Pedestrians unite! You have nothing to lose but your lives.

A cabinet minister died on Delhi’s roads the other day. One would think that, at last, there would be more than a knee-jerk reaction by the transport ministry to set in motion programs to educate, prosecute and/or implement rules of the road for the safety of all eligible voters, if not all its citizenry. But, a month later, after all the hoopla and lip service paid to a "great leader" by all and sundry. The roads of this country remain chaotic and unruly, even the one they are proposing to name after him.

Having said that ……….

Here I am representing a vanishing race - The pedestrian.

Now while you cops have been directing traffic in all our big cities, I know more about it than the combined mess of you do. I’ve been dodging it! Why you even have those traffic podiums built up so you won’t get run over yourself, or you stand on either side of the road and wave a traffic wand instead.

That I am here tonight to celebrate my 62^nd birthday, no thanks to you, is owing to a keen eye and a nimble pair of legs. But I know from ongoing experience that one of these days they’ll get me. I’m not as young as I used to be and the close shaves are getting even closer. Why just yesterday I ran into a store and shut the door behind me just to keep a car and its driver from getting me. Another SUV chased me up the porch into a building, what saved me was my jumping into an elevator going up.

When I was younger I could stay on the sidewalk and dodge these fellows with agility. But seeing as sidewalks nowadays are either non-existent or have been encroached by parked cars, illegal gados, message boards, trades-persons, and used for open-air godowns and the like, what choice has the pedestrian but to become another streetwalker.

And now to make up some sort of a game all the roads are being marked up with white lines. If the driver of a car hits you while you are inside those white lines it doesn’t count. He has to come back and run over you again.

Earlier in 1983 when we had Kiran Bedi, there were not near as many people killed as there are now. But there were more people hurt, and these were mostly traffic offenders by Kiran Bedi’s wielding of her police baton, which proves that by having more traffic police only to stop and direct traffic, the driver can finish his victim, whereas in the old days he could only hurt him. And this is what the ministry of roads calls "progress". Maybe they are talking about population control.

Narcotics however have helped the pedestrian a little, as the drivers are afraid to run over just anybody. It might be a Nigerian drug dealer and their tyres could get cut up.

In Delhi they have red and green traffic lights. Green for “GO” and red for “CHECK THAT THERE ARE NO COPS AROUND BEFORE GOING”

Here at the O’ Coqueiro crossing in Porvorim there are also amber lights. I asked a cop what the amber light was for. He thought one of them had faded. I’m guessing the amber light is for old people who were standing there for a long time to start limbering up, then, if they are in good condition, maybe they can make it to the other side.

To better traffic conditions I suggest a few traffic rules for the future:

1)   Allow pedestrians to carry shotguns to intimidate homicidal drivers in return every time they cross the road. For non-violent pedestrians introduce rent-a-cow schemes: This allows a pedestrian to walk a herd across the road for the price of a handful of cattle feed. Reward jaywalkers who cross unhurt.

2)   Make all roads one-way. This ensures that anyone going from Mapusa to Panjim will think twice about driving if he has to return via Bangalore.

3)   Make the price of petrol and diesel equivalent to that of “Fair and Lovely” skin cream in weight, and sell them in tubes over the counter at stores. This will free up tons of space used by petrol bunks across the country, and also make sure car owners buy only what they need.

4)   To cut down on incessant honking, replace all vehicle horns buttons with paid cell phone apps which charge a fee every time the horn is used. Double, if it is used in the vicinity of a hospital or school.

5)    For smooth traffic flow, have a team at every junction confiscate the licence of every driver and return it at the next one, only if he reaches AFTER a certain time limit. This in itself will reduce at least half of the two-wheelers and a third of four-wheelers on the roads.

6)   On Sundays do not allow anyone other than learner drivers on the roads, and then all they can hit is each other. Sell season tickets and open betting booths for pedestrians and tourists to witness this spectacle.

7)   Issue driving licences only to those who understand that road signs and markings are not coloured accessories for road beautification.

8)   Have everybody go North on Mondays, South on Tuesdays and so on. That’s the only way you can make Indian roads safe for democracy.

If we continue with the present state of our roads and traffic in 3 years there will be no pedestrians left, and those homicidal drivers might start targeting traffic cops instead!  

It’s a Holly Jolly Election

And so, at last, the Indian Game of Thrones aka Election 2014  to defeat the Italian lineage of the House Gandhi, which began in roughly 1977, is over. We have finally come to the end of the bitter hateful partisan viciousness that has consumed us for far too long, and we can now look forward, as a nation, to beginning a new era of bitter hateful partisan viciousness. But first let's pause for a moment to express our support, as Indians, for the man we have elected as our next Prime Minister, even if we did not vote for him, or do not - in the case of Mamata Bannerji’s donkey, anyway - know who he is. For all she knows, we elected Arnab Goswami, or maybe Arnold Schwarzenneger.

