Juxtaposition of an illicit deconstruction of all things feminine, and popular three-wheeled modes of transport

I returned from a extended solo trip to Jaipur and Dharamsala a few days back (I should put up my travel blog soon) and the morning I set foot in Bangalore again, a very dramatic incident with an auto driver played itself out. It involved me being of extremely autonomous pomp, and the auto driver, well, whatever. As I stormed off from the auto at the Railway Station towards the Bus Stand, with my 30kgs of luggage though; I saw something. I saw something, past the immediacy of the event, slowly, as the haze of my rage dissipated. In all my interactions with auto drivers, I had now concluded something supreme. An absolution about the very nature of the human race. Women. Are auto drivers.

As simple as that. A truth that I shall hold forth as my banner against the winds of society and it's pretence.

Ok, I know, any member of the (un)fairer sex reading this has half a mind to turn around and ride off without giving a second glance. Oh no wait, that's what auto drivers do. This analogy isn't working yet.

Here's a start. For most of us born in the '80s, Indians, middle of the middle class, and in the cities that weren't metros back then, a long term relationship with an auto driver was a given the moment you joined that school, that was 3kms away. Specifically state syllabus. The fancy pants CBSE and ICSE people had their own school buses. Depending on whether you did Kindergarten at the same school, or jumped schools because you got thrown out from the first, you spend some 10 to 13 years in that school. (Then you go off to Pre University College, which noone in any other state understands. +1 and +2 for the world, PUC for Karnataka) Now in this time, you rarely change auto rickshaw drivers. Driver uncle remains the same for a decade. Some troubled kids change autos too, but they grow up to be disturbed adults. Normally though, you have this Auto uncle, who shows up every morning, to take you to school; and almost without fail, he is there in the evening to pick you up. If ever there was a horrible speed bump on the road, that he didn't see and your lunch box took that opportune moment to come apart and spill it's contents onto the road, he would stop you by the Iyengar's bakery and pack a cream puff and honeycake so you don't go hungry in the afternoon. So here, the foundation is laid. This motherly setup with the auto driver, sets you for life, looking to auto drivers for transport, comfort and a sense of normalcy about life. Exactly what you look for in a woman.

You finish 10th standard, or SSLC (YesYesYellSee is the Kannada pronunciation) and join this morbid two year course that's supposed to set you up for life and orient you towards a field of study, and work, of your interest. My posterior does a better job of keeping the earth spinning on it's axis than these 'colleges' do their work. So instead, the auto uncle has vanished, you fend for yourself, learn bus routes, not just from college to home, like you used to in school; but from college to movie theatres, movie theatres to home, home to friend's home, so on and so forth. You are now empowered with princely sums of 20 or 30 rupees when you leave home, for safety, in case the bus doesn't show. Typically, this money is spent on Bhel Puri and a ticket bought in black, for some bad first day first show movie. And once the movie is over, way past normal bus hours, which in those days was 7 or 8pm, you need to get home, and fast. So where do you turn to? The auto! This where art imitates life. Auto imitates people I mean. For whatever reason, male bonding is huge in PUC. Except if you're in Mount Carmel College or Jyothi Nivas College, in which case male Bondage is huge. I digress. And male bonding gets murky after a bit, with so much slang thrown around, you keep forgetting who is your son, your brother-in-law, and who is your student (maga, machchan and sisya). Just to get away from it all, you search for female company, and you know what, PUC is a sweet time. Like the auto drivers were back then. You used to just stick a hand out, and one of them would stop by. And take you home, even if it was going to cost just a bit up from minimum. Slowly, since your places of movement are more or less the same, you run into the same auto driver again and again. Over a period of a few months, he knows subconsciously which days you go the movies (Fridays), friend's house (Saturdays) or sit at home. (Go to tuitions, if you joined the year long course. I didn't). Little do you know, this is the last turbulence free auto rides you will have, ever.

The gateway to manhood, and A rated films with similar titles opens with the Common Entrance Test and you are orphaned. Leaving the nest was never this hard. As you move around town, you notice there's more autos and auto drivers than you'd ever seen. And there's an invisible structure. the older more senior auto drivers are Divas. They bully the newbie drivers, and also the passengers. Seriously, they're straight out of Venus I tell you. But the senior Divas are more assured drivers on the road. They move seamlessly in and out of traffic. The newbies however are twitchy, and jump when you talk to them in the middle of a ride. Exactly why guys like older women.

