Hindi jaante hai? Please Koi Hindi jaante hai?’(Anybody follows Hindi here? Please, does anybody follow Hindi here?) I know Hindi well enough; I know I sure could help that family. They were just asking for help. Alone in a land that spoke an alien tongue, swarming with dark, mean, alien people. For a second I put myself in that little boy’s shoes and felt so sad for him, I started walking towards him.
Then I hear my mum’s voice go, ‘DON’T!!!’ I know it was foolish, I know it was baseless fear. But-What if it was otherwise? I do have a heart; I just don’t want it to stop functioning because of some avoidable error.
For a second that boy’s eyes found mine, and then I forced myself to look away and moved on. Only that it has been troubling me ever since.
Damn those creeps.
Then I happened to read something related to this, by Malcom Gladwell. I highly recommend his books, by the way. So he says there was this murder that happened somewhere in the US of A. A woman was chased and attacked thrice in an alley, over a span of 20 minutes, with 38 families watching from their windows. But not one soul dialed the police. Why?
A few researchers studied this, and found out that that murdered lady’s mistake was running into an alley that had 38 families. Because everybody believes somebody else will do it, and of course, nobody does. Had she run into an alley way that had just one family, she might have survived that attempt on her life. They even give it a name: ‘Diffused Responsibility’ The larger the number of people in the vicinity, the higher the diffusion. Call it whatever, it sure IS a mean mean world out there. You get screwed for helping people. You feel shitty for having not helped people. And worst of all; when you need help, most of the world runs away from you.
But I said ‘most’ of the world. There is one small percentage, of nice people in the world. That small percentage will always exist, no matter how what. That small percentage that EVER stays back to help you; those are the nice souls that exist, and will always exist. There may be creeps like the evil-rapists, but the world goes round because of people like these. Let the police force work about throwing the creeps in. You and I can work to making it a better place for the rest of the world. Like they say, angels are everywhere; you just need to find them. And try to be one of them.

what women like

It has been a while since I blogged- work and the like keeping me busy..so; anyway, excuses, excuses! I was having one of those heart to heart talks with my bro yesterday; I was telling him how all of a sudden I was having these huge huge crushes on so many guys at the same time. I was thinking I had outgrown that phase, and now!
Crushes used to be a BIG thing through school. And they used to crop up so often. Thinking about them now, they seem so childish, but hey, all of us have been there and done all those idiot things; so I can speak about them. I walked into my very first crush in a restaurant the other day. He was my neighbour. Now, I cannot fathom what I saw in him, but I vividly remember cranky things I used to do when he was around. I was in 6th standard then, so now I excuse myself, and live with the embarrassing memories.
But technically speaking, what exactly is this thing all about? It is a super normal, natural part of growing up and hence, has to freak parents out. Even now my mum freaks out if I tell her I think someone is really cute. She has no problem with any guy friend of mine, until I tell her I think he is nice/sweet/cute. So I don’t give her those panic attacks anymore. We all learn with time.
I guess we mature with time. In the beginning, like through middle school, we used to discus boys who would have smiled at us in the traffic signal/tried to flirt with us in the train/ had been made to say ‘hi’ to us in some cousin’s wedding/ tuition mates(!!!) etc. Of course, we would perceive all these to be ‘cute’. Then through college, we graduated to having crushes on boys who were not necessarily cute, but smart in some way or the other. Some guy who was great at debating in the culturals, or who sang better than everybody else, or who had great attitude. I can’t quite remember now, anyway.
Then it has come to now. I guess at this age (I HAVE started talking like I have aged, right?) we look beyond all that, Now I tell my bro, “We started looking beyond face value, at the HEART level” and he snorts. According to him, girls never do that. HE is entitled to his opinion, anyway. Now, different things fancy me. I figured I like people who are funny and make me laugh. I like people who are gentleman-ly, those who will hold doors open for you (no, not many guys do that these days, what with all the feminism talks) and are concerned about you. I like people with whom I share common interests. Like for instance, I never used to look twice at my team mate at work till I heard that he lives alone with his two dogs he got from his home town. Now, he is this compassionate and kind guy who suddenly looks very sweet and nice to me. And we discus ‘Is Pedigree ideal enough for dogs?’ for fifteen whole minutes. Pretty lame, huh? Whatever :-)
But whatever it is, it sure is nice. What the heck, at least there is something to look forward to, when I start to work! I am sure that it will die out in a few days, till I meet someone who, say, can play great cricket! Till then, who is complaining?!!! The nice things in life that come for free! Cheers :-)

“Friends" of the People

Disclaimer: This post has NO fictitious elements.

