R2Iyyo: Be Knighted or Be Damed

Second installment of this potentially limitless series. I’m in the office on New Year’s Saturday for one reason alone: to avail of the net connection read papers. Since I’ve been staring at them all day and am now feeling the distinct manifestations of high jinks in the larynx (the layman’s “sore throat”), the need to blog assumes precedence despite the fact that I’m probably flouting a million rules by doing so. Nevertheless, I’ve seen folks surreptitiously glancing at ESPN CricInfo to follow some game called “Cricket” (seems to be really popular with the locals) so I have leverage in case of capture.

The last post dealt with the jump through hyperspace and the next will involve the dicey game of apartment hunting – a classic predator-prey situation where the roles are pretty much guessable. This little segue was inspired by all the salutations that I’ve been receiving from strangers which highlight my age and social standing (!) like no other. The “Sir” is quite ubiquitous, especially when doormen let you through with “Good morning Sir!” or janitors greet you with “Happy New Year Sir!” or women holler “Arrest this man Sir!” and “Sirves you right, you lewd jackass!” etc. etc. I’ve been hailed as such on certain occasions in the States but it never felt so genuine. So, to imbibe these good manners, I’ve taken to reciprocating the sentiment. Now there are “Sirs” flying all over the place in my immediate vicinity – the genesis of a truly classless and anonymous microsociety.

While the “Sir” is marginally tolerable, “Uncle” is downright jarring. This was from a kid in an apartment complex where I was listlessly waiting for a flat to be exhibited. “Uncle, this one is number 101,” was politely phrased and helpful information but mentally scarring. This tot had in all likelihood escaped the Ninny Nineties when something happened somewhere to someone. Remember that/those/then? Awesome stuff. Anyway, the point is that I’m apparently on my deathbed and my murky past is beginning to haunt me in hot flashes. I wasn’t kidding about the whole hyperspace-jump affair.

Oh, and the Ph.D. is meaningless. You’re either in a sea of similarly schooled fish or among people who don’t give a hoot. Case in point, no one gets up for you in local buses or allows you to travel free of charge in return for the obvious benefit to society that you represent. Mini-shorted women on Brigade (yes, at least 2 glimpses caught to date…India shinning) don’t swoon over you and gloriously ditch the slabs of beef in their company. 6 years of being cryogenically frozen and you emerge with the street being smarter than you. Existential angst, check.

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4 Responses to “R2Iyyo: Be Knighted or Be Damed”

  1. In your R2I petti didn’t you take home a sweatshirt with university name on it? That should help in ladeej dept.

    • Glorfindel Says:

      I have a UIUC jersey but left it in Hyd since it’s way too warm to wear second layers over here! In any case, they’ll think that it stands for Univ of India in Ulsoor-Channasandra.

  2. thetobacconist Says:

    For phoren-returned respect, please to be visiting my mathar. She will hook you up with aunty network that will spread word of worthy MIT-paiya in neighborhood. No sweatshirts or tees necessary. Also be sure to bribe the influential local-chirruns lobby and maid-driver-chowkidar gossip network. Magiks will happen.

  3. In Bangalore, everyone thinks MIT = Manipal Institute of Technology! 😛

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