I hate this world.

Not that the world has too many lovable qualities, still, till date it was never this hateful. With my usually amiable disposition such extreme statements are not usually my style, but I am beginning to get the hang of it.

Woke up early, real early, around Sixish. That’s earlier than the sun shows his face to me. One of my standing principles has always been, never to wait for someone who will not be there. Usually saves me a lot of aggravation. I broke it. Always a first time, right?

With just a cuppa coffee rode out into a beautiful morning. October mornings in Mumbai are to die for. Especially, if you are riding the marine drive. With typical Indian timing, late as usual, the sun rose and smiled at me, a little wickedly I thought. Oh Mumbai, what poetry. Dawn on the waves, beautiful people with dogs walking the promenade. It was great. Then a corolla decided that it did not want to share space with a puny little bike anymore and coolly moved in to my lane. Wonderful. Eighty to twenty in three seconds. Heart pounding and finger pointing, I rode on.

Pretty soon I got to the place where I was headed. Turned out to be a place where I should not have headed. Got new directions and, stonewalled again. Finally made it to a place where someone was willing to help. God bless early rising Mumbaikars. Then, he turned a sad face towards me and gave me news, the bad kind.

Called a very hopeful person up and told him, that no go. He sighed and said all right. I then drove to the airport to collect a phone. A decrepit phone that has been with my company since the dawn of our office and plans to continue in that manner till it enters the record books or something. On this beautiful morning the traffic was so light, I made it quicker than my colleague who was coming down on the suburban local five stops away.

Then we turned back officewards. An empty stomach and three hours of riding was getting to me. So was the early Mumbai traffic. It was like the whole world wanted to use the western express highway to get to work. I then added the crowd in the suburban trains and was awed for a moment. There are actually so many hardy souls in Mumbai, who do brave inhuman conditions and travel to work daily to earn their livelihood. Had read about them in the morningers; but, first time in 25 years did I come bumper to bumper with them. Parked at the side, bowed my helmeted head in respect and then let rip.

In true Mumbaikar – Biker fashion, I zigged and zagged. Twisted and turned, bleeped my horn and cleared the log jam. It was just like dodging the meteor belt at the Star Wars sequels – prequels or whatever Lucas named them. And was I accelerating. A ton on the speedo, made it to the office in half an hour. Dropped my colleague off and thought now I’ll take a break. Head home have a nice breakfast, chill a little. Was not feeling too good, so thought I’ll work from home this morning.

Trundled out from the office lot. Thinking no hurries now, as I was traveling in the opposite direction. My wrist and back needed a break. Mumbai roads are not really made for long distance riding on two wheelers. Actually the only reason these roads are made, I think, is so that the ruling politico’s uncle can make about a million times what I make in a year and then get a percentage of the insane amounts these company service centers charge for setting the bike right after three months of riding.

On the home stretch now, the final kilometer before home. Slowing down for a signal when this huge grey Santro (all right a small grey Santro) decided to swerve on the road and see what happens to the small helmeted guy trundling homewards.

Well bikers and the road have a love – hate relationship. The road carries us along to our destination and saves us from wasting time on the trains. But, when it really comes to the nub, it really is not a very welcoming surface. I found gravity and momentum really are two forces that should be experienced only when you are upright and not horizontal and close to the surface. I rolled from the bike in an elegant two point somersault and found to my surprise that leather is really fragile material; especially while it’s still on your bones. Three abrasions and a bruise was what I got for an experiment in the functions of a steering wheel by a seemingly 16 year old female driver. Not to mention that a grand’s worth of cloth covering my lower limbs were letting atmosphere in where atmosphere had no business going. I sat up and observed my self. A small crowd had already gathered muttering, “Whose fault was it? Do you know whose fault was it? Is he bleeding? No, wow amazing. Such a long skid and no blood?”

I got up, gave her a silent stare and then took pity on her trembling lip and watering eyes. Someone handed me the decrepit phone back and I put in the bag. Stood up and stretched. Checked the bike for any damage; of which there were none and kicked it alive. It started at first kick and then came home. Reached home and found that while that helpful some one had handed me the old phone, my beautiful smart phone was missing. Someone picked up when I called and had the nerve to tell me to stop calling as he was already removing the SIM card off it. Thanks a lot for the same and all that.

