40 really dumb things to do in Mumbai

40 dumb things NOT to do in Mumbai | CNNGo.com - www.cnngo.com

1. Get into a Virar train if you are going to Borivali
2. Buy 100 buck windcheaters from Churchgate, they are all the ones recycled by the Bhandiwalis
3. Eat Bhel at Kailash Parbat
4. Call a cop ‘Pandu’
5. Argue with a Koli Fisherwoman
6. Get a 11 rupee massage at Girgaum Chowpatty
7. Bet against India in a game, Australia is the safest option
8. Buy enhancement medicines from Van – Travelling Hakims who are the desi versions of the flying doctors
9. Call up 26407383 Beanbags thinking it’s an escort service
10. Avoid asking the Sandwich wallah on Dalal Street for market tips
11. Stand in front of Amitabh/Shah Rukh/Salmaan’s house -- you look stupid and it's a waste of time
12. Go to work when a Shiv Sena bandh is on
13. Visit sleazy video parlours and get caught in a raid
14. Get excited and start jumping when someone offers you Paanch ka Dollar, it’s just a tiny 5 rupee coin
15. Go for a Shiv Sena rally in hope for a Free Vada Pav and Shiv Sena Banian
16. Call a Maharastrian guy Bhaiya, no matter how respectful you meant it
17. While commuting, don’t tease people defecating near the tracks, they throw stones back at the train
18. Hang outside the train, poles might hit you before the crowds will
19. Tease a Hijra
20. Bribe a porter to grab a seat in V.T., chances are he might run off with your money
21. Get conned at Fountain from guys selling cheap mobiles. They mesmerize and wrap soap bars
22. Pronounce Sandhurst correctly, Sandas Rd makes more sense
23. Donate money to the Crying Cab driver. He has conned thousands
24. Invite Brass Polishwalas into your house
25. Assume that booksellers in Fountain are dumb, they know their Pulitzers and Man Booker winners more than us
26. Give 100 bucks to a conductor and expect him to give you change, he will sadistically torment you till the last stop
27. Have lassi outside Dadar Station (west), they add Tissue Paper while preparing it
28. Throw stones at monkeys in Borivali National Park
29. Loiter around in Shivaji Park on Dec 6th
30. Ask for a bargain at the Maharastrian Cloth store in Dadar
31. Go for midnight mass at Mahim church thinking you can pick up girls
32. Buy fire crackers from Essabhai, Crawford Market and travel in train
33. Go to Mondegar and ask for a Jain Pav Bhaji
34. Look straight and walk, We have open manholes
35. Wear Brown Khakis shirts, People will mistake you for BMC staff
36. Ask for Warranty & Guarantee from the Mallu Electronic stalls in Fountain area
37. Search for the Kala Ghoda in Kala Ghoda
38. Ask why statues in Mumbai have one finger pointed like umpires
39. Apply Rai ka Tel on your head and travel by public transport
40. Go to Haji Ali during high tides

A True Story

//Barso re megha megha/barso re megha megha/barso re megha barso// rang the voice in his ear. And how sweet the voice sounded! Well, it couldn’t have sounded any less sweet considering that it was the actual singer crooning in his ear due to the gift that was modern technology. The high quality $100 earphones in his ears made even average music seem like God playing the harmonica (basic assumption being that whatever God plays is, well, godly). This made the walk back from school to his home so much more pleasant. In fact, at that moment in time, he really could not understand why anyone would ever want to remove such music in exchange for any other sounds on earth!

He was in such a great mood walking in pleasant weather and listening to great music (at least great sounding music) that he did not realize when the walk turned into a canter and led him straight into an obstacle that was rather soft for being born for the explicit purpose of being an obstacle. It is only on looking up that he realized the folly of such thought; for what he had bumped into was more of a human being and less of an obstacle. And, unfortunately for him, a human being of the exact type that he disliked the most. This type, of which there were rather many, is the kind of human being whose face seems so familiar that you are sure it belongs to someone you should know and yet the mind cannot associate a name or relationship with the face. Fortunately though, since he had been in this exact situation more times than he would have liked to, holding a conversation with this species without having to go into any kind of specifics was an art that he was the foremost expert on.

This time though, he decided to take the art one step further and challenged himself to clearing the obstacle (literally and metaphorically) without taking the earphones off. What he had not accounted for, however, was the obstinacy of the obstacle in ensuring that the challenge goes unsuccessful. As it turned out, the face belonged to a body that resided in a building whose gates lay only a few steps further from the spot where the collision occurred and to a mind (or maybe heart) that was more effusive in its joy at the event having actually occurred.

