Let me at the outset say that the certified drowner of sorrows and the uplifter of spirits – alcohol, is a subject of personal informed choice. But a certain contradiction has been brewing in my head for days.
The recent point blank killing of a toll booth employee by a drunken youth stirred up terrifying images of Jessica Lall who was also killed for refusing to serve a drink. Tippling and temper do go hand in hand. A few swigs and voila, one is either all bindaas and euphoric or angry and irrational.
But the paradox is that there are innumerable liquor shops on one side of the highway, and cops waiting to pounce with the deadly breath analyzer on the other. News is that Pizza Hut outlets will soon offer beer and wine on their menu. Good. With fast-food outlets, pubs, and neighborhood liquor shops, all offering an array of intoxicants, every gulp in a public space is weighed with some sense of responsibility. Some recognize the fact yet some don’t.
Do not drink and drive says the sign board. The million dollar question is, “who then drives the car home?” Hire a driver you say. Well, while the sahib was guzzling away, what stops the driver from some merry making?
I wish to share an anecdote here. In an Emirates flight my fellow traveler was served unlimited drinks by a smiling air-hostess with all the professionalism at her disposal. The tipsy gentleman perhaps got sozzled after a few shots and in a fit of inebriation repeatedly winked at the air-hostess. As soon as the flight reached Mumbai he had to undergo an alcohol test. After testing positive he was handed over to CISF. Fine, the guy transgressed the line by a mile but why serve unlimited drinks in- flight?
Eight out of ten times, offensive behavior is attributed to in-flight alcohol consumption. It is like offering the traveler unlimited porn (American Airlines) and then expecting him to regard the woman next to him as a nun.
Imagine the air hostess asking, “Sir what will you have? Some coffee, tea, wine or porn?”
How many lone travelers would come up with, “I would prefer some lime juice. And only family channels for me sister.”
Air-France has an all male crew on duty in the first-class section when Dominique Strauss Kahn is travelling. Statements from Air-France said that this decision came after an intoxicated Kahn had propositioned several women crew members.
This inexplicable mindset cannot be attributed to illiteracy, unemployment, frustration or age. It transcends all barriers. Again some are responsible drinkers yet some aren’t.
According to an article in ET, a study by Harvard School of Public Health researchers analyzed preventable causes of death in the US and they found a mixed bag of results. First the good news. Tippling allegedly averted 26,000 deaths each year from heart attacks, diabetes and strokes. No, don’t go for that glass as yet. Flip the coin and the redemption becomes damnation. The same data was offset by 90,000 deaths due to liver diseases, accidents and other ill effects of liquor.
Dorothy Parker, said, "I love to drink Martinis/Two at the very most/Three I am under the table/Four I am under the host." The key word seems to be moderation.
Dorothy Parker also said, “Drink and dance and laugh and die, Love the reeling midnight through, for tomorrow we shall all die”.
It makes sense but where, when and how much remains equally significant. When the ex IMF chief can transgress all lines, lesser mortals intoxicated with false notions of power have extra responsibility to drink but not get drunk.
But my question remains. Who steers the car away from the cops safely back home?
Letter writing is dead. The sleek mobile has been toppled from its perch. The formal e-mails have had their day. Cyber space, the new canvass for communication with varied hues now provides a platform to sneer and to cheer alike.
Of all the seductions of web, perhaps the most enticing for the angry user is that it allows fury to be funneled via the virtual tunnel. And since controversy sells, the shortest route to fame is put your foot in your angry mouth, albeit in style. A fuming damsel from the south became the uncrowned queen of blogdom, when she threatened to shove coconuts down the Delhi boys until coir sprouted from you know where. Having initiated a slanging match on her blog, it was easy to lure the argumentative ones in a free for all. The national daily rushed to publish the blog post in an attempt to fuel the controversy and make hay while the angry opined.
Come to think of it, it is the abuser who falls from the high pedestal, not the abused. That brings me to the question: Is cyber rage aiding in catharsis, or is it creating an abusive intolerant society?