I had lost the mobile phone a couple of weeks back. It was a good phone. I was at CCD; I had left it unattended for a few minutes and suddenly, it had disappeared. People had seen this crowd of drunken boys take it and leave (and nobody raised their voices then) and told me all about it when I came back seconds after they left. Too late.

So I did what we all do when we lose a phone. Called Airtel and got them to block the number. Then I went to the local police station to lodge a complaint. I reside at Nungambakkam, so I went to the Nungambakkam Police station. I had never been inside a police station, ever. My head was swarming with stories I had heard about evil police men with nasty intents, so I took my bro along. And he got his friend. So the three of us enter, and meet a cordial police chap. He listened to our story and told us to go to the Vepery Police station because I lost my phone in Puraswalkam (which is closer to Vepery.)

So we drove to Vepery. We were directed upstairs. Apparently the crime branch men (whom we were supposed to report the theft to) were patrolling the city. Two other men were available to hear us out. So I started on the story again. Where I was, at what time it occurred, who were with me and so on. It was all okay till this point. Now started the cross questioning.

What followed were 30 minutes of harassment, for having lost something that belonged to ME, for mere carelessness on MY part. I came off in one piece, thankfully. Here is how it went:

Interrogator 1 starts thus.
So you lost your phone? What was its value? Rs 6500.

How old was it? Close to 11 months.

That’s all? We wouldn’t take that much an effort for a phone that costs so little, plus the depreciation value. Better you forget the phone. Sir it has a lot of pictures- The memory card was full of photos of me and a lot of girl friends.

Photos eh? That sort of photos eh? You people do all crazy things, then take pictures of the same, then lose the phone, then come to us! Bah! It’s not possible, lady. Even if we give authorization to lock the phone, the memory card can be used by anybody. Closed case.

By now, I'm shaking with anger. But no, it is not over yet!

Then interrogator 2 chips in.

So, where did you say you lost the phone? CCD sir.

Ah Coffee Day! You think we don’t know what crap goes around in that place? One day you just watch, we are going to seal that place up!

(Despite the seething anger, I wondered if these people had even been inside a CCD outlet.)
Interrogator 1:

So how many of you people went there? Four.
All girls huh? No. Two girls and two boys.

Turns to Interrogator 2.
There you go! TWO boys it seems. These people go with their boyfriends and get busy with them and miss the phone, and then they come here!

(I'm almost a wreck by now. Wtf man!)

So, does this place have a cctv? Camera tv? No, it does not.
Ofcourse! You people would not enter places that have camera tvs, would you?

(How gross! Are all police men this cheap?)

So where do these friends of yours stay? I stay at Nungambakkam, one stays at T Nagar, one stays at Puraswalkam and another at Sowcarpet.
(To interrogator 2)

Look at the connection sir! Everybody stays in different parts of the city, and they meet at some other part of the city! So that they can safely meet without bumping into anybody they know!
(What bullshit? But again, what could we do? We came voluntarily; we had to take all this crap. It was humiliating. Nobody had ever spoken to me this cheap all my life! Then the buggers ask about the family.)

What is your dad? Ah, bank manager? Very good. And mother? Teacher? Brilliant! So it is not a big loss, eh? This mobile phone? Your dad will buy you another even before you know it! So what do you do? MBA? Searching for a job? Ah, got one already? L&T? Wow..What is your pay package? 6 lakhs p.a? (I was bullshitting there)Very good!

(Then they started ‘madam’ing me. The transformation itself was disgusting. )

We will try madam. See, even we can buy a Rs 10,000 phone, but we don’t! Because even our phones get stolen! (Laughter) It is very natural; just make sure you get it insured next time, yes? Please write a complaint, yes here, and we will do what we can.
******
The complaint was written and handed over. Smiles and promises exchanged. Then we left, and never heard from them again.
I promised myself that I would never ever set foot in another police station again. Losing valuables is one thing, but to top that tension listening to downright bullshit from such characters is an entirely different issue. What are they trying to prove? That they are invincible, and we need to turn to them for aid at some point of time or another? These people need some lessons in psychology. If this is how they treat someone who has lost something as common as a mobile phone, I shudder to think of the plight of rape victims. No wonder there is a lot of crime around that goes un-reported. And characters like these bend to only two things- power and money. You have either, they take you seriously. If you have neither, you may as well forget your lost property. And the big guns sure need to do something about it! All said, that was one experience I look at with disgust- Friends of the people? Bah!

the thingy called love...

