The City of Cows & Lessons from the Local Trains
This noise commonly heard in Mumbai has to be one of the most annoying sounds around.
“Tch-tch, hissss, smooch-smooch”
“What?”
“Thoda side de na”
This abominable, abhorrent noise is only the beginning of the frustration. There are taxi- drivers who think they own the fucking United States. There is the Marathi supremacist autowallah who’ll refuse your fare if you speak to him in Hindi. There are two bit BPO losers who think their broken English is licence to abuse, push and shove at will in Locals. The guys in the First Class compartment will behave like you just ruined their date with Jenna Jameson if your chappal leaves as much as a speck of dirt on their trousers, apologies be damned. And yet the same people will not bat an eyelid when their laptop bags nearly choke you to death as they scramble to alight at Kurla station.
And contrary to what others may say, the propensity to use force or crappy English to gain the upper hand in the case of (mostly meaningless) arguments is present even among Mumbaiites. Depending upon the time of the day and the the general mood in the trains , which is directly related to functional state of the train system , you might get thrashed for stuff as trivial as inadvertently stepping on someone else’s toe. There are people who’d try and defuse tensions, the so-called, ‘helping hands’, but it is likely that people might just look at the scene as if it were a mildly interesting TV programme. Also, don’t be surprised if you hear calls such as, “Serves him right, why can’t he walk properly”, or, “Yeh maar kyon kha raha hai, bhaag kyon nahin jaata” from the oh-so-attentive audience. And if you happen to offend one of those Marathi-is-great-rest-is-crap douchebags, God help you.
Never surrender your seat to anyone, unless it’s someone really elderly, or a female person. This place is such a freaking Darwinian free-for-all that any act of courtesy is interpreted as a sign of weakness. Show some good old fashioned courtesy and expect to be walked over. Sometimes you may even have to teach some elderly people how to behave. People do not accept apologies. They’ll simply vent their spleen on you if you cause them the slightest inconvenience. Hence, do not expect apologies either. Either grit your teeth and endure or shower the aggressor with the choicest of those delightful Hindi expletives. If people push, you push back, if people shove, you shove back. Heck, if you give off the impression of imperviousness and physical strength and fearsomeness (Usuallly shown by flexing your arms and abusing anyone in sight), you could get your entire family into first class ticketless and tell the self-appointed ticket checkers to fuck off.
Some aspects of the city are great. Public transport is efficient . The railways are extremely diligent, as are the Police, there are some really wonderful people and some really interesting places to visit. I can also suppose that the concentration of Good Samaritans in this city is much more than anywhere else in India. Even with those who jump queues, insult, abuse, use violence, and throw their weight around, there are some exemplary people. The city numbs your conscience to such an extent that many people prize the little moral currency that they do have, including (I think) myself. The food is freaking amazing. People on the whole mind their business, and you’re likely to encounter a honest cabbie/autowallah at least 7 out of 10 times. But at the end of the day, I keep asking myself if it’s really worth it.
Spending nearly two weeks of the last 1 and a half year or so in a Mumbai Local has taught me one thing. In the City of Cows, you either have a great life, or no life at all. If you make a lot of money and own an chauffeured automobile and posh houses and the like, you live a life of obscene luxury. If you want to live a peaceful life without too many fancy gadgets, without cars, commuting to your workplace/college/school and spending evenings reading and all that (Kind of how I want to live), I really doubt you’ll want to live in Mumbai. I just want to get my degree and leave this place, returning only for temporary periods. I cannot have my self esteem violated thus and I refuse to descend to the level of the pseudo-decent, behaving all crass and rude and loud. I donot want to drive fast cars, I have no interest in frequenting posh hotels or night clubs, I certainly don’t want to have ANYTHING to do with the film industry and I refuse to use underhand means to get rich (Atleast that’s my moral status for now 
).
Maybe, as someone said, I’m being very callous by demeaning the existence of so many people. We’ll perhaps I am, but mere existence alone isn’t good enough for me. I want a Life. I am being very immature and irresponsible, banging away on the new PC my dad just gifted me. Maybe I’m not fit to write on all this considering I’m from a more privileged background and don’t have to go through the worst of the above. Perhaps I’m being a hypocrite considering that I am not yet earning/living for myself so I cannot fully understand those I’m berating . Perhaps their lives are so tough I cannot understand the situations that lead to such behaviour.
