On Civil Disobedience

Saint Augustine once said, "An unjust law is no law at all." Hence it becomes my right, rather my duty, to resist such laws - either by violence or by civil disobedience. You should pray I choose the latter.

One Big Family

This tall lanky friend of mine goes back to his hometown, to give JEE fundae to his fellow villagers. Not surprisingly – as is the case with most North Indian cities, a good-looking young aspirant enquires sweetly, “Bhaiya, aap kitne ghante padhte the?” My furious and embarrassed friend answered, but only for the sake of completeness; the sake of universal action-reaction balance – you know how. Then he recounts overhearing another two lovely girls on a gear-less scooty, mercilessly aiming pot-shots at the poor fellow, “Arrey, yeh to wohi bhaiya hain na, jinhone JEE clear kiya tha?” He, then, also recounts the lovely experience when this other beautiful girl came to his own house, just to call him ‘Aap’. Yes, ‘Aap’, nothing more, nothing less. For the record, he is still single.

Aunty (Enti, Aantiji, in Hindi), Uncle (Ankal, Ankilji, in Hindi), Bhaiya (Pronounced the same in Hindi, spelt who knows which way, among its various variations), Didi (Same as the previous parenthesis), Bhabi (I’m bored of doing this time and again. In fact, I’m scared. Repetition makes my shudder in my dreams that very night. Especially when associated with Hindi songs of extremely poor taste. By the way, sitting inside long parentheses which have no real relevance to what is actually happening in the outside world is comfortably cosy; and blissfully ignorant; and horribly wrong. I like :) – household ways to address people we don't know - are chanted in such merry unison that the entire nation resonates with happy family vibrations.

I have a problem with this, though. Apart from the obvious stereotype that this creates – the wicked Aunties and the loving Didis – I hate what these titles do to our psyche. Another fine example, if the ones before weren’t enough follows. A lovely young woman, draped in the finest salwar-suit one could imagine – the perfect ‘Wife to Be’ magazine cover face, might go to her neighbour’s house looking for that eventful bowl of sugar, only to discover that the lovely old Aunty isn’t in. Oh, but her strapping young lad, exactly-her-age-plus-a-day years old, is. And she, once the natural carnal instincts give way to the fallout from the woefully horrible fact (The fact that she knows about it, speaks a lot for itself) a mere sentence ago, politely asks, “Bhaiyya, thodi chini hogi?” The very fact that you might consider, instinctively as it may be, to call me incestuous, is testament to my hypothesis. Heck, what hypothesis, it frikkin’ exists, happens every frikkin’ day.

The ‘y’ in ‘Bhaiyya’ couldn’t be longer or more in-your-face, quite as much as the spatter from that little bubble bursting – the one that the poor chap created, with the two of them dancing on a strawberry cheese cake with snowflakes engulfing the love that’s in the air. All right fine, not the perfect dessert for a wedding; but hey, try them, and you’ll know ‘y’.

I must also address the wonder that is ‘yaar’. Although the savoir-faire that using this one of a kind pronoun is, one isn’t quite making the requisite noble efforts that we as Indians must, to make this beautiful world one big family. An open request to all lovely ladies and gentlemen is in order – please do not – repeat – do not exaggerate the number of ‘a’s between ‘y’ and ‘r’.

I’ll tell you what I like about this phenomenon too. It is the best alternative to “Dude, ‘sup?” or “What’d’yoo want, bitch?” or “Hey girl, what type'a stereo you got?” Period.

I sign off in hopes that people remember the names of people they know – even the first one, if not entirely convenient – while they’re alive. If Miss World reads my obituary after I die (Apparently, they’re writing obituaries for living dudes and bitches too. Cool!) and calls me ‘Bhaiyya’, I couldn’t care less; but while I’m alive – Hey! The name’s Tarun, and you can call me whatever you want, baby.