Shopping Diaries: That Compulsive Impulse

You go out for lunch or perhaps a movie; and spot some random store on the way, or perhaps one that was not even in the way of your destination. You realise there is still some time before you are due to meet your friends. So you slip into the random store and look around. Most of the things do not interest you. Having scanned the place in about 35 seconds, you decide to leave. Just then, with no prior indication whatsoever of its mischievous intentions, it leaps on you. You don’t know where it came from, and more importantly why. It just felt like, so it did. Now all you can do is comply. A huge round of applause for that impulse to shop!

You spot a pair of cute lavender coloured socks. What's the harm in checking them out, right? Turn them over twice and they appear cuter. That's what you've always wanted! Sold. You turn and you are eye to eye with a beautiful handbag. How on earth did your initial scan miss that? So glad you stayed for a second look. You pick that bag and examine it. You look around for an alternative, for want of choice. Lo and behold, there are four! The storekeeper is summoned. She is the makeshift hook bar now, with three bags on display. One on self. Comparing and contrasting the choices in the mirror. You tell yourself to pick one. You like three. We agree on two.

Out of the random store in a matter of 12 minutes. Perfectly in time for the date, with the shopping neatly stashed away. It's a secret best kept to you. For it's euphoric only for you. Drat that impulse I say!

~

Chug Along

After an entire year, I thought it would feel different. On the contrary, I seemed to pick up from exactly where I had left it. It was homecoming no doubt. I was back home in the real sense, chugging along in a local train. Exactly after one year.

My subconscious self seemed to take charge the minute I stepped across the threshold of the station. My feet knew where to head. I didn't even need to look around. My reflexes were still attuned to the system. Only, the Western Railways have shifted the ticket counter at Andheri station, so I had to use the thumb rule - follow the crowd! The Western Railways have, in their quest to modernise and thus improve the infrastructure, brought in a few changes here and there. For the better, I'd say. In a regular commuter's signature style, I acted smart. Skipped the ticket queue, bought coupons and headed toward the Coupon Vending Machine (CVM), known as 'punching machine' in common parlance. In retrospect, I feel the latter is a more appropriate term because what the machine actually does is stamp your ticket coupons. It is not a vending machine.

I felt a strange surge of energy abound within. In a jiffy I reached the foot over bridge and was on my way to the platform. Seemed like the good old days were back. The same mad rush all around. The heat, the sweat, the dust. Indifferent faces, scurrying feet. Nudging, pushing, cursing. Sweet memories, may I call them?

In a couple of minutes the train arrived; needlessly but out of habit the women lunged forward trying to get in first. (I do not travel in the general compartment, as a rule.) Twenty of them - it was a lean hour- at the same time. No big deal really. I've dealt with more than fifty at a time in my heyday, and I'm absolutely confident of repeating the feat now. It's just that I have more comfortable alternatives at my disposal these days. However, in a city like Bombay you have to give it to the local trains for their unmatched speed and convenience, not to mention the economy. It is not for nothing that the local trains are the lifeline of the commercial capital of this country. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the city survives on them. I owe my graduation to them, by the way. The crowd can be intimidating initially. Okay, that was putting it very mildly. The peak hour crowd can give you fits, make you numb; you may even pass out. Totally depends upon your mental fortitude. I was dumbstruck, and had sweaty palms on my first day. But you get used to it in no time. You push, you tug, you swear. You travel, you live. You thrive, you relish.

~

Atta Boy!

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways."

~
Buddha

Mother Nature was at her creative best when she went about creating the world. Mountains, plains, rivers, hills and oceans. Trees, animals, birds, fish and butterflies. The Sun, moon, sky, stars and space. But one day she made a mistake. A big mistake. A mistake bigger than even the dinosaurs. She created what she thought would be her master piece - Man. She couldn't be more mistaken.

Man was her favourite of all creations so far. She fondly crafted him to be the most delicate and superior among all beings. She blessed him with supreme intelligence, and an upright spine. She gave him the rare gift of speech. She caressed him like a spoilt child. Little did she know that she was cradling a Frankenstein, for she failed to curb his selfishness.