But then comes the ugly part. You know there was a time, when an auto driver would drop you off at your destination, give you change upto paisa level accuracy, smile and leave. But not the drivers of today. Irrespective of seniority, they want more. Do you even remember a time in the last decade when auto drivers were actually happy with their meter rates and the money they earned? As it is, they never take where you want to go. Instead of Shankar Nag's good name, auto drivers should paste a big "NO" on their autos, makes communication so much faster and efficient. It's not like they're on their way anywhere. You stop them, ask for your destination, and they look away and go off. Atleast tell me where YOU'RE going, maybe I'll join you for a bit! Ok, now I don't know if I'm talking about women or auto drivers. (A little BengLoor Kannada humour) A more curious resemblance of autos, auto drivers to the ladies now; you know even today, in some of the smaller cities in the state, autos have no meter. The price is set on a ride by ride basis. But in Bangalore autos have always have always had meter. they used to be very reasonable, as compared to the ride quality and distance. But now, autos have too much meter (running). It's not healthy, to have uninhibited meter. Control irbEku. And then of course, that meter is a showpiece, without any real function, because most auto drivers prefer to set the price before hand (in Kannada slang, 'meter' refers to a sort of reckless bravery). Sometimes you need to pay them three times as much as the meter would cost. Maybe this is an auto driver parallel to the three date rule thing.

Of course one can go on complaining. Before Autos ran on Petrol. The blood of the internal combustion engine. Now they are just full of Gas. (LP Gas, but gas nonetheless). They have unions, and if ever you argue with one in public, their whole clan descends on you with the fury of a pack of hyenas. And there is no victory from there. Even if you want to ask one for a ride, if they are in a group, consider it impossible because somewhere in their midst is a communication blackhole. I find it best to lure one or two away from the pack so you can clearly, and boldly ask. As public transport remains a little inaccessible, and petrol prices reach past Proxima Centauri, the inevitable happens. To start with, there is a desperate shortage of Auto drivers. Like sex determination, I think profession determination by parents has created a skew auto-driver/non-auto-driver ratio. So you walk upto an auto and he says, "Sorry, Waiting". How many times have you not heard that in cafes, restuarants, college canteens? As you walk away you wonder, is (s)he really waiting for someone else, or did you just get blown off by an auto driver! Incredulously you look around for another auto and shock and horror, there is a free auto, but the passenger seat is taken by one of their own! I'm not a prude. Auto drivers should ride with auto drivers if they chose such a lifestyle you know. But when there's such a shortage of good auto drivers, and passengers like me are looking for the right auto driver for my destination, it just seems so unfair!

And all this makes me wonder. Women are truly like auto drivers. So getting one for yourself is your responsibility. Using your father's car is Arranged Marriage. And it becomes clear why so many guys like bikes. You ride by yourself, any time of the day, anywhere you want. Self help is best help. Of course if you have a pillion rider, you have someone to chat with along the ride. Bus rides are also nice. You're travelling with so many people. The ticket price is low and affordable, and there is no commitment about exactly where you want to get off. Even after you buy a ticket for the whole journey, you can get off after a couple of stops in case the bus got too noisy, dirty, or wasn't compatible with you. But still, you are nostalgic about the auto rides when you were a kid. You feel so safe, you can fall asleep as the driver takes you where you want. Can you fall asleep when you ride a bike? So despite the numerous troubles of them, you still stretch your arm out ever so often hoping for the best. Who knows, THIS time you might get a nice one. Right?

Women. Are auto drivers.

The Triangle Paradox (12.11.2009)

This is an old piece. In the spirit of rekindling my interest, I thought I'd post this..

In what is a paradox of modern times, a lady I am acquainted with wrote an article on the apathetic state of unavailability of brides for most men in urban society; and the correspondingly irrational needs/statutory requirements the few brides who are available, present. Thankfully, the article doesn't condone the high handedness of any one gender conditionally (or otherwise). But it does point to "how the times have changed" in the sense that brides who wouldn't have been worth a second look a few decades earlier (for extremely flimsy reasons and reasoning) are now in high "demand" (Yes, brides and grooms are commodities for sale in contemporary society). And conversely, the very kind of groom who would reject brides like turning down HoLige at the 'in-law's house, is now there at that very house, probably cleaning the table after his bride-to-be has retreated to watching television.

Global warming is killing us. But screw us, we're the ones responsible for the mess. Unfortunately though, the first casualties of global warming would be plants and animals. in particular, the Bengal Tiger. Now it can be argued that it is fate biting the tiger in the ass (Do NOT try that at home), a deserved fate for an animal that for hundreds of years has preyed on several "innocent" animals, and god forbid, even the occasional human. But justice must be restored to balance of all crimes of tigers past, by killing off the dastardly ones alive today.