I was riding the bikey on the wrong side of the road today, and almost rammed it into this guy. He was kind of cute, by the way. And instead of swearing at me like all normal people, or even glaring at me, he grinned at me! That reaction confused me big time. I think my face contorted itself into an ‘Erm, are you sane?’ smile. But truthfully, it sort of made my day!

I got back home and told my brother the story. The conversation moved from what my definition of a ‘cute guy’ was to love and relationships.

I would say this entire Love thingy is such an enigma. It is wonderful, if you are with the right person. If it is directed against someone who is worthy of it, it sure is bliss. It feels beautiful when you are so full of it; like your heart might just burst with all of it in excess!

And it does not necessarily have to be the boy-girl love, either! Love is when my mum manfully swallows my chat masala flavoured first attempt-bhaji and says it is yummy, when I know it is not even fit for the rats in the sewers. Love is when my brother drives out at 11.00 pm to buy me ice cream because I went, ‘Please, please? I just FEEL like it, please?’ Love is when my friend Hari tells me,’ I so wanted to call you to talk last night, but it would have been 6.30 am IST, and I knew the donkey would be sleeping.’ Love is when Ravi anna, who left for his native for three days calls me after he returns back to Chennai and says he missed me. Love is when Sandy tells me, ‘Macha, I think you did right’ with an explanation she concocts out of thin air, even though I would have done something very stupid and embarrassing. Love is when one text message in my inbox-‘yeah baby, dunn worry’ will keep me going for as long as I want.

Love comes in so many different packages, yet most of us ignore these, choosing to hatch on the bitterest package that was handled by us ever. May be if we realise that, come what may, this folder would be one that can never be deleted away, it would be easier to accept its presence, than to try so hard to ignore it.

But as always, some things are harder to accept than the rest- some things that leave a stain on you, like ooze from the afore mentioned package. And after talking to so many people, I can safely conclude that we have company! Nine out of ten people have ooze stains in varying shades. It took me months before I dulled mine, too! Months before I could wear a skirt that was above my knee, months before I could strike a conversation with someone I never knew, months before I patched up with everybody who, I was told, were ‘not a great idea’.

And all this would never have been possible if not for the abundance of love that poured in from all directions that made up for my own self’s inability to love even myself. Got me on my feet and walking. Helped me forgive myself, and yeah, why is this becoming a self-pity post now? Long story short- What would I do without you guys?!! *Big Hug* Love you all loads!

This post is for one friend of mine, who is feeling pretty much the same way. Only that his stains are fresh and new. I promised him this, saying I was in the mood to thrash the whole concept of love. And I started writing... and realised this other friend of mine –Siva, was right after all: You can never abhor it. Because it sure is one thing that makes life worth living!

My eye-pee-yell !!

For some strange reason, I have never been able to stand cricket. Maybe it is because I have never played it. Even now, I can multi task (close my eyes and text message, sleep while having a two-way conversation, eat-read-watch the television while tuning my mum’s yells out for doing the same, etc) speak six languages, stand on my head, dress up in under 2 minutes (it made my friend Anhait wonder if I was really from Venus) and finish shopping for a new wardrobe in half a day; BUT I simply cannot bowl. I tried once, and the boys in my flat wouldn’t stop laughing about for an entire week. So I gave up.

I was very active in sports through school and college. Athletics, volley ball, basket ball, kho-kho, even kabbadi for that matter- been there, played them all; in absolute pro level that too. Even girls foot ball! Yeah, it exists in India too. I played that at the zonal level in college. I like to blow my own trumpet once in a while. It feels good.

So I have forever been comfortable with, erm, the games that involve balls with greater diameters. Like foot ball, volley ball, hand ball and basket ball. As they get smaller, I lose interest in them. So that explains why I steer clear from tennis, TT, squash- and cricket. But of late, cricket seems interesting. Is it because of the cricketer? :P (wink*)

The IPL fever was soaring, and I had no idea about even the number of teams that played in it. I was cheerfully hatching away at home- the blissful pre-job days. Last week, my bro got his hands on a couple of tickets, and very strangely, he insisted on me coming along. It was a Mumbai Indians Vs Chennai Super Kings match. I said ok, only because:

1.       I was assuming Mumbai Indians was owned by Shah Rukh and was all for it. I agreed to accompany my brother ONLY to catch a glimpse of SRK.

2.       I wanted to see for myself what all this fuss about Murali Vijay was. The Miss Universe ’09 (or was it the Miss World ’09?) considers him ‘very hot’, apparently.

