Sunday, September 18, 2011

I Believe...

That I will be able to come up with better titles than this one. Pardon me, but it's been a long time since I wrote something here. All four of my readers must be very angry with me. Ha, how I delude myself. Anyway, things have been pretty decent. Apart from the fact that on weekends, I still get awfully bored. In fact, just before I sat down to write this, I was watching a show on TV. It's been one of the longest and most watched shows in the history of television. And why not? It has fantastic scripting (the dialogue writing is of the highest calibre), beautiful production design, the highest level of detailing and some fabulous acting. I'm talking about the Miss Universe pageant. Hey, come on. Don't be a cynic. It's a show that stands tall as a beacon of hope. A child of innocence in this world full of rabid monsters. A show that stands behind your beliefs, pats them on the back and says, "Anything can happen. Just look at me." Because if Miss Universe can change the world, our time is not far away. 

Yes, I believe there is still hope for the few good men, so to say. I believe there is still hope for all of us non-drinkers (all three of us). I believe that there will come a time, when we don't have to watch the waiter snigger when the entire table orders a round of drinks and we are the only ones to ask for Coke. And we won't have to say, "Boss, sirf Coke. Not rum and Coke." Or suppress the urge to punch him in the face when when we ask him, "Veg mein kya hai?" or when we order two dishes (with the shapes of paneer being different of course) and he smiles. Or when we are the only ones who don't seem to smoke, and are left at the table to stare at each others' faces, while the rest of the gang has gone off to the smoking room, flirted with a girl or two, snogged one of them, made sweet love to the other and come back laughing and happy. And when you ask them what the joke was, the answer always is, "Arey bohot lambi story hai. Baad mein bataenge."

No unlucky brothers, we shall not be the ones to fight to a valiant third place, only to know that there was no cash prize for the third place. We shall not be the ones to send millions of text messages to contests and never win. We shall not be the ones to get into a top B-school of the country and graduate from it, straight into recession. I believe there will be some stocks and mutual funds in the market, which when you start investing in them, do not go into losses despite the fact that they were doing remarkably well for the last five years. No, there will be a time when you decide to buy a car and the government doesn't decide to hike the price of fuel. Or when you buy a house and the interest rate increases and you have to sell one of your organs to pay the EMIs. 

All of you weary travellers. Worry not, because there will come a time when the government decides to spare some change and fix the single lane bridge that connects two highways. So you don't have to watch the signal wink at you (red-green-red-green), as your car stays motionless on the road. The potholes shall be fixed. No you will not have to worry about your tyres putting in their papers and simply walking off in exhaustion. Nor will you have to smell the sweet goodness that is someone's armpit when you've had enough and decide to travel by train. 

There will come a day, when we shall not get caught on the one day we decided to travel without a ticket, just because the line was too long. There will come a day when we shall have a lady sitting right beside our seat in a train (or a plane, God bless). And no she shall not be a grouchy old woman who views you as a spoilt brat and a member of the much maligned 'modern generation'. Nor shall she be a mother of a (surprisingly) attractive young lady who, on seeing that a young lad of this vile generation had managed to acquaint himself with her daughter while she was not around, immediately swaps seats with her. Or if by chance, you happen to meet a young lady alone on your journey, she shall not assume that you are a serial rapist, when you smile and try to make conversation. And if the blue moon that is conversation doth show its face, it shall be meaningful and fun. Not like the time when you pretended to be cool and rebellious and the girl turned out to be the exact opposite, demure and reserved. Or like the time when you decided to be your simple self and the girl turned out to be Kurt Cobain's reincarnation (although it is ironic. Get it?) and concluded thus that you were gay and decided to ignore you for the rest of the trip. One day, you too shall be able to boast of how you were able to woo this girl (into giving you her phone number), like your other thirty-two friends.

And when that day does come, you too shall be able to smile and say, "Hmm. This seems different. Is it a dream?"