Anyway, that was a completely unrelated lament. My loving dedication to all wannabe-feminists (just the wannabe's) to get extremely worked up and make themselves feel important and empowered for however long it takes for the next time a Kareena Kapoor video is played on TV.

By no stretch of imagination is the previously mentioned analogy plausible in this ongoing drama between men and women. It is laughable to think that some these "men" I've met could be called tigers. Likewise it is also humourous to think that this approach of modern brides to be, to be the same as global warming. Although, I must say, both global warming and women seem to induce the same effect in me. Suffocation. Just kidding. Maybe not.

The stories I've read of women oppressed through the ages have had a very disturbing effect on how I think about society as a whole. The problem for me is not so much of the cycle of women oppressed-men grovelling in succession. Rather, as i see it, it is, men oppressing-men grovelling-men taking "revenge"-men grovelling with the constant sub-layer of women being oppressed-women being annoyed-women getting oppressed and annoyed-women getting disgusted. Men have been acting without the slightest thought, and women have only been reacting. I say this, not out of sexist prejudice but, it appears to me that for all history it appears that when snobby grooms were unacceptably dismissive, the brides felt hurt (understandably so) and now, when grooms are on more than one knee, they're flustered (well understandable too)?

My question is, has society gotten it completely wrong? The approach men have taken is obviously brash, uncouth and not pleasant. But why haven't women initiated anything i say! Give the stupid men an opportunity to react, maybe that would herald the beginning of an equisexual society (Yes I made that word up, and I like it). But no they won't. And not even present a reason why they won't. "I needn't have to tell you. You're supposed to know. Humpf!". The answer could lie in my observation that however stupid it might be, men have a practical understanding of what they want. They (we) have had an unwaveringly strong stance over millennia. We want the "sex" and the "eyelashes" to flutter unabatedly as we whine about our various sorrows from the past day, week, lunar or martian cycle. These two needs constitute the three cornerstones of manhood.

Clearly the last cornerstone is missing in a lot of men, none of whom are single.

(Hmmm, maybe there is something to that.)

But what is it that women want?

Frooo... oooo... oosh. (That was the sound of hell freezing over with that question still unanswered)

"Good looks"? Well how long will that last? Surely women know all about that. (Ok, that was mean. Sorry). "being well settled" (Coded phrase to mean being-loaded)? No comments on this one. Maybe the men who want fair, slim and homely brides have something to say. "A good sense of humour"? Bollocks, a woman wouldn't know a good joke if she was reading one right now. I'm kidding. Am I? No really. Oh well. *smirk*

A pictorial representation of probable vectors involving society and women would appear thus.

In vectorial terms, it appears Society's needs and Women's happiness would never meet in positive planes.

Furthermore, upon juxtaposition of our previous diagram.

We find that only being whiny will cause least distress with women while being highly acceptable with society. Intellectualism, is of course unacceptable on both axes.

Digressing, at the present rate of temperature change the Sunderbans, the last thriving habitat of the bengal tiger will be under 10 feet of water in a little more than 20 years. But anyway.

Coming back to my friend's article, I'd hate to think that this cycle is perpetual, as it appears on the face of it. I'd loathe the thought that my hypothetical male offspring from my postulated spouses and mistresses could turn out to be the sexists that my ancestors apparently were. Even more so would I dislike the planned female offspring of my hypothetical male offspring to be the unreasonable brides of today. But, like the bipolar couple that is society's needs and WHI, so too are reality and my hopes for the same.

The reason of course, why all this came up is because how many of my friends, especially females ones are getting married (well, for the most part in India, for every girl getting married, there's a guy as well, but that's not what I meant). So I just wanted to wish the lucky bastards the best of married lives.

Lets start at the very beginning.

A very good place to Start.

I'm horrible. Well, no I've just not posted, but whatever. Having read
http://localparty.tumblr.com/post/4772745417
http://localparty.tumblr.com/post/4772745417

and

http://bengloorgirlindenver.blogspot.com

I have felt humiliated enough to try and restart the logging process. I have written in the meantime, though, just haven't posted it. No excuses!

I am also on Tumblr now, at http://jaalibaaru.tumblr.com

Cheers.

What was I taking a break from?!

