Shove at First Sight

The other day, on my way to work, I saw a 20-something girl beating the daylights out of a similarly-aged boy. Though I was at a distance, I could easily fathom that what could have been a minor lovers’ tiff had done a volte-face, taking an ugly turn. The boy stood apologetically with hands folded, looking beseechingly at his lady love, who in turn, looked in no mood for any compassion. She stood erect, one hand holding what was perhaps the boy’s mobile (no doubt holding some telltale clue to the aggression on display). With the other hand, she pummelled his chest with all her might, hurling vitriolic abuses at him, her face contorted with blind fury.

There was of course an expected stream of curious bystanders. Some had even pulled up their vehicles to witness this tussle - commenting, giggling and cheering-on the two agitated parties.

This led me to wonder – while people and quarrelling are inseparable, what makes even busy people stop dead in their tracks to become onlookers at brawls?

We see it all the time – two neighbours are quarrelling loudly outside their homes – a bandwagon of people gather around them in the twinkling of an eye. The spectators get completely caught-up in the squawking, taking sides, shaking fists, doling out unsolicited advice that was bound to cause bodily harm to either or both of the two warring parties, and giving free wings to their repressed anger - in the form of unparliamentary language. All this while, they forget their own household chores that need attending to. More often than not, they are often unaware of what caused the commotion in the first place. Minutes later, when the two neighbours decide to call it a day, the crowd disperses, chattering excitedly, and taking steps back to their humdrum lives.

There is the oft-reported pub-scene where highly-'spirited' men exchange sneers over beers, moving on to risky whiskey, brandishing unsightly middle fingers in each other's faces, and finishing with kicks and blows after consuming a few more. They are egged on by the other patrons, till the fed-up owner of the lounge sends in a couple of beefy bouncers to extricate the two.

We also see the occasional scene when a speeding motorist rams into the car ahead of his. Bam! The owner of the first car steps out - fist clenched, a snarl all too evident on his frowning face, smoke billowing out of his ears. He dives into the driver’s open window of the second car, switching off the ignition and pocketing the car keys triumphantly. A push and an unkind shove are next, followed by rude vocabulary that involves doing unspeakable acts to the other’s mother or sister. A loud smack is often heard, leaving an audience of 20 stunned, waiting with bated breath for the next slap. ‘Witnesses’ who weren’t there in the first place, zoom up, stepping forward, adding to the drama as it unfolds, ensuring a trail of blows, ear-pulling, swearing, eye-poking and collar-grabbing. Name-dropping is at its most generous and phone calls to relatives or friends who are in the higher rungs of the police ladder, are lawyers, or goons, are made in quick succession.

It's just too bad if your car happens to be behind – as obviously the two parties have no qualms of stopping right in the middle of a busy flyover or crossing. You smack your forehead in annoyance, praying that the two sort out their differences before they come to blows and neutral police have to be called for assistance.

What is with people, we included, that makes us stop all that we are doing, to see one guy pounding the cr*p out of another?

Are we all proving something to ourselves?

Or is watching a fight equivalent to making up for something lacking in us?

Does seeing someone nailing a punch on someone and making him kiss mother earth equate to a primal instinct in us to fight?

Does it take us back to our youth, when a resounding slap and a stern mouth said it all?

Does our latent sporting talent get a resuscitation when we see a chap do some good footwork on another?

Is it the sheer adrenaline pump of watching an action flick unfold right in front of us?

Does it stem from one of our oldest urges of curiosity?

Does it unleash our dormant sociopathic streak?

Is it our gut feeling of betting and waiting to see who emerges winner?

Or do we think that violence is the solution to everything?

Any other lame reason for doing so?

You tell me...

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire!

Pinocchio has some stiff competition...

We’ve all heard a few, or in some cases, more than a fair share of classic white-lies. Hell, we’ve perhaps also indulged in spouting quite a few, haven't we?

See if the following sound familiar:

‘Hey, what a freakish coincidence – I was just gonna call you.’
(When you are clenching your fist and berating yourself for not knowing the fine difference between picking a call and letting it go unattended)

‘Hey, this is just what I had been meaning to get. Thanks so much. I loooooove it'.(Bright smile at its fakest best).
(Upon receiving an itchy, fluorescent green cardigan for your birthday – the kind that would be stashed forever in your wardrobe, and never get to see the light of day)

‘Are you sure? I never DID receive any email from you!’
(To a friend whose email had long been sitting in your mailbox, begging to be replied to, but lazybones you had never attended to)

‘I would have loved to, but I’ll be busy with my volunteering at the local Blind School.,’
(To someone’s who’s been insisting on dragging you to a lousy flick)

'Yeah, I am working, but that's ok. Go ahead, tell me.'(Taking tired eyes away from your laptop)
(To that pesky co-worker who wants to narrate yet another mindnumbingly stupid anecdote, when the only thing you've been 'working' upon is your virtual soccer-team's score)

‘Oh no, you don’t look fat. You look like you’ve lost a few kgs since the time I saw you last.’
(To a BIG colleague who’s resumed office after delivering a bonny girl)

