My Carbon Footprint.

Copenhagen. My foot.

You really think I give as much as a mouse fart for Copenhagen? I don’t think I spent three months of hibernation, thinking about what to write to settle for Copenhagen.

Copenhagen.......

The last few months have been peaceful. So peaceful, that’s its bored the living daylights out of me. I started doing all crazy things. I started listening to people, following traffic rules, supported the government, became forgiving, charitable, went on an austerity drive and generous too. I feel like Rusty (Brad Pitt) in Ocean’s Twelve. Notice I didn’t say Ocean’s Eleven. I said Ocean’s Twelve. Ocean’s Eleven was about money….. Ocean’s Twelve was a cure for boredom.

Let’s not get into movies. We are talking business here.

As I was saying, “The last few months have been peaceful”, peaceful until last weekend. Then the ceasefire ended.

Last Weekend I attended a friend’s wedding at RSI, Bangalore. I have been attending weddings all month long, one more shouldn’t have been any different. As a good guest, I ate well and was dropping a friend home when I run into a police barricade. They are frisking guys for drunken driving… usual Saturday night checking. Nothing to be alarmed about, especially when all you had is one drink followed by a nice meal. Confidently I pull over and the cops asks me to blow into his alcohol meter.

"Sir, please blow into the meter".

Bloody thing turns red and there’s “ALCOHOL” displayed on the screen. I tell the cop, “Officer, I haven’t been drinking”. Mind you I actually said “Officer”.

“Ok Sir, let’s try that again”.

Beep. ALCOHOL.

“Officer, I told you, I haven’t been drinking. I don’t know why your machine says so.”

“Ok Sir, let’s try that again. I’ll give you the best of three tries”.

Beep. ALCOHOL.

“Sorry Sir, pull over, you failed the test thrice. I’ll have to book you”.

You see, there’s no point arguing it, and telling him that you had only one shot and you are well within the legal limit. That’s suicide. No point arguing over the accuracy of that alcohol gun, for he won’t show you the reading. Moreover it’ll only complicate life. Ever tried explaining to your high school teacher you were not looking into your friend's answer sheet, but you just peeped over to borrow the eraser? I am a veteran at this.

See, the legal limit in Bangalore is an insane one mug/pint of beer or I think one shot of whisky, one 30ml shot, not even a large. If I am not mistaken the 30ml just about scrapes through. If the bar tender had been a little generous and poured 2ml more, you’ll be over the legal limit. Even if it is in decimals that go to one/one thousandth of a percent, you know cops. “It’s the Letter of the Law”.The law says 2% and you are 2.0001% , that’s over 2%. Guilty. Now cough up”.

So, like I said, it was pointless.

I stuck to my story that I hadn’t been drinking, just returning home after a long day at work.

"Look at me Sir. Do I look like I just returned from a party?" .

Then I cooked up a story that I had eaten a “foreign” chocolate which had some “liquid” inside, for “I have not had a single drop”. (Try explaining liqueur chocolate to cops). And that must be reason why the meter is beeping.

The Cop buys it, only after I give him some pocket money. Paid him Rs200. Its pocket change really, you would normally shell out close to twenty times that for the real charge.

You see, he let me off that cheap because he knew I was well within limit. In short, I was not on the wrong side of the law. But since I didn’t challenge his meter and we spoke the friendly local language, we settled it amicably; a little pocket money for standing out there in the freezing cold and keeping the city’s road safe. Like I said, I have been very generous too in these times of austerity.

That was forgiven. I didn’t hold any grudges towards him.

A week later, another cop pulled my over for jumping a light. That’s two traffic violations in a span of two weeks. This time I was pissed off. Of course there’s no need to bribe a cop over a signal jump as the fine is only Rs 100. I didn’t even argue. Gave him my driving license, and watched as he typed in my license number and car’s regn number into his Blackberry. A wireless printer on the cop's bike spat out the receipt. Bangalore cops, putting the fruits of the Silicon valley to good use.

Impressed? Far from it. I was pissed. I was fucking livid. I had had enough.

So long Mister-Nice-Guy.

I’ll give you peace, Green Peace.

Puli was on a mission.

The Mission: To break as many traffic rules humanly possible. Do it in the face of the traffic cops. Do it and not get booked.

There was only one way to do that.

I pulled out my bicycle.

I jumped signal lights all evening. I cycled down No Entries. I cycled on the Cubbon Road pavement, right in front of the cops. I was talking on my mobile. I was weaving though traffic like it was no one’s business.

I was a free bird. Then I decided to take it literally. I cycled to Shantinagar, "as-the-crow-flies". My friends on their scooters couldn't keep up with me for those 6kms from where I met them (Cox town) to Shantinagar.

Freedom at last.

I cycled all the way to Shantinagar, a good 13-14 kms away to meet some friends at a Tibetian joint that serves apparently good Momos. The Momos were shit, but it didn’t matter.

The place was full of posters. Posters telling you about the Chinese oppression, about how millions were living in refuge in India and how many more were braving the brutal Chinese back home in Tibet. A candle light vigil. Another had a picture of a white dove.

I sit there eating the crappy momos/ steamed dumplings and wonder, may be that’s how Naxalites are born. The Naxalites, my foreign friends, are Indian terrorists who go around setting fire to police stations and police jeeps and they hide in the hills and forests; India’s indigenous Merry Men sans Robin Hood.

You see it makes sense. There comes a point when the common man, honest, tax paying, law abiding, just loses it. The politicians, the cops, the government officers, the tax authorities, office politics, apartment rules, church rules, temple rules, bar rules, dress code, traffic rules, basically everything. He’s so pissed with society, he wants to shoot all of them. A Naxalite is born, just to let him do what is basically fine, but society with its protectionist rules, denies him. Eg. Bangalore has banned dancing in its nightclubs. Can you beat that? Banned dancing? The reason - girl tend to get molested in nightclubs, so let's ban dancing. Case closed.

So there, that’s my Naxal theory. Its not negotiable. It’ll hold as much water as I want it to hold.

Coming back to my story.

Now I am too lazy to become a Naxal. Becoming a Naxalite involves a lot of running, and I don’t want to be that fit. And moreover while John Rambo gets to blow up trucks and spray people with a machine gun, but do you see him eating chicken kababs and drinking beer? Little wonder that he had six pack abs and bulging forearms.

I am pretty fit, I only need a weekly workout. So, I can't become a Naxalite.

Finally, I had almost reached home, feeling pretty good with the day’s exploits. Keyword, almost.

You see, society, school, mum, everyone have always told me that when you do something, you might as well do it well. Go that extra mile.

I was turning obedient again.

I chained my bicycle to a No-Parking sign and walked into the neighborhood watering hole! The King of Good Times accompanied me on my way home.

Peace at last.

That’s my Christmas message to all my readers. The next time you get pissed off in life, work on reducing that carbon footprint. Leave that car at home, get a bicycle. Do your bit for the environment. Give them all the clean energy they need. They have earned it.

Green peace and Merry Christmas.