Worry lines

I worry sometimes about other people. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes, they just relate such astonishing anecdotes, that even if they were only half true, they're gobsmacking spaced-out, alien propaganda-type tales. It just doesn't work for me. So I get worried. About these people's sanity.

I hang out at this garage in Bandra in Mumbai where a lot of other 'dudes' from the area hang out. Over lunch, or between spanners, they tell their tales. Of running from the cops on a whim. Of being pulled over at gunpoint at the seventh police check they tried to break. In one ride. Of turning up blind drunk to bail their speeding friends out of jail. Of happily breaking the noses of autorickshaw wallahs at the slightest excuse. Indeed, of breaking sundry bones on rickshaw-wallahs as a way of alleviating the desperate need to wreak violence without reason or provocation. Ooooh! What's wrong with these people? Why have their parents not brought them up better? Why do their lives run through such a thick fog of adrenaline and accident? Why do I feel old, staid, safe and even bored when I juxtapose their lives against mine? And still, never even consider swapping places for a minute? All of these kids are almost a decade younger than me. They all have, apparently, rich daddies. And these daddies, it would appear spend a considerable part of their parenthoods exerting time, money and influence to repeatedly save their sho-shweet but delinquient offspring from trouble. All of these kids have nothing better to do than hang around, swap tales. And out of sheer boredom, break laws and things from time to time. Is this syndrome called Occupation: No Occupation syndrome?

I get worried. What if my offspring turn out to be one of these kids? I'm not even rich enough to bail them out. And cruel enough to leave'em in, I think, as well. Serves you right. And despite my years of experience, I still can't exert enough influence to receive a beer wherever I am seated without having to get up. But what hurts the most is that all of these kids have had 50 Cent in their pockets. But they've never headbanged to Deep Purple. They have no Kaalchaar!

Silver lining? At least they're still around. At least they're articulate enough to tell tales in an interesting fashion. At least age will mellow them out somewhat (hopefully, sooner rather than too late). At least I have shocking vicarious anecdotes to tell. A whole encyclopedia's worth. Ask me sometime, I'll tell you.