As time passed, Man honed his skills. He further developed his intelligence and created his own little world. He met his basic needs with the help of other creatures. He depended on trees and animals for his food because he did not have the ability to make his own, as well as for clothing and shelter because his skin was way too delicate to endure the lashes of changing weather. He was Nature's favourite creation, and the most feeble. No other animal can clothe itself or decorate its house with the remains of a human being, can it?

Soon Man discovered the buried treasures within the heart of the earth. He indiscriminately exhumed the same and used them to operate the gadgets that he had invented to make his life even more comfortable. He created tools and equipment that would make his life more luxurious. With those he cut down trees to make way for 'civilisation'. The trees in the forests were replaced by concrete jungles that Man called cities. He wanted more space to satiate his greed for land. So he ushered all other animals and birds into enclosures. He glorified his bullying by calling them reserves and sanctuaries. Man went to these reserves when he pleased and poached the animals that lived there. He used their skin, claws, teeth, horns, bones and other body parts for absolutely wasteful purposes. When he could no longer push animals aside, he warred with other men to grab their land. He was the centre of his own world and failed to see that land was nature's gift to all living beings as were all other things that he plundered.

Man created a nuisance called money, which became the basis of all his misdeeds. He exploited Nature and extracted money from the other men for doing so. This eventually created a vicious cycle of unending exploitation of natural resources and his fellow human beings. Mother Nature hoped that maybe her spoilt child would cease to be so callous about her. But that was not to be.

Today, there are sparse forest covers remaining, and a good number of species of animals are extinct. Huge amounts of carbon dioxide is emitted every hour into the atmosphere which is depleting the ozone layer. The poles are melting. This phenomenon is also glorified by Man under a term called Global Warming.

He is doing a lot to curb this Global Warming - a thing that he solely caused - by monitoring the carbon emissions and trading them under the label of carbon credits around the world, creating environment friendly things that cost a hell lot of money, engaging people in social activities trying to spread awareness about the ills of animal poaching, consequently asking them to donate money for the cause. He also pastes sheets of paper wherever he can that say, "Save Paper, Trees are Precious!"
~

Diversified We Are

That India is diversified yet united was an overused phrase, and I presume still is, in school books that attempt to impart moral science and value education to little students. Most books say that being such a huge country with people living in all directions, speaking different languages, the difference in lifestyle, eating habits, attire and the likes, Indians are still a united people. And thus follows, 'Unity in Diversity' - a hackneyed phrase that seems to be the definition of the country's character. No doubt it sounds inspiring. But the little students pouring over these books come face to face with reality when they really meet their diverse compatriots.

On more than one occasion, I have been told by natives of South India that I was one of the few non-South Indians they had come across who actually knew the difference and acknowledged the presence of four different states in the southern part of India. The appreciation was genuine and there was hint of a little respect. I did not think it was a matter of pride. I only thought I was aware of the diversity that existed in my country.

Not being aware of a certain thing is one thing, not wanting to get rid of your ignorance is fatal. I chanced to be a part of a rather unfortunate conversation once. I call it unfortunate because there I was listening to a harrowed guy trying to explain to a silly fellow that the former was not a Madrasi but a native of Karnataka, and that the two things were completely different. It was arduous effort on the part of the harrowed guy. He began with the basics, telling the moron that there were four states that comprised south India. He explained that all the four states had a different language each. He went on to clarify that in Karnataka people spoke Kannada in some parts, and Tullu in a particular belt. Then he declared that he was a Tullu-speaking native of Karnataka. The harrowed guy looked content with his effort. The silly one had a sillier expression on his face. All he said was, "Yeah sure. But in the end you all are the same. Madrasis right?" My jaw dropped to the floor. Took me a jack to bring it back. Here was a guy who was not just ignorant, but even refused to accept facts that would only make him wiser. His outright insensitivity left me flabbergasted.