“Aha, you must definitely have tea with us”

“I must get going. There is someplace I need to be soon.” This sentence, he felt, was sure to be appropriate irrespective of what uncle would have said. //Sunta hai mera khuda/Dil-o-jaan se chahu/tujhko yaara dilrubaa// Wow, he had not heard this song since a really long time now.

“It will not take long. You must meet my wife”

Both lip reading and the gentle push by the uncle convinced him that he was being asked to go with him someplace. Since he did not have anything better to do on reaching home, he decided that going along was definitely not a half bad idea. But he did acknowledge defeat in his personal challenge and took the earphones off. At first, the fact that the music still continued in his ear did not bother him as it could be easily attributed to some sort of residual effect owing to the high volume at which he was listening to the music originally. After half a minute, when it still continued, the reason his brain came up with next was that this was actually his brain still singing the song internally even though the actual source had been turned off and that this was happening as he really loved the song and knew the lyrics entirely (How the brain could do this as well as make up this logic for him was not something that struck him then).

It is only when the song changed //Ae nazini suno na/hume tumpe hak toh do na/chahe toh jaan lo na// that he became alarmed. Surely there is no way this could be happening naturally. There had to be something wrong. And he ran out of the house without bothering to say anything to his surprised hosts and stuck his fingers firmly in both ears, as if that would stop the music. Expectedly, it did not. Next, he tried to shut his ears even tightly by folding the ears into as small an entity as possible, as if THAT would stop the music. Expectedly again, it did not. Next, he started running as fast as he could with the ears thus folded, as if; funny what the brain instructs the body to do when faced with new events. Atleast the blind running had one silver lining; it brought him to the doorsteps of an ENT practitioner, only to realize that it was a Sunday evening.

By this time, the song had again changed and was now playing //Yeh haseen vadiyan/Yeh Khula aasman/aa gaye hum kahan/ ae mere sajnaa// Even though this was a song he would have loved in most other circumstances, appreciation of musical talent was not exactly top priority right now. His brain was frantically searching for possible ways to stop the music and in desperation, the only option it came up with was to shout louder than the sound of the music in the hopes of drowning it away for good. And thus instructed, his sound box, not caring for the fact that it was the middle of a busy street, braced itself and let loose a most blood-curdling shriek, the type that would have made the director of a horror movie proud. All his other organs, including his eyes, shut down momentarily to allow the sound box to have dedicated use of the body’s energy resources, and when they next opened, he found himself sweating profusely and back in the window seat of the flight he was in, where he had drifted off to sleep with the music still on through the headphones that he had plugged in to relax, and which were now lying suspended from his neck!

Plain Luck or Calculated Mischief?

A business trip I had to make in August 2010 required me to pass through London city, and as the connecting flights were from different airports in London, I needed to apply for a transit/tourist visa for the United Kingdom. The travel agent recommended that I apply for a transit visa as it is quicker and does not require an interview and is expected to be processed and released in 4-5 working days.

With this assurance, I applied for the transit visa on the 11^th of August for a departure on 28^th August, giving them 12 working days to do a job that was supposed to take 5. Plenty of time one would be forgiven for thinking, but you can never underestimate Murphy. The visa centre prided itself on having an online application tracker where you could find out the status of your application. On day 5, the day I was expecting the visa to be released, the tracker said that my visa is being processed. That’s all…just these 5 words, which left me wondering about the purpose of the tracker in the first place, if all it existed for was to make redundant statements (similar to newspaper articles that end with “will it work? Only time will tell!”)

By day 9 (T-3 days), I had begun to fret a little and called the helpline mentioned on the website for information. To their credit, it was the fastest helpline that got me to a human voice (the phone companies are the worst) I had ever encountered. After giving her the information about my application number, I was made to hold for some time, raising my hopes of getting meaningful information, but now I think all she did was check the same online system on the public website to give me the 5 words I had come to dread…”your visa is being processed”. All further requests for more concrete information on whether it is likely to be processed in time (remember it is T-3 days) or whether I should initiate cancellation procedures fell on deaf ears. I even wrote to all the email addresses mentioned on the website which led to all of ZERO responses from anyone on the other end. To be fair to them, an auto reply did warn me not to expect a reply before 30 days!

