Overrated

I actually managed to arrive at the title for this post even before beginning to pen it. Perhaps because I’ve been saying it too often lately about so many things. Though it’s not necessarily about the things and people in Bombay, I guess it gets place on Bombay Chuddies for the fact that it is here that I’ve had these realisations.
So here’s my list (editable and addable) of things overrated:

1. MBAs are top of the list for now. It’s like a done-to-death topic with all my MBA as well as non-MBA pals already, but I just need to put it in writing now. High time. What about them fascinates people to gawk open mouthed and wide-eyed? They’re horny like any other, though have no horns on their heads (or even nose, like a rhino, which would be really something). And they can’t talk about anything beyond… uhm… 5 lines? And their passions are so… lame. I haven’t used that word in ages for anybody, but it’s just erupted out of nowhere. It’s as if their being from a premier b-school makes them superior to intense emotions; as if banalities such as a chhotu yellow butterfly are too frivolous for their over-exploited time. Juiceless.

2. Crowds in the Virar Fast local train. It is not crowded all the time, so stop looking so aghast, for heaven’s sake! I travel in them all the time (ok, non peak hours, but so what?) and I’ve managed to get off everywhere… from Dadar to Bandra to Andheri… Beyond that, of course, I refuse to tread, so I don’t know.

3. Living in South Bombay. It is not always expensive to live in this precious part of the city, unless you’re a spoilt brat who’s had EVERYTHING all his/her life. I mean seriously, how hard is it to alter your life to fit in a 6:00 am to 10:30 pm open-gates hostel lifestyle? You have Lata Mangeshkar, the Ambanis and Rahul Bose in the neighbourhood. The sea isn’t farther than a 10-minute walk. It’s a bargain I’d say.

4. Sex. Yes, sex. It is kissing that needs some serious attention now. Men go about grabbing your jaw, biting, licking, exporting litres of saliva and just don’t know the art of kissing. How the heck are you supposed to get to base 4 if you can’t even get past base 2?

5. Pollution in Bombay. A couple of months back, when I was still at the Bakhtawar office, and when I still hitched a bus from Mantralaya, a woman snubbed me for throwing some plastic in my haste to catch the bus. I mean, what’s the hullabaloo about messing up the air, water, roads, et el? As Abhishek once said, if we didn’t diry, the cleaners would lose their jobs (aside: Steve Jobs didn’t lose his despite long sick leave and despite Apple thriving even while he was gone- saala… as Chintan says it). They say it’s the developed country that can add maximally to environmental redemption substantially. Developed nations must develop, must use, must waste resources and dirty the whole place nicely and become all big and developed and thriving before it can be shaken into eco-consciousness. So, jaa na be!

6. Cell phones. Another over-researched point of contention. When I didn’t have my phone all of last Thursday, it felt so cool to be just living in the here, not just the now. I realised if anyone needs to reach me, they have my landline number. We seem to hate the prospect of anyone but the intended receiver picking up our calls. Why? Are we so important or busy that we cannot waste those two minutes on introducing ourselves to a stranger, making conversation, requesting to be connected? As a species noted for its social tendencies, we’re losing them.
7. Non-vegetarian food. Now I hear a loud murmur about how wrong I am, how Bandar kya jaane adrak ka swaad (which, btw, is ironical), but come on! If you’re a “pure non-vegetarian” – which is such crap, man – you can’t be Indian, have Indian non-vegetarian cuisine and then claim to be pure anything! What about all the hefty amount of spice and ancillary veggies that go into making that aromatic curry or slurp roast or fry… sigh… All there is to it seven different meats for the days of the week, as opposed to a whole new concoction every single day of the month. Variety baby, variety.

8. Poets. I had this conversation with A. last night: so many of us seat poets or even the aspiring good ones on a pedestal for nothing. You understand jack shit of what they write and think, ‘Wow he knows his shit man. He can put so much into a few words/ lines/ verses/ rhymes.’ No, no, no, love! They’re just so bad with vocabulary that they try to fit in everything into short sentences and finish it off as soon as possible. And because it’s all so ambiguous, you think they’ve been born with higher sensibilities. And shit like that.

9. T.V. Need we say more?