I could relate to the harrowed guy because I've met people who called me a Punjabi. On being corrected that I was a Bihari not a Punjabi they said they thought that all North Indians were Punjabis. What was the difference anyway? At other times I have tried in vain to tell people that Uttar Pradesh and Bihar are completely different states, and so are the natives of the respective states. It is really not cool to call every North Indian a 'bhaiya'. Retards have circulated this misnomer because natives from Uttar Pradesh generally refer to people as 'bhaiya' which is a term of respect for an elder brother. Obviously they don't know the logic. They are retards, remember? All attempts at trying to clarify your nativity are met with weird reactions here. Some don't want to believe you. Most don't care. That Orissa is different from West Bengal is not a big deal. You could be a Bangladeshi for all it's worth! 

I am surprised at the multitude of mentally deranged people in this country. I call this process of mindlessly using an inappropriate term to describe a vast community blanketing. We do this with foreigners as well. Every fair skinned guy is an 'angrez' (British) or an American at the most. And all dark skinned ones are Africans. I can't even imagine how our North-Eastern compatriots must feel. Being called Chinese all the time, or perhaps Nepali, in your own country is not a nice thing. It's a fact that scores of people will not be able to differentiate between a Chinese, a Malaysian, a Thai, a Mongol and a North-East Indian just by looking at them. But did they make an effort to at least find out? Perhaps not, because it doesn't matter until you face it. We are united in our ignorance, and isn't that a great thing! Tell me which book gives this real picture of 'unity in diversity' to our children?

~

Look At It From The Other Side

Aamir Khan's initiative called Satyameva Jayate is a unique and thoughtful one. We could also call it the need of the hour, seeing the sorry social scenario in the world's largest, greatest democracy. No doubt Satyameva Jayate brings to light some the most disgusting and gruesome social evils in India, but it's not difficult to sense the diplomatic tone of the show when it comes to talking about the absolute failure of the governing bodies in tackling these issues.

Indians believe that the people who are a part of the government are people in 'power', our rulers. We first need to tell ourselves that those in the government are 'people's representatives'; which means they have been appointed by a majority of the voting population to serve the populace and not to rule it. We gave up the 'raja-rank' system in 1947. So Mr. Khan and team please stop appeasing the government and call a spade a spade when you need to. Like you took in the chief of MCI today, you have a right to take a dig at the government as well. But then again I know there is a possibility that you could be victimised. The 'people in power' have with them all means to sabotage the well being and peace of mind of whistle blowers in this country.

This initiative will definitely demonstrate the dilapidated state of Indian society. The show can expect to run forever taking into account the oh-so-many social problems that we are infested with. Radio jockeys will incessantly discuss the show and gloat about what a great person Aamir Khan is and how this 'cause' justifies his exorbitant per episode fee. Common people will have something to watch on Sunday mornings. The aggrieved who come to the show each week will have a vent for their agonies. But where is the change we were promised? 

One prerequisite for the 'change' we want is a change in the common man's outlook to shed off the retrogressive traditions that pave the way of people's lives. But is that going to happen? I guess not. Why would someone give up the 'values' their ancestors passed on to them just because some popular guy on TV tells them to? As one bad fish spoils the entire pond, a few people will keep up the various ill deeds in society. The only difference is that in a humongous population of 1.2 billion, a 'few people' will be a figure that could outnumber the entire population of an average east European country.

~

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Every human activity is nothing but an implicit pursuit of happiness. We don't always say it, but that is what we seek at the end of the day. Be it a student burning the midnight oil to fare well in his examination, a priest preaching the scriptures to his disciples, a sportsman practising relentlessly for a big game, a professional roughing it out at work, a sculptor working on his grand scultpture or a dishonest officer accepting bribes - each one of them goes about doing these things to be happy eventually. Our life is a journey, where one thing leads to another and there is always a task at hand to be fulfilled. If we think completing a certain undertaking will finally make us happy, it probably will. More often than not it doesn't, as an even bigger assignment emerges subsequently and we begin our rigmarole all over again before we know what is happening. Another exam will soon be round the corner, another big sculpture will await the artist, and yet another big match will happen. In simple words, that is the flow of life.

