The service of my love

We should be ashamed. All of us Indians. We enjoy having someone to point a finger at, whether it’s to laugh at them or to place blame on their shoulders, but we don’t often look into a mirror with the same intention.
The officials responsible for the Commonwealth Games mess have become the focus of everyone’s ire and the media are doing a stupendous job of sensationalizing the problems with disgraceful reporting. It’s become so you can’t wake up in the morning without having to read about the latest disaster in Delhi splashed over the front pages of every newspaper. No chance to be proud of the opportunity to host the event; instead, we’re encouraged to cry shame and bay for the blood of the incompetents involved in setting up the facilities.

We love to hate our politicians and complain about how corrupt they are, but wait… are they really different from the rest of us? I wouldn’t blame them, because I don’t think it’s their fault at all. In this great nation, we’re all born with a defining Indian-ness. As was Kalmadi. Every time we violate a traffic rule, every time we urinate or drop litter (or worse) in a public place, every time we forge a document and every time we bribe a government official, we’re just being true to our nature.

We are so proud of ourselves that we are blind to ourselves. We talk of India being a superpower in the making, but our standards of hygiene are still not at par with the rest of the world (foolishly admitted by CWG officials). We talk of becoming global citizens, but we cannot recognize that our Indian-ness is the very factor that prevents us from attaining said citizenship. Our nature is hardly compatible with the civilized world at large, and yet we aspire to rub shoulders with them. So many of us travel abroad to earn in higher valued currency. And yet, while abroad, many are unwilling to accept or adapt to foreign habits. We turn up our noses, seeking out others like ourselves and longing for the familiarity of Mother’s cooking. Others take adaptation a little too far and simply assimilate into foreign cultures, often forgoing their own.

We make ourselves weak. We worship our celebrities like we worship our Gods. We still fawn over foreigners although we broke free of the Raj ages ago. We are insecure as a people; of our abilities, our sexuality and most other qualities that matter.
We don’t understand graciousness, subtlety and etiquette. We don’t get satire.
We. Are. Not. Professional.

We are a developing country. We have been one for a long time now. How much longer?
I don’t care if there are lavish hotels with super-smart toilet bowls that wash your ass automatically. What about the poor who still have to defaecate in the open?
I don’t care about the luxurious cars afforded by the affluent. What about the idiots still spitting out of bus windows?
I don’t care if we are nuclear capable. What about the villages that still go without electricity?

We have been trying to do a good job, but we keep getting in our own way because of that little Indian chromosome. Nevertheless, we persist.
Top international athletes are pulling out of the Games? Fuck’em. We don’t need to beg on bended knee for them to grace the Games with their presence. I say we get on with the event and hope with all our collective might that everything stays standing, at least till the curtain falls.
I am not a leader, but as sure as I am a patriot and a taxpayer, I know this much: We desperately need change. We cannot abandon our fundamental ethos, but we do need to evolve from the inside. Understanding the problem is the primary step and I am hopeful that the upcoming young leaders in the country have a better vision in this direction than the worn down politicians currently in office.

Hong Kong was handed independence in 1997. As far ahead as they are, that’s where we could have been… I’m just saying.
Unless we make big strides forward, and soon, we may forever be the underachievers of the world.


P.S. If you were offended by anything in the paragraphs above, you might just be part of the problem.

Stripped

Morning. So cold…

Bathtub? Melting ice? FUCK…!

Wait, slow down. I remember now. We emptied the ice machine last night… she wanted to do it “Eskimo style”. Crazy stuff. Man, I wish I’d passed out on the bed instead.

“Uh, you’re in my seat.” Either she hadn’t heard him or she was ignoring him. He felt silly standing there and attempting to converse with her back. Her friend had obviously heard him because she made eye contact for just a moment. Finally, the usurper turned around, “Were you saying something?”

Suddenly he wasn’t sure anymore. “Uh, I was just sitting there a few minutes ago… but it’s alright. I’ll grab another seat.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even make sure they were arranged in the right order. There wasn’t another seat at the bar, but he was flustered and needed to get away. “Oops, I didn’t know. I’m sure we can move?” she looked over at her friend. “No! That’s ok.” Too loud. He wasn’t used to these places. Awkward pause. “Umm… do you want to join us here for a drink? That is, if you don’t mind standing for a while.” One smile and he didn’t need to decide.

She took the car keys! And my folder was in there…

What was her name? Damn I gotta learn to remember these things. Emily something, I think. Gotta get back to the city somehow.

The exchange of items had gone smoothly and all he’d wanted was to get a beer before heading back to the solitary life. He normally would have never stopped at a bar that he knew was going to be this crowded, but having been compelled to, he was now glad for it. He was a relative novice, easily enticed by the alcohol and enchanted by her personality. She was attractive, attentive and dismissed her girlfriend a few minutes after he joined them.

Hi, yes I’d like to report a stolen vehicle. It’s a blue 2002 Civic. I think I’m at a B&B… I don’t remember the name, I’ll have to check. Uh no, there weren’t any valuables in there, just a file folder. I need to get my folder back! Yes, I can give you a description of the car…

“Maybe it’s just the light, but I think you’ve got an exotic sorta look. Polynesian?” “Actually, I’m one quarter Inuit,” she grinned at him, “On my mother’s side. And you’d be surprised how many people don’t know what Inuk is!” He smiled back sheepishly, as she ran her fingers through her black hair and her other palm rested on his thigh. “It’s kinda hot; do you want to get out of here?” Her eyes melted him.

Adele – Make You Feel My Love

The Morning Benders – Excuses