Maybe there’s something intellectual about it after all…

I’m wondering now, really wondering, what’s the point in all this? I mean who cares about what anyone does anyway. But then, you do come across those who consider themselves“Nietzsches” in their self created idiosyncratic universe. Is this artificial epiphany a boost or a sycophant parasitism? Is it strong enough to create this gaping hole of insecurity and inept certitude of superficiality insofar? Maybe there’s something intellectual about it, maybe it makes sense to those few aficionados of that reticent unfathomable abysm that life has become for them, who aim to achieve a remarkable distinction in their existence, which in itself is a contesseration of homogeneous oddities, while they unwittingly head towards being a part of the abnormal regularity of life. Indelible and sacrosanct is what such thinking seems to these individuals. Strange is the sanctimonious inviolability of such self proclaimed incarnations of “twisted reality”. Well, I still don’t give a fuck. Does occasionally make me wonder though…..

God save our country…

So there I was, sitting on the window seat of the second class compartment in the train that goes from Thane to Vashi. Its a nice windy day and I was considering myself lucky that I had arrived at the platform 10 minutes before the train arrived because I could get in the train before the other passengers and beat them to the window seat. Now, those who’ve travelled in the Mumbai local trains know very well the importance a window seat holds on a hot summer day. So this was one of those incredibly annoying hot summer days and I happened to be the luckiest person in a smelly congested second class train compartment, or so I thought. Now, Just when I’m thinking how pleasant my journey to Vashi is going to become, this gentleman sitting right next to me, leans over, reaches out for the window and spits flaming red betel juice out of the window and on to the platform. Apparently he didn’t really care much about aiming as the residues of the by product of his daily habit splattered in a small patch over the grilled window and also on my forearm . Now it so happens that I recognised that this person hails from the state of Bihar. And I decided to confront this guy speaking to him in Simple Hindi. So following is the conversation between Anand Bhaskar And Mr. Bihar:
AB: Bhaisaab, ye aap kya kar rahe hain?

Mr.B: Paan thook rahe hain bhaiya, aur kaa!
AB:(Slaps forehead in sheer anger) Aap andhe hai yaan aapko motiya bind ho gaya hai. Dikh nahi raha aap ne train ki khidki aur platform dono ko ganda kiya hai.
Mr.B: Arre bhai, kyun itna bada issooo bana rahe ho, Ab ho gaya.
AB: (I’m wondering “what the fuck is ho gaya?”) Kya ho gaya? Aap anpadh hai kya?
Mr.B: (Getting flustered) Bas theek hai, ho gaya.
AB: (raging with anger) Abe chutiye, kya ho gaya? Saale apne ghar me thook na jaake, public property kyun gandi kar raha hai?
Mr.B: Ae, ho gaya na!
AB:(These are the only words this retard is capable of speaking, so I keep quiet, though I’m flaring up again all ready to slap him)
Uncle next to Mr.B: Arre beta jaane do, jaane do.
So I went to Vashi thinking how would our country improve with such imbeciles roaming about.
NEXT WEEKEND:
I’m taking my customary train to Vashi, this time I decided to stand near the door as the train was nearly empty. An old gentleman (Maharashtrian since he was speaking in flawless Marathi on the phone) comes stands next to me. Thats when I notice the familiar grinding of teeth and then he does the same thing which Mr. B did. He spat right on the platform leaving a bright red blotch. I’m standing there staring in disbelief and I can’t believe my own luck. This can’t be happening again. Anyway, I decide, despite the failure of my last attempt to make a moron see some sense, to talk to Mr. Maharashtra. So here’s the conversation between him and me.
AB: Sir aap ye kya kar rahe hain?
Mr.M: Kya kar rahe hain matlab?
AB: Platform pe kyun thooka?
Mr.M: To kya train ke andar thookoon?
AB: Arre, kya aap apne ghar me thookenge? Aap jaante nahi ki aap public property ko kharaab kar rahe hain? Kya aapko maloom hai aap arrest ho sakte hain?
Mr.M: (Snickering) Theek hai phir, le chalo mujhe. Bulao police ko ha ha ha.
AB: Bhosadike, hans mat.
Mr M: (Shocked outof his balls, not believing what he just heard, and for some reason keeps quiet)
Mr.M alights at Ghansoli, and then turns to me:
Mr.M: Hum gaon waale hain, humein sheher ki baatein mat samjhaao!
AB: (Furious, disgusted and highly disappointed) Bhosadike, jaa gaaon me jaake ma chuda aur usi ko ganda kar!

Mr. M: Probably thinking about how relentless educated people can be.

The train is leaving the platform now, and Mr.M hurls a string of inaudible abuses at me. His volume and courage increasing proportionately with the speed of the train.

Now, if you’ve had the patience to read till now, I would like to tell you why I went through the trouble of writing about the above incidents. Ever since I’ve come to Mumbai, I’ve heard Maharashtrians and Non-Maharashtrians, people please don’t think that this is a tirade against Maharshtrians, argue about how Non-Maharashtrians have polluted Mumbai and how they don’t keep the city clean. Now, in the above two incidents, there was a Maharashtrian and a Non-Maharashtrian both doing the same thing which Non-Maharashtrians are condemned for. Public spitting and urinating are two things that have long since plagued all the efforts to keep any city clean. It doesn’t depend on where people come from, it depends on the mindset. We tend to compare people regionally and pass the buck for a problem which is faced universally by all of us. All I want to say is that its high time we stop this discrimination based on caste, creed, religion and region and realise the fine line between literacy and education. That’s why we all know that lady justice is blindfolded for a good reason!