Sheeple, Part One

November 26, 2009
Marine Drive. 8 PM.

I walk my usual end-of-work walk to Churchgate, my usual earphones in tow blaring the usual music. The queen's necklace plays host to a flood of small-time processions in remembrance. Impoverished kids holding placards that read -

"Politicians are the root of all evil"
"Our politicians are our terrorists"

Twenty-somethings sporting "I heart Mumbai" T-shirts. News crews doing their jobs tiredly, and hundreds thronging the scene for a few minutes, and getting bored and moving on. A nation of ADD afflicted people mourns.

"They started it. We will end it" screams the poster lying on the floor of Marine Drive.

TV news anchoresses (?) enjoying being the center of attention with their TV make up on. Foreigners clicking photographs of the poor family lighting the candles. They ask the poor mother and her children to pose. One day they'll enter this practiced shot in a photography competition and win the third prize.

"Sorry doesn't make a dead man alive"
"Only in India. Worli Sea Link Project 400 to 1600 crores"

The director of the TV show pats the kids' heads spouting vague profound platitudes to his anchoress, "The terrorist is there in us". Then continues to speak broken laborious hindi with the poor family.

The Professional Party of India spouts its triteness with web addresses prominently positioned on their t-shirts.

"One India. One People. Do not divide us for political gains."

The people in the Hero Honda sponsored sub-procession drum their raucous little dhol and chant their raucous little chant . For some reason, the Hum Awaz Charitable Trust is carrying a hovercraft on top of its gigantic bus. Candles lit in front of the Trident. The sub-processions pose for the cameras.

"We are the offenders & the victims if we do not vote !!!"

You know, I would have actually missed your point but your three exclamation points really jogged my brain and transformed my whole life view.

Barely twenty feet away from them a mother and her son lie on the marine drive pavement. The mother wants to sleep, her head resting on her raggedy slippers. Her worn out sari her bed sheet. She tries to sleep in vain (its 8 pm) as her son cries and tugs at her.

"Free the police from the politicians. Implement Police Reforms."

The rally participants pass her by. So do the happy couples enjoying the queen's necklace on a windy November evening. Perhaps the worst are people like me. Those who'll pause and observe the scene, with the phrase, 'grotesque irony' swirling in their heads. Who'll think for a fraction of a fraction of a second if they can do something. And then leave after convincing themselves at nano speed that 'of course there isn't. How stupid of me to even consider this question. What can I do? Its just the way it is. I dont want her to be poor. Its just the way it is.'

A wife, husband and her mother-in-law pass her. The wife pauses for a second. I can read her mind. She'd much rather that the woman on the pavement not be on the pavement. She stops. She lurches towards the sleeping woman, unsure of herself. Her husband and mother-in-law pull her back. She complies semi-reluctantly.

Main janda tainu ajj
Peerh hundi
Dil tere uthhdi ey
Chees

Main janda aunde
Din ‘ch tufan kai
Kujh sujhda na
Udddi ey reit

Probably she'll forget all about it before she reaches Not just Jazz by the bay, a few steps down the road, and takes a heavenly whiff of the pizzeria. Maybe she'll think of her in the night, and then think, 'Oh but I wanted to help her, but they pulled me back. What could i do?'

Tera maseeha
kivein das bane koi
Duniya sabh bhulli firdi
Khud varke tainu folne paine
Khud painde tainu chalne paine
Navein akhar gharne paine

And opposite the Express building a tv crew has cornered a politician and a bunch of concerned citizens of mumbai. The citizens question, some trying to sound intelligent; others wailing about why kasab has been kept alive for a year. The politician justifies. The anchoress counts seconds to when she gets to stop nodding vigorously and say this, "Aaiye junta se pata karte hain kya sandesh hai har mumbaikar ko, ek saal baad ..."

