COMEDY CIRCUS

What better way to end the year on a comical note? So what if we are hurt by the laceration of political sarcasm, the major political parties will not stop from humoring us to death. What can be more sadistically pleasurable than humiliating the common sense of the common man by repeatedly mocking at his intellect?

Why, you ask?

Well, let me start with the awesomely funny holier than thou attitude. When both BJP and the Congress piously trade charges of corruption and mismanagement, it is obvious that both are the same sides of the political coin. The debate is more mirthful than malicious. Flip the coin and the magical zeroes of corruption might vary but the story remains the same. Let’s stop this hypocrisy of who is more corrupt. This charade of exposing the corrupt has become a big joke. Knowing well that both are in bed with each other, the joke is not even amusing.
This sham of raids under media pressure is again a hilarious stunt. The CWG games were over on the October 14, 2010. CBI raided Kalmadi on December 24, 2010. We get the humor. Ha, ha. A Raja emerged smiling after CBI ostensibly grilled him for 9 hours. Maybe the CBI was grilling chicken tikka and sharing jokes with Raja. Of course the joke was on us. We get it.

Ha, ha, again.
My belly hurts when both parties are accused of misappropriation of funds, privileges or power, and the reply is, “They also did the same during their regime.” Two wrongs do not make a right. We know that. So please do not kill us with the same buffoonery. Try something else. Use your ingenuity.

Superficial wounds heal. But deeper wounds leave scars; scars which become sick metaphors for decades to come. Fodder, Bofors, Adarsh and 2G might not land anyone in jail, yet these words have become witty invectives.
The Mumbai attack on 26/11 was a deep wound. You were unable to bring the perpetrators to justice. Fine. But please don’t burst into guffaws over the memory of those who lost their lives on that fateful day.

Denial?

Come on, tell me, what was a certain spokesperson for the government doing? In fact, every few days he opens his big mouth with his foot in it, giving ludicrous statements. If you endorse his preposterous comments then come out in the open and say it. If not, shut his big mouth with some red tape. You can’t accuse him of naiveté. He transgresses the limits of tolerance of the officer’s wife who lost his life, that fateful day. Greed for power can make you stoop to levels where you start giving color to terror? Even a child can tell you that terror is neither green nor saffron. If at all terror is red; the color of blood. So do not divide and drool. It doesn’t work anymore.
The irony is that some section of the media is also privy to your private humor. Stop the hypocrisy of hyperventilating for the cause of the common man. Most news is planted and paid for the sake of magical TRPs. Why garb your debates in the guise of social cleansing? Plan your maneuvers, get paid by the lobbyists, plant news and play your role in appointing ministers. Be brazen about it. Just don’t fool us. The stench emanating from the pretense of taking cudgels for the common man is nauseating.
For some reason if I am unable to pay my income tax, house tax or home loan, I will be punished promptly. If I do not have my pollution certificate or registration papers in my car, I might land in jail. Why not exculpate me?

Let’s strike a deal here. If you have the knack of cracking jokes, you should also have the courage to chuckle at my wise cracks. How about mutual banter? Some rib tickling humor. I will not ask you uncomfortable questions and you do not punish me for my innocuous crimes. Let’s all be corrupt. It will be awesomely funny start to the New Year.

ROLE REVERSAL

As I go down the memory lane, I find that over generations, mothers find themselves in similar situations. My concerns, diktats and sermons are the same as they are for most mothers in the world. The journeys are different however the experiences are similar. 

Did you go to the bathroom? Are you done? Finish the vegetables, Don’t sleep, were just about home, Don’t hit your sister, Wash your hands, That’s it we are going home, How much cartoon do you watch? Where did the sweets go?

And during the preteen years, it goes like this – I am talking to you, Keep the phone, For God’s sake, comb your hair, Your socks smell, and the mother of all…Ask your father.

After carefully negotiating my way through the paternal minefield for two decades, I am at a threshold when tables are turning. The roles are reversing. And as parents, I and my husband are amused spectators.

