Mumbai: The Day After

Posted by Khamba in July 15, 2011


I was watching Delhi Belly at the cinema when my phone started flashing with texts from strangers asking if I was alright. It was like I was the last man on the planet that hadn’t been immunized against polio and they were all Amitabh Bachchan. Something was wrong. Either Sikhs had turned into hated minority number 1 again and I was to run for my life or the city was under attack - again. Sadly, as Twitter quickly told me, the latter. If you don’t sense sadness in this opening paragraph, it is because I’m not. I’m not even angry. Numb is only a Linkin Park song and helplessness is what I’d ascribe to a South Block staffer being forced to write a thank you note to South Sudan for condemning the bombings. All I am right now – is indifferent. Not to the plight of the families that suffered, the under-equipped cops trying to gather whatever evidence they could in the downpour or the thousands struck down by fear – but to our state of being. To who we are. To noise. It felt like I wasn’t the only one.

I’ve never seen people on Twitter collectively hunker down and focus on just getting the facts out about people who were missing, were stuck and needed help, willing to offer a place to stay, donate blood or support whichever way they could with such composure ever before. All one could do, it seemed, was sit down, shut up, parse information as best as one could and get the information out to as many people as possible. And yet, despite how noble, creative and positive Twitter was last night – it seemed to mask a sense of despair. Of the knowledge that beyond this perhaps one could not really do anything. Of being in auto-pilot simply because it had become all too familiar. A digital safety drill, if you please, being directed by a few instructors who would gently tap incase you veered too far off the line. A habit. And for all the great work everyone was doing, I’d wonder about people who weren’t online – whether anyone was being able to reach out to them – if they knew that such help was at hand. Whether it did not just become a circular game of tweets with us patting ourselves on the back for a job well has done while assuaging the socially responsible citizens within us.

For all that we talk about politicians hijacking the air-waves to push their own agendas at times like these – how different are we really? The journalist will use the event to craft a story for the morning paper hailing a Twitter revolution. The right winger will get another chance to demonise a community. The left liberal will hit out at Pakistan and call the right winger crazy. The comedian will use dark humor, get clobbered for being insensitive, claim the right to free speech and humors role as being cathartic. The celebrity will express outrage and sympathy (and in some cases propose conversion to Israel). For all that we blame our politicians and media moguls for sticking to the same roles and talking points after every tragedy – we all seem to do the exact same thing. We all have our roles based on our Twitter hierarchies and we all cater to our audiences. Why do we expect others to do any better?

Don’t you love it when at times like these strangers send text messages to show as if they’re concerned but you know they’re faking it? Or when people who care about you message saying they’re not calling because they don’t want to jam the lines – and right then you get a call offering you a home loan at extremely low interest rates? Tragedies bring a lot of people closer, but they also bring a lot of people to talk about how they bring people closer so they can show off their bleeding hearts. There is no need.

As of now, the machine has restarted. Twitter is back to jokes and normal life. Political pundits will analyse and dissect the event and hopefully contribute to policies that will inflict positive change. Journalists will try and draw connections based on their political leanings to bring us a bigger perspective. Manmohan Singh will say things like “terrorists have the element of surprise” while we stay surprised that he is still Prime Minister. Raj Thackeray will blame immigrants while his detractors pound him for never coming forward in times of crisis. Youth groups will urge young people to vote and be responsible. Rahul Gandhi will, I’m 99% sure, stay more stupid shit in the coming months while using his kurta and sneakers as a metaphor for an India that it at once traditional and modern.

The Mumbai Police will do the best it can.

Me? I’m going to buy a faster internet connection – because there’d be a lot more people to try and help incase it happens again - and log on the next day to see people wish each other a Happy Birthday on Facebook with a "Hope you had a blast".

And Delhi Belly is way too overrated. 

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Back to School

Posted by Khamba in July 6, 2011

Its sort of depressing that the only place I could think of to come and “clear my head” was the local Barista. I wish I had the patience to goto the park but I’m somehow not impressed by strolling on a walkway underneath a flyover or one prefixed by car. Also, I would probably not have come here had it not been for my apartment’s loo which has decided to fail the third time in one month. And when I say fail – I mean a cascade of our day’s droppings rushing out the top of your commode as if it’s the Niagara. You probably didn’t want to picture that. As it stands it’s a 4 feet wide hole in the ground and wall which I assume will be used by pigs to store nests stolen from the local pigeon population that likes to fly into the apartment, take a shit and fly out as soon as I open the windows. I can only conclude that my body odour makes them think they’re in Dharavi.
                                                  
A major chunk of the cultural sensitivity training modules I used to conduct at my previous work (I know I know, you can go grab a tissue and wipe the coffee off your monitor) was the various stages of culture shock one goes through while moving to a new country. That ofcourse applies in toto when it comes to moving to new cities within India as well. I for example have never understood why the same goddamn part of Bombay that was dug up in 2006 is in the exact same condition in 2011. Are people from Kerala secretly digging holes in various parts of the city in hopes to find treasure? Is Akash Ambani eating bags of cement every night that there is none left to complete any project? Are the streets purposely littered with trash so that citizens become mentally tougher to handle the next eventual terror attack? What is it about Bombay can that you sit in the same chair for 10 hours doing absolutely nothing but still tire like you were running with hyenas in the Serengeti? Why does every landlord think that all you want to do with women in a house is have wild, back breaking sex? (Pro tip: Check for faint distemper signs on the back of a persons garment as they walk out of an apartment building to check if they did) The perpetuated romanticism of rain drops that mix with sewage that you float through as they ravage all that is holy along the way.  AND WHAT THE FUCK IS UP THE CHILEAN MINE SHAFT LIFTS IN BUILDINGS?