Maybe I don’t. But throughout my childhood and now upto my late teens, the people who have made it all worthwhile are those whose lives are so difficult and challenging we pseudo-patriotic, pseudo-intellectuals can’t even comprehend. Right from the watchman who rushed your mother to the hospital just after a serious accident, or the roadside tea-stall owner who makes his living by dint of perseverance and honesty. The honest policemen to the municipal sweepers, striving to keep the animals in check. These people are poor, their lives are difficult. They donot travel first class in trains, no they don’t speak English. nor do they frequent malls.
So yeah,, I really cannot buy this “Life is tough, you won’t understand. You’re naive, irresponsible” theory. The life of the abusive First class software engineer must be freaking pristine compared to what these people have to endure. So why so much self-importance, why the need to behave so badly? Why does the ticket collector need to thrash the poor child who enters the first class compartment by mistake? Why are people so ready to take advantage of you? Why do these supposedly educated and ‘sophisticated’ fellows have to inconvience every one else with their irritating habits?
I am not waiting to figure out. 5 more semesters.
Divine Intervention or Pure Chance?
Does God play Dice?
Or are we all but quirks of Fate?
Is Everything divinely ordained?
Or a game that wily Mathematics defined?
How do two minds, so unlike,
In thought and in action unite,
Share the pure love every man covets,
Pens fantastic epics in whose quest.
A seemingly logical mind,
A morass of raw emotion within.
A boisterous, friendly exterior,
Innocent vulnerability under the skin.
But in two such distinct beings,
Is such fierce loyalty the Sun finds scalding,
No power in the world,
Can ever put our friendship to sword.
Mathematics wanted some fun,
Arranged a meeting with someone so unknown,
Maybe He wanted a laugh,
To see me mocked by someone from Class.
But it was I, who laughed last,
Because we got under each others skin,
Peeling off the layers of her mind,
I got to know the wonderful Woman within.
Five months of togetherness,
Kisses, conversations, fights, and tenderness,
Should I thank God and his Dice?
Or quit brooding and kiss her more, thaw the ice?
God or no God, dice or no dice,
She is the best thing that happened to my life.
Indian Pussy League-I
Never, ever ,watch an Indian Paisa League match at The New Stadium. This is obviously directed at that tiny minority of cattle who don’t mind getting jostled, pushed, abused by cronies of seedy politicians and leaving the stadium with a sense of having been violated (You know the feeling when another guy presses his groin against your butt.), all in return for watching Tendehar play. I blaspheme,but I’m not one among them, regardless of my immense admiration and respect for him.
I’d watched a couple of matches at the stadium in 2008, and had had a wonderful experience, so I was really looking forward to watching a 2010 edition match at what is purportedly the World’s 6th best stadium. It was the Marathas V the Nizams at The “Pride of New City”, and the “Home” of the Nizams. Plans were made, I decided to go with my Dad. He booked the tickets online and instructed me to collect them, and thus I came to be at the New Stadium ticket counter on the sticky, sultry morning of the 27th of March, 2010.
You realize that something is out of place when you arrive at 1030 for a 10 am appointment only to see the ticket window closed and a huge crowd of people gathered in the uncharacteristically intense heat. As usual(?), the vendor hadn’t arrived on time, and there was a typically serpentine queue at the ticket window. Some people were yelling themselves hoarse, a different matter that there was no target of their collective frustration. Others seemed resigned to their fate and were fanning themselves with whatever they could.I gave out a deep sigh and bullied my sleep-deprived and GTA:Vice City loaded brain to stand in the ever-lengthening queue.
When the vendor did finally arrive,at around 11, there was a minor stampede at the window – we were all restless due to waiting in the oppressive heat. Unsurprisingly, a few arguments flared up as regards superior ticket denomination and “who cut the queue” and yada yada. You know, one of those involving a couple of men eager to exhibit their non-existent prowess of Angrezi to gain the upper hand.
“You’re an ass. An ass of the nth order”. (Note: Actual Dialogue, no embellishment whatsoever)
“How dare you say talk like that. You….You….”
You get the drift.
There was this idiot who played “Queue Organizer” only to sneak in in between. The bastard. Those who had purchased tickets worth greater than Rs.1500 were turned away and asked to come back the next day. Among them was a foreigner-looking gentleman, who stood patiently and sedately in the scorching heat awaiting his turn that would never arrive. His face betrayed no anger or annoyance when the situation was explained to him. Then there was this rather helpful gentleman who got all of us organized into different lines (for different ticket pries) in the first place.
The foreigner person was a stark contrast to all the line-cutting, screaming, arguing a few of us supposedly “sophisticated”, “Middle-Class” Indians were indulging in. It was a somewhat sad sight. Some people who drive Sedans and SUVs don’t even know how to stand in a queue. *Exhale*. Anyway, I did manage to collect the tickets after nearly 2 hours of enduring the fucking heat.
