instant messaging killed the in-person star

sigh... i too am part of the batches that were subjected to 24-hour internet and compulsory computers. not that i minded the convenience of it all. but the IM'ing thing really got to me. and i mean REALLY got to me.

and i can't say that perhaps the other life where people would have to get out and talk to each other a lot more is better or worse or anything, because i didn't live it. but i just thought the whole thing was phony (uh oh... i feel the holden caulfield in me surfacing).

and its not like one or two things about it was phony. i mean the whole goddamnned thing was out of control. group buzzes for missing books, chaddies and project group members. lame 'comp hijacks' proclaiming somebody's misplaced their vaseline. the stupid emoticons and the umpteen misunderstandings with (usually) the opposite sex because of my absolute refusal to use them.

i have actually been in crowded rooms where two people's (M & T, e.g.) idea of a quiet personal conversation was IM'ing each other from 8 feet apart.

thank god for AOE. now that was something i could online, and then get out and talk to my fellow players about over nimbu-paani/navycut at dadu's.

i'm getting a strong sense of deja vu... have i griped about this before?

Chasing pills called Alan Parson's Project with a drink called Franz Ferdinand

Do you have a bunch of witty answers for those most-commonly asked questions? I know I do. After I moved here a lot of people asked me what I thought of the place. And after a little while, a couple of weeks of getting acquainted, I figured a good way to describe it would be: "It's like Delhi with fewer cows."

It's all the better if these wise-guy ones tell a person exactly what they want to know. Now many of you have a pretty fair idea about what Hyderagood is really like.

Which really brings me to the most-commonly-asked-question-that-pisses-me-off-the-most: "Where are you from?"

Now don't be fooled by this seemingly innocuous question. This isn't a question that's asking where all you have lived, or been in life. For many Indians it helps peg you. Its answer provides a strong context to the tendencies you exhibit, and predicts the ones you are going to exhibit. Of course, it could also mean that you discuss the commonalities, should that be the case. This way you reinforce cultural stereotypes that have been built over time. "Oh, so you're from Delhi... dude TC is a awesome place...", or "Where in Bombay? Bandra? ALL RIGHT!... which college? XAVIERS?! ME TOO! WOW! WHAT ARE THE ODDS!"

Cut to the scene where the Delhi-ite meets the Bombaywala (or wali... wali is better, because the first thought that crosses her mind when she meets somebody "from Delhi" is "rapist"... or "slut"):

Male (from Delhi): So where you from?
Femme (from Bombay): Bombay.
M: Oh, I see. *Delhi chicks are hotter man*
F: What do you see?
M: Eh?
F: What do you see? *Is this guy dumb or what*
M: Nothing... whaaat?
F: Nevermind... You said you 'Oh, I see', but whateverrrr *loserrrr*
M: Oh that. Nothing, nothing... I thought I'd seen you in Delhi sometime.
F: *Delhi! No wonder. Rapist. And what a cheesy line! Best storm off now before he gets fresh*

*Exuent*

Okay fine, that wasn't quite how it happened. I did get the girl, and now we're happy together, but it's worth trying to piss her off about the Delhi-Bombay thing every once in a while, she's so cute when she's miffed.

But anyway... coming back the painful interrogative...

When somebody says where he or she is from, a whole bunch of things happen to us Indians.

Delhi Male - Must be rich. Doesn't know the reality of life. Dad's business. No cares in the world. Hasn't had it hard for a single day in his life. Disrespectful of women. Good to know in a fight, should have gunda & political contacts.

Delhi Female - Possibly poor sense of taste/style/fashion. Needs to look in the mirror. Possibly not very independent. Gets chauffered everywhere, home by 11pm. Alternatively, the other extreme: rebelious, colourful, slut.

...really, I could go on, but don't believe me: try it for yourselves, the next time you meet anybody new. Or just think about Bihar, Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Bengal, Punjab, Uttar Pradesh, Bombay, Marus... and those images these words conjure up are what we use as support in this world of shortcuts.

So what's got me so pissed? The fact that I can't seem to answer this question without people's minds going into overdrive, or them really needing to ask me a lot more questions.

*Ting*

Person X: So where are you from?
Me: Delhi
X: Raped anybody yet?

*Ting!*

X: So where are you from?
Me: I grew up in China
X: How come you aren't chinky?

*Ting!*

X: Where are you from?
Me: Moon
X: What's that?
Me: That's my school. I spent 12 years locked up in a building with only one window on each floor.
X: Oh THAT school! Hey, so could you gimme a loan?

*Ting-ting-ting!*

X: Where are you from?
Me: I'm a North-Indian mongrel.

*So now I'm a mangy mutt. Great. Ting!*

Me: I'm a North-Indian mixed-bred

*Great going, Tommy. Ting!*

Me: I don't know.
X: WHAT?

*Ting!*

X: Well?
Me: So my mom's mom is from Jharkhand, and my dad's dad is from Haryana, while the two surviving grandparents are..
X: Zzzzz....

*Ting!*

The worst part of it all is that every new person I meet, without frikking fail, will ask me where I'm from, because they can't make an educated guess from my name...

...and life is good again

So I'm beginning to feel that there might not be any great truth, any great wisdom out there. That life is just this: living. Rushta told me back in Codai that maybe we are too young, too inexperienced to understand it, but there's a good reason why our parents keep telling us to appreciate the finer things, the little things in life.

...and one of those wonderful, little things happened to me in the break-room at work the other day. The telly there is usually playing colourful dances with ugly, mustachioed, shaggy men and pretty, plump (or pretty plump) women, with the soundtrack in a language I don't understand, or violent scenes of Bhagalpur riots, or other current social or political disasters - again in an alien language.

So who could blame me if I tried to change the channel once (just once!) to get away from Gultland just for a moment, especially since there was nobody around... or nobody watching telly anyway. I surfed for a while, and finally settled on Tom and Jerry.

And then some people arrived. Discreetly I put the remote on a table in full public view to avoid being asked for it by an uncleji or auntji, or bhenji who's never visited a salon, or a gaadiwala ("Gaadi" doesn't mean car. In this city, it's used with its original meaning, as generic for "vehicle", but usually refers to a two-wheeler) who got through college on his fists alone. And sure enough, everybody was now curiously looking at the telly flashing violent drawings of feline and rodent tribulations.

And after a few minutes of this, the oddest thing happened. They laughed. Not just one or two of them. ALL of them - fine, so there were about 10 people in the room. At Tom and Jerry. Some who probably didn't grow up with a television, and had never seen a cartoon in their lives. Some who'd been taught and told that cartoons were childish and silly, and adulthood is about being serious and responsible and un-fun. It was heartwarming, really, to stand in a room full of strangers and out of the blue share and enjoy an experience which up until now I felt was me clinging on the remnants of a simpler time in my life. A time when there were no great questions, or attempts to answer them. A time when the little things in life were the most important ones of all.

Pan-galactic gargle blaster

In one of life's mysterious, unexpected twists:

There's a friend of mine (a catholic lady, the sort who drinks alcohol for religious reasons, among others) who has a shot-glass collection. She's traveled to many strange places, and picked up one in every city she's been to.

There's, of course, as such things go, another friend of mine (a muslim man, the sort who won't buy me a drink if he was taking me out to dinner) who also has a shot-glass collection. In his own words: "My parents would travel, and get me up the smallest thing they could buy."