Took my car to the police station and pleaded with the khaki protectors of the guilt-free and innocent to get me a certificate of loss. The constabulary of the city is so helpful that they usually point out the nearest police station except their own. As if they were a telephone exchange. “Sorry boss the lane in front of Stephen’s church belongs to the Gamdevi Police exchange. All crimes originating there should be reported to them. You see, we got an agreement with the Gamdevi Gangs, they do not operate here and so we do not harass them. You understand na?” But, I did not understand and demanded to see the senior guys and they grudgingly gave me the certificate.

Came back home and went to the doc to get meself fixed up. They got this nice little liquid they put on abrasions called tincture benzene or something. It smells evil and man does it sting. They dab little wisps of cotton soaked with this devil’s brew and seal the broken skin with it. Being stoic and manly and all that, I waited till I got in the car to hold my hands and whimper.

A couple of whimpers later, I took the painkiller the doc so thoughtfully provided and tried to sleep. Each time I would enter the REM phase, the decrepit phone would ring with some shweta trying to sell me a HSBC credit card. She somehow has gotten fixated on this number and still calls up and hears my voice and says “Oh! Sorry sir!” and hangs up.

So here I am. Poorer by a phone, a couple of sq. centimeters of leather and without sleep. The tincture benzene seal still hurts and my ankles swollen. I still hate this world.

Dentist and the Tooth

My dentist is a nice guy. In fact he’s a great guy. But, don’t blame me for not liking him too much. Each time I go to him, I loose either a tooth or about a grand. Needless to say, I like both of them too much to make this guy with the white apron, green mask and shiny little bits that go whir inside the mouth my favorite guy of the month.

This visit was not too bad. He had a whole array of pain alleviating stuff lined up in the shiny tray he had in front of me. Made me recline on this nice comfortable chair and then turned on the light. A dab of this ointment and then a jab of that needle and pretty soon half my mouth and the lower jaw was numb. Thoughtfully his assistant handed me a tissue to wipe my drool away.

Then came the dreaded moment, the great reveal. With great foresight and about Rs. 350, this guy wonder had taken an X-Ray of the wisdom tooth. He held it against the fluorescent screen and tut – tutted. Believe me, it’s not a good sign to have your dentist tut – tut when you are reclining on his chair with half your jaw numbed.

“It’s curved” he says. “There is a bone also that prevents me from taking this out. You should have come in sooner.” I nod my head dumbly; loquacity is not really a viable option with a nice jab of lindocaine in your jaw.

Moving to his little chair next to my jaw, with a nice shiny medieval looking thing in his be-gloved hand, he said now relax. Yeah right. Took a couple of deep breaths and let go. By this time, his assistant had moved into position and had a nice grip of my face. What with the good doctor prying away with the pincer thingie and the assistant twisting my face sideways, the tooth came out easy. He plonked that in the tray and then put a swab in my mouth.

Don’t speak, don’t spit and don’t gargle. Remember these three don’ts.Just a liquid diet and cold ones today. Come back after a week for a follow-up. Do you think India will win today? That will be Rs. 1200 please. Wait outside for fifteen minutes and then come back in.

Waited for fifteen minutes. He was really good, all this had taken barely fifteen minutes of his time and already the numbness had begun to recede. I went back in after watching India’s bowlers bowl dispiritedly at England. Our chances of winning were slowly dwindling away.

He asked me if I wanted to look at the wicked curved wisdom teeth of mine. I said yes, definitely. I wanted to know if I had to cremate them or bury them under a peepal tree. I really did not want to come back from the afterlife just for a tooth. He had it rinsed and put in a small plastic sealie for me.

I have them now. The curved pieces of oral agony. They lie on my desk, waiting to be gilded. So, they can also take part in the final journey of the flames with me. Somehow, Mom doesn't look too happy about them though.