(Clapping hard). ‘Wow, that was some song.’
(To your boss at work whose vocal chords could
i. Ahem. Put a donkey to shame
ii. Ahem Ahem. Make the dead rise)

‘I played basketball for my school and college teams. Won quite a few matches too.’
(When the only game that you’ve played was that of cat-and-mouse – with your school and college sports instructor – for refusing to participate in anything that remotely involved running in a field, after hours)

Back during my school days, I was amongst the star performers.
(When the nearest you could be to ‘star’ would have been while removing the first letter from it, what with red underlines making your progress report very colourful indeed)

‘I really enjoyed the food – you’re a wonderful cook. Thanks for inviting me over.’
(To a ‘kind’ hostess whose ‘wonderful’ cooking required you to gag every now and then, and make frequent trips to the washroom to flush your system. Gawd knows that you cook better – and that's speaking quite a lot.’

‘I absolutely love your individualistic style of dressing!’
(To your brother’s best friend who looks as if he is getting ready to hit the town at night - to fetch clients)

‘Gosh, you still look the same like you were in college.’
(To a college mate at an alumni meet, who looks like she ate half of a continent, patted her well-fed tummy, and was considering beginning on the next one)

‘Fabulous hairstyle! Which salon did you go to?’
(To a neighbour whose hair made her look like your aunt’s squawking parakeet – on the days it decided to ruffle its head feathers. You also mentally make a note to never visit the salon that DID that to her (Shudder)

There are also the online lies – the herald that claims you are the sole nominee for a recently-deceased Arab Sheikh who’s left you a legacy of a hundred oil wells somewhere in the Middle East. Or the ones that congratulate you for being the 1,00,000th visitor to a website, asking you to click somewhere to claim your FREE FREE FREE prize.

Some people’s education in white lies - those attractively-packaged omissions of truth, begin from as early as childhood. What else can explain the wide-eyed obedience of an otherwise impish 6-year old who’s been told by his parents that a certain white-bearded, generous saint rewards only ‘good’ children with gifts on Christmas? Or the 4-year old girl who was warned by her imaginative mother not to squint or cross her eyes, lest they remained that way? Or the terrified kid who comes running to his grandma, tears streaming down his face – he had swallowed a pellet of chewing gum and now his insides were sure to stick together? And the petrified-of-dentists girl, who had a tooth extracted, all the while maintaining a stoic face, her mind busy thinking of the next day, when the tooth fair was sure to leave a prezzie under her pillow.

While parents tell white lies to children to teach them to be tractable and obedient, these same children go on to recount their own tall tales, white lies and fibs - bettering with the years.

The reasons why they grow up into adults who are not averse to speaking the occasional half-truth, may be varied – from a considerate ‘tactful comment’ that doesn’t hurt the listener, an avowal of the Ignorance is bliss module that maintains what they don’t know doesn’t hurt them or spreading an ever continuing charade of sunshine, peace and contentment. It also goes beyond – to the protector instinct which shields the listener from the not-so-bright side of life, and the trying one’s best to blend with peers by seeking acceptance and approval by agreeing with what is more commonly referred to as, pardon my language, Bullshit.

Whatever be the reasons – white lies are here to stay. Admit it – you’ve been there, done that too.

And for those who shake their heads furiously, let me toggle your memory – remember last month when you literally slept through your superior’s presentation at work, shook your watch a zillion times, doodled in your notebook kept for such precise moments, looked at the other sufferers in mute helplessness, and then at the end of it all - applauded it as ‘path breaking?’

Didn’t so much as blink, did you?

Jolly-good June

In a country famed for its festival-dotted calendar, June stands out as something of an anomaly, affording no relief from the drudgery of five-(or in some cases, six) day working weeks. This of course translates into a grumpy state of mind for me, known otherwise as a sunny-tempered soul.

So, it was after a lot of arm-twisting by a goof, oops, good friend – KB, that I rubbed my eyes and woke up to the happy times that June ushers.

Vacations. See the hordes of smiling-from-ear-to-ear children to know what I mean.

Picnics. And overflowing picnic baskets.

Long drives away from the hustle and bustle of the cityscape.

Renewal of swimming pool memberships. Splashing, smashing times guaranteed. Besides some treats for sore eyes if you are lucky – bronzed bodies, taut muscles – you get the drift, don’t you...

Fruits fiesta – luscious mangoes, tangy cherries, plump jamuns (Indian blackberries), thirst-quenching watermelons, ripe peaches, and of course, the staple – succulent litchees.

Traditional June-chillers – Aam Panna, Lassi and Chaach (buttermilk), Jaljeera, Shikanji or Nimboo Paani (Lemonades) and the ubiquitous mango shake. Besides of course, the perennial summer quenchers – beer, chardonnay and Sangria.

Cheerful, betel-nut chewing women selling corn-on-the-cobs, roasted golden-brown to perfection that beg you to sink your teeth into them.

June is also the month for celebrating the first man in everyone’s lives – Fathers. An exclusive day for Fathers on the third Sunday in June.

You also have the World Doughnut Day. A chomping-heartily day for sugar-lovahs...

