No, it’s not the Goddess of Death and it’s not that WWF monster (a favourite of India TV, yuck!). It’s an intense Mallu expression to describe a very complex emotion that we all experience, every now and then.
I turn right and enter the Tri-Shakti parking lot (the one for us lesser mortals), and the MP is working me into a nice little slot. The one that is going to ensure that I’m out of the gate in about a half-hours time after the guest lecture; which for my car pool is great going. The wife is back seat driving as usual. Suddenly, this guy pulls up behind, he’s blaring his horn and jams his way in. The others in his car look at me shrug wryly and walk away. You know the feeling that I’m talking about; that blinding rage, the anger, that fury, that utter helplessness. It’s not road rage; it’s Kalli.
Let’s do another situation. You are standing in line for that life saving coffee at Chanakya and this bloke comes over, grabs a cup, jams it in front of the machine and says, “ Jaldi karo”. What do you do? He’s three and a half feet tall, with a potbelly. Your seven–year old daughter could take him down. But you are a nice guy. You’re supposed to finish last. So you just look at him real hard. Oblivious, he chomps away to glory on his samosa. There’s stuff in his teeth, the chutney is all over his chin. You breathe deep and hard and feel. ……Yeah, you’re getting it, you feel Kalli.
Then there’s this milkman fellow outside your house on a Sunday morning. You place the vessel in front of him. It’s the beginning of a great day. You want to talk to him about the lovely weather, maybe even ask him about his cows, and how are they keeping, anything … just to share the joy of being alive in this wonderful world, this cauldron of people, events, happenings, experiences. It all goes phut when he sticks his finger deep inside his nose and says “ Dayd liter doon kya? (Give you a litre and a half?) ” …Kalli
Now you know why the production department doesn’t issue bazookas.
Look, I’m not trying to make a case against anybody. Perfection and me don’t know each other. All I want is a little consideration for your and my feelings. A little civic sense, some good manners, and as the pure Hindi wag would say Sabhya Bartav. You need not be politically correct all the time. You get wild, say so. You want to do your own thing, go ahead. However, that little bit of restraint, that check of your urge, that feeling for your brother being, will make this place a better place. With me?
Katspeakeasy 