A one-way regime of restraint

The trouble with frequent travelling means missing out on the really important news, such as the extension of a city’s dry days on account of someone’s religious views. I’ve been known to bolt the hotel room or front door before pouring myself a tot, because who knows where the vigilantes might strike next. Or even who the vigilantes are — Auntyji from the balcony opposite who doesn’t approve of the kids’ partying ways, or Uncleji from three houses down whose scathing views have silenced innumerable “secular” debates without a whimper of opposition. Imagine arriving for an event in a city to find the government has declared a ban on serving liquor without notice, slashing your guest count and reducing, in one swift gesture, an entire business plan to paper.

 
Or take what you can or can’t eat, with Big Brother watching what you put on your plate. Generally, I’m as happy with my greens as with my meats, but when the state decides on a timetable rather than your taste buds determining what you eat, it seems like excessive nannying. My wife has forced herself to grind mutton bones before putting out the garbage, only because the pooch doesn’t have the refined palate of a vegetarian. We went to a wedding the other night to find the hosts had decided to rid the menu of all “improper” foods during Navratri for fear of lathi-wielding lumpens. Actually, our friends didn’t have a choice in the matter. The owner of the venue had served them notice: “Vegetarian or quit.” The dal, at least, was nice.

 
Similar confusion prevails in other walks of life. Some weeks ago, Authority A decided to waive the stamping of cabin baggage tags at New Delhi and Mumbai airports. At which Authority B mandated that not stamping tags was the equivalent of a national crisis, and promptly resumed it. About the time you read this, I will be on a flight again, my tag unstamped because Authority C has stepped in. Let’s hope its writ lasts till the flight back.
 

A couple of days ago, it wasn’t the tag as much as the boarding pass that stymied me when the machine meant to spew the printout rudely informed me it now required a four-hour notice for the task. In Chennai, the kiosks for issuing boarding passes were tucked discreetly away, but even when I was done with punching in the PNR code, there was still the queue at the check-in counter to navigate for collecting the boarding pass. Earlier, an Uber driver had cancelled the ride because of our inability to understand whether he was waiting behind a signboard rather than in front of it. Oh, and the scream you heard on Thursday — that was me because the warm shower flow in the hotel was replaced by an icy cold one while I fiddled with knobs that provided everything from hand to rain and massage showers while effectively concealing the temperature controls.

 
I no longer care whether yoga is offensive to the majority — or is it the minority? — since my wife has given up all forms of exercise. We can no longer buy chicken in the neighbourhood shops in Noida, and restaurants are enforcing the vegetarian writ. On a recent flight, the lady seated next to me pointed out that the chicken wrap I’d requested was unpleasant to her fasting diet. When the stewardess agreed to replace it with a cheese sandwich, I acquiesced for her sake. The enemy is no longer among us; we are it.