Day 11 (T-1 !!) and still no sign of visa. I decided that since I had anyways waited this long to go the complete distance and only change travel plans the morning of the departure date. This decision turned out to be the life saver as that evening, I got a message saying that my visa has been processed and is available for collection the next day (5 hours before departure). Although my joy knew no bounds at having got the green light for the trip, I couldn’t help but wonder the possible reasons why the visa only arrived one day before the departure date (which was entered in atleast 3 diff places in the application along with a print of the tickets). A number of scenarios come to mind

1] The embassy processed it as per its normal procedures regardless of departure dates with no regards to whether the passenger gets the visa in time for it to be meaningful. This might be possible as its just another passenger amongst millions and the cancellation is actually extra revenue for their home country. And I got incredibly lucky to have gotten through the system barely in time

2] The embassy people (or whoever processes the applications) saw my application, didn’t like my face, but found no plausible reason to reject the application so they waited till the last possible second in the hopes that I would cancel. If that is indeed the case, may the person who did this wake up tomorrow morning with a dog’s tail sticking out of his @#$%

3] The embassy people were genuinely overflooded with applications and only managed to get to mine 2 days before the departure date and then worked wonders to get it cleared in time so that I could travel. If that is the case…may this person wake up tomorrow morning and find that the first thing he wishes for since waking up is fulfilled (of course he may waste it on ''I wish whoever is in the bathroom gets out immediately, I have an emergency'' leading to all kinds of unpleasant/pleasant scenarios depending on the state of the person already inside)

What did happen, I will never get to know. All I wish for is more useful information on the status in future and not mere redundant stuff. Then again..maybe it is not such a bad thing after all to have such an experience in your life and they should make it a habit to do this to more applications to add colour to people’s life!! Maybe they already do!!

An Honest...wait for it...Traffic Cop

No pun intended! No inherent contradictions here! I actually had a run-in with an honest traffic cop in Mumbai last week and i feel blessed! Here is how it all transpired

Driving through Amar Mahal junction near Ghatkopar, i was one of the tiny few who try to and succeed in getting through the junction before the blink and you miss it green signal turns red again. And in the rush (for absolutely no reason, i was just dropping a friend home) to get past it, i did not realize the light turn red again just as i crossed the line from safety into combat zone and was caught by the ever-present traffic cop standing there expecting exactly this waiting to wave me to the side of the road.

It was thus with trepidation that i stepped out of the car, bracing myself for a show of abject poverty to lower the bribe to manageable levels when the cop, expectedly asked me to hand over my licence.

I was expecting the usual charade of "ill have to impound your licence and charge you with a fine of a few million rupees (never heard this figure below 500) and you can collect it later after paying the fine" followed by my pleading that it was an honest mistake and let me go for a tenth of that sum going straight into your pocket.

The cop did exactly that except that instead of mentioning an absurd figure, he quoted the princely sum of Rs 100/- to be paid as fine and asked me to collect the licence in a couple of days from the nearest traffic outpost (on my route from home to work for that week). I was first shocked to hear the amount and my initial reaction was that he seems to be in a screwy mode where he will say Rs 100 but i will be asked to cough up a much bigger amount at the traffic chowk. So i offered to pay him the Rs 100/- and give me my licence back (i know i am also to blame....he wont take a bribe if you wont offer one...blah blah), which he refused and impounded my licence and gave me a receipt instead.

A couple of days later, i made my way to the outpost expecting to pay anywhere between Rs 100 and 500 and was again shocked when all i had to do was pay the Rs 100 to a bored looking person and get my licence back. The whole process took less than a minute!!

Once again, am pleasantly surprised with this encounter and also more knowledgeable in that no cop can now ask me for exorbitant fines for violating a signal. To all those who may read this and drive in Mumbai, if you are ever caught by a traffic cop for breaking a red light, offer him your licence and ask him where to collect it from after a few days. It is definitely the more convenient and morally satisfying option!

My Tryst with Classic Literature

“The first ray of light which illuminates the gloom, and converts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is derived from the perusal of the following entry in the Transactions of the Pickwick Club, which the editor of these papers feels the highest pleasure in laying before his readers, as a proof of the careful attention, indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which his search among the multifarious documents confided to him has been conducted”

Thus starts ‘The Pickwick Papers’ by Charles Dickens. I have read that sentence (yes, it is only one sentence) at least ten times now and I am still not sure what Mr Dickens is trying to say here. Some parts of it are clear, but the parts somehow do not add up to a coherent message coming through. As far as I can guess (as that is the only option left), he is trying to commend himself on a job well done even though that would primarily fall under the job description of his readers. Blowing your own trumpet? By none other than Charles Dickens! Maybe it is not such a bad quality after all.

