When the Slacker first heard of this man's labour of love (or hate - I'm inclined to think hate) from a cousin, he was intrigued but hesitant. Much as he loved fantasy, to commit to a series that ran into as many pages as the five books so far written of A Song of Ice and Fire comprise was a daunting task.
But then came the TV series and so good was it (the first season indisputably so) that the books were taken up for reading. Then followed sleepless nights of 'just one more chapter' that ended when dawn broke, then followed red-eyed, drowsy office meetings where the Slacker thought how wonderful it would be if he had the Valyrian great sword Ice and could lop off a few heads, then followed bus journeys where the Slacker wished he could just ride a dragon over traffic, then followed sitting at the wheel of the Slacker's pride and joy, his Tata Nano - wishing he could set the Unsullied on the two-wheeler driving population of Mumbai that seemed determined to die under his wheels.
For ASOIAF is a monumental work, with details so intricate that the co-incidences are more wonderful than the design, where every line has the potential for sub-text, where an impotent wish of Sansa's in the first book is realised by Jon Snow in the fifth, where reality, fantasy, brutality and hope culminate in a stew that's so delicious it can be eaten (or re-read) often, and each time a new flavour found.
So thank you, George. But do remember, time is passing, and...well...you have a lot of loose ends to tie up.
Courts, governments and the bureaucracy are
stuffed with people like us. They do not develop a higher IQ or reach a higher
plan of intelligence because they occupy that position. Socially, they are
shaped by the same influences we grew up with.
And look around you. Don't you have the nosy
Uncle who wants to know who you're dating? The meddlesome neighbour who
comments on what you wear? The irritating cousin who has an opinion on your
career choice? The 'friend' who disapproves your eating habits?
I have known all of the above. Especially the
last - a chap who ordered 'Tomato onion uthappa, don't put onion in it, and
don't put onion on the sambar either."
We didn't care, we wanted the world to let us
be, to wear what we liked, to love who we liked and eat, drink and make merry.
We laughed at their quirks and brushed them off, thinking they lived in the
past, even the young ones among them. The future was ours, the future was
liberal, and hey - wasn't it more fun to have a kebab at a shady joint in Mahim
with that inappropriately-dressed girl who really *got* you, than to worry
about those people?
Well, something happened while we weren't
looking. They earned money, because they followed the norms of the world as it
existed, not as we thought it ought to be. They became top-ranking bureaucrats,
they became judges, they got close to, or became, the political leadership of
the country.
And now we wonder that they want to dictate
to us what we eat, who we see and what we wear (among other things)?
Did we not try hard enough? Did we fail
somewhere? Or is this just how it is - the worst of humanity destined to lord
over the rest because it appeals to the darkness within?
I guess it is - they won the War a long time
ago. The battles that have followed have only been meaningless skirmishes in a
theatre where the end is already scripted.
Unless there is some way to tear up the script. Burn
it. Write a better ending.
“Blame my ISP. Most pathetic
broadband connection ever.”
“Comcast?”
“No, silly. No Comcast in India.
MTNL, it’s called. Government-run crappy-service-providing ISP.”
“MTNL? What’s that stand for?”
“Mahanagar Telecom Nigam Limited.
Don’t ask what it means now, that’s not even relevant.”
“So they give bad speed? Is that
why you couldn’t get into a call?”
“It’s not the speed so much as the
drops. The connection goes on a walkabout every two minutes.”
“Isn’t there any other service
provider you can go to?”
“Well, most of Mumbai is connected
through their local cable guy. That’s like the Cable Guy from the Jim Carrey
movie, only with deep connections to the local mafia.”
If you thought he was scary you should see our cable guy
“Fascinating. Well, why don’t you
have a connection from the local mafia?”
“I did, a long time ago. It was
overpriced, and connected by a series of long LAN cables. He had put up a hub
on the terrace of our building, and every so often, it would bust and have to
be re-set. Or some rival Mafioso would physically sever his lines and then
there would be connection for days together. When MTNL first came around, it
was actually a slight improvement.”
“And now it’s different?”
“I don’t know. But of late, those
who live in other parts of the city are apparently very pleased with their
cable guy, underworld connections notwithstanding.”
“So why don’t you switch back,
then?”
“Ana, it was one of the first
things I tried to get behind when I got back here. Mostly so I could stay in
touch with you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“So I asked my neighbours for the
Cable Guy’s number.”
“And…? They didn’t have it?”
“Oh they did, all right. But he was
dead.”
“He was what?”
“Dead. Bucket-kicker. Pushing
daisies. Communing with Allah. Or whatever.”
“Oooh his mafia connections coming
home to roost! A hit?”
“Heart attack, is what I was told.
So anyway, my neighbour told me to hang on a few days and then call one of his
minions. The chap had died just the previous day and while his son would
inherit his empire of cables and antennae, it was best to hold off while the
mourning period was in progress.”
“Sounds fair enough. So did you try
again?”
“Yep, I got the number of the guy
who comes to collect the dues. Called him four times. No response.”
“Didn’t he call back?”
