Fare thee well in a Taxi.

Come October 11^th and the minimum fare of taxis in Mumbai are going to increase again; this time by 2 rupees. A commuter will now have to pay Rs. 19 as a minimum fare instead of the previous Rs. 17. We all know that this translates to a minimum fare of Rs. 20 because the Taxi drivers will inevitably never have change.

What makes this an even more ludicrous situation is that this has been the third fare hike in a year! Third! How uncertain were they about their own demands that they had to make them thrice? And how are we to know that it’s not going to stop at this? Who’s to say that the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Transport Authority (MMRTA) won’t ask for another hike next week because the price of pani puri went up and it had a direct effect on the diet of Taxi drivers and hence a direct impact on the fare?

It seems that all the taxi driver’s union had to do to get the increased fare is threaten to go on strike. I’m surprised that this strategy hasn’t caught on among the over-worked corporate soldiers. How come the smart people who work in offices aren’t loosening their ties, bringing out their placards and refusing to come to work unless they get a 25% increase their salaries? Maybe they just might now that half their existing salaries are going to go in simply getting to office.  

The Chief Minister, in a move to calm the frothing angry masses, said that though the fares will increase the service too will get better. It had better get better. For a minimum of Rs. 19, I’d at least expect seats that didn’t smell of every single person that had sat on it for the last 15 years. Also I expect less damage to my tailbone because with the increased earnings, the Taxi drivers can’t cite money as a constraint for not getting their suspension fixed. But most of all, I hope the increased fare makes them slow down on their refusals. More disheartening than having to pay Rs. 19 as a minimum fare is having to pay Rs. 19 as a minimum fare AND still hearing, “klik, klik, nahi jaaeyga” every time you want to go to Dadar.

This is going to be a terrible blow for the commuting Mumbaikar. The trains and buses are already crowded to such a degree that by the time you get off you’ve been standing so close to the person squashed next to you that you may as well get into a relationship.  Add to that another few thousand people who won’t be travelling by taxis anymore and it’ll be like stuffing too many woollens into a small suitcase. Eventually the suitcase pops open and there’s a mess all around.

The only people who are happy about the situation – apart from the Cabbies, of course – are old people. They’re rubbing their wrinkled palms with glee thinking of how they’ll mock their grandchildren and the terrible modern age by constantly bringing up the golden, non-inflationed, taxi fares of their time. I can already see pensioners rehearsing their lines which will start with, “humaare zamane main 2 rupees 50 paise main...” and end on a note of contempt for how Bollywood music just doesn’t sound as good and lyrics don’t make much sense either.

Well I would have written some more but I won’t unless I’m paid a minimum of 2 rupees more per word.

Freedom Would Have Come Sooner If Gandhiji Had A Beard

My shaving foam recently went to see a psychiatrist for chronic depression. My razorblade contemplates suicide as you read this. I can’t blame them either. They’ve been feeling very unwanted ever since I started growing a beard.

Oh, the shining symbol of masculinity hangs of my face in all its hairy glory. Finally, at long last I have managed to cultivate a beard; not a half-assed stubble, or a one week laziness beard, I have a full-fledged, tangling, dangling, man-bush. It’s a beautiful crop and the worst thing I can say for it is that sometimes if you pat it, a wasp flies out.

It wasn’t easy to grow my face-velcro. In this modern age, where Gillette’s marketing budget determines a man’s appearance, I had to fight for my rights to bearding. Let this be an instruction to all amateur beard growers: your passage will not be easy. Girls will frown at you for your sandpaper cheeks, your boss will insist that he doesn’t want a homeless person interacting with the client and society will brand you an insidious left-wing intellectual. In short, there will be immense pressure for you shear off your beard. Don’t. Give. In.

Remember the benefits of that proud fuzz. It saves you all that pointless time that you spend in shaving. It is time that you can use instead, to watch viral videos on Youtube! It’s the sign of knowledge! A beard gives a man authority which is why 90% of all college professors, mad scientists and movie villains have sported flowing tufts. It’s a life-saver! If you happen to lost in the wild with no sources of food, all you have to do is rummage through your beard for the left over bits and crumbs. It’s the sign of toughness! If you have a wispy voice and a thin frame, if you think you aren’t taken seriously, if people treat you the same way they treat cute babies in prams, then it’s about time you grew a beard. Just imagine how much more menacing Sachin would seem if only he had a beard. I wonder who would call for his retirement then?