Our only son is in a hostel pursuing his engineering and very often we find ourselves following dictates from the other end.

“So, what’s up?” I try to connect.

“Nothing.”

“Did you wake up in time for breakfast?”

“Hmm...” 

Now let me unravel the meaning of hmm. First hmm amounts to listening from one ear and letting it breeze through the other. It actually means a polite ‘No’. Second hmm is a reminder that you are talking to a wall and your query is not hitting the target. Third hmm warns you, ‘Enough… stop it’.

“Took a bath today?”
"Hmm."
"Yes or no?"

“Seriously,.. Ma. I am in college; it’s funny when you remind me to take a bath and wash hands.”

I stood corrected. Certain reminders come with an expiry date.

“It is getting chilly, wear a jacket when you go out.” After I blurted out I realized …oops. I pressed the wrong button. Again.

I try to change directions. “I am booking tickets for coming home. Late evening flight is ok?”

“No, no flight. Book train tickets.”

“You will save a day. Come home and eat home cooked food. Why do you want to slog for eighteen hours?’

“Ma…Air tickets will cost 7K. Do you realize the value of 7K?”

I think so. And wasn’t this supposed to be my dialogue? 

Greedy for some family time, I try more convincing, cajoling. Nothing works.

I continue, “We are booking your flight. Why are you bothered?”

“Please do as you are told. No questions. I have to study…..”

“Okay,” I follow the sermons tamely.

 “And book third A/C . We save another 500 there…”

While I am still on the phone, my husband promptly booked the train tickets.

“And don’t come to receive me. It will be embarrassing.”

“Okay.” We take the orders like good parents.

“You and dad, take care.”

I realize that roles are not reversing. Roles have reversed. When….?

(Sorry son, for leaking the tapes of our conversation)

FLATTERY OPERATED

The pressing social need for appreciation and acknowledgment has catapulted Mark Zuckerberg in the league of billionaires. Irrespective of gender age and nationalities, we are suckers for compliments; some more, some less. 

Massage does wonders and if it’s an ego massage; even better.

However, appreciation and flattery are as different as chalk and cheese. Appreciation without expecting any favor is genuine. But to appreciate someone in lieu of a favor or to remain in good books is flattery.  Appreciation is sincere but flattery is not. 

Both appreciation and flattery come in handy when one desperately needs to impress the opposite gender. I am sure it is easy to melt someone with, ‘Don’t wear makeup, you are messing with perfection; I bet the wind blows just to know how gorgeous your hair is; there isn’t a word in the dictionary for how good you look or you take my breath away’.

Politics and flattery go hand in hand. Decades ago a Congress sycophant had said, “Indira is India and India is Indira.” Nothing has changed. Recently the UP Congress committee had released a poster of a heavily bejeweled Rahul baba striking a pose as Lord Krishna astride a chariot in a giant hoarding. No points for guessing who took umbrage. Forgetting the fact that in 2008, Advani was dressed as lord Ram in a poster aiming his arrows at twin vultures - Sonia Gandhi and Manmohan Singh. 

Clearly in politics, social arrangements work in perfect tandem with the aid of ample amounts of grease and butter. Remember the thousand rupee note garland in Mayas neck? While the flatterer and the flattered were pleased, they forgot that the public was nauseated with blatant sickophancy.. 

The art of flattery flourishes in the film industry. When one is constantly fed with, ‘you look so young and handsome,’ the result is a seventy five year old Dharmendra donning a flamingo colored shirt and gyrating with skimpily clad women in his latest movie. And a pouting Shekhar Suman is seen displaying his shiny cleavage a la Parmeshwar Godrej. 

 Fortunately, now on most occasions, work speaks for itself. On others, maska is lagaoed covertly. I am referring to the normal office life here. In deals where huge orders are at stake, innocent flattery transforms into a more hideous bribery.

What’s most important is self appreciation and acceptance of who you are as a person.

