Of suspicious types

It happens. Contrary to what rationality suggests, and what your parents tried to tell you for ages, you tend to fall prey to it. Despite your best efforts to not judge people without full knowledge, you tend to slot them into those who you can trust and those you can’t. “I really like him,” to “This is going to be a disaster,” to “Uh oh, maybe it’ll get better if I continue to smile,” are the instinctive dialogues you have with your judgment as you encounter people everyday. And as Malcolm Gladwell maintains, it all happens in the blink of an eye.

As I grow older and hopefully wiser, I’ve been trying to figure out if this is a carefully learnt and evolved tendency based upon circumstance and an informed understanding of human behaviour, or just plain old shooting from the gut. I have to confess that I’m still largely unsure.

Is there a pattern to my reactions? Are there specific personality types I dislike? Is there something about how people look, what they wear, or what their names are? Or has it something to do with the way they greet me or say their goodbyes that raises my hackles? The answer is: I simply don’t know!

What I can say is that there are certain types that come to mind as I write, that qualify for an instant loss of trust. See if you can make out a pattern here, or identify with any of them from your own experiences.

Those unknowns who send you friend requests on Facebook
Agreed that Fb is a ‘social tool’ and many would like to exploit it to its full, especially as long as it’s free, but this is like accosting strangers on the road and insisting that they shake hands with you, smile, and drive you to their homes to meet their family and friends. Thanks, but no thanks!

Those who drive Wagon-Rs
I’m OK with the snobbery of the glitterati, who are limousine-driven from party to party. I will even stand the brashness of the alpha male who glowers at the lesser mortals from his oversized SUV. What I can’t seem to understand is the person who drives a Wagon-R. I mean, which right-minded member of the human species would drive that, that thing? Resultantly, I rapidly put distance between my car and Wagon-Rs, whenever I chance upon one on the streets.

Those who open their letters with ‘hope this finds you in the best of health and spirits…’
Maybe it was OK once upon a time in the leisurely pen-to-paper era, but today? Whenever I see such an opening, it seems to me a. the writer has too much time b. is waffling till he finds the appropriate words, or worse, c. is completely confused about the effect of booze on health.

Those who drive without shoes, or slippers
It is said that after God made man, he made footwear for woman, not because he wanted her to walk or run, but to use as a tool for preening and self-defence. At least when shoes or chappals are not used for such noble purposes, they ought to be worn while driving. Surprises me how many women fling off their fancy footwear and hit the pedals with their petite, pedicured feet. Trust a woman driving without shoes, sandals or slippers? No way!

Those who call you ji, or sir
Maybe it’s a hangover that persists from the Raj, but to me it’s always a bit demeaning to be called ‘sir’ by other human beings, particularly when they’re old enough to know better. On the other hand, though proponents of tehzeeb might be forgiven for suffixing a ‘ji’ when they address you, the same can’t be said about the sundry telecallers who bugger your existence every waking hour by intruding your private space with a sugar coated ‘ji’. By far the biggest culprits, however, are the overzealous types who simply combine the two and call you ‘sirjee’ to cajole you into agreeing with them!

Those who wear safari suits, or white shoes
This has to be a latent distrust born out of over-exposure to Bollywood and its clichés. It’s not true that the days of the safari-suit villain and the jumping-jackass in pointy-white shoes hero, are gone. You still encounter them in sundry public-sector offices or at fashion-weeks. But boy, will they ever get my sympathies or a lick of my lollipop? Not likely!

Those who yak away at the treadmill
There’s a misapprehension, particularly among women of a certain age and size that chatting while walking or running on the treadmill helps burn calories faster. When specially created and focused glares fail to work, I normally shut my eyes and start running faster, in the equally erroneous belief that the extra release of endorphins will have the miraculous effect of shutting them up.