On the contrary: Radio Gaga

I have a confession to make: I am insanely jealous of radio jockeys and jockettes. The hours aren't bad, the pay is great and the perks are super. RJ's have nubile young women proffering their cell phone numbers and the ice cream treatment (don't ask), while jockettes mumble a few inanities and get invited on a cruise. You can't lose. Plus, and this is the best part, most of the the time the great, unwashed public has zero recollection of your banal utterances. All your dangling conversations and superficial smiles, to paraphrase Simon and Garfunkel, are lost in the ether. When you are trapped in a 45 min traffic jam between Silk Board and HSR Layout, your options are limited to tearing your hair out in rage or reaching a state of Zen-like calm where Radio Gaga makes sense. Like whatever, dude.  

Except for your boss and colleagues, no one knows what you look like. You don't have to scrabble around hunting for a decent pic to Photoshop like I did when our editor in her infinite wisdom decided to have a mugshot gracing this column. I was cured of narcissism early in life: I have too much good taste to take pleasure in it. However, when a colleague said, "Hey, that caricature of you is really funny," I was vain enough to feel offended, since this was much after the pic had been uploaded.

As we hacks have learnt to our cost, the written word can come back to haunt you like a high school essay; in fact, it was the humiliation engendered by my schoolboy scribbling that inspired me to go pro. A sadistic teacher read one of my essays out aloud to the considerable amusement of my peers. I think it was my coming of age pangs, faithfully recorded for posterity in a blue ruled notebook which he declaimed with way too many dramatic pauses, raised eyebrows and rolling eyeballs. Had I not been on the receiving end, I may have been mildly amused. I didn't help my cause by mock clapping at the end: he beat me with a foot ruler adding injury to insult, in a manner of speaking.

To get back to RJ-ing, it's not rocket science. Sample this: "Oggaay, is is yer favourite program on the breakfast show brought to you by Kohinoor condoms and vee are going to rock you, yeah? I have vith me on the line, Swaroop who has a request for Avril Lavigne." For rotten musical taste alone, in any civilized country Swaroop should have been dragged apart by wild elephants but what can I say, we are far too tolerant in this country. Instead we reserve our rage for dietary deviance. I would rather listen to Nirmala Sitharaman sing the Sholay theme song, "Mehbooba" than have to endure Ms Lavigne. "Now, Swaroop, all you need to do is answer one simple question and you can win some reely cool goodies from our sponsors." Yeah, Kohinoor comes in many flavours.

"Oggaaay, yer fust queschin coming up, don't be nervous, what was the game played in the movie, Lagaan? Y'know, the Aamir Khan movie?  C'mon Swaroooop, guess right and you win a dinner for two with drinks included. Now is that cool or is that chilled?" "Er, er it's on the tip of my tongue." RJ: 'Spit it out, baby, c'mon spit it out, this is the big time, yeah, woo, woo." Swaroop: "Tennis, nooo, okay give me another chance, I know there's a ball in it somewhere." RJ: "Oooh Swaroop, you had yer chance, you blew it babe, oggaaay, let's move on to Medha. Now, Medha, do you have a boyfriend? Is he listening to the show, woo, yeah, that's totally cool. What's that, he loves it. Woo, alright. Oh he loves you? Woo, that's cool too. Oggaay folks, that's it for tonight. Man, I'm pooped, I'm off to renew mah spirit with some hiphop and house. See you tomarraw, peepz, don't go away now. We have Priya/Rhea, Shreya with the Late Show and you're listening to your favourite station, 9000FM. Remember, we know what you like, c
an't stop dude, have to charge my badderies, Woo. "

Some people have all the luck.