Growing a beard is an act of love. It takes time and patience. It will test you in ways that you have never been tested. If you can get past the initial scratchiness that comes with hair thrusting out of your face and if you can tide over the wanton criticism levelled at you then you’ll find yourself in the possession of a lovely hairiness that will provide you with endless warmth, security (bearded men and women are robbed/murdered a lot less than their wimpy looking non-bearded counterparts) and endless hours of entertainment by giving you something to tug and stroke when you’re bored in a public place. Over time you will find yourself growing a firm personal attachment to your untrimmed patch. When you reach this phase don’t hesitate in giving it a nickname (my own is called Basant) and feel free to indulge it a few meals by dipping it in the soup by mistake.

Gandhiji, though beardless himself, gave us the most accurate description of what it’s like to grow a beard when he said: “first they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you and then you win!” Oh my brothers and testosterone-heavy sisters, make sure you win! Make sure the beard is unfurled! Make sure... OWWW! Ok, the wasp just bit me. 

A Bangalore Bachelorhood

I had strange ideas when I left for Bangalore. I imagined it as an incredibly distinct metropolis that would grab my senses and punch them with violence. It’s what I think of every place I visit and it is the surest mark of the novice traveller  We, uninitiated wanderers, expect miracles and wonders at every turn and get awfully confused when things turn out to be not so different after all. That was what Bangalore was like for me.

I don’t know what makes Bangalore tick, what is at the nub of it’s being – apart from IT companies, of course – I saw too little of it and for far too less a time to make any real judgement that doesn't involve the words ‘IT Company’. It seemed to me that Bangalore could be condensed to one road (MG Rd) with lots of shops (expensive), good food (also expensive), good beer (UB) and you guessed it, IT companies. I saw the sights and smelt the smells and travelled the metro which was pretty neat but the real essence of the trip was Bachelorhood.

A small caveat before going further: I’m sure a lot of you, who have lived on your own, without parents and with a lot of success too will find the following lines to be of a “been there done that” variety but believe me, this was an eye-opener for me to your condition.

I come from a cocoon that is cleaned regularly, there are hot meals and used clothes are not rolled and dumped in a heap on the floor. I live in a place called home. My trip was, in part, done to meet my school friend, Aman, who works in a Pharmaceutical company in Bangalore. I’m kidding; he works in an IT company. Aman, lives in a suburb in Bangalore that looks suspiciously like a village, along with three other people. They live/wallow in a 2 bedroom apartment in Pai Layout. All four of them are boys and that’s what accounts for the widespread devastation in the 2000 sq feet which they’ve rented out.

These guys had clearly worked very hard on getting that perfect hurricane hit look that all bachelor pads long to have. The floors were littered with small mounds which served almost as a way of cataloguing where things were kept. There was a pile for wires (Mobile chargers, Laptop Chargers, Wifi connection, Havell’s wires that don’t catch fire) one for Books and papers and one for clothes, which seemed almost to touch the ceiling. If you needed anything all you had to do was identify the correct pile and rummage through it.

The maid came once a week, every Sunday. That meant that she had to clear dust and trash equivalent to the amount of ash that spews out when TWO medium sized volcanoes erupt. I pitied the poor soul. In the kitchen, the situation was worse. Of the 4 of them, 2 of them could cook something that didn’t taste like the wrong end of a broom and of those 2 none were willing to do it. So food was ordered in, or you sauntered down to one of the cheap messes that gave you a roti for 7 rupees and sabji free. Alternatively, you could starve. The fridge was almost naked except for one cup of yogurt that had been placed there somewhere in the late Cretaceous period. Dishes were washed if and when they were needed and weren’t washed at all if you could make do with using a newspaper and/or the floor as a plate.

Freedom was absolute or as absolute as it could be without the neighbours complaining. There was a shelf in the kitchen which was lined with empty bottles of rum and beer as if they were academy awards. A solitary ash tray, stolen from a restaurant, sat solemnly in the corner.  You could do anything you wanted in that apartment and everything that you couldn’t do in a house with parents but after a while the freedom tires. The forbidden becomes commonplace and loses its allure and so you are reduced to selling the bottles for 2 rupees a piece and finding the joy of earning scrap money instead.

It’s a cruel life, the one that’s bachelors lead. An empty house is great for a day but lonesome for a life. The constant struggle for food, for a clean place to sleep, of ensuring that your friends don’t rip your blanket to shreds because they didn’t have anything better to do is an epic struggle. I salute the brave bachelors who undertake it every day. Bachelorhood is tough and no job in an IT company in Bangalore can change that fact.