Rains.Monsoon

Well it finally rained. The monsoon rains, not the middling pre-monsoon showers in which you can almost dodge between the shafts of rain falling from the sky.

It was Mumbai rain at it's best. A symphony of water, wind and gray skies. It was rain that made rivulets in the drains of the streets, dragged stones for many a meter before laying them at rest at a culvert or a turn. It was rain that stopped or at least slowed the great Mumbai traffic on it's tracks.

I have a thing for Rains. I cannot just let them be, I have to go out and enjoy them. This day was no different. I had an umbrella in my hand and it was looking good and folded up and dry on this wet, wet Saturday.

So what is it about the Mumbai rains that calls me so? I wondered. Can it be because it lets me be free and mock the gentle public of this city, who crouch in inadequate shelters trying to escape getting wet or huddle under flimsy contraptions of canvas and steel to try and keep at least ten percent of their clothes dry. Or is it some deeper longing for water. After all, our bodies are supposed to be made up of almost 70% water, so can this need be osmotic? After the long dry summer, can the cells of my body need to replenish and the only way to do it would be by communing with these beautiful big drops falling from the sky. Hmm.. maybe. Never let thoughts stand in the way of a little happiness.

So, off I went from the office to home. Walking in this torrent. Smiling a superior smile at all the passengers of the cars stuck en-route to shelter and safety of their homes. I was already dripping wet and thoroughly enjoying it. I would hand over my umbrella to old ladies stuck by the sudden onset of monsoon fury and need to cross the road (must have collected at least three blessings that day).

Rains in Mumbai affect almost all things of this city. It causes great hardship to people traveling, it is not easy to travel around 30 km after you get dripping wet and it is actually tougher, if you have to do it with around another three thousand dripping wet men in a crowded suburban local. They stall cabs and this in turn causes traffic jams. Now, in such inclement weather, it is pretty difficult to find a traffic policeman. So, it falls on the shoulders of those who are most desperate to get home and don't mind getting a little wet.

Soon, some of these good Samaritans would climb out of their cars and start directing traffic and requesting other drivers to hold their tempers and lane changings in check. Soon, the jam would be cleared and all of them would get back in their cars and go home, deed for the day done and done well.

Seeing the good will of the public had a strange effect on me. I too felt like contributing to the good of public transporting in Mumbai. So, I decided to help each and every car that was stranded on my way home. Pretty soon, I came onto my first case. It was a black-yellow or the more melodious sounding kali-pili. I could hear frustrated horns from people behind him cos he was stranded in an oblique angle, blocking the whole street. The driver was some 16 yr old from one of the northern states almost frantically trying to start his car and flooding the carbs in the bargain. I got to him and told him:

" Dude, get out"
"Huh? Why"
" We need to get your car to the side"
"It is not starting sir"
"Dude you need to get out so we can push the damn thing"

After a little pushing and instructing the poor youngster in the art of maneuvering the car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other pushing, we finally got the car to the side of the street. After it was safely parked at the side, I told him to let it rest a while and it would start as soon as the distributor dried. Now, I did not really know if the distributor was the problem, but it felt good to offer advice that gave hope to the weary and unready.


Onwards I walked, feeling all good inside. By now I was all warmed up and had also gotten my technique down pat, rock the car a little and as soon as you get the forward momentum going, push a little harder and away you go. Another Kali-Pili and despatched to the sides in pretty much the same manner.

Then I came to a small Maruti suzuki. It was an old eight hundred with an even older parsi lady. She was trying to start the car but it had given up the ghost. So I asked her if she needed some help and she said if I could just start her car.

Now, this was a tricky operation, how to get her car started. By now I was almost home and the traffic was pretty much nonexistent. The narrow lane that connects our locality with the great wide world was already under a feet of water and was singularly uninviting to people with their minds in the right places.

So, instructed her very clearly. She would have to pop the clutch. This would involve putting the car in gear and depressing the clutch and when the car was moving, just let the clutch go. The car should start then. With some false tries, she finally managed to get it started and then drove away with a thank you dhigra.

Deeds done, I went home to a steaming cup of coffee and settled down in the room to watch the rains come and stall the cabs all over again.