Achhoot.

I have a beautiful set of tea mugs which I treasure.
Not that they are up for display, but one is fond of them.
When I make tea in the morning for myself I usually make a cup for the maid as well.
Never thought about it but due to lack of options the aforesaid mugs were used.

One evening some friends came over.
It was raining and the weather was beautiful.
Balcony + Tea + Biscuit + Dip-Dip was planned.
While pouring tea I realized one of the mugs was missing. I poured my tea in a glass and continued with the dip-dip.

A few days later a plate went missing.
Then a random bowl.

I figured a chat with the maid was in order. Try fishing for the tea mug first and then try telling her that if she needs anything she can ask.

I got the shock of my life.

Over the past 2 months, whatever food & beverage I gave her I usually did it in a plate or something. And she enjoyed eating it.
But then washed them separately and kept them away in a cupboard.
Because that was the way it was in the other houses she worked in, she said.
I asked her very sternly if she washed my dishes properly.
She swore on everything her vocabulary could allow.
I told her not to bother about them in that case.

I thank my family for bringing me up with very humanitarian values. I was taught all human beings are one. And the motto for Sikhism is ‘Manas ki jaat sab eke pehchaanbo’ (treat all humans as one). And surprisingly if you think carefully, all religions in some way or the other, say the same thing.

I remember working in my grandfathers farm in Jalandhar during my vacations from college. On day one I leisurely walked home at 1 pm from the fields for lunch and was given the firing of my life.
And sent back.

If I work, I am a worker. Behave like one.
And lunch became a routine in those days with the workers.
And trust me the food was yummy. Rich buttered daal, aalu / gobhi / mooli parantha, a bowl of sweet and lots of butter milk.
Just that it was had under a construction shed with no fans and sitting on the floor.

That taught me the biggest lesson of my life. Dignity of labour.
Something I feel the urban youth of India knows nothing about.
I know people who were not allowed by family to do a hotel management course because they couldn’t see their heir as a waiter.

Caste or economics, classifications are a very important part of the Indian society. They cannot do without it.

My father celeberates his ‘happy birthday to you’ on 1st of January. And the first morning of the year is a routine since before I was born.
There is a ceremony of the completion of the reading of the Guru Granth Sahib and recitation of the hymns of ‘Assa Di Vaar’. Followed by the most delicious, finger licking, bowl slurping ‘Langar’ or free kitchen, prepared by my mom. Poori-Aloo, Chana-Rice, Rajma, Paneer, Parantha, Raita, Saffron Rice, Kheer, Sewaiyaan and lots of awesome pickles.

On one such occasion while my father was posted in Chennai I was visiting him (I was in college in Punjab) and after the ceremony he went out for some work with mom.

I decided to hit the bed. I had been up all night partying. Up all morning playing goodboy.com with my parents. And working the previous evening clearing the living room for the prayers.

Ting –tong.
And guests arrived.

To wish “saar” happy birthday to you and choicest wishes for the coming year.
I was sitting doing small talk with them (what you doing? What stream? What year? What plans?) and the doorbell rang. Again…

I opened it to find the smiley faced Mr. Subramaniam standing in the frame of the doorway. He was an office assistant in my dads’ office. He came for the same reason as the other blokes in my house but because the dude got me great food and takes good care of me when I visit dad at work, I insisted he come in. There was ‘langar’ and it would be rude if he did not eat. It was ‘prasad’.

As he walked in, after removing his shoes, which I insisted he not, the other blokes sitting in the living room drinking butter milk, gulped down their drinks hurriedly and stood up.
Mr. Subramaniam did Good Morning Sir with everyone.
And they all hurriedly left.

Confused, later in the evening I caught hold of an offspring of the aforesaid guests. That fact that she was the prettiest girl in the colony had nothing to do with it.
I was told yes, there was a chat at home. Mr. Subramaniam is a low caste individual and on the very first day of the new year seeing his face and all ruined her parents ‘happy new year to you’.

I was disgusted.

I walked away. Never spoke to her or any of those people again. And respected Mr. Subramaniam even more.
Because knowing well, what was happening he said good morning and happy new year to them as they stomped out of my house.

When I subtly mentioned it to him, he said job was more important than pride.

So, does the caste system exist in India?
Yes.
Where?
In urban - educated India.
By who?
The urban, educated, humanitarian metro – uber or whatever ‘sexual’ we like to call ourselves these days.