 To covertly flatter is human but to get overtly flattered has its pitfalls.

GENDER BENDER

After a long day, I entered the Haldiram food outlet at the Sahara Mall this weekend. I was exhausted and hungry. Worse. There was a long queue. The lady at the counter buying food coupons was confused. One Chola Bhatura…no…Two Aloo Tikki…Okay. Make it one Chola Bhatura and one Aloo Tikki.

Gosh..Woman, make up your mind. In that moment I was thinking like a man.

There was more.

Finally when the confused lady left, I was behind four gentlemen in the queue. Suddenly a pleasant smell invaded my nostrils. Dior…or was it Ralph Lauren. A perfectly crafted female aware of her potent looks barged in. She had perhaps picked up her body parts from a catalogue. The femme fatale went ahead and placed her order. Unmindful of the long queue she said… “One veg sandwich.”

“Hello, lady. There is a queue here,” I protested.

She gave me a disdainful look and said, “I am in a hurry. I just want one sandwich.”

So? Didn’t I wait for good fifteen minutes for one dosa? In order to garner support, I looked at the uncle ji ahead of me.

Unccle ji’s gaze was fixed somewhere else….Just below her neck. Overawed by the bombshell and her attitude, he didn’t speak a word.

Meanwhile the lady paid, and went ahead to get her veg sandwich. I was still standing in the queue. I looked at the gentleman behind me. His eyes were following the femme fatale. There was no point expecting help.

How often do we use gender and looks it to our advantage?

Being a woman coupled with drop dead gorgeous looks, can make things easier.

 To get a seat if people are jostling or to get an auto if it is getting dark is fine. But to break the queue, to avoid parking offences, or to neglect work using ‘I am a woman card’ is nauseating!

Modern Mumtaz

What Nita has got, Tina wants it too! With just a nudge of syllables between the first names and a common family name, the urge to rise higher is understandable. Mukesh, the richest Indian, has erected a modern day wonder, 170 meters high Antilia, said to be the Taj Mahal of the 21st century. And what’s more? The ballroom at Antilia is said to be the glitziest in India. Even Versailles Palace is a poor cousin.

Little surprise then that Tina said, “I also want one. And higher. My husband strongest. My house highest.”

Poor Anil! He had permission to build only 66mts above the ground. He now wanted permission for an extra 150 meters. So what if it comes in the flight path to Mumbai airport. The cattle class can wave from the aircraft and say hi to Tinaben sipping champagne on her terrace.


Well, it’s their money and if the prima donnas are donning Dior, and Donna Karan then who am I, living on the ground to comment on their dizzying heights of success and abodes?

Frankly, nothing has changed. We still live in the bygone era of kings and queens, albeit the names have changed. Erstwhile royals had food in vessels made of gold and silver. So Nitaben went to buy a 50 piece dinner set with 22 carat gold platinum trimmings worth $ 2000 in India. Multiply that by 500(she wanted 25000 pieces) and the price hits one million dollars. Wow! Who is going to eat out of those 25000 pieces you ask? Well…. the lesser kings and queens…ministers, bureaucrats, film stars.


Modern day kings are the politicians and the industrialists who run their own fiefdoms. We have BSP Queendom, Congress Empire, Ambani Empire, and the BJP Khand. The Mallya Empire ruled by the flamboyant King of Good Times is facing tumultuous times.Never mind. It is the companies floated by tycoons which go kaput.The personal wealth remains intact.

In Polly kingdoms, power comes to play in an ostentatious manner. Be it the marriage of Praful Patel’s daughter or Gadkari’s son, private jets ferry guests.


http://www.deccanherald.com/content/117951/papa-gadkaris-wedding-gift-son.html

All the holier than thou, including the media leave their political differences for television debates and have a gala time. They raise a toast to their nudge-nudge, wink-wink creative partnership and share jokes at the expense of a nation semi-blind with sleaze and scams. In private they feel safe, sharing both, secrets and spoils, protecting each other.

