Sorry, sorry, sorry!

We saw what happened to Tharoor over a remark undoubtedly made in jest. He had to walk all the power corridors of Dilli to hold on to his job. Apart from the dirty politics at play, it was yet another reminder that we Indians sorely lack the ability to laugh at ourselves, we take ourselves much too seriously and self-importantly.

I have gotten into trouble umpteenth number of times too, even though I am far removed from the world of politics. I am aware it would be immodest to state that I have a wickedly funny streak in me, but I just did it. I mean, truth is that I have many problems with my decaying mind, but I do take myself a lot less seriously.

However, this makes my life in this not-so-smiley nation of ours fraught with peril. I find myself apologising for the most silly deeds/utterances. Half my life has gone saying sorry, I kid you not.

Let me give you only a few quick examples, that come to mind immediately.

At a party in Delhi, where I was working in an ad agency, I threatened to drop some beer over the head of a trade press journo who was always reporting unsavoury things about my agency. Instead of laughing it off, she went and lodged an official complaint with her big bosses in Mumbai. Accusing me of violent intimidation! Only a quick ‘sorry’ snipped out what was threatening to spiral into a corporate battle.

During my visit to the tsunami ravaged Nagapattinum, as I was chatting up with some survivors, standing by the sea, a chopper flew extremely low overhead. Someone screamed, “Jayalalitha! Jayalalitha!” And I could not help with ‘Duck for cover, guys… she’s crashing into us!’ A light remark made to bring some unexpected cheer to the sad survivors, who in fact had a good laugh. But I was quickly surrounded by the local cops and babus, who almost got me exported out of Tamil Nadu.

I once wrote in a newspaper column that an Ekta Kapoor serial, featuring a reclusive bachelor tycoon with a fetish for pets, was inspired from Ratan Tata’s life. It had the corporate cell of Tatasons call me for explanations and a ‘clear and unambiguous’ apology.

At an organisation I was an employee with, the lady HR head asked me to suggest one key improvement in the company that would help my team’s productivity rise. Since my guys had no real issues (except leaky toilets), I joked: ‘The HR girls need to have coffee with my boys.’ Promptly, I was summoned to the MD’s office to explain the remark.

Another time I wondered how the desi chauffeurs would pronounce the car’s name, when Skoda’s ‘Laura’ was launching in the market. And my computer crashed with the load of irate reader e-mails.

I could go on, this is endless, really. I have always believed the evolution of a nation cannot be measured by its GDP or nukes or medical science or architecture or its quality of life. It has gotta be by the ability of its citizens to laugh at themselves.

Sorry, if I have offended any reader!