Back in the days when Mumbai was Bombay, and the only missiles we had to worry about were streams of spit hurtling through the air, I was rushing home from my office in Cuffe Parade. Just as I was crossing the road, something from a passing BEST bus hit me right in the eye. I looked around, enraged, and saw a man looking a little shocked, shocked that his spit had caught my eye. I ran up to the sparkling bathrooms of the World Trade Center and washed my eyes very carefully, imagining all kinds of infections lurking around. Then I hopped down the escalator (one of the few in those golden days), walked at running speed (as all Bombayites did, and all Mumbaikars still do), and finally got home, none the worse for that disgusting episode.
The question remains – what is it with the average Indian guy and the urge to spit? It is a certain-kind-of-guy thing, really. The certain kind of guy who is probably not thinking much of civilisation, of manners, or of other people. The guy who is mentally still residing in rural India, where such behavior is harmless. I mean, how much damage can it cause in a big field? You could say – it is part of being natural in the middle of nature. Even if it means going against your better nature.
Then there was our honourable Minister of Railways who was caught on camera, spitting. The news channels played the clip over and over again, till it seemed the man was on a spitting spree, all around town. The coverage must have given him a spitting headache.
Two decades later, India has moved on in the eyes of the world. From snake-charmers to call centres, from bullock carts to BPOs, and from being a land of elephants to being the elephant at least in the realm of outsourcing.
While many others have moved on, what about the certain-kind-of-guy? Just the other day, while I was walking down a street in Bangalore, the door of a parked car flung open and a certain something flew across, missing me by just a few inches. I looked up to see a certain-kind-of-guy, alive and well, with a sheepish grin on his face. So I said, “Can you please be careful?”
“I did look carefully,” he said with a smile that showed his tobacco-stained teeth. “That’s why I spit so close to the car.”
I could tell that he meant well. And so I let it pass with a good-natured smile.
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