I "support" the judiciary. I "support" the acquittal. I "support" the Olympics. I "support" the decision to makeover an Ambassador of a Landcruiser in a world that's Mary Kom, Priyanka Zyaada. Yet, I am worried. What will happen when he inspires Indian athletes to have a "drive"? Are there bakeries in Brazil? If yes, are they called American Express bakeries? Do they have a Hill road where people sleep on pavements? What's the ratio of Landcruiser cars to pavement dwellers? Is it easy for Bajrangi to "convert" to Bhaijaan? Most importantly, are the authorities sure that "HE" is the Brand Ambassador? I ask, since if India achieves wins a poor medal tally, then will they blame him, the participating athletes or his driver? Main kyon Rio raha hoon? Theek hai, Janeiro Bhi Do Yaaron!

Raghu, you ain't Ram, hence it's impossible to be on the same pedestal as the other demo-Gods. Remember the story about "The Emperor's New Clothes" that you learnt at school, while Irani was being rejected for admission? Anyway, I am eager to know what it takes to be King in blind man's land? Another compelling question: why didn't the Rs.1.5-crore Mercedes ahead of me, and the Rs.5-lakh Maruti behind me pay a 35-rupee toll at the check naka? Can Mangalyaan help detect a water body in Latur? What's cheap: shifting Latur to Mars at Rs.7/km, or a diesel-locomotive-driven water-train at Rs.56/litre? Is there a 80% water cut in Indira, Devendra and Narendra's home? And finally, kaun sabse zyaada door: Is it Mars? Black money? Mallya? Kohinoor?

I will be going to the temple this Friday to wish Happy Birthday to the almighty, Lord Ram. I won't push anyone, nor will I make the pretty woman standing ahead the cynosure of my (prying) eyes. I won't jump queues, nor indulge in calculations, complaints and conjectures about “that” fellow devotee who was standing 50 steps behind in the queue until a minute back, yet managed to move ahead 100 steps. I won't question the Lord about the queue: why did it start, where was I when it started, when will it end, how will it end and whether it will ever end? I will keep myself hydrated by sipping Bisleri paani, cutting chai and Parle-G biskut while in queue; let's see if they store Patanjali. Now, all categories of queue still remain beyond my comprehension. So, there are free queues that appear to be a straight line, and then there are paid queues that are long and serpentine, while VVIP queues are eternally quarantine. I wonder if Ram differentiates and divides his people in categories? And then, who is God in His abode; Him or the VVIP? Anyway, Ram, will I be Bharat Ratna? Padma Shri? Sri Sri? Tridev? Ramdev? Padma Bhushan? Vibhishan? Yes? No? Q?

When my dapper neighbour flashed his diamond ring from Kalyan Jewellers while smoking a Panama cigarette, I decided to give him some competition, and decided to buy mangoes. So, off I went to the nearby department store, only to realize that mangoes were selling at a price similar to French beans whose price could be interpreted as “Gavar” that appeared closer home to bitter-gourd that sounded something like bottle gourd, that wasn’t green as the “mirchi” being sold at a price similar to Ginger whose color appeared faded compared to potatoes, even as tomatoes and apples appeared similar in shape, size and price. While I stood gazing at the price tags and felt spoilt for choice, I was dumbfounded that in a country so diverse and divided, atleast the prices of vegetables, fruits and king of fruits stand united by defying all the laws of gravity, centrifugal forces, economics, demand, supply, consumption, marginal utility swerve, multiplier defect, monopoly, duopoly, oligopoly, NITI , SBI, UTI, UBI, RBI, Jet Li, Rajan, Modi, Singh, Sonia, Prabhu, Prasad, planning commission, omission and revision. Now, in the back drop of prices as mysterious as the Pathan-code, I am wondering if I should say, “Bharat khaata bhi hai?”

My monthly travel allowance permits me to travel only local, Mumbai local. Of course, I’ve heard of birds, planes and direct flights to London, courtesy, Mr.Mallya. Now, Panama? Where’s Panama? Is there a direct flight to Panama? And what’s all the drama in Panama? I knew Nawaz was not Sharif, and suspected Vladimir to be Putin his billions somewhere. But then, Big B, aap bhi? Bahu B, tum bhi? Is there a shortcut from London to Panama? Is the Kingfisher calendar shot somewhere in the Panama canal? Does Mallya own a KF mansion on its shore? Does he swim in the canal? Wait, why am I even asking all this? Instead, let me check my passbook to ascertain if my savings account, devoid of any credit, has sufficient balance for monthly debit. And, Jet Li’s taxes :-)
 

It’s been more than 25 years since the last period at school, but then I still seem to be learning, St Theresa’s. I am learning that it takes much more than formal education to stop and wait patiently at a traffic signal when none’s looking; that honking hard, accelerating harder and (empty) show of bhp shows the “true class” of the driver irrespective of the premium brand they drive. I am learning that being modern isn’t about expensive phones/brands, foreign holidays, palat...ial residences, premium cars, etc, nor about going on a drinking binge, partying late nights and/or smoking relentlessly to lung’s discontent. I am learning that University degrees don’t define CHARACTER, and that PhD, MBA etc are mere higher degrees in LITERACY, not EDUCATION. I have experienced that words speak louder than action, especially in a company townhall and during performance appraisals. I am learning that fair isn’t always lovely and that true love is devoid of display and repeated declaration on social networking sites. I agree with Corleone and his wisdom of “a man who does not spend time with his family, can never be a real man”. Oh wait, I realize that there’s so much homework left to be done. And I thought, I had graduated St Theresa’s. Period?