The Air India building carries a huge picture / shadow that spells 'In rememberance' with a picture of the Taj and a huge candle.
Half a dozen people stop to click a picture of this magnificient display. They'll go home and upload it on their facebook page. A TV crew cameraman records them clicking it. He'll put it in a montage for the late night anniversary special on his news channel. I write about the cameraman recording the people clicking the photographs. I'll post it on an unread blog. You're reading what I wrote. Perhaps you'll tell it to somebody.

"We're all going to die"

(yeah, ok, this one wasn't one of the placards)

The candle is tilted. 'If it tips, it'll set the Taj on fire again', I think as I stand at the marine drive pavement marked '0000 Meters'. A guy does his stretching exercises. '0100 Meters' A sketching artist sits jobless, waiting for someone to come any look at his wares. '0200 Meters' A young couple sits still and stare into each others' eyes silently. Feels like they've been that way for a long time now. '0300 Meters' Two foreigners sit with two large headphones on their ears listening to music and stare out into the sea. '0400 Meters' Two professionals sit with a small laptop with a broadband doggle, and stare into the laptop. Opposite them a Taxi Driver cleans his taxi.

T-shirt quote of the guy who passes me by - "Someday they'll make a movie about me". I turn right towards Churchgate.

Next - Sheeple, Part two - November 26, 2009. Gateway.

An Existangential Post

Existangential (adj.) - A thought that begins on an existential note, but soon goes off on a tangent.


"Hey"
"Hey"
"Are you alright? You look like crap"
(beat) "Seriously? That's what you're leading with?"
"What? I cant make one self referential joke now?"
"oh by all means. I'm your blog. Make as many as you like. In fact, I bet you will."
"oh, I also bet I will. Anyhow, why so serious?"
"I dont know, dude. I just ... I'm not sure if I should continue or not"
"What? Where is this coming from?"
"I dont know man. Blogs are ended / stopped all the time. Haven't really published anything in a while. I'm starting to doubt why I exist in the first place."

Walter Sparrow: I once read that the only philosophical question that matters is whether or not to commit suicide. I guess that makes me a philosopher.

"Why did you start, ..er.. existing?"
"It was just one of those things. Hark! 'twas done on a lark. It was done because a status message wasn't enough. Because nobody on my friends list would understand (or be interested in) my obscure references, and I wanted to see if anyone out there would. For example, if anyone would google the following and land up here to revel in our mutual Kaufman obsession -

.... of events can be approached either from behind or above. In other words, all pluralities must be tethered to a consequence or the "rotation" of the event sequence will be uninflected and the locator axis (a, ab, abx...) will be an unapproachable phenomenology. Furthermore each sequential variable will be prohibited from interacting, creating a casual decimation and resulting in the profligation of at least three unendurable practicalities.

... beyond that I dont know. Why do you exist?"

"Me? Mesa 'man', yousa 'blog', and a lame-ass one at that."
"You and I aren't that different, you know."
"oh?"
"yes, oh. See, I stop writing, I cease to exist. You stop living, you cease to exist. I write drafts , and dont publish them. You live with yourself, and don't interact much with others. Most of the time I sedately consume instead of restlessly producing; and you live your life on auto pilot, going through the motions. You live for the self (rather than for God and others) and I write for myself rather than anyone who might venture here. Just as it is stupid of me to want to write (not funny, but rather) funnier than other blogs, its stupid of you to want to earn more than some random moron. You hate yourself, I hate all that I write. So the real question isn't why I want to stop. It is, why don't you?"
"Well, I love my sedate consuming, thank you very much"
"Bah"
"Look. Frankl said -

We can discover meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering.

..And all three are perfectly applicable. "

"Yeah, but what if I hate all the works I create?"
"..."
"..."
"(vocal turntable) oh I hate / all the works / I create / all the jerks / ideate / call the ..."
"what the ... what in pluperfect hell are you doing?"
"you know ... i... i'm just ... quick ... give me something that rhymes with 'tangent' "
"dear lord"