I am a great fan of the Hindu religion. As I am of Judaism.
You have to be born Hindu. There is no process to induct you. And you will die a Hindu. Because there is no process or mechanism in the Hindu religion to excommunicate you.
You may chose to follow or preach whatever religion or way of life you chose to, but if you’re born a Hindu, you are hooked buddy. No matter what you practice, no matter what you preach.
(If you believe in life after death, plan your last rights. You could do without that surprise.)

Now both these religions do not breed. You will never hear people converting to either of them. Because here religion is a birth right.
Every other religion in the world, can be adopted or left at will, by a legitimate recognized process.

And by that logic, Hinduism needs be the most religiously tolerant as they have no insecurity.

Well... almost.

Because here lies the divine comedy. The Achilles’ heel of the Hindu.

The caste system has forced many so called schedule castes to adopt other religions that offer a level ground. Of humanity.
The conversions were and will continue happening at rapid pace till the Hindu religion gives up the caste system. Or the lower class classification.
We can worry and yell about religious intolerance but trust me, every other religion besides Hinduism gives you a right to live without a caste tag. Be it Christianity, Islam, Jainism, Buddhism all of them treat all humans as one.
Who wouldn’t want it? If I faced such behavior from society where I was a ‘achhoot’, I would be the first to go.

So all guardians of Hinduism, while the nation fights over the reservation issues and the government fails to find a way to uplift the under privileged and keep competition alive at the same time, brace yourself for a much bigger battle.
The one that you are waging against your own religion via the caste system. Harshly put it is called cannibalization.

I feel the priests of non-Hindu religions who are often targeted for converting people and hurting Hinduism, are not at fault. They merely facilitate the process of granting someone the psychological right to live without the caste tag. The ones who willfully came. In search of a god who doesn’t see with a jaundiced eye.

The ones at fault are the society and clergy of the religion they abandon. Imagine, someone’s’ humanity is so shaken that he needs to search for a new god.
After being used, abused, ignored, shunted and humiliated by the guardians and followers of their own.


(Apologies for any sentiments that were hurt. The intention was merely to state the truth about the state of affairs. My opinion.)

Goonj

Bhari mehfil mein dil akela hai;
Is Goonj mein bhi tanhayee ka mela hai.
Kahin aankhen churana,
Kabhi nazrein jhukana,
Khamoshi ka daav, waqt ne khela hai.

Kehna tha kuchh, to keh diya hota,
Kuchh hota is layak to sun liya hota,
Par kehne sunnne ka jatan albela hai;
Is mehfil mein,kya koi aur bhi akela hai?

Yashita wrote about a room full of strangers. And I was inspired. Please read her post to see the origin of this thought...

We the cynics

I got back yesterday from the Advertising Agencies Association of Indias’ (AAAI) ambitious take on the Cannes advertising festival. In Goa.

A bunch of cynical, arrogant and insecure people clustered around in groups whining about everything in sight.

This was a realization. And I will hold it against advertising forever. It turns normal people into cynical beings.
When we join this business we are told the importance of an opinion. On everything.
How it is essential to the formation of our character and how we must have an opinion.
Then we are told to be brave and voice our opinion. It’s a democracy.
Then, voice your opinion to everyone. You work in an advertising agency after all and not a bloody bank.
Be sure of your opinion.
It’s your baby, back it.
Don’t take shit from anyone.
You are better than the best.

And what happens as a result is that when we meet someone, we wait like Wasim Akram to see a gap between the bat and pad to slip in the Yorker. We wait for him/her to say something so that we can drop a smart one-liner that illustrates the point that you are a ‘chuth’ (dumb cunt) and I am a stud.

I personally think you have to be a really potent cocktail of stupidity, dumbness and pathetic personal values if you start disliking someone before you even talk to him.
And go on the offensive.

Small talk maybe hated by many but let me assure you, the beginning of every conversation, be it in the bedroom or boardroom, is small talk.
One may not like to indulge in small talk. But till God declares you God, learn to do things you don’t like. Be polite.
That’s humanity. And that’s the price we pay for living in this world. Be polite.

But Goa, Advertising and politeness have about 3500 pages between them in the unabridged dictionary.
And AAAI played its joker.
So in Goa, we have two advertising folk, flanked by their respective agency gangs, filtered down to branch/department/group forced into small talk.
And then what follows is an orgy of various geographical and cultural one liners.
My one liners are better than yours.
My opinions are better than yours.
I’m smarter.
I get laid more often.
I can drink more than you.
I have read more books than you.
I have watched more movies.
I have a better taste in music, food and clothes.
My boss is better than yours.
My agency does more billing (if you’re from JWT that is).

