Rude? So? It’s the warmth that counts

Moving on to the larger point of the debate—are we living in the world’s “least polite” city? If the yardstick is the western notion of politeness, then though I have not travelled to the ends of the earth, I’m going to hazard a “probably”.

It is totally true that Indians in the metropolises are some of the rudest people on the planet and Bombay stands on top of the pile. But here’s the larger question. How important is it to be polite when you are being superficially so? Would not you, as a citizen in a busy city, happily forsake politeness for genuine warmth? Would you want to live in a city brimming with glazed smiles that doesn’t give a toss about you? Or would you prefer to live in a city that cuts through the crap and gives you a hand when you really need it?

Here’s my take on this city and I have articulated it in a paean I wrote to it for last year’s Mumbai Festival. I don’t remember it verbatim, but the gist goes thus: Welcome to Bombay. 18.4 million people. 45,000 people per sq m, 10 million in slum housing. Water for an hour a day. The place where a thousand dreams die everyday. Yet also the only place on the planet where one day your dream can explode into reality. Because it’s the only place where nobody says no. You need to get to the airport through waterlogged streets at midnight? Jayega—bhaada extra. Need milk at 3 am for a crying baby? Milega—soch samajhkar de do. Need to get a new mobile phone as you get off the plane? Vaanda nein. Need anything? Anytime? Anywhere? Sirf phone karne ka. Aapun ka setting hai.

Juxtapose this with London, Christmas Eve, 2000. I feel as if I am dying. Strep throat, fever, blocked sinuses and a booming headache have left me alone, dehydrated, and disoriented with very high fever. I call the nearest doctor. Refuses to attend to me. The nearest hospital’s OPD? Shut. I call seven other doctors, promising prohibitively large sums of money for a house call. No go. Finally, a Bangladeshi doctor gives me medical advice on the phone for a 100 pounds. Out on the streets in the cold, I search for a chemist that’s open. All shut. Nobody has a clue where I can find a 24-hour medicine shop. I have to wait 48 hours before I can treat myself. Can you imagine this happening here? And yet, if you live in London for a year as I did at the time, you will hear a joyous volley of high-pitched “Helloooo”s and “Thenk Eyooo”s all with about as much warmth and genuineness as that scoop of ice cream at a street vendor’s.

Now let’s look at New York. The survey gives it the No. 1 spot. Really, now. I called a few of my New Yorker friends and told them the wonderful news. All of them love New York (well, parts of it anyway. I don’t think any of them holds Staten Island dear. But Certainly Manhattan, as I and a billion other tourists too). But when they heard the news, they either exploded with laughter or very seriously asked if the survey had been carried out by an American agency.

Because New York is a far from polite city. Without even getting into the issue of racism in some boroughs, my New Yorker friends and I can give you tens of examples of stunning impoliteness we have experienced on its streets, restaurants, shops. This precludes the fact that I find it one of the warmest, most real cities once you scratch the surface.

But politeness? Even post 9/11, what you get from cab drivers when you want to go in a direction opposite to rush hour traffic is a string of unprintables; what you get from the Starbucks girl should you dawdle over the choice of coffee is an expression that says, “Oh! Puh-leeze!”; what you get from most anybody on the subway is “I don’t know you. I don’t need you. Stay out of my way, because I’m on guard.” Polite? I remember a bank teller treating my deposit in a bank like she was doing me a favour by collecting my money.

All of this without me even dipping my toe into the issues of race and colour when you enter white-dominated, first world cities.

Let’s see how polite the people at Canadian customs are as you, a young, brown, asian male pass their gaze. Let’s see how polite night club bouncers are in Paris as they see a young, brown Asian male ask for entry. Let’s see how polite the Sydney police are as you, a young, brown, Asian male try and stop a police car to ask for directions.

So let’s not get riled about being voted the rudest, pardon me, the least courteous city in the world. Give me Bombay with it’s surliness any day. At least I’ll know I’ll get my Indian Express on New Year’s Day. And if I need to speak to the Editor-in-chief one day? All I have to do is call up the friendly neighbourhood fixer. Seth, mere ko phone karne ka, na.. Aapun ka pehchaan hai, saab.

The writer is an eminent actor. rahulbose7@gmail.com