The human side of Mumbai

The kid got in the train, rushing in, and grabbed a seat. He kept looking out of the window at every station, a little nervously. Clearly, he was either new to Mumbai, or not used to traveling by local trains. 

I put down the book I was reading and asked him where he wanted to go. "Bandra", he replied quietly, and looked away. He probably didn't want to speak to a stranger. I told him that I would tell him before we reached Bandra. He nodded his thanks but kept looking out of the window.

When we reached Dadar, he got up and went to stand near the door. As the train left the station, a ticket checker boarded the train. The kid was so nervous, that he dropped his purse while getting is ticket out for inspection. It turned out that he had boarded the first class compartment but had a second class ticket. I was curious to know what the ticket checker would do, so I went and stood near them. The checker was about to launch into a lecture when I caught his eye and shook my head at him slightly and glanced at the boy. The TC looked at the boy and saw that he was on the verge of crying. He quickly undertood the situation and gave me an assuring nod. He ignored all the other passengers and showed the boy how to recognize a first class compartment. The boy, nodded, but was still nervous. The TC then put his hand around his shoulders amd told him not to worry. But he made the boy get down at Mahim and personally guided him to a second class compartment, all the time giving him instructions about how to travel in local trains.

It was heart warming to see the checker do what he did. Who says Mumbai doesn' t have a heart?

To Bra or Not to Bra

Image courtesy: http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2013/05/31/business/Bra1/Bra1-articleLarge.jpg

There was a 'Jockey' sale almost a month ago in Borivali. The brand is well known for quality undergarments. After finishing the day's lectures and admin work, I left the Department at about 5 p.m. and reached the place of the sale at about 6 p.m. There was no place to park nearby, so I had to park at a little distance. At the entrance, I was asked to deposit my backpack at a counter, frisked to check if I was carrying a bomb, and let inside. The whole place was teeming with men, women and children of all ages and sizes. Children, much lesser in numbers, probably because their mama's buy their undergarments.

The sale was arranged quite well, with different tables for different sizes of undergarments. There were boxes placed on the tables with different 'models'. What was not organised was the public. They reached over one another, pushed and pulled, mixed up the sizes and models. The atmosphere resembled a 'mela'. Well, I went to the section which offered underwear of my preferred size. The table, like all other tables was surrounded by so many people that I couldn't even reach my hand to the boxes. Not just people, there were more women looking at mens' underwear than men. There was no way I could push a woman to reach the table.

After some time, I found small gap and tried to reach my hand into the boxes, while carefully trying to avoid the woman who was busy opening up several underwear sachets. While doing that, she was constantly yakking on the phone asking her husband, "Should I buy the red one? No, no, you already have a red, why don't you try pink? (Giggle). And there is a new model, I think it will fit you well", - or things to that effect. I looked around and saw that this scene was common all over the place. After some time, I got rather irritated, because it was getting very difficult to avoid brushing against this hyper-active woman and that was the only gap I had. Ultimately, I requested her with folded hands to please give me some space and look for underwear for myself without brushing against her and without being embarrassed while looking at different models. She moved away a little in a huff, but continued her merry conversation. I decided that enough was enough and proceeded with my job of selecting underwear.

The scene everywhere was chaotic and hilarious. There were people looking at the cloth as if they were buying material for a wedding suit. Some were trying to place the underwear against their groins like Superman, asking their companion how it looked! I just recalled the song in 'Ayushyavar Bolu Kahi' - "Superman, Superman, Superman, Vartun Chaddi, aatun Pant". One guy actually asked the attendant if there was a trial room! Children were busy running around and carrying the several sachets that their parents asked them to hold. After quickly selecting what I wanted, I escaped from the table and found that there was a huge queue to pay for the goods. 

Meanwhile, my wife had reached Borivali and called to say that she would be arriving the venue in a few minutes. Promising that I would keep the red carpet rolled for her, I decided to stroll over to the women's section to wait for my wife. There were women looking at bras and underwear, just like the men were, in the mens' section. I decided to move a little away, but before I could do that, I got several angry stares and dirty looks from the women and even from the watchman at the door. Why was the womens' section right at the door? I wondered. Luckily I was saved by the timely arrival of my wife, who proceeded to the section and I joined the long queue while she chose her goods.