However, that is not the subject of this post. The subject is my constant struggle with classic literature, and why I continue to even keep trying. I am an avid reader of fiction, particularly the thriller genre. But ever-so-often, after a couple of totally predictable but nonetheless enjoyable Robert Ludlums or Steve Berrys, I feel guilty. Like I am doing a grave injustice to myself and the world of books by reading these seemingly inconsequential pieces of junk only for entertainment and not using books for the principle reasons that they are meant for – to gain knowledge and an appreciation of the written word. Which is why every time I go book shopping, I always end up with a few fiction books and at least one classic literature which suffer to same fate as the latest one by Mr Dickens (Of course, I stopped reading after the encounter with the first sentence).

And this is not new. I remember having spent a full two months getting through ‘The Fountainhead’ by Ayn Rand. That effort was so monumental that it got a full post dedicated to it in this blog when it was finally completed. And another classic by the same celebrated author, namely, ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’ is now immortal in my memory as ‘the book’ to read when you want to fall asleep fast. Recommended to anyone with insomnia!

And lying unread in a shelf in my room are ‘Great Expectations’ by Dickens again and Homer’s ‘The Iliad’ for appreciation of the written word and ‘Vivekanand and his teachings on the spiritual unity of humankind’ for gaining knowledge. But before that I must complete ‘The Paris Option’ by Robert Ludlum, ‘Stone Cold’ by Steve Baldacci, ‘The Cobra’ by Frederick Forsyth and Sidney Sheldon’s ‘After The Darkness’. The race is on; albeit an unfair one, as the winner has been decided even before it can start. As for those books, they will find better use in my house as pieces of décor that people can see and appreciate and leave it at that. Reading and appreciating just does not seem to be my cup of tea!

It happens only in India – Part II

The second incident in the recent past that left me incredulous at the country that is India.

Scene: An altercation with an auto rickshaw and a traffic policeman on a Sunday afternoon at Priyadarshini signal in Mumbai

I will be the first to admit that my driving needs to mellow down a bit (you can argue on the extent of mellowing required, but at least it’s a start from my side. I am now past the denial stage). In one such incident of rash driving on the aforementioned Sunday afternoon, I was speeding across a flyover behind a garbage truck that smelled like…well, garbage!

In my bid to get past it with minimal exposure to the stench, I attempted a standard ‘switch lane and accelerate’ method of overtaking, only to find the garbage truck attempting the same maneuver at the absolute last second (maybe my policy of not honking incessantly to avoid noise pollution is to blame), forcing me to brake and swerve left and graze another auto rickshaw (filled with 2 adults and 3 children in a vehicle meant for only 3 people) that was on its own race to get to its destination before apocalypse struck.

My first reaction was to check the auto rickshaw to check its status and having satisfactorily established that the driver was skilful enough to maintain balance, allowed survival instinct to take over. Since there seemed to be no damage to the rickshaw or its occupants, I decided to make a run for it in the hope of outrunning the auto, but was thwarted after 200 meters at the aforementioned signal, which allowed the auto to catch up with me and left him with sufficient time to get out and reach my passenger door with the choicest of obscenities waiting to be let loose from his cannon of a mouth.

After an initial moment of panic, I decided my best chance lay in acknowledging my mistake, apologizing profusely and hoping for mercy (as opposed to trying to explain to him that the garbage truck was partially at fault or fighting it out with him while denying any fault whatsoever). And so apologize profusely I did, all the while asking him to keep his language civil (only to let you visualize the scene better, I would guess the occupants of the auto as relocated slum dwellers). His reaction was to threaten to uproot my car door if I did not park at the side from in between a red light surrounded by cars on all sides with no opportunity to turn while letting loose the obscenities which I had been trying to keep to a minimum. Thankfully, the auto driver had the good/bad/at least something sense to call the traffic policeman who promptly sat at my passenger side and heard my side of the story.

The conversation after parking went something like this:

Traffic Policeman (TP): License hai

Me: Haan, hai

TP: Usko mat dena license, aur gaadi se mat nikalna, warna who marega

Me: (do I look crazy, of course I am not getting out) Theek hai

TP (Leaning towards me): Aapne daaru pee hain?

Me: Kya? Nahin…mint kha raha hoon, saamne padi hai, aap bhi le sakte hain

After this, the auto driver and his occupant proceeded to explain the whole situation to the policeman where I was made to sound like a monster whom the auto escaped from only because of the Schumakeresque driving skills of the auto driver. (Visualize me still apologizing all this while wholeheartedly agreeing to whatever they said.)

TP: Aapka license dikhao

Me: (Reluctantly handing it to the TP) Yeh raha.

