Sunday Special Abol Tabol Blog;
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It's a long way to Tipperary,
And it's a long way to go.
It's a long way to Tipperary
And the sweetest girl I know!
Farewell, Piccadilly,
Goodbye, Leicester Square!
It's a long long way to Tipperary,
But my heart's right there.
...................Jack Judge.......
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It%27s_a_Long_Way_to_Tipperary
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That is a snatch from a popular song of our World War Generation.
"...It is said that the song was originally written in 1912 for a five shilling bet, performed the next night in a Music Hall, and later taken over as a Marching Song by the British Army in 1914 (World War I).... Jack Judge's parents were Irish and grandparents came from Tipperary, a small town in Ireland..... Unlike previous Marching Songs of War, this one talks of a longing to get back home...".
Any mention of Ireland (or Scotland) evokes picturesque Bagpipers, their short pants and their enthralling music (there was a lovely TV Ad a decade ago for the Hundred Pipers Scotch).
Around 1967 IIT KGP invited the Bagpipers Band of Eastern Frontier Rifles from the neighboring Salua Unit to play their Marching Songs around the B C Roy Island on the occasion of our Foundation Day . I happened to watch their thrilling performance which I recall with pleasure once in a while.
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Well, Tipperary, though fascinating, is quite irrelevant to the topic of today's Post which is the Universal Phenomenon of Tipping (when was anything relevant said in this Gas-Blog?).
Frankly I love Tipping, when it is not demanded outright, and is subtle.
It fills my poor heart with pride and joy when I can extract a smile or even a salam from a co-tenant of this bit of our Universe.
But Tipping is a complex affair. I am told that it is institutionalized in the US as every charming thing is, like Democracy, thereby robbing it of all fun. I read of discontented Waitresses chasing their Customers all around the place like so many Hide & Seek Gamers pouring their hearts out blatantly and eloquently...not a very welcome pageantry.
No wonder it is said that Tipping was abolished in Japan.
Japan has her unique charms: apparently toothpicks and toothpicking are banned in her public places like Parties and Eateries. I support this wholeheartedly. It is outright disgusting to watch your Opponent picking his (her) teeth. First, he (she) exposes his (her) yellowing decayed teeth full of potholes into which the toothpick is inserted at various angles, screwed and ultimately the offending food particle (which was delicious a moment ago) got out. Then the picker doesn't know exactly how to dispose it off. He (She) develops a curious urge to spit it out on your lap and say sorry. And turn back and expose other unwanted parts of his (her) anatomy. Only to find that some half a dozen more are firmly ensconced in sundry other (wisdom and unwisdom) cavities up and down.
And the process repeats.
I carry my own plastic toothpicks in my pocket, say excuse me, and get lost in the Lawn, Bar or Bathroom. Toothpicking is as private an activity as, well, other pickings (Nose, Ear or Worse); scratching and blowing and gurgling and gargling and belching and kissing of the intimate kind.
I permit yawning, particularly in Faculty Meetings and Lecture Halls. It is a polite way of Posting A Comment: Take It or Leave It. We had a Professor of Philosophy who, in the middle of his drone, would quickly turn back to the blackboard and then revert to his audience. But the tell-tale wet patch on the appropriate corner of the blackboard told it all. But I disapprove of the disgusting South Indian custom of accompanying one's yawn by a Double Click with the thumb and the middle finger: it spoils the silence by drawing loud attention to the yawn: Not Done, Nyet!
Looking discreetly at one's wrist watch is as good if not a better way of passing the message: for a yawn is tough to produce at will unless it is practiced well, while anyone can look at his (her) watch any time at will; indeed in these days of cell phones, i-phones and u-phones, this can be the only legitimate purpose of an ornamental wrist watch studded with diamonds.
I love Japan.
But in the first Colossal Party I was dragged to in Hyderabad when I was under the influence of anti-depressants (Bless Them!), the first helpings I saw doled out with appetizers are these toothpicks pierced into tiny alu chops. I got up and walked out till the Main Course began. But then soon after the meal there was this offensive green Mira Paan, pierced by more toothpicks, and badly needing spittoons installed all over the place...otherwise the whole world is treated as a vast spittoon.
OK; Where were we?
Yes, Tipping.
If ever I were to be chased by a NY Waitress on her streets I would prefer to be beaten than browbeaten.
