Littraman

The city reeks of garbage and filth. The lovely enticing aroma of fresh litter on the roadside greets you the minute you walk out of your house. You, being the ever responsible Indian civilian, do your bit for the nation by dropping your chocolate wrapper next to it, hoping that a small Hurricane Thane will come gently lift it off the road and into the pile of garbage which in turn, is not in the dustbin, but all around it.

Indians misunderstood the 'Go Green' commercials on television. They thought the commercials were asking all the green in the world to go away. Like 'Go Green, go!'. So they decided to do their bit by dumping as much plastic as they could around all the trees in the country so all the green will go away. Some Indians decided to redeem themselves for dumping all that plastic, by peeing on the same tree.

Brahmins are the worst of this lot. They will have a massive Homam (a religious function) to ward off all evil from their son who has just returned from the United States, by burning half a kilogram of wood bang in the middle of their living room, nearly suffocate themselves but still not open any door or window lest Goddess Lakshmi will leave the premises, and then host a sumptuous lunch on Banana leaves for the entire neighborhood. Then the lady of the house Mrs.Pankajam will dutifully take the degradable Banana leaves, drop it into a non-degradable plastic cover, and fling it super-maami style out of their window right unto their own courtyard. The banana leaves will stay rotting right inside the plastic cover which will happily sit there for a year, until the maama of the house Justice Rajagopalachari will write a letter to the Adyar Times saying that 'people' are littering outside his house and that the 'concerned authorities' have to take immediate action.

Then, there are these photographers. They will walk to the beach, pluck out their DSLR and take a lovely close up photo of the starfish which had choked to death inside a plastic cover and tag it with 'Death of a star' or some ridiculous tagline like that and garner a thousand likes and fifty 'Awww's but the plastic cover will still stay there, lurking for its next innocent victim.

There is nobody to save Mother Nature. Actually, it is an insult to call her Mother Nature. For the treatment she is getting, you can rightfully call her 'Mothered Nature'. So, Isn't there one person who can right all this wrong, clean all the filth and wipe out all garbage? Yes, there is. There is Littraman.

Littraman spares nobody. If you're responsible for some litter on the road, you better be a pregnant cat. If you're not, then you're a pussy. And Littraman will hunt you down and ask you to pick it up. If you're throwing plastic into the river, Littraman will cut your food for a day. If you pee on a transformer, Littraman will make you do beach cleanup campaigns for a month. So is Littraman a bird? Is he a plane? Nah! He's that wretched face you saw in the mirror last night. His costume is that torn pair of shorts you wore to bed. He is in every one of you. Wake him up. We display enough plastic in our smiles. Let's not display some on the road as well.

Yours,
Littraman.

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Matrimonial Matters

Before you jump to any conclusion, let me put it out in the open that I am not remotely any kind of a marriage contractor. This post has nothing to do with any of the matrimonial sites either. But I dread the time when one of these matrimonial sites decide to collaborate with Facebook and puts 'Like' buttons below all the boys' pictures. Indian marriages would reach a whole new level. Imagine the conversations. 'Hey Ambujam. My son is Kausika Gothram. Simma Raasi. Eighty three 'likes'. Yours?'

I have absolutely no idea what to do when I go for a relative's marriage. If you look around in the city, you'll see every third building to be a marriage hall. But every time you have to go for a marriage, the marriage hall will be in the most remote part of the city, situated in a small alley that runs between a 'Ladies specialist' tailor shop and a 'Zam Zam Briyani centre' all the way in some faraway Kizhinjambakkam. If you search for the place on Google Maps, you might get a pop-up saying 'Are you kidding me?'. And the roads that lead you there will be like the surface of the moon. It amazes me how all the marriage halls inside the city land up being filled Exactly when my relatives want to get married. 

Marriages have two problems. Number one - It's a marriage. Number two - Relatives. I postulated a Theory of Marriage Relativity. 

1. The quality of the questions posed are the same for all relatives in uniform motion relative to one another around the marriage hall.

2. The stupidity of questions in a marriage hall, is the same for all observers, regardless of their relative motion, or of the age group of the person addressed.

The minute a 40+ relative walks up to you, you brace yourself for it; their primary question, the one that every human below the age of 25 dreads -  'Do you remember me? I used to come home when you were young.' 

Well,  the postman used to come home three times a week every week for 8 years. I don't even remember Him!

And if you're anywhere above 20 and remotely related to the person getting married, they'll go 'So? you're next?' and smile. Every time. They will have a smile planted on their face like they've just asked the final question on Kaun Banega Crorepati. 

Why would they do that to us? When we go to an oldie's funeral and we're done mourning for the loss, we don't go up to the other oldies and say 'So? You're next?' And we certainly don't smile.

The only good part of a marriage is the food. I hereby petition that there be direct entries from the main entrance to the dining hall. When you're done eating, remember to pick up one very crumpled up bag containing a solitary coconut (that will help your mother make the next day's thenga chutney), two betel leaves (that your grandfather can chew on all night) and a packet of ghee-dripping sweets (that will help help provide some profit to your neighborhood heart surgeon).

Oh, If you're a regular at marriages, remember to carry one rupee coins. You need to put 101 Rupees in one envelope and give, no?

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