Why am I talking about this incident that happened a month ago? Well, a new branch of D'Mart has come up in the vicinity of our house, and we had decided to check it out. After choosing several grocery items and putting them in the trolley, we decided to check the clothing section. D'Mart seems to have a reasonably priced range in their store. I went to the mens' undergarment section to buy 'banians' for my son, who was too busy with his 'studies' (Cricket match). There too, there were a few women selecting things for their sons, spouses. I picked up a few vests and pushed my trolley to where my wife was looking at some dresses. Because I had to travel through the women's section, again I had to encounter some angry and dirty looks. 

I was quite irritated at the hypocrisy of it all and asked my wife to pick up whatever she wanted and proceeded to the billing counter. For all the nineteen years we have been married, I have been actively involved in selection of her dresses, but not undergarments. Whenever we need them, we just pick up the necessary undergarments on the way home, or when we go to market. There is hardly any discussion on it. Generally, we Indians are not very obsessed with the type or make of the underwear we wear. They should just be comfortable. We have never 'shopped' for underwear and lingerie. So this was my first brush with the phenomenon. 

Why is it that I had to request a woman to give me space to look for underwear in the mens' section? Why can't a man go to buy a bra for his wife? (Except maybe in high end shops). Why do I get dirty looks when I even approach the womens' underwear section? The answers to these are in the social, cultural situation that we Indians find ourselves in. Women's liberation is still a myth in Indian societies, especially in the minds of both, men and women. We have embraced the mall culture without realising what it really means. We have not realised that in a mall, everything is out in the open. We have embraced the Internet and Facebooks and Google Pluses, but then once you are a part of a network, any network, you are no more a private individual. There are no secrets, no privacy.

Image courtesy: https://data.epo.org/publication-server/image?imageName=imgaf001&docId=4774531

Just to end this, after returning home yesterday, I asked my wife to tell me, explain to me, how she buys her bras. What is the meaning of A Cup, B Cup etc? We men just look at the waist or the chest size. She said that in India, most women don't know about the Cup type. In fact, many brands do not offer different cup types at all. I was surprised to know that most women might be actually wearing bras that might be actually uncomfortable. We decided to learn about it and together, browsed the net.

Here is a link for you. From good old Wikipedia.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brassiere_measurement

BEWARE, I HAVE MANIACAL TENDENCIES....

I have ZERO tolerance to plagiarism. In fact, I have an allergy to it so bad, that if I am at my computer, my hands start moving in a very funny fashion. The index finger of my right hand automatically keeps going to the number 0 (ZERO) or it starts typing the characters Z, E, R, and O, in that order repeatedly. The condition is so bad that it is uncontrollable.

If I am holding a document in my hands, both my hands behave in a funny fashion. They tend to pick up the document and I am forced to hold it tightly at its edge. Then my hands start moving forcefully in opposite directions, thus tearing the papers into half. It does not stop there. My hands then join the folded pieces and again tear them. This goes on till the document is torn to tiny pieces.

If I am holding a red pen in my hand, I develop a tendency to pierce a hole into the document. Next, even if I try to prevent it, my hand forcefully starts crossing out large sections of the paragraphs on the document. Then it starts writing, in large, bold, red letters the characters Z, E, R, and O, in that order repeatedly. Next they also write the characters F, A, I, and L, again in large, red letters.

At the same time, I experience palpitations, increase in blood pressure and a maniacal tendency to kill someone. It takes a lot of effort to prevent myself from pulling out my keyboard and breaking the screen of my monitor. I develop red eyes and and a temperature. I also tend to tear my hair out. One lasting effect is my hair is turning white faster than ever. It has also thinned. Since while doing all this, I also feel like boxing someone in the face, I think I have broken a tooth in my lower jaw, leaving a gaping hole for everyone to see when I smile. 

I have consulted many psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, neurosurgeons, doctors, sadhus, babas, and black magic wallahs. None of them have been able to find a cure for my allergy to plagiarism. They say there is simply no cure. 

I just have to stop reading plagiarized content!