Tipping should be a Gracious Ceremony like Money-Lending by the KGP Kabuliwalas of 1960s (where have they all vanished? Rabinbabu wrote such a moving story about them that I shed tears at the tender age of 10 when an abridged version of it with charming pictures was there in our prescribed English Textbook).
Yes, Kabuliwalas...this is rather becoming a Stream of Semi-Conscious thing.
These charming tall bearded pony-tail-pugreed handsome gentlemen chewing whatever Kabuliwalas chew would be standing at graceful ease in pointed turn-up-chappals in a loose row at the Chaurasta where Harry's stands now (what a Fall it is My Countrymen!..Tikka's minions now chase any Freeloader as far down the Faculty Road as those waitresses we were talking about).
You just walk up to anyone of them you like...there is no pimping or unseemly fighting for favors. And stand (small) in front of him. He would at once drop off from the row, escort you to the Tea Stall, sit down, and offer Tea in addition to whatever currency you need urgently. The exchange of Notes is so sly that only veterans would know.
Then, on next Payday you are supposed to do the Reverse Osmosis Process, this time you offering Tea and the Whopping Interest for the Month....he declines the Principal even if you beg him to take it...he knows that you would again return by a week like a homing pigeon; so what is the point?
If you default and avoid Harry's Chaurastha route he would coolly wait for a week; no harsh words or hard looks exchanged.
Next morning everyone in your neighborhood would see right in the Milk Time a tall fair hefty cousin of his standing at ease outside the In-Gate of your Qrs, rubbing khoini on the left palm with his right thumb, till the maid comes in and reports to your wife; who would come out and to avoid him being seen by her neighborly wife, would go in, return with the Interest (drawn from her dowry), and shoo away the Archangel; and wallop you;...till next week when she finds the Archangel rooting in front of your neighbor's In-Gate and she would be dying to rush into her neighbor's kitchen to intimate that some distant relative of theirs is waiting outside.
Tipping Waiters (Waitresses) in Restaurants is passe'. You do it routinely, even if there are Notices all over the place warning No Tipping Please (it is included in the Service Charges)....but you would still tip him (her) anyway to get that sweet smile..it is a Double Whammy.
I love tipping Autowalas of Hyderabad.
First he would refuse to take you to whichever place you want to go. Then you show him the Police Notice. He would grudgingly ask you to get your damnedself in. Before entering the contraption which is going to give you the greatest whirlwind ride of all times, you would ask if his meter is ok. He would scowl and demand to know what the Hell you mean by doubting his flamboyant honesty. You just smile wanly. He would then quote his price which is at least double the Regulation Price. Then you haggle starting from half the MRP. Since you are an Unemployed Pensioner with Time hanging heavily in your shoulder bag, you would haggle back and forth and ultimately settle for the MRP.
As soon as you enter you chat him up with sympathy on the hike in prices of petrol and diesel and get him talking of his family problems like kids going to Class X (as mythical as these blogs). Then you remind him that his auto runs on stolen domestic gas cylinders which your wife badly needs. Then again a scowl, a brake and a break of your spine...and go on like this.
When you finally succeed in reaching your Destiny or Destination and hop down, you hand him a Rs 50 Note and ask him to keep the change for sweets to his (non-existent) school kids.
He would get down from his Driver's Seat and touch your hand and bless you...touching feet is happily as rare as an honest Auto Driver.
You feel as thrilled as if you have won a New Friend (in the Blogoshpere).
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As the Upanishads (again) are fond of saying: concerning this, there is also this:
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Thursday, April 9, 2009
Nature's Inversions
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"Musharraf's tip was Rs 20,000 for a bill of Rs. 10,000": DC 9 April Front Page Banner
Kite's tail is 10 times head,
Comet's tail 100 times head,
Prawn's mooch is 1000 times head,
Hanuman's tail can be ANY times head,
Heron's bill is double her tip;
Our Hero's tip's double his Bill!
"Musharraf's tip was Rs 20,000 for a bill of Rs. 10,000": DC 9 April Front Page Banner
Kite's tail is 10 times head,
Comet's tail 100 times head,
Prawn's mooch is 1000 times head,
Hanuman's tail can be ANY times head,
Heron's bill is double her tip;
Our Hero's tip's double his Bill!
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haha... "Heron's bill is double her tip; Our Hero's tip's double his Bill!" simply unbeatable!
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