My deadline to publish this article was the night of the day before, and as I write these words, all the networks are predicting a huge BJP win but refusing to make any predictions about who lost. They don't want to repeat the fiasco of the Delhi election night of 2013, when they appeared to be getting their voting-return data from a fortune telling parrot.

So this time around they are being extremely careful about how they word things:

BARKHA DUTT: Let's turn to our political expert, Nidhi Razdhan. Nidhi, what's your expert analysis of the losers at this point?

NIDHI: I can't say, Barkha.

BARKHA: You mean it's too early to predict?

NIDHI: I wouldn't go as far as to say that, Barkha.

BARKHA: So you can't tell us anything?

NIDHI: This connection sucks Barkha. Try again later.

On a brighter note, the voting seemed to go fairly smoothly here in Goa. This was a concern because of the way we screwed up the last election by casting thousands upon thousands of fake votes on which we apparently selected a mute for Prime Minister, or two people for Prime Minister, or a parrot for Prime Minister, etc.

But this time it went pretty well. Where I voted, in Alto Porvorim, there was a longish line, but it moved steadily, with the dead voters being dragged forward by helpful poll workers, and the drunks fed large pots of coffee.

Eventually I got into the voting booth and cast my vote on one of those new computerised EVM’s, which was kind of fun, especially the part at the end when you push the button and the little beeper screeches and all the street dogs start howling. (If this did not happen when you voted, your machine was defective, and you should file a complaint with the Election Commission to notify Rahul Gandhi to check it immediately.)

My biggest voting problem was in understanding the party symbols on the EVM. I had studied them ahead of time on a sample EVM; there were various patterns and designs, and without question the one with the hand symbol appeared to be clutching a wad of currency. Of course there was some confusion with one of the others was it a broom or was it a torch with emanating light rays or was it an alien stun wand. The English version of how to use the EVM’s was apparently written by reporters from the Panjim Edition of The Times of India. One instruction, which I am not making up, was worded as follows: You are not given any ballot thereafter, and are sent to the EV Machine placed behind a card board in a corner. The machine is placed in such a way that your polled vote will be a secret.” It made me think: well polling is a gamble anyway. But search as I might I failed to find the above-mentioned “card board” although there was a cleverly hidden EVM in a corner ….so brushing aside all thought of Aces, Kings and Queens, I played my trump and pressed a blue button which blushed bright red and let out a satisfied orgasmic shriek.    

I voted for a better country, one that I as a citizen  , would hopefully feel proud of, against that old one, because it's riddled with corruption and greed and turmoil and has no soul in it that I can detect. I would have voted for the death penalty for whoever wrote it, but as far as I know that was not an electoral requirement.

I voted in favour of the question about casinos, solely because the local version of a casino is “matka” or “jackpot”

I also, of course, voted for a Prime Minister. I believe I made the right choice, and I hope that when we finally determine the outcome of who actually lost this election - if we ever do - my candidate will still be declared victorious. Because I believe that now, more than ever before in this nation's history, we need a leader with vision, courage, experience, resiliency and - above all - a really big bullet proof vest to accommodate a 56 inch,…..oops sorry we follow the metric system 142.24 cms, chest.

Prime Minister “The Great Khali” Dalip Singh Rana. 

Potty Training or The Love That Dare Not Speak Its’ Name.

Please! Please! Pretty please stop banging on the toilet door every time I’m in there on my daily sabbatical, just to ask where I left the cell phone charger, or have I paid the water bill since you’re passing there on your way to the store, or (and this cracks me up) whether I want my breakfast eggs fried or scrambled. And then, when I get teed-off at such rude intrusion, you go: Why? What’s wrong in asking you that! And then go: Why do you have to lock the door anyway. What’s going on in there?

Also, if you are in such a tearing hurry and need to use the loo as well, stop yelling at me to “hurry up”. Does it occur to you that we have another fully functional bathroom just down the corridor! And no other resident in the house!?

Yes that’s what I’m talking about … we men, and our toilet time!

We are men! In ancient times, in time of difficulty, we have always needed to retreat to our caves. It so happens that in this modern age our “caves” are fully plumbed. The toilet for us is the last bastion, the final refuge, the last few square metres of man-space left to us. Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do and who gives a dam about the odour. Because THAT, for us, is happiness. Because we are men! We are different:

We have only one word for “soap”!

To us strawberry is a fruit, and kiwi is a bird, not colours!

We do not own candles! Let alone chocolate-scented ones!

We have never seen anything….of any value… in a craft shop!

We do not collect magazines, at least not those which have photographs of celebrities, with all their clothes on!

