The worry chronicles

Swalpa connect maadi

The worry chronicles

There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who worry big. And those who worry small. I belong to both categories and have a remarkable God-given facility to switch from one to the other. I am quite a professional and have often thought about offering my services as a professional worrier to corporates. Imagine someone sitting and worrying about their bottom lines and profit margins and leaving the Head Honchos to get on with their jobs? Delegation at its more efficient. But it’s an idea whose time has not yet come.

With practice I have fine-honed my skill to unerringly zero in on a worry within seconds of setting out. Since the mind is fresh and untrammeled, I tend to start the day with the small ones.

I worry about rising prices and depleting water supply. And the cook’s fourth grandmother to die. And mice overrunning the house and cockroaches cocking a snook at poison. Having done my housewifely duty, I wander into little lighter zones.

What if SRK loses the race to Aamir Khan. And will Aishwarya Bachchan name her baby Bacchi? And if Salman's biceps will someday grow into breasts. It’s almost breakfast time and I graduate to the medium.

Will Commonwealth Games see us with egg on our collective faces. Will the 'jugaaad' (lovely word that) stadiums collapse and homes spring leaks. Will someone steal the Queens Baton.

That leads to some interesting corollaries like where will  the officials of CWG hide their uncommon wealth. Is it all in Rs 1000 notes or smaller. In which case they will have to build bunkers or unearth a lot of honest relatives.

This takes me to email time. Where a dozen do gooder friends send me alarmist forwards on exactly what is happening to the environment and urge me to make a difference.

It’s here that I feel my most powerful…a little like God as set out to make a difference by doing what I do best. I fret about the ice caps melting  and what will happen to the South Pole.

Will Alaska become a desert and Sahara become snow bound? Then I progress to whales, dolphins, tigers. The power of one I tell myself. If I don't worry, our great grand children will never know what a whale ever was.

That segues easily into my great grand children. How will they live if the earth runs out of fuel? That leads to transportation. Food. Warmth.Television. Schooling.

A wholesome mix of small medium and mammoth so the mind flexes like quicksilver. Somewhere in between creep in the personalities.

Does Obama have enough security? Will Sarcozy get cozy again? Whatever happened to Imelda's shoes? And does Sohrabuddin's ghost haunt the Raj Bhavan in Gujarat? Does Kasab like his biryanis? Will Rahul Gandhi's future wife get along with Sonia? Who killed JFK? is always good for a rerun.

By now I am in full spate. I move onto the oil slick and all those little bewildered fish. And whether Paul, the Octopus is bored in his retirement. Meanwhile another do gooder friend sends me a mail on the Canadian geese which are losing their way. So I switch tracks and tune in to the feathered creatures. Whatever happened to sparrows? Where do Kiwis go when they die? And will 2012 bring the end of the earth?

I open my demat account and acquire a whole new set of economy worries about Dow Jones, HangSeng and Reliance shares.

 The only time I do not worry is when I am asleep or there is nothing to worry about. Now that in itself is a  lasting worry. Why is there nothing to worry about. Is this the lull before the storm?

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