And the less-known 'Take your Dog to Work Day,' which I wish my Organization would decide to celebrate. And which would surely delight my Labrador, Buzo, causing him to thump his tail wildly at the very thought of that adventure – the same tail that has been known to turn tables. Literally!

And now, lest you think that this post is sponsored by greeting giants, Archies and Hallmark, let me dwell-upon elsewhere...

The iconic Apple is all slated to launch yet another marvel. All technophiles and gizmo-crazed enthusiast are bound to go into a tizzy, setting up collecting sighs, drooling over the wonder that will be the iPhone 4G and red-letter that much-awaited date - 24. Now it remains to be seen when it hits the shores amd stores here, and how much it will make people pay through their noses...

This June, there are enough bigwigs lined up for the silver screen – and I have enough tick-in-the-boxes to do (with some leftover from alst month), what with SATC 2, Iron Man 2, Prince of Persia, Shutter Island, Karate Kid, Shrek Forever After, The A-Team, Knight and Day, and Robin Hood. Closer home – Kites, Rajneeti, Raavan, and It’s a Wonderful Afterlife.

While not all of them would be scorching hits at the BO, I’m hoping that not all of them would fall flat on their faces.

With the World Cup beginning in the next two days, hubby dearest has been scratching his head and recalling names of my long-lost friends, with whom he’s been suggesting I spend whole days with. Too bad that I called his bluff, and those ‘ Awww,I have such a considerate spouse’ choice of words have given way to the ‘Ohh, now I see’ glares.

And on a last note, as the heat starts to wane, it is time to look up at the skies, willing the fluffy, white clouds to do a volte-face, a complete make-over into grim, grey ones. The dry, scorching surroundings receive the welcome monsoon showers, a clean, fresh smell stemming from the till-recently parched, baked soil. The yellowing grass springs to a new lush-green life, causing many a person to kick-off his open-toed sandals and walk barefeet.

June sure is lovely!

And I’d sure enjoy it more if this horrid cast would come off!

Going on a free spree

Twenty years back, people would collect coins and stamps. Today, in a world where promotional campaigns hand you free sample stuff by the dozen, the average freebie lover couldn’t have asked for more.

There are however those who take this passion for giveaways to an altogether low, I mean – high. What else can explain a 40-something lady queuing-up for the gratis 30 ml bottle of shampoo which she will never use? Not even to bathe her pet canine. Or the average office-goer who makes his routine visit to the office stationery store, smacking his lips at the thought of all those collectibles he would bag that day.

Is it the unmistakable, hard-to-resist complimentary offer?
Is it an almost caveman-like instinct to accumulate?
Is it a junkaholic mindset?
Is it the practical ‘try before you buy’ logic?
Is it subliminal messaging that reaches out to that most primeval of emotions - greed?
Or does it go beyond?

There is the all too familiar episode from that much-loved sitcom F*R*I*E*N*D*S* - nerdy Ross and the constantly-unable-to-resist-blurting-his-tongue-in-cheek-humor Chandler decide that the best way to seek revenge on the Vermont hotel which does not believe in making refunds, is to pack their suitcases with the ‘free stuff’ that the hotel has on offer. Now, while we've really gotta cut Ross some slack – the poor guy was high on maple candy, you do get the drift, don’t you?

Before going any further, let me add that I am all for material things, lest you think that I’ve achieved some sort of zen-like detachment for spouting the above. I understand the lucrative nature of freebie marketing that propels such promotional marketing, what I fail to grasp is the rationale behind people stocking up on things that hold no value for them.

Some random examples -

- The blessed-with-glowing-skin college girl who eagerly stretches her hand for the promo pack of the anti-acne cream.
- The diabetic gentleman who happily waits his turn for the salesman who is handing out free chocolates and calorific potato wafers.
- The teetotaller who caresses his miniature liquor bottles lovingly.
- The corporate hotels employee who arranges yet another register among his ever-burgeoning stash at home.
- The middle-aged couple who wait every two years to visit the Auto Expo – so as to collect varieties of automobile calendars – both wall and desk ones, and the glossy magazines that their tired fingers would never leaf through.
- Another fairly common example is often seen in intercontinental flights where passengers ask cabin crew to hand them dental sets and promptly stow them in their oversized travel bags. (How they brush their teeth without the help of the dental set is something I wouldn’t bother to know).

The prize specimen called the buffet specialist is quite another story though – greed surpassing all other reasons that he may have, as he strides purposefully to the generous buffet on display. After all - breakfast was on the house. Several minutes later, you can hardly see him behind his heaped plate, though you can discern the chomp-chomp sounds that come from him. He devours the items as swiftly as he makes his ‘loot’ disapparate from the table - I’m talking coin-sized packets of peanut butter, jelly, marmalade, pats of butter, cheese cubes and slices – the works. It’s a wonder he leaves the kiwi fruit, though you do notice him looking forlornly at them…

Some people may deny the allegations in the couple of paragraphs above. Their defence is that they like ‘collecting’ stuff. Maybe they identify with pack rats. Well, some definitely need to look beyond this delusion, and kiss their junkaholic ‘Hoard and Clutter’ syndrome goodbye.

Whatever be the case, there really is some truth in that adage – One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.