Like any other the web is not infallible. More so when one is entering a world of strangers, and is not quite ready for it. Two thirteen year olds living in a metro typed, ‘What’s up?’ to initiate a chat with their Principal. After a while, they ended the chat with, ‘F***k off’ and ‘Go to hell’. A furious Principal suspended both the boys.
Lately, cyber space has become a favorite arena for anonymous abusive punches and slanging matches. The web becomes even more precarious when it provides a platform to shout the loudest without any accountability. Rewind the reel to your hostel days when we considered thrashing the warden by throwing a blanket on him, under the cover of darkness. Veiled in a mask, it is easy to vent anger against establishment. That explains the ugly graffiti staring at us from the innards of elevators, monuments and public toilets. The scribblers cannot be held accountable even though they draw graphic anatomies with the names of their lusted or hated ones. The lack of accountability provides a fillip to coward frustrated souls.
The cyber anger is mostly directed against celebrities, powerful and of course the favorite whipping boys – politicians. As a simple mortal I am yet to receive a malicious comment or abuse, but then I have carefully avoided contentious topics. The sweet bouquets will almost immediately become toxic brickbats if the topic of discussion is controversial. No matter what I write on the ‘reservation policy’ in education, or on religion, a section of readers is bound to get offended. Dissent is acceptable but abuse is not. Take the most recent events of deification of a mild mannered but strong willed Gandhian. If you are not in agreement with the popular sentiment on the street then you will be doused with vitriol in cyber space.
The anonymous acerbic voices become the judge, jury and the defendant and have moments of collective catharsis on the web. Even at the risk of bristling like an old crow, I am concerned about the age of rage. Abusive slanging matches on twitter, blogs, and chat rooms are signs of an ailing society. Above all it has to be said that anonymous abuse is the weapon of the vulgar; not the civilized.
(With several hate-mails doing the North-South rounds, it’s time for some fictional love across the borders.)
Hello,
When two fearless and single souls engage in an endearing war of words, then surely it is destiny playing cupid behind the scenes. Please don’t trample my tender outpourings with heavy boots…err sandals of reason, for this letter comes straight from my heart.
Living under house arrest here in UK, I have been watching many Hindi films with English subtitles. Sorry, but it took a Hindi movie for me to recognize your feelers veiled in threats. You see, while watching, ‘Pagla kahin ka’ I realized that an archetype of a Bollywood coy heroine, before falling head over heels (that reminds me of your sandals) in love for the hero fondly calls him awaara , paglaa, or deewana. Ahh...so you called me mad out of love.
So far my exposes have evoked either a silence or a denial, but not a single soul organized a press conference to label me a mad man. Thank God you did! For that’s when I saw you on TV.
The smoldering eyes, the enviable duskiness, the olive skin, the cropped hair and the pink dress have resulted in many a sleepless nights. I toss and turn as I imagine myself slipping sandals on your dainty feet. People call me a whistle blower but honestly for you, I am ready to blow the whistle until my last breath.
I have missed much in life as I did not have a companion but now I am smitten by your adorable anger. I promise to taste food, water and air before every morsel you eat, every sip you take and every breath you inhale. I sense a fire burning on both sides. Why else would you want me in Agra mental asylum, in Mayaland?
Together we will expose your opponents, strip them and make sure that they are writhing on a mat. Together we will create a proud Aussie Dalit legacy, one sandstone elephant at a time. Together we shall travel in your private jet and collect exotic footwear from around the world.
Quite coincidentally, as I write this letter the music wafting from my TV has a baritone voice reciting, “Kabhie kabhie mere dil mein khayal aata hai, ki jaise….”
Longing for the next opportunity to meet and hoping for an asylum. Even the mental one will do for I am in love over your celebrated heels.
Ever yours,
Mayasmitten
Julian Assange
According to a survey by Virgin Atlantic, the back-packs of Indian students enrolled in foreign universities are stuffed with Maggie noodles,pickles and mangoes. Ready to pay excess baggage fee, students are willing to leave books and clothes behind. Other favorites include jaggery, bhujias, mathri and ghee. One creative soul insisted on carrying the traditional broom. What a broom can, a vacuum cleaner cannot. And old habits die hard.