“He did, only when he did, I had a dentist’s pincer-cleaver-pointy thing poking
into my throat and couldn’t take the call.”
“Dios mio, I imagine it would have been awkward if you tried.”
“So then I called him again, and
some woman picked up and said he wasn’t there.”
“Probably his mistress.”
“Sounded more like a mother. Anyway
I tried again the next day, and the woman told me, most irritably, that he had
gone to his village.”
“And when will he be back?”
“She cut the phone, rather as
though it were a particularly tasty piece of contraband beef.”
“Is there nothing else you can do?”
“I looked up the name of the cable
company online and found their landline number.”
“Well that must have worked. Why
didn’t you think of it before? Silly Percy!”
“Tsk tsk, hear me out, Ana. I
called and told them my address and said I wanted an Internet connection. The
guy on the line said his company didn’t service my area.”
“What?”
“I said of course he did, and told
him the name of the chap I’d got the number from.”
“I assume that didn’t help either?”
“Nope, he said ‘doesn’t so-and-so
live in the low-income-housing near the bus depot?’ so I said no and asked him
if he knew who serviced my locality and he said he had no clue and hung up, as
though the phone were a high-cost slab of mutton.”
“Percy…”
“Yes, Ana?”
“Do you live in low-income-housing
near the bus depot?”
“No, I do not.”
“’Coz there’s nothing wrong if you
do. I will love you just the same.”
“Ana, I do not live in low-income-housing near the bus depot or railway
station or airport or anywhere else. Well, not yet, anyway.”
“Ok. Also, are you hungry?”
“Yes, no breakfast yet. Why?”
“Just guessing. Maybe the food
references – and you have a hungry look about you.”
“Well, you’re looking practically
edible and I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Let me make my muy feo face. There!”
“Still beautiful.”
“Anyway, since cable guy isn’t
coming through, we are thankful to MTNL for giving us today, aren’t we?”
“Very. And to the Government for
not banning Google hangouts. Yet.”
“Are they likely to ban Google
hangouts?”
“Why not? They found they could ban
a bunch of other sites, so why not this? After all, if it lets me talk to you,
it could let other people talk to their friends and relatives in corrupt
liberal societies, and that never leads to anything good, does it?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Absolutely not.”
“So what have they banned?”
“Pornography, theoretically to
address the child pornography menace.”
“But Percy, you can’t address the
child porn menace by banning regular porn sites. In any case, the underage
stuff is in the deep web, not on websites…”
“You seem strangely well-informed
on the subject.”
“One of the jobs I tried out for
last year was in the child abuse helpline. As in, anti-child abuse.”
“Yes, I got that you meant anti-…”
“I thought you’d think Colombians
promote abusing children, like India promotes objectification of women.”
“I don’t…and India does no such
thing.”
“What was that song in the movie we
saw together…Lovely?
It had those lyrics that made no sense – I became lovely reading your name or
something.”
“Oh ok, yes, some Hindi movies tend
to promote a certain viewpoint that may not be representative of…why are you
taking off your top?”
“Well, you don’t have access to
porn, as you just said, and I thought…”
“Uh, yes well, we can discuss this
later. It’s morning and Mom could pop into the room any time!”
“Hola mama!”
“She’s not here right now, Ana.”
“Oh ok. What about La Hermana? You have a very beautiful
sister, yes?”
“She doesn’t venture into my room.”
“Ok, ok. Fine. So - what have you
been doing? How’s Bombay?”
“Warm. There’s a drought this year.
Not nearly enough rain.”
“Like California.”
“Worse. How’s Vegas? Where are you
put up?”
“Excalibur.
I’m sharing a room with an Italian girl. She’s nice, you must have seen the
picture of us together I put up.”
It's real. It's medieval. And it has a McDonalds.
“There’s a picture of a bunch of
you posing outside the Mirage.”
if it's hot, fiery and explodes every thirty minutes, it must be the Mirage.
“Yes, yes, Lisa is the one in the
red bikini.”
“I shall…examine the photo closely
later.”
“Yes, with porn being banned and
all, I suppose you will.”
“What. No, that’s not what I…ugh.”
“I, on the other hand, have no such
issues. I met a gorgeous guy, his name is Thadmore.”
“Thadmore? You’re going out with a
guy named Thadmore? Emilio was more acceptable than Thadmore!”
“Don’t say things about Thaddy’s
name. He’s amazing! I will send you a photo. There!”
“He’s still named Thadmore - is that Barstow in the background?”
“Ok, is true. I can’t bring myself
to say his name when we are in bed. So I just say yours instead. And yes, it's Barstow."
“Ah…er…of all the questions this
brings up in my mind, the one I am going to ask is – doesn’t Thadmore mind?”
“He thinks it’s Spanish for ‘dear’.”
“Isn’t that ‘amado’?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Why don’t you leave him and come
here for a while? We can travel, it’s the season for Valley of Flowers in North
India, and Ranathambhor safari’s and Kerala a bit later…”
“I would. I really would. But I’ve
got engagements lined up for the rest of the year. And it’s gold over love, you
know no matter what the song
says.”