When we have conversations we actually take it in turns to talk!

We have not yet reached that level of earth-shattering boredom and inhuman despair where we go to have our hair-styled….. just for fun!!

We never get excited about really, REALLY boring things like ornaments, bath oils, the countryside, babies, spiders.

We don’t even know what…. what in the name of all that’s holy, is the purpose of potpourri!!!….looks like burnt cereal, smells like your octogenarian aunt! Why do we need that?

So please, in this strange and frightening world allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot! This fortress of solitude!

And finally when you ladies go to the bathroom in groups of two or more, we do not pass comment, we do not make judgement – that is your choice.

So allow us men. We men…. to choose: - and we choose to always walk the toilet mile alone!

Elections-2014:

Can Mr.Chacha Alimony possibly compete with Rhino Hernandez?

Now the eyeballs of the nation turn toward this vibrant, proud, ambitious city in North or possibly South Goa as the poll parties gather here to present their message of hope for Goa and, in the larger interest, India, namely that the Sri Ram Sena and SP are fascist, racist women-hating scum.

In the days leading up to the elections, the Russians have been enjoying their Dachas in  Morjim, while the Israelites stake out Aswem, and the Nigerians continue their drug trade in Calangute, often called "The Pearl of the Non-Goa North" because of its many attractions.

The Dhirio Hall of Fame is located here, but that is only the beginning: There are also choked roads, ramshackle buildings, dead trees, several bars and restaurants, literally tonnes of garbage, and a modern bus fleet consisting of three buses left over from the days of the Portuguese occupation.

On top of all that, right now Lower Candolim boasts a huge sand sculpture of the Pope. It bears an uncanny resemblance to what the Pope would look like if he were made out of sand sculpted by somebody who had never actually seen him. The sculpture allegedly weighs more than 15 tonnes and cost ₹30 lakhs, which was paid by the drug dealers association of North Goa Beaches, as a way of sending the message: "We have a great deal of sand……and even more weed."

It is only fitting that this sculpture has been erected here. Its looming presence serves as a reminder that no matter how many politicians take the stage, this convention is really about just one person — a person whose name will be evoked countless times over the next few days; a person who, whether you love him or hate him, has come to dominate the political discussion in this state and possibly the nation as few others ever have.

I refer, of course, to Rhino“Humma Humma” Hernandez.

I have been observing political rallies since the Babri Masjid demolition and I have never seen an artiste, speaker or singer captivate the nation the way Rhino did that night in Dumbolim. It was mesmerizing to watch: Rhino would stare into the lights and launch into song, and as he sang, you could almost hear his brain shouting "Help! Help!" as it became increasingly clear that he had no earthly idea how that particular lyric was going to end. Plus, while conducting a pretend salsa with a guitar and microphone, he made TWO proprietary anatomically impossible bodily contortions.

It was, quite simply, the best election song ever performed, and I am including the Oscar winning “Jai Ho” in that statement. When I left Dumbolim and returned, between rallies, to the normal human world, Rhino’s song was pretty much the only thing anybody wanted to talk to me about. If the AAP want to really boost TV ratings for this election, they should have Rhino sing in Delhi too. Unfortunately, it appears that our best hope for entertainment is going to be Sunny Leone, who is scheduled to deliver her remarks during the coveted 1 a.m. slot on FTV.She will of course be wearing "Wendell Rodriques".

But the most anticipated speech was delivered last Thursday night by Prime Minister Maun Singh, who was making the case that the UPA deserves a third term in office, based on his solid record of taking on some of the most difficult problems this nation has ever faced and unflinchingly blaming all of them, including the disappearance of the Malaysian Airlines jet, on the opposition. The PM also spoke about his plan for reducing corruption, which continues to be a pesky problem despite the many hard-hitting speeches and interviews the Shehzada Ra Ga has made about it.

A big concern for the UPA is whether the PM can rekindle the passion and excitement he generated in 2009. Back then he was a superstar who exuded world-class celebrity glamour, the kind you saw with Sunil Gavaskar, Amitabh Bachchan or the Beatles; whereas today, after ten uneventful years in office, he is more in the Mohd.Azharuddin bracket.

So the PM is hoping against hope to get a win from this election. It definitely has the potential to be exciting. There are a lot more protesters here in Goa than there were in Delhi, reflecting either a sudden resurgence in social awareness on the part of India’s youth or nice weather.

Also there are more celebrities here. Minutes after I arrived, I saw Sherlyn Chopra, in person, sitting at table mere metres from the giant sand Pope. The Goan Observer is authoritatively reporting that Salman Khan, Sania Mirza, and Bappi Lahri will, or will not, be attending the swearing-in ceremonies. Poonam Pandey, on the other hand, is definitely here. So am I, and you can depend on me to keep you updated.