I remember, when I went to live in a hostel for my graduation, my mother insisted on packing umpteen boxes of home made savories. When the mess food was despicable, which was a norm, my mom's home made delicacies were saviours.
Decades later, nothing has changed. My son has similar issues. On the day of his departure, the house is engulfed in a mist of emotions. As the packing commences, the emotional mist thickens. The father, in a somber mood finds solace in mellifluous Rafi or a voluminous book. The grandmother finds refuge in the kitchen. For my mother, emotional connect is directly proportional to the time spent in the kitchen. But honestly, kitchen is not my favorite place. So I take charge of packing the food items and making space for the same in his backpack. Space being inadequate, a silent altercation ensues.
For the young man, gizmos, wires and books are on a higher pedestal. Naturally space for all the food stuff is limited. But ‘ma ki mamta’ is limitless. He refuses to carry eatables while I insist on packing as much as possible.
Both of us stick to stated positions. The tension escalates. A firm voice of his father breaks the impasse. “Take all that your mother has packed. Throw it if you cannot eat it.” End of the discussion. Poor boy shoves all the cookies, snacks and savories the cost of his favorite clothes and gadgets.
Three days later I receive a call from the young man after dinner.
“Ma, hungry.”
“Why? No food in the mess?”
“It was horrible.”
“ What about the stuff I packed?”
“Over.”
“Dry fruit?”
“Over.”
“So soon? Did you throw the stuff or what?”
“My room mate and friends finished everything.”
The fact that a few hungry souls had their fill gave me some solace.
After the call , like any other mother, I found my dinner insipid. However, the following day I came to know that the boys had raided the college canteen that night and enjoyed hot aloo parathas around midnight.
So if your child is going abroad, where chances of hogging aloo parathas at midnight are bleak, then all the ready-to-eat packets and bhujias make sense. The broom makes sense too. After all one does need familiar things away from home.
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? William Shakespeare
So you thought Anna was our nemesis. You thought you could hold a gun and force us to make suicidal laws according to your whims and fancies. And worse. You mocked us, belittled us and tarnished reputations. The movement is over. You have had enough fun at our expense. It is payback time folks.
That puny little Kejriwal, the angry young man will rue the day he initiated a movement against the state. The state which gave him a job and a loan of 80,000 rupees for a computer, can also give him sleepless nights. We sent a police team to his village to unearth his past wrongdoings. The police discovered that at age sixteen, Kejriwal once winked at a local girl. The police was unable to find that girl. Nevertheless, the police is now framing charges for misappropriate behavior. After all, the law has to take its own course.
And that theatrical ‘ghoonghat act’ by Kiran Bedi! She is looking for a role in a Yash Chopra movie or what? If only she was in service, she would be transferred to a place where no media has ever gone before. Bahut ho gaya, masti mazaak. It is time for law to take its own course. The governance might be in deep freeze but the revenge machinery works overtime. Behind the cultivated stoicism of ours, lurks a brute force. A force which neither forgives nor forgets.
What irked us most was the tipsy actor who called us ‘Ganwaar’. We are not sitting ducks that any common man can come and spit on the spotless khadi. We have set up a committee to research Hindi lexicons. The submission report tells us that ‘Ganwaar’ is a crossbreed of country lout and country bumpkin. That is beyond derogatory. All the mumbled apologies from Om Puri will not save his face (from being re-arranged).
Just like Salman, we let our fists do the talking.
And very soon that winky wonky Baba will disappear on his island in Scotland. Never to be seen again. Hasn’t his trusted aid vanished ? Being lawyers, the Bhushan duo are tough nuts to crack. Don’t be surprised if more such CDs come out from Amar jis potent arsenal.
What we are doing is not undemocratic. Remember what the biggest democracy in the world did to Julian Ass-ange, the father of Wikileaks? They slapped charges of rape. So what if the lady who was raped was sleeping? Its worse - raping a woman in deep slumber. And ever since that Ass-ange is running from one hiding to another.
But we are not America. We will not stoop to such levels. We play fair. We will do nothing to the writer of this blog post. If she is found missing, try searching Tihar. She must have missed paying her electricity bill on time.After all, the law has to take its own course.