I was relieved,to have finally obtained the tickets, shocked that 2000 bucks were being spent for such mindrape, and angry, at being treated so badly. The aggressive, ultra-nationalistic Indian in me kept reassuring me that it was a one off, that the IPL is very well organized and bla bla. But the more cynical, more introspective me entertained disturbing thoughts about my insignificance in the larger scheme of things . I wonder, is such mismanagement and shabby treatment marquee to Indian society? It’s just one incident, but common knowledge also cites similar incidents happening to millions of us throughout this country.
How else does one answer the question why so many ordinary citizens, who had already paid quite large sums of money for what is a service,treated so shabbily and callously? It’s simple. The bristling-with-rage me can almost visualize one of those slimeballs who run this. Like the Union Agriculture Minister.
“You paid the money early, you’re the sucker. Who asked you to show off and use that credit card? Now keep hanging till we dispense the tickets, geddit? dispense. It’s not sale, it’s a donation. We get a huge high out of seeing you fools scrambling for those tickets like a bunch of stray dogs fighting over a chapati. You have no right to complain. Commoners like you donot speak against us fat-cats. You’re privileged to be watching the Indian Paisa League, not the other way round. You get to see the players you idolize, you get food, you get booze. You get to sing and dance. And to lech at those foreign hotties. And it’s we fat-cats who invest our hard earned dirty money for this obscene extravaganza. So take your scraps and get the fuck out of here. Don’t go into the consumer court bullshit if you care for your life. Guards, throw this fellow out. I’ve got a party to attend. Then I’ll visit my favourite spa.”
And as if to validate this concotion, there were many broad grins, cries of “It’ll be worth it if Tendehar plays tomorrow”, “All the Best”, etc. etc. Proof, if I may be given the licence to judge, that we people are happy to be treated like cattle in an abbatoir, all in return for the “alms” the vlatsi throw at us. That we have no rights, no dignity, no respect. And we love it.
Theres a lot more. I’m not done yet. Matchday is still left to describe.
I turned 19 on June 4 btw. I just hope I’m not visited by a bunch of dunderhead goons. I’m still too young to die.
She.
This is probably the first time in online history that a (male) cow who could barely read or write few months back has got himself a girlfriend. 6 weeks with She have given me so many happy moments that I can write an entire blog post on each date of ours. I am tempted to violate the No-mush policy which I have enforced on this blog. =)
She, like most other people in this hicktown, is a Gai, just like me. But She is one with a difference. She has none of the presumptousness or judgmental attitude other cows have. She is caring, understanding, and most attractive of all, our interests, views, and even gastronomical preferences are as alike as Polar Bears and Komodo dragons. It’s evident in the digs we take at each other, one thing, which surprisingly both of us seem to enjoy doing.
She has looks to die for. She calls herself cute, (probably implying like she is like a teddy people like to cuddle, but not necessarily get attracted to), but I find her exquisitely attractive, and I’m amazed I didn’t fall for her before.
Earlier while we were tethered at the same tabela for a short period, my impression of She when we were at was that of an immature, childish brat of a Gai who irritated “Intellectual” Bovines like me (Since I was learning how to use the computer ) with her idiotic humour and puny practical jokes.
But I now realize that the same Gai I used to think as being “annoying” and “kiddish” is actually the most strong-willed female Gai I’ve ever met. And I don’t know about others, but for me, confident (female) gais are a huge turn-on 
.
Unlike other bovines of her ilk, however, She has never let her self-belief ever metamorphose into arrogance. For all her determination and ambition, She is still quite a simple, friendly, unassuming and straightforward individual.
I think the last sentence is what is really significant. Despite our differences, despite our conflicting opinions, despite minor arguments, I think it’s our basic natures, and the qualities we seek in each other which are perfectly in sync and that’s what has brought us so close to each other.
So thank you, She. Thanks a lot for our silly fights and those long calls. Thanks a lot for your support . Thanks a lot for your naivete, your childishness, your confidence and your determination. Thanks for being my confidant, and my dearest friend. Thank you for being a part of my life.
I love you.
3. Happens ;-)
(Lame title, I know, I know.)
It’s Pongal time in South India, that time of the year humans paint my horns, tie those bells to my neck and parade me like I’m the greatest supermodel on the planet. The next day they wrestle ME! I mean, there are more ways to show love to your revered animal than to unleash it than and then jump onto me like a harried commuter trying to jump onto a jam-packed Panvel local! All as I crave is some rest and tranquility so I can ruminate, why is that so tough for these creatures to comprehend?!
