Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Right To Spit

Come 2020 and the colour of our roads will be red. No, this ain't any noble initiative to save the planet or reduce the number of road accidents. It will be as a result of every Indian's right to spit using The Right To Spit Anywhere & Anytime Act.

Our country is a labyrinth of Laws and Enactments where trivial Acts such as The Right To Information Act, The Environment (Protection) Act, The Child Labour Act etc. are rarely utilised by an average Indian, this average Indian makes optimum use of his Right to Spit Anywhere & Anytime Act. And it is because of this self-introduced and countrywide accepted Act that the colour of our roads will be red soon. From Kashmir to Kanyakumari and Mumbai to Kolkata, one will find spitters galore. And they sure do leave their mark, literally.

Spitting in India is an art, like Gregory David Roberts described in his book 'Shantaram'. You have to be precise with your finger and head movements to get the beautiful design that every spitter craves for. There is no room for error, again literally, as you might spit on someone’s leg or may be even head, if you are spitting from a bus (yes, that happens regularly in India). Never has an Indian implemented the saying 'practice makes perfect' in his life more seriously than while spitting. And the spit-art some of them create on dusty, rough Indian roads is just mesmerising. If these spit-artists decide to spit on a canvas, I am sure there 'paintings' would fetch more money than even M.F. Hussian’s, provided the exhibition is held in India as spit-art is primarily an Indian thing. A foreigner will definitely not be able to appreciate it as much as we Indians can, as our ready acceptance to spitting proves that.

So, I appeal to all Indian spitters to keep up the good work and may be even bring in some variety with green and blue. Also, I would like to take this opportunity to thank our Government for not antagonising spit-artists and even encouraging them by setting examples with their own spit-artists (read Government employees).

Thus, the time has come where let us all spit together, and as often as possible for making our motherland the dirtiest and filthiest place in this whole wide world. The world then might as well call us Red Indians.

The First Ever Love Story

Ours was probably the first ever and perhaps the only love story, the seeds of which were sown during an Indo-Pak cricket match between two people wearing opposing shirts. When tensions run as high as they do during any collision between the two sub continental giants, the last thing one would expect is a love story blossoming out in the midst of all the palpable rivalry. That is precisely what happened with us. Here it goes…

The scoreboard read Ind 265-8 in 45 overs needing another 30 in 30 balls. Balanced on a knife’s edge, the match being played at Chandigarh’s picturesque Punjab Cricket Association (PCA) stadium was one for posterity. It had everything that Indo-Pak matches are renowned for – lots of boundaries, jaw breaking bouncers, toe crushing yorkers, an ugly spat between two short fused players and finally a thrilling finale. Unlike others who won’t move an inch even resisting their pees for a superstitious fear of India losing a wicket if they shifted, I was carrying popcorn back to my seat. I was hungry so I needed food. For me it was as simple as that (my cricket crazy brothers called me unpatriotic for this). On my way back swimming through a sea of fanatics, I bumped into her. She was moving in the opposite direction struggling equally, if not more. Glad to find another unpatriotic mortal but irritated because of the spilled popcorn, I looked at her preparing to scowl like a pro. But right there it all stopped – time and stuff. She was a Pakistani beauty – Pakistani I could gauge from the green and white flag painted on her diamond like glittering cheeks – hotter than all the models I had ever seen on FTV. She had black hair with a pink and white hair-band, which gave her a Barbie doll kinda look (I found out in course of time that fortunately she was not as dumb as Barbie doll kinda girls normally are). She looked stunning in a very simple and very unfashionable green and white (obviously) salwar kameez. Right there, I knew if there ever was anything called love at first sight, this was it. I was head over my shoes for that pretty little thing staring at me from her large beautiful black eyes. I was in love. No questions asked.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to” she said. “It’s completely okay. Actually its my fault, I was looking at the match rather than straight. I am sorry” trying my best not to make her feel bad. “Is it ? ” she asked. “Then you better pay for my popcorn and coke”. “Excuse me?”. “Just kidding.. Hi, I am Meera”. “Aditya. Nice to meet you, rather bump into you… Sorry”. And that was the first of many panchats I impressed her with in future.

On my way back home, I received a text from her wishing me congratulations on an Indian victory.

Three years later, we married each other at Chandigarh’s Guru Nanak Sahibji’s Gurudwara. She chose to wear a white and green salwar kameez, much more fashionable and embroidered this time around but looking equally stunning like she was the first time we had met. But it was only later that I found out the rationale behind it, which was this - India was playing Pakistan in Karachi that day.

‘Hard Luck. Pakistan Won’ was the last text I received before turning in. What love !!