So when will we finally find our coveted happiness? We don't have to take a trip to Shangri-La or sell off our Ferraris to unearth the answer to this. We just have to look within, and around. As we are constantly engaged in the process of achieving a certain goal in the hope that it will lead us to our ultimate destination - happiness; we do not realise that happiness is not an end but a state of being. While all of us are busy doing our 'stuff' believing that it will lead us to our larger objective we overlook the little things that happen all around us all the time. We underestimate the power of these little things. Why do we forget that all great things are made up of several small bits? And every small bit in the masterpiece canvas has its own worth and beauty. We do not realise that in life as well it is these little bits that create a state of happiness in and around us.

It is a rare thing to realise the beauty in simplicity. Sharing a random laugh with a stranger in a public bus, a light conversation with the greengrocer, an unexpected encounter with your crush in the elevator, recognising a familiar face in a crowd, seeing a toddler smiling innocently at you, having little puppies saunter around your feet playfully, watching vagabonds race old tyres on the street, watching the sunset at the beach, bumping into an old favourite on the radio, helping an aged lady down a flight of stairs at the railway station or a sudden text from an old friend. Aren't these simple little things? And aren't they sure to bring a smile on our faces and lighten our minds? It is for each of us to realise that each day comes with its own ups and downs and so does life, in the long run. However, nobody has stopped us from encashing the few breathers that life tosses at us in the midst of those ups and downs. We will undoubtedly face constant struggles on our 'journey to bliss' but our mental disposition determines the joy we derive while on that journey.

We don't always need an expensive overseas holiday, lavish meals and designer clothes to be content. Devouring hot vada pavs at the brink of Bushi Dam in the raging monsoons wearing your denim shorts and favourite tee may prove to be far more satiating. Happiness is a state of mind. We are happy if we think we are.

~

The 11th Commandment : Love thy Book

Being an avid reader has numerous virtues. Being a bibliophile has its own thrill. However, being both, at the same time, is a rather worrisome situation. Disastrous if you fall in a category called fussy.

For me books are not just a bunch of printed sheets bound together. They are a lot more. I treat them as if they have life. Every book I buy is chosen carefully after a thorough examination and comparison with all available copies in the store. I am very particular about the condition of the book that becomes mine.

I simply dislike the offer/ discount and other stickers pasted on the covers of books. I cannot stand blunt edges, especially those of hard covers. It breaks my heart. I've mended quite a few paper backs to near perfect but with damaged hard covers there is no hope. Crumpled pages are tantamount to murder. In short, defacing a book is just not allowed. It is a gargantuan sin. And that is the reason why I do not lend books to anybody.

I am not the kinds who can just pick a book off the shelf and begin to read. I never read in book stores. It is not voluntary; I just cannot get myself to read in the presence of other people. Reading is a very private affair for me, and I prefer to do it in solitude.

Every book that I read goes through a set of rituals. Each book that belongs to me bears my name along with the date when and place where it was bought. I sometimes even fuss about the colour of ink I use. A lot of my books are signed in with an ink of a colour that matches the colour scheme on the cover of the book. At other times it's an ink colour that catches my fancy. Which page, and on which part of the page I sign is also a little episode in itself. It has happened, and still happens that I do not immediately read a book after its procurement, because a to-be-read waiting list is always in tow. I always look at the signed details before I begin to read. And I usually remember the day I got the book - be it a gift or otherwise. For me, a book is an occasion.

After the signing ritual every book is covered, very neatly, with cellophane sheet, or glazed paper. I personally cover each of my books. This is one task that I may never outsource. I just cannot read a book that is not covered. Uncovered books, especially those beginning to wear out irk me no end. So much so that many a time I have had to quell my urges to cover books that I borrow from libraries.

All my books have their own bookmarks which stay in them, always. The bookmark is so handy just to make sure that you close the book every time you put it down instead of turning its face on the page you last read. This leaves an indelible crease on the spine and also crumples the sheets.

The way you treat your books speaks a lot about the kind of person you are. For me, it is an art and I am brazenly unapologetic about all the foofaraw. I wonder sometimes if this is the reason I find myself so uncomfortable with e-books. Yet another whimsical feather in my eccentric cap.