3.        I wanted to look at the cheer leaders!!! I am straight.

So last Tuesday, we drive up to Chepauk Stadium. The match was to start at 8.00 pm. We reached there by 8.00 only to see this long long long queue. It was 8.40 when we actually entered. Murali was out by then. Then I crane my neck out searching for SRK. No sight. Then I ask my bro, ‘Shah Rukh is not here?’  

Blank stare.

 ‘Why should he be here?’

‘Isn’t this his team?’

He advised me to keep my mouth shut before people bodily threw me out for being so supremely knowledgeable and reverential about the game.

Atleast I got to watch the cheer leaders. All the boys I knew were cooing about them all the time. It was fun. Especially watching them dance to manmada rasa, pokkiri pongal and other Vijay beats.

I was not sure who to cheer for, because Mumbai is where i was born, and would mostly be where I would start on my first job; but Chennai is like, MY city!! Like Sandya says- Mumbai gave me life, but Chennai is my life. She actually came up with something very jin-chak, I just can’t remember it now.   So I decided to cheer for who ever looked like winning. I wouldn’t feel sad later, that way, you see.

It was CSK from the start. And the crowd looked like they would rip anybody who cheered for Mumbai, anyway. And I ended up having so much FUN! It was like unleashing myself of everything diplomatic. My brother was pretty cool with me yelling alongside him, and we were shouting and moving to the beats, jumping and thumping, shamelessly - all decency forgotten, for a few hours. We just needed a reason to yell. And it felt good!

So we would yell when somebody caught the ball, we would yell when another gave a wide, another yell when the fielders trapped the ball before it rolled toward the boundary- madness you might say. But it was fun :- )

I think every Indian ought to go watch a match at least once in his lifetime. Watch it with people who wouldn’t mind putting up with that hidden crazed- alter ego of yours. I was so sure it would be such a bore, but I loved every second of it.  

And I spotted Simbu :D I love the guy, after VTV. Blush*

'National Integration' ???

Last evening, Swaroopa and I were getting back home, from Besant Nagar, via an MTC bus. At peak hours, these buses are bound to be crowded. People yell and pull from all sides, and irritation levels are on the high.

This gang of boys tumbles in. They are typical examples of what we colloquially call ‘local boys’. The road side romeos. When you see these characters alone, they are harmless. Say there was a pretty girl walking by; and one of these is on his own, he would hang his head and sneak-peek at her from the corner of his eye. But when he is with his jing-bang gang, the girl is in trouble. They would hoot whistle at her, follow her wherever she is headed to and make her wish she was never born a woman.

   So Swaroopa and I are sitting in the last row of the bus, and there this nice lady is sitting in front of us. She did not appear Tamil; we assumed she was from somewhere North or West of the country. The bus started to fill, and yes, our romeos were in quite a mood, too. Every time the bus halted at a stop, they would get off. When it started to move, they would give it a head start of five seconds, and scramble into the running bus. So this nice lady had her arm resting on the window, and in the rush to get in, one of the boys accidentally clung on to her arm, thinking it was one of the window’s bars. She pulled her arm in, and started yelling at the entire gang, in the only language that India understands as a country- English. Like I said, had the accused been alone, he would have slunk away. But no- he had four more boys backing him. So he yelled back, ‘What is your problem?’. His knowledge of the language ended there. After that exchange, whatever the lady yelled at them, the gang mimicked it back at her, amidst loud guffaws. Trust me, it was humiliating to watch. What was more humiliating was that nobody raised a voice against the abusers. I did not too, I am ashamed to admit. They certainly looked scary. If that is excuse enough. But were so many men around too, and they were all sniggering at the scene. It was painful to watch. The lady got off the bus at the next stop. I’m certain this episode would torment her for as long as she lived.

   I have many friends from all parts of India, though they are all Chennaiites- Born and brought up in the city. Recently, I met someone who is working in Chennai, but is originally from Delhi, and we had this conversation on how the city treats anybody who cannot speak Tamil. After that, I have been extra receptive to such incidents, the fore said account being the most recent. If that lady had been my mother, she would have yelled at the boys with carefully chosen Tamil words. The other ladies would have joined in, and the conductor would have had to intervene. But no; she was, as my Punjabi bhaiya from Delhi says, a lonely person in an alien city, where it is madness to seek help from strangers- fellow countrymen, who would rush to help American ladies in distress, but oh, not others.