Speaking of locals (that’s what commuter trains are called in Mumbai), I’ve made this special appearance to narrate this particularly embarrassing experience I had while on the cattle train the other day. It’s what I like about Mumbai, it’s just a hick-town where you don’t need any cows because every person acts like one,so easier to blend in and fewer culture shocks!
So here goes, few days back I was in my firstclass compartment (cattle class ? ) , watching the gentleman in my neighbouring seat fiddling with this laptop. Let’s call him G. G seemed to be hard at work, banging away on his keyboard as I am now writing this post. As the train entered the GTB tunnel, he requested me to hold the laptop for him. I obliged, G took his back, kept it in the overhead rack and took his laptop back.
Now I’m certainly not the intrusive type who stares into other people’s laptops, but I’m very inquisitive really. Plus I was really bored, with only mobile phone and a bottle of Coca Cola for company. The phone’s WAP wasn’t working for some reason, so I couldn’t even access the internet to pass the time. I was restless from guzzling so much soft-drink, and I started looking around. My roving eye suddenly stopped at G’s laptop screen. What I saw made my pee-pee go da-doing-doing-doing
1)He was having a full-blown sexchat on the internet.
2)He was pretending to be a woman.
Here are the sordid details of his conversation: (What I can remember)
Other woman: Hey asl?
G: 23 female (Gasp! 50 something grey haired office-going type , female! )
OW: Can I see a picture of you ( This girl means business, I must say )
G: Sorry no cam (Ha!)
OW: Do you like sex
G: a lot
OW: are you straight?
G:bi
u?
OW: lesbian. I like only girls.
wanna see my pics?
G: sure (Ahem…)
<The internet works its magic, and the pics arrive. The girl is hot, which something considering I’m not even human.?>
G:very nyc
OW: What kind of sex do u enjoy?
I like oral sex
G: me all kinds
OW: wht about with gals?
G: well my room mate was good
OW:
<It’s at this point that his destination arrives and he abruptly shuts his laptop. So much for the hopeful girl. >
I can somewhat appreciate his predicament though. It’s very hard for men to get action on the internet, because many of our brethren scare off decent women with usernames like “Mazedar Lauda” and etc. So the only source of stimulation is pretence .
“Bharatiya nar ek sexually repressed jantu hai” – Mahesh Bhatt
(The Indian male is a sexually repressed creature.)
Glory to Him!
PS: Belated Lohri, Sankranti, Pongal greetings .(Depending on which part of the country you’re from )
2. I’m on TV!
My television debut with Dr.Bhatawdekar. Don’t ask me how I landed the job, just enjoy my stellar performance.
1.New Year mush overload
It’s but sheer coincidence that the day bovines started using computers coincides with the start of a new Gregorian year…
What’s strange is the way Homo Sapiens behave on such occasions. Yesterday morning, there I was doing my business at the usual corner on the highway, when I happened to overhear two Homo Sapiens
HS 1 : Hello dude, wish you a very Happy New Year. May the Lord Almighty shower all His blessings, prosperity, happiness and delight.God’s love has no limit, His grace no measure. May you have His infinite blessings.
HS 2: Wish you the same, my friend. Let bygones be bygones, leave the tears of the past year, forget the pain. Think of happiness and joy! Let’s be free as birds!
Me: (thinking) : WTF. Whatever it is about January 1 that turns humans into these overemotional, saccharine-sweet cherubs!
Personally I can’t understand the hype around the “New Year”. It’s just another day for me. Yet I reply to all the cheesy messages in my message inbox by forwarding to the senders equally sappy messages from others, because I don’t want to hurt their sentiments. Just as I cannot understand the significance of festivals like Mothers’ Day and Valentine’s Day and other such concepts.
I mean, if you want to honour your parents, you should do so everyday, why just one particular day in the whole year?
This was all too much for my gaoo brain to comprehend all at once, so much so that I let off a large blast of pure unadulterated Methane because of the strain. That shooed away the poor Homo Sapiens, and left me to open my laptop and write this.
I don’t understand, some Homo Sapiens call me a “cynic”, while others say I’m a deep thinker. Cyber Cro- Magnons please help…
Welcome, Homo Sapien. As a responsible citizen of this country, I must warn you that this blog is a collection of random, incoherent thoughts of a dysfunctional roadside bovine, Cool Gai. Although mostly level-headed, There are times when Cool Gai gets agitated, violent and offensive, and in case of such an eventuality, he would vent himself right here. So Matador, get your red flag ready!