The music in the background might be shenaai, but it is in fact the moaning of the taxpaying citizen who is being sacrificed at the altar of greed.


Modern battles are now fought in the courtrooms. Senapatis fighting the legal battles for modern day royals are the superstar lawyers themselves. During the legal battle of warring brothers Mukesh was represented by a battery of lawyers like Salve and Singhvi who reportedly charge an exorbitant 25 lakhs per day (India Today, Dec). The younger scion was represented by equally impressive and expensive Jethmalani and Rohatgi.

Land was the principal source of revenue during the Mughal era. It was distributed by the kings to buy loyalty. It remains so now. While we pay taxes to build national assets those in power distribute land and spectrum to builders and industrialists as largesse for dirt cheap prices. And then it’s quid pro quo.

It is not a crime to be rich. Temptation is as old as Adam and Eve. It is tough to remain unaffected by the greed and power avalanche. Some manage. Like Azim Premji. While on my flight to Delhi from Bangalore he was in a queue standing ahead of me for his security check. I can't imagine the Ambanis, Saharas or the Gadkaris in the same queue of commoners.

The Indian Royals can however follow footsteps of Warren Buffet and Bill Gates to strive for an inclusive growth rather than exclusive growth.

They say, with great power comes great responsibility. Crap. With great power comes royalty and its attendant wealth. So what if power corrupts?

Power ruled then. And power rules now.

Long live the king.

MUSH MUSH

He tenderly brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek. And she brushed a tear from his eye. The message on the cake was - I am me because of you.

As they were cutting the cake, these tender moments caught my attention. She, mid-way through the function, proceeded to remind him of his BP medication. And he, in turn cooed in her ears, “Be careful. If you dance any more, your feet will hurt.” Touching! After twenty five years, they were so much in love. She was a softer beauty, deepened with age and he was a perfect combination of salt and pepper hair with astute business sense.

Several dainty feet were groaning under the agony of high heels, intricate silks and heavy jewelry, desperately searching for respite. It was the twenty fifth anniversary celebration of a relative. Since it was a silver jubilee function and most couples were…well beyond their prime, the ghost of L’Oreal was omnipresent.

I was wondering, how the gurgling, bubbling rivulet of romance at sixteen, transforms into deeper still waters after a few decades. And still waters run deep.
Sure, candle light dinners, roses, chocolates and sipping champagne at sixteen are all magical. Yet these images are spoon-fed by movies, serials and advertisements. And an over-dose of such illusions are scary.

At sixteen the world is both, vivid and hazy. If my hubby had given me a rose at sixteen, I would have preserved the petals in some mushy book, fluttering my eyelashes coyly. However, if today he returns home from the office with a red rose in hand, I would burst out laughing, doubting his sanity. In case it’s not a rose but an expensive bouquet of orchids and lilies, I would doubt ‘daal mein kuch kala hai’.
Now you are thinking, ‘Seriously, God only knows what women want…Poor guy…He is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t’.

Relax. At the risk of bristling like an old crow, I am trying to arrive at the point. Flowers and gifts on occasions are most welcome. Yet on other days a bed tea would be a better idea. Appreciation is desirable in actions, but poetry would be artificial. As romance matures and endures the test of time, it reaches another level where trust, faith and respect matter more than roses, chocolates and perfumes.
A mature romance is beyond looks, beyond bad hair days, beyond puffy eyes, beyond mood swings and much much beyond cellulite. It is non- judgmental. It is possessive, yet it gives you the space to flourish and to blossom. It just lets you be.

For me, the most touching act was when my husband donated blood for my dad’s operation. Flowers, roses and perfumes, none came within kissing distance. I absolutely do not agree when Shobha De says that youth and all things youthful are overrated. No they are not. Youth is magical. If it is overrated, it deserves to be. However, romance is timeless. It only appears in another dress. And as the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars. Stars which were invisible by the day.