~

Monday Morning Go Away, Come Again Another Day

Despite having had sufficient hours of sleep during the night, and waking up not knowing what day of the week it is I feel unusually attracted to my bed on Monday mornings. We're like opposite magnetic poles - the bed and I. I fight with my alarm clock; press the snooze button incessantly; shove it under the mattress and fight with my will not to leave my bed. In the meantime, my somnolent self realises that it's Monday. Hurrah! There goes my all my will. Flat like a punctured tyre; and I fall back on the bed with a vengeance. I had just begun to enjoy my weekend!

I know I will be late if I don't get moving right away. Monday morning traffic jams are the worst - I can never fathom why - but nevertheless. I haven't ironed my clothes. My shoes have to be dusted; bag has to be packed. I have to fix my breakfast, shampoo my hair and make the bed. I must not be late on the first day of the week. But it's Monday, and I hate it.

Like every other Monday, I vow to myself - in the midst of a colossal chaos - that I will keep all things ready on Sunday night so that I don't have to rush around in the morning like this again next week. But these vows fleet pass just as the morning does - in a flurry, leaving me extremely agitated and at times cranky. I curse Monday, for coming back so soon. I curse myself, for getting late and not managing my time. I curse the driver for being late; he, too, is facing the morning blues it seems! I curse the whole world, for the Monday morning panic is on - yet again. This is me on a typical Monday morning, arguing with my alter ego; wrestling the weekend torpor.

Having swallowed half my breakfast and stuffing the rest in my lunch bag, with half the contents of my handbag spilling out and clutching the remaining half somehow, I leave home. Late. Making it on time is besides the point now. The real question is how late am I going to be? All through the way I wear a frown which I realise only when I get out of the car.

Few things are capable of causing as much agony and irritation as does a Monday morning. If I were to be granted just one wish on a Sunday evening, I'd ask for Monday to be sent to Pluto. Even the Sun rises with a glum demeanour on Mondays - it is the Moon's day after all!

Friday, I miss you already.
~

Shopping Diaries : The Electronic Torment

I have never really been interested in shopping for electronic goods. I do it only when it is absolutely essential and I cannot avoid it any further. Even when I am in the store, you will not find me browsing through gadgets. They just don't interest me. However, there have been a couple of instances when I have actually strolled through electronic appliances lined up on shelves, just like that. It is not that electronics per se bore me. But yes, it may not be my first choice on a shopping outing. And I must confess that the post sales and especially installation irk me no end!

Buying a pair of headphones or a spike buster or a hair dryer off the shelf is no big deal. The real trouble arises when you decide to invest in durables like a home theatre system, a washing machine or a food processor. The hassle begins once you've taken possession of the goods. Get the warranties stamped, understand the terms and conditions of servicing and maintenance, disuade the salesman from persuading you to buy an extended warranty; and as if all this, after the toil of having selected your gadgets, wasn't enough you are required to fill in an installation form - which is nothing but your preferred time and day when the official 'engineer', who is basically a mechanic, can come over and install your appliance.

You've filled in your preferred time for installation as the coming Monday, between 12 noon to 3 pm - let's assume you binged on electronics on a Friday. The 'engineers' don't work on weekends, so Monday was the earliest option. The electronics are stacked up in a corner of your house awaiting the 'engineer'. In the meantime you decide upon a spot to get it installed, and your insincere maid has an excellent excuse for not sweeping and mopping the area around and under that huge carton. Finally, after a lazy weekend, Monday does arrive. You rush to work, and instruct your spouse - I am not just referring to the wives here! - regarding the installation. When you return home, you spot the carton intact where it was. It so happened that the official 'engineer' had a busier Monday than you'd thought he would. He may probably call on you the next day.

