Everybody else is doing it, so why can't we?

I guess most people of my age have heard the title catch phrase because of the debut album of the '90s band The Cranberries. What people don't realize is that this phrase is a catch phrase of India as a nation. Why else would everyone do things that are outright stupid and unproductive? For example:

• Why would people ride motor bikes on sidewalks, scaring the shit out of pedestrians, and feel no guilt?
• Why would people walk at a slower pass flinging their arms around without being aware of how they are being jerks by obstructing and impeding pedestrian traffic?
• Why would people out-honk each other at red lights?
• Why would people talk so loud in public transport setting so that everyone else is forced to listen to their dinner plans?
• Why do people spit out of cars in traffic-congested roads?
• Why do people push and shove each other despite realizing that it is not going to achieve what they think it would?

The only way to rationalize--yes, I'm ashamed to--is this: everyone thinks that it is okay to do all this because everybody else is doing it and; so they can and should as well. I believe such behavior starts in childhood. Why? Probably because of the lack of proper nurturing opportunities, the lack of infrastructure, poverty, the paucity of resources.

Is there a way out? Maybe in a couple of generations. When/if the present generation try to educate their offspring about what could be done differently?

Oh yes, for those who think that this happens everywhere around the world and not just in India, here's an analogy. Religious extremism happens everywhere in the world, but it is sort of more common in the Middle East. So...

Home, Worrisome Home

The phrase "home, sweet home"* does not make a lot of sense, at least in my own life.  All these seemingly glorified images of coming home, kicking back your shoes, and enjoying the treasures of life, do not seem to resonate with my life living in Mumbai. Although I am partnered, I don't live in with my partner. In fact, I need to divide by "home time" between three locations. All of these locations have issues that need fixing. 

What is this bullshit that I hear about people going home to relax? Why don't we also start believing in fairies and magic beans?

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 2, 2015

First of all, I need to make it to the place I am staying over on any particular night through the chaotic mess referred to as public transportation. This is probably the most stressful part of my day. People on the roads seem to be so low in self-esteem that they seem to channel their anger/rage through horns and bizarre driving. Of course, the remarkably unintuitive traffic rules/regulations don't help.

Once I reach my destination, there are dozens of things that need to be done, including chores and errands, and my time is usually spent in fixing things. Apart from these are the things that you need to tackle in other supposedly pleasurable aspects of your life--news to catch up with, e-mails to respond, people to communicate with, socializations to be planned, shows to watch/listen, photos to work on, songs to work on, things to rehearse, and books to finish.

By the time you are done with a couple of these things, you are so exhausted and want to go to bed. In bed, you drift away worrying about how to tackle the pending issues and about not getting enough sleep that night. When you wake up, you feel tired and you have to start to work.

The trend of finding home as a stressful aspect of life is not something that I have picked up after moving to Mumbai. For most of my life with my family, I dreaded going home and confront my parents and/or relatives. I used to like going over to my friends' places because I found them more open, inviting, and stress-free.

So tell me again--where's the "sweet" part of our own homes?

(PS: If you are wondering about the punctuation of the phrase, please check this link.)

Women = whine. Men = wine

The average young man looks average. The average young woman looks above average. But as the years catch up with both these sets of the human demographic, there is something starkly disparate. Men age better. Much better. Women age similar to how a pig rolls in a dump.

As I look out through the BEST bus window, while the summer sun's light shines on the right side of my face, I see a worthwhile example of what I stated above. I see a family of three - dad, mom, and daughter - riding on a scooter with a side attachment, which houses the unfortunate sight called the mother.

The dad, with near-perfect posture, is riding the scooter. Very little of his shapelessness is visible. He's freshly shaven with a neatly trimmed moustache, and has a face which could easily fetch him a role in a movie or two. He's fair and his shirt has just been ironed, and he's wearing lovely dress shoes that go with his elegant trousers.

The mom is slouch-slumping all over the extension wearing a wrinkled kurta pajama. Her expression is of contended flatulence and dyspepsia and she has a blank look on her face. The daughter has neatly inherited the ugliness gene from her mom in the homozygous dominant form. Her love handles ripple at every thrust of the scooter motor, and she has an excessive layer of lard, which would have saved her from the wrath of an ice age or two.

The dad turns to look at the rest of the traffic, probably trying to avoid the ugliness he's schlepping around. I can clearly make out from his nose and jawline that he had once been the quintessential 'attractive' young man. I lower my gaze ever so slightly to focus on his cargo - two of the reasons why God must feel deeply sad for having created a yoni. I sigh deeply.