I love this city, I really do. But it is exhausting. Bombay life by every author that has ever written a book on Bombay i.e. 4 million every week while using words such as study in contrasts, indomitable spirit, energy etc)

I’ve also become a student again after a gap of 5 years. I noticed having written in an earlier post about how it was an incredibly tough decision to make between academics and pushing the stand up career but I realise now how ridiculous that sounded. How many people in our country even have the option of being able to choose either? So far I’m rather happy with the decision but I don’t think I’ve managed to integrate as well as I should have. There are a couple of reasons for this:

First, when you step back into class after working for a while there is a nagging “this is completely useless to me in real life” voice that keeps forcing you to secretly play Angry Birds in class. I don’t think this voice is healthy given the emotional and financial investment one has already made – but it’s hard to get rid of. This sense of wanting to rebel gets even more pronounced when one is surrounded by students who have just graduated from their Bachelors are rote theory geniuses. In m first media studies class my professor spoke about 5 theories which I had absolutely no idea even existed. I must confess, a couple of times I survived class purely by logging into Twitter, checking the RT count and telling myself I’ve still got it. I then decided that it was the lowest point in my 25 years of existence.
Second, I’m convinced theoretical concepts serve no greater purpose than to convince Masters students that what they’re doing is worth it. Let me quote on of the readings I’m currently going through on the concept of Mass Society.

“Nietzsche, fearful of the inflammability of the mob in the presence of a heated demagogue – that demagogue was Napoleon – came to envisage modern society, particularly modern democratic society, as tending towards an inert formless mass, lying in brutish torpor most of the time and occasionally aroused to plebiscitary acclamation by a “great simplifier”.

HOLY FUCK.

This statement basically translates to the philosopher who everyone quotes on their Facebook page to sound intellectual thought of modern society as a bigass bunch of people who stayed chilled out but could come together and vote on issues when shit hit the fan.

But no – we must learn the system of language that is prescribed even if it means spending 6 hours not being able to understand what the fuck people are talking about and gouging ones eyes while one is at it.

This language is also mandatory when it comes to discussions in class. For example, if you want to win an argument in Sociology class – you should use the line “but that’s very patriarchal”. There is NO proper response as a man but to hang ones head in shame and bow out with whatever little respect you have left. Also handy are using the words “construct, de-construct, it’s all contextual and problematise” amongst others which I’m sure I’ll discover with time.

Third, I’ve rediscovered a flaw that I thought I’d never have to deal with again - I keep losing pens. So far I’ve already pissed off 3 people with my inability to carry my own pens (which I buy almost every morning at a stationary but seem to disappear by the time I reach class – I suspect Sai Baba is conjouring some up in heaven so his followers can take his autograph). Every morning starts with poha, coffee and an embarrassing “Boss extra pen hai kya?” And even if you do manage to get a pen and do the best you can to make notes in class you’re always made to feel like shit by one girl who keeps a fluorescent marker and post it notes that she keeps attaching to every page of her notebook. Is there anything more humiliating? I think not.

Fourth, this is a peculiar problem with some social science students I bumped into – the problem of allocating thought and resources. What happens when you see a documentary and read about issues on a day to day basis is beyond a certain point you almost become numb to the very ideas and notions you’re supposed to be sensitive about. It’s the same as everywhere else – give too much attention to something and you’ll automatically get labeled clingy and get people to run away from you. It’s a sort of fatigue that is a lot more visible amongst those who have been around longer – and I hope some of the enthusiasm amongst the younglings including the likes of me doesn’t really wear off.

Fifth, in social science institutes when someone says “it’s a class issue”, I realised one is talking about caste and class instead of “there is something wrong with the projector and we must get more markers for the whiteboard”.


Sixth, being identified as "the comedian" in class can have its pitfalls. These include being asked to perform in front of your faculty where you get into your element, drop a couple of F-bombs and Sai Baba sex jokes for which you have to overcompensate by sitting in the front bench and nodding profusely at everything they have to say in class for the next week. That said, I have learnt one thing. NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING beats the feeling of making people you like spending time with laugh. Nothing as pure or satisfying, and the same goes for my classmates.

And finally, and this was by far the most interesting – I found out someone I’ve dated before almost joined the same programme. Not only would it have been the most awkward first day of class in history, I realised I wouldn’t have been able to use any of my lines to flatter the opposite sex. I’m planning a visit to Siddhivinayak on the weekend to thank the lord for his/her mercy.

Now if you excuse me, I’ve to go sleep because I have class tomorrow morning.

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