TP: Uska jo bhi nuksan hua hai bhar do, aur jao

Me: (Happy at my strategy working) Kitna damage hua hain?

Auto Driver (AD): Yeh dekho (pointing to a flap around the side that had come loose)

Me: Yeh to ek nail maarne se theek ho jaayega. Kitna lagega uska

AD: Paach Sau rupiye de do

Me (incredulous): Kya?? (Realizing thankfully I had only one Rs 100 note in my wallet and hence opening it to him) Yeh dekho wallet. Isme jo milta hain le lo

AD: Chodo jaanedo. Aage se dheere chalana

Me: Thank you

And that, I thought would be the end of that. And walked over happily to the TP asking him for my license back

TP: Aap pe charge lagake license jamaa karna padega. Rs 600 fine bharke le jaana

Me: (Oh god, he also needs to be dealt with, wallet strategy back on) Mere paas itne paise nahin. Aap hi dekh lijiye. Aur usne toh jaane diya. Phir kaunsa charge?

TP: Aisa nahin hota hain. Charge toh lagega. Aap kya karte hain?

Me: Asian Paints mein kaam karta hoon

TP: Kya kaam karte hain?

Me: (He will definitely not understand Marketing Support Manager, let me be simpler) Shop mein jaake paint bechta hoon.

TP: Aap mere liye kya kar sakte hain?

Me(That was pretty direct!): Wallet aap dekh chuke hain. Aap batao kya karoon?

TP: Paint mein kya kar sakte hain?

Me: (Incredulous once again, in fact never stopped being incredulous) Itni badi company hai. Main kuch nahi kar satka. Aapko shop bata sakta hoon jahan thoda sasta paint mil jaayega

TP: Kitna sasta?

Me: 160 ki jagah pe 150 mein dega woh aapko

TP (After doing a cost benefit analysis in his head and coming to a decision): Rakho (thrusting his book at me filled with currency notes)

Me: (giving my contribution to one of the most unique uses of a notebook ever) Thank you.

Once again, I am sure it happens only in India, or maybe only in Mumbai!

It happens only in India – Part I

Over the past month, I have been fortunate to observe a couple of incidents, which I truly believe can only happen in India. Let me elaborate

Scene: A road trip from Mumbai to Ahmednagar (100 kms ahead of Pune)

My first road trip ever to the interiors of Maharashtra. And an amazing trip it was! The first Ripley’s believe it or not moment was the realization that the entire route from Mumbai to Ahmednagar (about 250 kms) is a smooth highway with barely any potholes/craters/non road type things along the route. Of course, such a privilege is not without its costs. And so you have about 6 toll booths to cross along the route with tolls varying from Rs 15(to cross some village which boasts of a highway) to Rs 150 (to enter the Mumbai-Pune expressway), including one toll booth that charged a toll of Rs 37. I think that booth must be run by a mathematician with a fetish for prime numbers!

It is these toll booths that are the subject of my observations (I have a feeling this sentence is not grammatically correct, but am going to stick to it regardless). At every toll booth, there is one speed breaker at the entrance of the booth, one toll booth where you pay the toll in return for a piece of paper, one speed breaker at the exit of the booth and….wait for it…..ONE PERSON STANDING BESIDE THE EXIT SPEED BREAKER. For the first three booths, I wondered what the job description of that person could possibly be, only to be answered at the booth with the prime number toll. As it happened, it took me quite a while to rummage through the wallet and come with exact Rs 37 that the operator demanded as he had run out of change (how could he not!). While handing it over to him, a 2 rupee coin must have slipped out, unnoticed by both me and the operator, post which I proceeded to move out without waiting for the needless ceremony of receipt transfer. As I reached the exit bump, the operator realized that he had received only Rs 35 and gave out a solitary shout “Ruko”. On cue, the man beside the exit breaker, without a moment’s hesitation, JUMPED IN FRONT OF THE CAR, presumably to ascertain that I could not leave without having completed the transaction.

I could not help but wonder at what possible job description the toll company would be providing while hiring people for the post. A few possibilities that come to mind

1. Wanted – Car stoppers at toll exit. Must not be afraid to die or get injured during the course of work. No medal expectations for sacrifice

2. Have no life? Can’t see any future for yourself? We have a job for you. Be a toll booth exit supervisor

3. What do you think is the value of your life? If the answer is Rs 37 or less, contact us for the last job of your life

I definitely would like to meet the person who came up with this brilliant idea of utilizing the excess manpower in rural India. Truly a genius!!