My last post was in January. JAN-U-A-RY. What followed later of course, has been nothing short of divine comedy. My preparations to transition from being film-student to film-maker, learning of the greatness that is, xkcd, grieving the loss of my grandmother, ending a roller coaster relationship, ending film school, being part of film school, spending some of the most beautiful moments I could possibly ever have, learning and enjoying more of the delight that is Prague, eating ice-cream in a snowstorm. (Events listed in reverse chronological order). The present of course seems to be so much funnier, it almost seems staged. Really. How else does one explain the visit to Bombay. Or the trip to Kodai. (Don't worry, an explanation to either, is not coming up, anytime soon)

Reading my previous post in this blog, pushes me a little into reflection. I don't think I disagree with it at all. Good. I'm still sane and coherent. But I don't know where I'm quoting this from, but "with time, comes acceptance". My relationships, of all kinds, just amuse me now. Maybe it's a cynical way to be, but really, the "tragedy" of everything just seems surreal. I should say, personally, being amused is a lot better way to live than being bitter about things. And it feels gooooood. Not getting angry when you think of someone or see them, I'd say is a good thing.

The bigger tragedy I see these days personally, is how little people sweat it out for relationships. That client from some bankrupt company in some bitch-ass country that's between the Pacific and the Atlantic gets 50 "man"-hours of your time a week, and your lover of years gone by, and decades to come, get's an hour, maybe two in the same week? Screw you people. Honestly speaking, you disgust me. More people being irresponsible in relationships equals, more relationships ending badly equals, more people not trusting the next crazy guy/girl to come along equals, fewer options for the next crazy guy/girl to come along - ME!!! (haven't met too many crazy girls of late).

I have finally bounded my theory and understanding of humans, and their relationships, into a full fledged thought-book. It's taken almost a decade of observing, being amused, shocked, and intrigued at probably one of the most unique aspects of the human species. And as a person who knows this book inside out, I should say... It doesn't look good. Not for me atleast.

But, "Hope is the elixir of life" (Tara- A play by Mahesh Dattani). That, and you don't get bogged down.

I don't know how depressed all this makes me sound, but truthfully, I love my life.

Sissiest post ever.

I had refrained from commenting on the following topic for more reasons than one... But something off late made me revisit old demons, and i thought an ambiguous passage of text may help in keeping the closet shut for a longer period this time around.It's weird how experiences change our approach to life and the events that surround it. But then again, i must quote "the more that things change, the more it seems, that they're the same". How many times will it take you to learn that when you have sensitive teeth, eating lots of sour chocolates and candy makes it very uncomfortable to eat for two days after. How many frames of film will you lose before you finally give up on people and start shooting still life or nature or cityscape. How many times will you fall in love with something that was never meant to be, and come off it feeling like a pumpkin.Before the reading mind jumps the seven seas to assume what I'm talking about, I will re-quote myself from the previous text. How many times will you fall in love with something, that was never meant to be. Something. Not someone. The worst part of living a romanticist life is the obvious lack of conversion of romanticised thoughts into achievable reality. Expectations are to a person, what instant coffee is to a connoisseur (I possibly couldn't come up with a worse analogy). It holds promise at first breath, and just a sip down, and it leaves a bad aftertaste. You're then left wondering what you were doing hoping for anything better in the first place... But then again, expectations are what make us live. (Just how significant are our expectations to the universe? Well, 6 billion people on planet Earth, a 100 billion stars like our Sun in the milkyway, and a 100 billion galaxies like the milkyway. That's one part in 60000 billion billion billion parts of importance for each one of us. In simple English, the universe doesn't give a f*** about what you want- that's my rendition of the vishwaroopadarshana) So how many times will you let your expectations fall before you substitute for what you're expecting. (All that's here is in rhetoric, hence no question marks)But you move on, just cover up your tracks, and move on saying nothing ever happened. What you don't see isn't there, right. But it's one of those days that the carpet slips and all the dirt you swept under it comes pluming out. Something reaches into your chest, pushes up to your throat, grabs your squirming tongue and pulls it down towards your navel. You're left looking around trying to make sense of it, wondering if you live a farcical life, pretending that the dirt under the carpet was never really there. Amores perros baby. Of whatever kind, I'm not talking of people. Rather, I'm not talking only of people.

This post is an old one, older than this date suggests. First published in Veiled arches, November 4th 2007.

I'm guilty.

After needlessly posting sissy material on my worldly blog, I decided my act was two letters short of being a crime. So this one is for all the sissy requirements of my heart, soul, mind, knees and elbows.

Now if you're Indian and wondering what Mrichakatika is, shame on you. Google it.
If you aren't Indian but are curious to know, click here... (It's incomplete as yet, but it will be updated I'm assuming).

I feel terribly guilty, for having used the name of such a monumental piece of literature. This sin, I hope to justify by the end of my lives. The means of which I will elaborate when it will appear that I can.