What personifies Indians most. Surely Not patience!

One striking aspect about the fine citizens of our country is our total disregard for queues. After putting deep thought into it, I’ve come to the conclusion that this is so because, we being true believers in God, give considerable credence to the adage ‘God helps those who help themselves’.

Seen the guy weaving maniacally to get ahead of you in traffic only for him to be besides you again at the next signal? Or the guy who in his rush to get a seat uses the expedient of a deftly thrown handkerchief/umbrella/what-have-you via the bus window as a spot marker? Ever been in a queue at a railway reservation counter? The westerners, lacking as they are in our ancient civilisational norms, inexplicably, keep at least 2-3 feet of space between themselves. Not Indians though. We scoff at intangible notions like personal space. We believe that leaving an inch of space is an inch wasted and hence satisfaction will keep evading us till we shove our paunch right into the posterior of the man ahead. The queue moves ahead thus, as one glued-together composite body. When we ultimately reach the counter, we will have two heads under the left armpit, one under the right, stray noses breathing into your ear and one well-oiled head resting on your shoulder as you deal with the booking clerk.

Seen our bus stops? No queue there – just a jumble of people craning the necks to sight the bus. The bus arrives to a stampede with everyone eager to get in – jostling, shoving, swearing; with a confusing intermingling of noses/armpits/sweat/grabby hands and assorted handbags. We care little for a torn pocket here or a few buttons askew there, as we forge through maniacally. Once inside, our eyes dart frantically to search for an empty seat and the relief at plonking down on one is akin to attaining nirvana.

Have you ever travelled by the Mumbai local?  You must. Some say it is a life changing experience. Me, always eager to change my life, did that a few years back. The train compartment being only filled to 110% of its capacity, could be construed as empty by Indian standards (coming as it was from Andheri to Churchgate in the evening, viz, against the rush). As the train approached Churchgate, I, positioned myself nonchalantly right next to the exit, eager as I was to alight as soon as the train stopped. A wizened commuter saw me and said “Son, it would be better to stand to one side”.  The purport of his advice eluded me. Maybe it was someone who didn’t know how to mind one’s own business I thought. So, I gave him a ‘down the nose’ look and ignored him. A grievous lapse in judgement I was to learn later.  The train arrived at Churchgate station and even before it came to a full stop, a tornado of humanity, just like champagne gushing out of a well shaken bottle, hit me. People tore into the compartment like wild eyed startled horses, determination writ large on their faces. Resultantly, while I had planned to alight via the right door onto the platform, this tornado deposited me via the left door onto the railway tracks, face first. It left me with dirt over the face, a few scrapes and burns and a well bruised ego. I felt quite unlike James Bond’s martini, cause I was– shaken AND stirred.

Tried ordering food at a movie hall refreshment stall? The queue moves agonisingly slowly. But one thing about Indians is that while we may be impatient in a queue, we become as patient as Buddha at the counter. Picture this scene. Intermission duration 15 minutes. Uncle at head of the queue. He ignores the large lettered menu thoughtfully and prominently pasted all around him and asks, ‘Kya kya hai?”. Takes eons to decide. Five minutes gone. Impatient guy behind Uncle in the queue cursing Uncle and calling him all sorts of things, mentally of course. Uncle settles on popcorn. But then, to the chagrin of the impatient guy behind, indecision strikes Uncle and he asks Aunty somewhere off in the distance in a loud voice –“popcorn chahiye?” Seven minutes gone. Aunty of course, being an emancipated women, has opinions of her own and again ignoring the large lettered menu thoughtfully and prominently pasted all around, asks “Kya kya hai?”. Uncle, gives her the gist and Aunty after some dithering, settles for, well, popcorn. Ten minutes gone. Impatient guy behind is plucking his hair out. Uncle now has to pay. He goes through the payment options with the counter. PayTM?  GPay? PhonePay? Card?. Ultimately pulls out a Rs 2000/- note. “Sorry Sir, no change” says counter. After some quibbling, Uncle carefully chooses one out of his twenty cards and hands it over. Impatient guy behind is seething. Takes another two minutes to collect his fare. Fourteen minutes gone. Impatient guy behind finally reaches counter, asks “Kya kya hai?”

And then there is me. Believing that one should not waste time, I commence scanning the large lettered menu thoughtfully and prominently pasted all around, well in time. However, I too, like Uncle, become indecisive just when it is time to strike the hot iron. As I reach the second in line position, I am actually wishing that Uncle would take some more time as I haven’t been able to decide yet!

Now please don’t infer from the above that only the ‘mango’ people are impatient. Ever been to say, a symphonic orchestra nite? Firstly, such ‘nites’ are never at Vishwa Bharati or Shanmukhananda Hall. They will be at the upscale National Centre for Performing Arts, or the India Habitat Centre. One can see the perfectly attired rich people talking politely amongst themselves about abstract concepts such as the ‘artistic charm of the opera’, or ‘the therapeutic calm of an alto sax at B Minor washing over one’s soul’. Some others can be seen dissecting the programme listed on the flier. “I can’t wait to hear Schubert’s ‘Death and the Maiden’. I had gone to a show in Vienna and it was heavenly”. The atmosphere is literally awash with civility, poise, Armani and Chanel. But then comes the interval and refreshment time! Yes, you guessed right. Civility and poise be damned. It becomes ‘survival of the fittest’ time. The nouveau riche, being more practical and less encumbered with social graces that afflict ‘old money’, come into their own and position themselves strategically right near the kitchen door. Only with the altruistic intention of divesting the tired waiters of their burden expeditiously of course.

But then what to do? We are like that only….