If you say milk is white I shall prove it’s black.
If you say it’s black, I shall prove it is white.
And if you, being a loser has no opinion on milk, come, I shall give you gyaan on the various shades of grey it consists.

Our sole purpose in life, by virtue of being in advertising, is to have the last word. Period.

We shall override senses, supercede generation gaps and pinch human sensitivities for something so trivial as the last word.
We go through immense pain, to prove to someone who we have just met and most probably will never meet again, (despite it being a small world) that we are superior.

Advertising Folk, especially creative people are very vain. Nothing in the world is better than a pat on the back. No matter whom it comes from. And that is good because it pushes them to create and guard good creative communication work.

But somewhere down the line, our insecurity has got the better of us. And we have lost the plot. Have you ever wondered why advertising people spend so much of time in office. Yeah…besides the reason that the top honchos can enjoy some caviar and cigar…It is because there are very few people outside of those who we work with who like us.

Few non advertising people. Because besides school / college / office people, our collective propensity to make new friends, nosedives. We may bebrilliant, but lonely.

Courtesy, sensitivity and concern for others are traits that win friends world over. But when you are breeding an environment of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, trust me, it is carried outside office. You’re best friends with someone who doesn’t give a fuck either.

And when office hours are 12-16 a lot of it is carried.

There are exceptions to this. And they too will agree with me. More so because they have managed to escape this rut…

But Goa showed me some other sights. Which further brought insights…let me play ‘share-share’ with you…

I saw people with neat Portfolio CD’s all labeled and stickered with their names, contact info and their very favorite one-liner or quote. To hand out to Creative Directors of other agencies. While attending the GoaFest at their agencies cost. Instant deals are cracked because if I just met someone from agency X, I’ll be nice to him so that he can introduce me to his National Creative Director…

I saw people breaking up in the middle of the Ad Village while others just looked on. “all you wanted to do you bastard was sleep with me and now that you have got what you wanted you want space…” and the girl stomping away after roping in the sex life of the guys father, mother, sister, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins and the other left out relatives. And yes, accusing them all of incest.

We attended a barge party which abruptly decided to halt the ferry service to the land at 1 am. To 3 am. So the same bunch of spoilt, cynical and arrogant bastards were now tanked up with booze, pumped up with weed and stranded on a barge in the middle of the ocean.
And realizing that the ferry was off, all those who otherwise had no other plans besides continuing with the free booze developed a sudden urge to leave.

They fought. They puked. They fought again…

They made Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet and collectively the entire team of James Cameron proud when the service was resumed at 3.

I was out at 12:30. Thank god…

And the whiners.
Yes, they are everywhere. You see according to our fraternity, everything is bad. Except the free booze that is.
The timing of the GoaFest was bad.
Too hot.
The location is bad.
South Goa? Too dull.
The hotel is bad.
Park Hayatt? Too uptight.
The schedule is bad.
Who wants to attend lectures in the afternoon?
The facilities are bad.
The loo is a make shift box on the beach.
The seating is bad.
The beach is bad.
The water is bad.
The para gliding assistant is bad.
The banana boat is bad.
The music is bad.
The food is bad.
The crowd is bad.
The barge party was declared bad last night itself.
The ads are bad.
The ones that won are worse.
All scam.
That creative director is bad.
That agency is bad.
That idea is bad.
The arrangement is bad.

All in all everything you see is bad, and if I was consulted before all of it was finalized I would have given you my opinion and thus spared you the agony of facing my wrath. And yes, your world will turn upside down if I am not happy…

Big Fucking Deal!!!

Opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one. And in Goa, I realized most of us use ours to talk. The moment you see someone who tries extra hard to look intelligent by asking smart questions and dropping funny but inane one liners you got to the Ad Village.


(I have generously used the word ‘we’ in this post. That is because I think I am no different. I am guilty for most of the things written here myself. But I don’t think this is how I want to be.
And this is not meant to sound like a generalization. It is. )


I love this industry. I love my job. I love the people I know here. Some of them, and they know who, are dearer to me than life. And trust me, all I say cannot change the fact that we are in the second most exciting profession known to mankind and an agency is a wonderful place to work in. But people, wake up.

Drop that wall from around you. Break out of your cocoon. Stop being so bloody cynical…Everybody is not dumb. Everything is not bad. Remember the positive power of words. Try to genuinely like someone.

See some humanity near you. There is lots of it around…even in that ‘chuth’ from O&M…