It’s been about 15 years since I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel that completely captured my imagination. It was on flying cars. “Now that”, I thought, ” … is revolutionary!” . I was promised (told) in the documentary that the car would take 10 years to get into production and into the market. Five years ago I lost my faith in the Discovery Channel and that lying balding man with his stupid flying car.
If they ever do make protocol for flying cars and sky traffic, they should really start their beta testing here in India! Indian drivers have two inherent qualities that qualifies them for such an honor:
No concept of pedestrian crossings / amenities
Impatience to get to the future
We here consider zebra crossings and sidewalks a thing of the past. You know that line where you’re supposed to stop at before the zebra crossing? Yeah, we don’t. We put sidewalks to their optimum use during traffic hours by scattering the unimportant populace that uses them and instead use them as an extension of the road for use by two-wheeled vehicles, or just about any vehicle that can sort of maneuver on them causing minimal casualties. In short, we like having pedestrians below us.
But the thing that sets Indian drivers apart from the rest of the world, is that all Indian cars come equipped with the “disappear” button. This is usually found on the steering wheel of a car, or on the handlebar of a bike. It makes a sort of loud goose-like noise when it is pressed. Although this feature is still to be proven to have any real-life use at all, Indian experts on working days conclude that this is used for practice for when the feature will be fully functional.
It’s quite simple, really. When you want the vehicle in front of you to magically disappear into thin air, because obviously you are way more important in the grand scheme of things, you press the disappear button. If you are at a red light, and it finally turns green after ruining several seconds of your life, and you want all the traffic in front of you to magically, just plain old not exist, you go ahead and give that button a good press.
Unfortunately as of writing this post, all Indian vehicles only emit this weird goose like (sometimes frog like) noise while using this feature, but that is soon to be resolved, and the product will be in production in the very near future.
This is probably the most dramatic post of my entire life. Or not. It has come to me that I am no one, nothing. Anything that I say has no meaning, purpose or greater cause. Anything I say serves no purpose but to make my own ego bloated, and to suck on attention which I pull to myself.
Hence, as dramatically as Jiddu Krishnamurty dissolved the Theosophical Society, or perhaps a fraction of that, I have decided to stop seeking attention and just be.
After careful observation for the past three years, I have come to the astonishing conclusion that my mating season has a definitive timeline. This is the season during which I transform into my beast-self, and nothing looks decent. This is the season when I usually avoid foods like donuts, tacos, sausages and Japanese cakes due to their high calorie content.
According to my studies this season starts in early March and lasts till the end of June, with April and May being the months of highest intensity. Records show that I have a mating call. Here is an audio clip at low volume:
Perhaps what is most astonishing is that I wake up every morning with absolutely no recollection of it.
The realm of the unknown beckons its beckon. The music is surreal, and the smell of the feast unreal. Tempted am I to delve into its offerings but from afar, Surely from close not so appealing.
The closer I approach, the superlatives justify previous notions And lost am I in you. Why must your smell be so? Why must I feel your senses like you make it?
Does not time offer itself unto me like a dish When it looks upon what you have to offer? Does it not humble itself upon the glance of you When you are in your state of giving?
Many an age has passed since I first looked upon thee. The more I look, the more you materialize into someone That is close, but not quite. If only my yearning were ceased, if only thee would take shape.
In my understanding I stop, but then you stop. How then may I be in the company of music so sweet That it engulfs me and makes me thee? How else may I be so close to thee that I am me?
Like a child so unaware of much, I abandon my understanding and my inhibitions. Like a blind man lead into the void save the scent Of hope which is thine, and without choice.
Without a will, mashed into nothingness And with joy, into whatever you fancy. Whatever you please, whatever you want Whatever you wish, whatever you command Whatever you are, whatever you are Make me a home with you.
While doing some very interesting research today (I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you) , I confirmed two very intriguing theories that have haunted Bangaloreans since.. Well, the British:
1. There is only ONE Koramangala in the world!
2. The super-stinky-green-slimy-ugly-mosquito-infested-mostly-fenced river that passes through a lot of 4th and 1st Blocks of Koramangala has its origins in the glaciers of National Games Village?!
But seriously, Stinky River Koramangala, which I, Junaid the explorer (that’s right, Dora) have christened it, has its origins under the swimming pool of National Games Village in Koramangala?? I’ve made a Google Map to soothe the initial spasms of unbelief from the hater:
The human excrement from NGV reaches Bellandur lake, which incidentally is the largest lake in Bangalore, causing super inconvenience for about 5.15 Kilometers (Google map estimates).. Which is JUST enough for Gaia to live in denial. That makes NGV the most diarrhea-ridden property this side of the date-line (Junaid Bhura estimates).
From the semi-clad and bald leaders of this country’s past to the classrooms of today’s young people, one cannot ignore the existence of the “Philosophical Whore”. These semi-awake beings can often be spotted in the middle of a group discussion dominating the “conversation” with their mostly-pseudo-intellectuality amidst a background of a droning, “Whoooah!”. They’re mostly, and not surprisingly, employed in professions and trades which are not entirely tangible.
Most likely to have had a bad experience growing up, this breed feeds off happy people’s thoughts and attention, and replace the void with unimportant information which seem super awesome in the moment. Like several “what-if” situations. For example: “What if.. we are already dead..”. Or the ever-exciting “I feel so..” statements. For example: “I feel so.. confused and empty and need someone who agrees with me”.
This breed is also very attracted to painful and uncomfortable experiences and are pretty damn artistic, in order to cry out and demand for attention without actually doing so by creating the “Vortex of the Awesome”. This is how the vortex works:
Step #1: Be sad, dramatic and discontent; and make up several reasons and justifications and express why that’s awesome.
Step#2: Identify potential dumbass.
Stem #3: Talk. A lot. About how you’re sad and discontent and why that’s awesome. And why the dumbass should think you’re cool and want to be with you.
Step #4: Don’t actually do anything about what you’re talking about, or take any measures to make you, and others around you feel happy and loved.
Step #5: Serve cold.
The Philosophical Whores include most rock bands, adolescent women with issues, and just about any sad and neglected little succubus.
It’s Saturday in Bangalore and phone calls across the city resonate plans of night clubs and amounts of alcohol consumption to rival a previous weekend. It’s time to party hard. Crowds of well-dressed Bangaloreans trickle into streets from homes well within poor-people territory. It would seem that these homes are surrounded by smelly ditches and human waste, and unimpressive yet important personalities. Important, for the sole purpose of labor too not-white-collar.
This delusion runs so deep, that we tend to ignore the fact that it is not our homes that are surrounded by smelly ditches and human waste, but the utter poverty and ignorance that is peppered with the 21st-century, namely: Us.
With our physically gated communities and mentally gated identities, we in “urban India” live in a delusion that all is well. We tend to look at our own success, and successes of our peers to be the face of, and the guiding light to the rural, poor citizen. We set a standard that we ARE India. When in fact, we are only 8% of her. That means a whooping 92% of this country is poor. And by no means “broke” by our standards. Devastatingly poor.
So it is my appeal to anyone who comes to the defense of India when it is pointed out that India is a poor country, a backward country or a morally incorrect country: Drop your delusion and agree.