   I had never heard a non- South Indian’s views on the city prior to this. It made me sick. Auto men who charge Rs 600 from Central station to Loyola College when they hear your English with the Northie twang. Helplessness- you look around for help and nobody gives a shit about you, feigning lack of knowledge of English. Oh, but of course, if it was a Tourist asking for directions, the English would flow. When you tell your family that you are placed in Chennai, the news is welcomed with horror akin to being asked to live with crocodiles; ‘How will you survive there?’ From the way it looks, we are living in a mean, cold hearted city. Athithi dhevo bhava- to the dogs.

   Yes, the rest of the country gives us ‘Madrasis’ the same treatment, true. We look like a fairness fixated, oil-doused-haired, bunch of people who are out to get the top positions, everywhere. And we try to pull our clan up in all possible ways. And earn the wrath of the rest of the nation. Jeez, it really sounds cold! But somewhere, it needs to stop, right? Because you and I are educated, civilized, and beyond acting biased with people we meet based on where their home town is or what their mother tongue is. Where did all the patriotism and the ‘India is my country, all Indians are my brothers and sisters’ feeling evaporate?

   Whoa- That sounded like a pre-independence era unification speech, didn’t it? grin**

   One thing for certain, National Integration has no place inside the country. But it makes its presence felt outside the nation- in the US of A, UK and Australia. That will be my consolation, for now.

The Brand Rush

My friend was in his element the other day. No probing was needed; he was spilling his story out in no time, ‘You know what Gita, my friend and I had this bet on whom had more branded items...Guess what! I won!!Ha!! By one..! I had thirty one and he had just thirty! Wow isn’t it???’ Erm...wow? I was blank. I looked at my friend. I knew he was a brand freak, but only then did I fully appreciate how much- Casio watch, Fast track coolers, Levi’s jeans, Peter England shirt, Reebok shoes, Nike socks, an Adidas bag with a HP laptop, NokianN95, oh and throw in a Pierre Cardin pen...God knows what else made up the list! Actually, it was wow! I now looked at myself. Junk jewellery on my wrists and ears carefully picked off various vendors. One ethnic jute bag. Jute sandals from fountain plaza. My favourite mix-n-match salwar. Wow again!
I have never really liked the idea of shelling out a large chunk of my pocket money to buy something that I was most likely to be stuck with for a long time. Instead of one sandal from Metro, I prefer buying five from little shops that we have discovered through the years. Variety! I remember once my brother went without movies and outings for two whole months to save cash for a pair of Adidas trainers. Until I told him this. In the mid- 1990’s, in Bronx, a group of 13 year olds learned that the Nike trainers they bought for $180 actually cost $5 to make, and this led to a mass dumping of their old trainers outside New York’s Nike town.
What exactly is a brand? A brand is the reputation of the firm. It is a logo that acts as a short hand form of the company. It is a personality and a promise. And eventually it becomes a relationship between you and itself. It is something that you identify yourself with, and it becomes a part of you. Why do people blindly wash down gallons of Coke and Pepsi when they fully know that it is made up of potentially toxic substances? It is because the brand has grown on them.
But all this at what cost? In 1992, Nike paid Michael Jordan $20 million to endorse its trainers. This was more than what it paid its 30,000 strong workforce in Indonesia to make them. Women in Cavite, the largest trade free zone in Philippines, who sewed clothes for companies like GAP, have rules against talking and smiling. Toilets are kept padlocked except during two fifteen minute breaks a day. Seamstresses sewing clothes for high end western companies were forced to urinate in plastic bags they kept under their sewing machines. Guess, Mattel and Disney goods were exposed to be manufactured illegally by child labourers in Honduras. An Indonesian Nike worker is paid $2 a day to make trainers that sell for $120 in San Francisco Nike town. The CEO of Disney, Robert Iger is paid $9,783 an hour. Compare that to the salary of a Haitian worker who stitches Disney Merchandise, for 28 cents an hour!
These brands have strived hard to achieve this name for themselves. It is easier to retain their existing, faithful customer base than to create new customers. Faithful customers who either have enough cash to throw away on expensive merchandise, or others who scrape and save to buy themselves one, for the ‘cool’ look. Knowledge is a powerful tool! Deciding is something that is individualistic. But spreading the word is the least we can do! For the sake of all the labourers in Indonesia, China, Vietnam, Mexico, the Philippines and other corners of the earth. For the sake of women like Carmelita Alonzo who sewed clothes for GAP and Liz Claiborne, who died of pneumonia because she was denied time off from work. For the sake of humanity.

This is something I wrote for my college paper, sometime last year. It earned a brilliant review then. I found it in my mailbox, and felt like a post :)