The Parsi syndrome

About Paris.. by a Parsi..

The Unbearable Madness of being a BAWA

I have often wondered: Are Bawas really mad? Of course this question
only lasts for about a fraction of a microsecond. Because even a
cursory glance at some of my brethren is enough to convince me of the
answer. I mean, what else would you call someone who parks his
beloved motorcycle in his third floor living room?
Or someone who has three-tier armrests on his commode so that he can
read his morning newspaper more comfortably? Or someone who makes a
large loop of his pyjama string and slips it over his head every time
he has a bout of diarrhoea,
for quick release, in emergencies?

Of course we're mad! In fact we inspired the famous Jack Nicholson
movie. It was originally going to be titled: One Flew over Cusrow
Baug. What remains
to be understood is why exactly are we like this?

This is a question that has bothered me on many hot summer afternoons
when I feel the insanity bubbling up inside me like some slowly
fermenting Dhanshak.
After all, I too have felt the urge on occasion:
To donate umbrellas to all the Parsi statues in Bombay so that their
dignified phetas (traditional Parsi head-gear) are not exposed to the
callousness of pigeon shit.
To run around Dhobi Talao trying to change as many
double-decker bus numbers to 66 (or whatever your most used bus
number) as is humanly possible in one entertaining hour.
To convince my poor friend Rustom (name changed to protect his
insanity) that they were going to ask him to recite the entire Bombay
Telephone Directory in his English Poetry Oral Exam.

Most of the time I can put this predisposition towards madness down
to"having a slightly different sense of humour. But when I delve
deeper, I find that there are other dimensions to our madness as well.
Like my grand-uncle who would only wear a shirt once and then give it
away to the poor (The Madness of Charity).
Or the man who returned a gold brick during the harbour explosion at
Bombay Docks (The Madness of Honesty).
Or the aunty who thought the TV repair man was trying to throw rays at
her (The Madness of Paranoia).
I also wonder about other dimensions to our oddness. Like why are
there so many grown Parsi men who live with their mothers? And why are
there so many grown Parsi women who prefer not to
live with grown Parsi men who live with their mothers?
Like why are we so obsessive about cleaning our cars and motorcycles?
And where on earth did we find our accent from?
And why do we cover our fish in banana leaves? Is it to protect their
modesty? Or is it to prevent them from hearing the scandalous gossip
at our traditional Parsi lagans (weddings)?

Whatever the dimension, there is no doubting one thing. Our madness
is a gentle, harmless, twittering kind of madness. The kind that
makes other people
smile and twirl their index finger at forehead level indulgently.

But after years of introspection and self analysis I find I am still
unable to answer that essential question.Why are Bawas mad.Perhaps it
is simply
to entertain ourselves? After all, we haven't got Parsi TV yet.

A scientific friend of mine thinks we are mad because of
inter-breeding. He could be right. But sometimes, I think that this
answer is almost too boring for the Parsis. I prefer my more romantic
friend who claims: "We are mad because if we were not, we would truly
be mad. I think we are mad, to protect us from the sane."

So the next time you feel like throwing a brick at your boss or a show
window, don't. Try the ˜Bawaâ(tm) method. Try a little productive
madness and insanity.