If you are lucky the mechanic turns up the next day, at whatever time is convenient to him. He may interrupt your lunch or worse, your siesta. But do you have a choice? You are supposed to stay indoors till the esteemed guest graces your residence. Once the 'engineer' is in your house, rest assured that it is the end of your peace and solace for the rest of the day, atleast. You must make sure that your house is appropriately ventilated to suit the busy man. He will fuss about unnecessarily with the packaging of your gadget, demand the warranty card and sometimes even the payment receipt! He will place his filthy bag on your sofa or the dewan as may be the furniture in your house. He may even trod on your carpets with his socks on! Out of courtesy when you offer him a glass of water, make sure its straight out of the deep freeze. They are fastidious about these things you know and do not think twice before ordering you around your own home. While they are working you must be at their beck and call, equipped generally with a dry duster, a wet duster, a broom stick, a mop and some old newspapers. More specific requirements will be pronounced as the installation progresses.

When the ordeal is finally over, he will proceed to make a call - that in addition to the N number of calls he already attended to while he was at work. You remember he's very busy, right? Not to mention the pseudo-intellectual expression on his visage. While on the call, he will start checking your device as though he installed it for himself, completely ignoring you and forgetting that you are waiting for the demo. Then he gets busy with the memos and other paper work, tells you where to sign, almost snatches the memo when you want to fill in the attendant feedback and leaves. At the doorstep, he turns, and nods. Personally, it takes a hell lot of self restraint for me not to strangle that unpleasant creature. I shut the door saying 'thank you' -  not for installing my appliances but for leaving.

~

What Was That Word, Again?

 "It's always a bit of a struggle to get the words right, whether we're a Hemingway or a few fathoms below his level."

~  

Rene J. Cappon

One drawback of thinking too much is that you must supply your mind with an unending stream of words, all the time. Many a time, it so happens that you know exactly what you are thinking, but you cannot recall the word or term that describes your thought. For instance, this morning I couldn't recall a certain word. I don't know why I thought of it in the first place; but I did anyway. I was in the process of preparing a glass of chocolate milkshake for my breakfast when suddenly obscure thoughts start racing my mind, and they halt on the thing you use to pluck the strings of the guitar. I know the word. I will recognise it if I just hear it once. It is almost at the tip of my tongue. But I cannot recall it!

This is one situation I dread and hate; and one that I am confronted with very often. My mind is not at peace until I remember the word that I have forgotten. It becomes impossible for me to do anything unless 'the word' is discovered. Today, I panicked and pestersed my parents to tell me the word I had forgotten. They racked their memory, Google was consulted but the word was not uncovered. This had to end. I thought where I had come across that word for the first time. It was an arts & craft book which has been in the family for nearly 40 years now. I ran to my book shelf, and almost instinctively my hand went to the shelf where the book was. I was lucky that the book was still where I had kept it almost an year ago. I flipped through the pages and saw it - plectrum. It was the joy of heaven!

On other ocassions, too, I have inflicted torture on mankind when my memory tricks me. But most of the times I have come to my own rescue. Words may slip out of my mind, but strangely I always remember where I came across them. I once scoured through a particular dictionary because I remembered the location of the word on one of the right hand side pages, and also what it meant, though I had forgotten the letter with which the word began. I was successful in the end; but I did this atleast 5 times. This word was bezel. Another time, I sent out panic stricken text messgaes to my parents in the middle of a lecture pleading them to tell me what was Pranoy Roy's expertise. Thankfully, they obliged. The word here was psephology. The other day, while I was strolling through a mall, and I noticed that the counter of a particular brand was missing. I kept straining my head but couldn't get the name of that brand at all. Not even a hint. How, then, was I supposed to ask the salesman about it? After I got home, and the first thing I did was to dive into my wardrobe to hunt for my floral dress and check its label. I had forgotten Remanika. These are just a few of occurences out of so many.

I have spent innumerable afternoons scanning through magazines, newspapers, thesauri and even novels trying to search for words that escape recall. I have a little notepad where I note down the words that I usually forget - yes, there are some words that I regularly forget. I cannot locate that notepad now by the way, and okapi is the only word I remember writing in it. Then there are those words which I am not able to recall for a very long time - despite all my efforts -and consequently I forget that I have forgotten them and eventually when such a word does come back to me I don't know that it was the same elusive one that had agonised me sometime back!

~