Do people in some countries smile more than people in others? I'm not sure, but there are certainly differences in when people smile. I'm always stunned when I view photos from a relative's wedding in India. Everyone looks so serious, almost glum, like they're attending a meeting of the Enron Investors Club. I'm telling you, I've seen more smiles at some funerals.
Granted, the ceremony itself is supposed to be fairly solemn, but you'd expect to see plenty of laughter and merriment afterward, at least when the priest isn't around. Instead, the groom looks like he just ate a worm, while the bride looks like she just married one.
Of course, it's possible that the photographer did a poor job of capturing everyone's happiness. Perhaps the bride's dad went cheap and hired someone from the driver's license center. Not only did he shine a light directly into everyone's eyes, the numbskull forgot to tell them to say "cheese."
Pictures from western weddings look remarkably different. Everyone is smiling broadly, especially if it's a special wedding, the kind with an open bar. The groom has such a wide grin, you can count all the cavities. And the bride can't help showing her freshly whitened teeth -- she even smiles when the bartender calls it a night.
There are cultural differences at play, of course, but I've found that it's always wise to smile in photos, especially if you have a big smile like mine. You can always spot me in a group photo -- I'm the set of teeth in the back row.
Even when I'm posing for an official photograph, such as for a passport or driver's license, I try my best to smile. Who knows, the smile might be the only thing that keeps the authorities from picking me up as a terrorist.
FBI agent: "He's dark-skinned and he has a beard. He might be a terrorist."
Second agent: "But he's got such a wide smile. An arresting smile."
First agent: "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. We'd better arrest him fast. If he's smiling so much, he must be up to something."
If a smile in a photograph can seem suspicious, so can a smile on the street. In some countries, smiling at strangers is considered odd, even impolite. As one Russian said, "If a man is smiling at everyone on the street, he is either deeply in love or deeply intoxicated. Or he is an American."
Of course, smiling isn't the only sign of friendliness. In Kenya, where I grew up, people don't smile as much as Americans do, but they'll greet you with an elaborate handshake that often involves handclapping and curtsying, making you wonder if they think you're royalty, perhaps a Nepalese prince or at least a relative of Queen Latifah.
If your car breaks down, there's no shortage of people willing to push it all the way down the street. Just try it sometime -- it's a great way to save on gas.
People have different ways of being friendly to strangers. I always welcome a smile, but when it comes right down to it, I'm far more appreciative of the guy who looks stern, but offers my wife his seat on the bus, than the guy who shows all his teeth, but can't show any courtesy
If you're always thinking about money -- making it, saving it, investing it -- you may be surprised to learn that human beings weren't always obsessed with it. In fact, the concept of money didn't even exist for millions of years, not until it was introduced to the world by a great thinker: Hongah the caveman. Widely considered the greatest inventor of his time, he never seemed to run out of ideas and was twice named "Caveman of the Year."
One fine afternoon, Hongah spotted his neighbor Oongah returning from the forest with an antelope slung over his shoulder. It suddenly occurred to Hongah that perhaps he could "pay" for some fresh meat, so he ran to Oongah and handed him a bunch of leaves. Mulberry leaves from the tree Hongah shook every morning for breakfast.
Oongah looked confused: why was Hongah giving him these leaves? Did he think that Oongah needed to do his business? Didn't he know that fig leaves were softer on the bottom?
Trying to be polite, Oongah didn't say anything, just folded the leaves and stuck them in his armpit. Then he continued to walk home, wondering if Hongah had finally used up his brain. To Oongah's surprise, Hongah kept following him, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Me pay you, me eat meat. Me want receipt, too."
Oongah did not know what "pay' and "receipt" meant. They must be some of those fancy concepts that Hongah kept making up, such as "democracy," "monogamy" and "bathing." But he did notice that Hongah looked hungry -- he was drooling like a dog -- so Oongah thought this would be a good opportunity to ask Hongah for something. He bent over and drew an outline in the sand, an outline of Hongah's talkative daughter, Oprah. Adored throughout the land, she had the gift of gab and never stopped talking, even after her audience had gone home. She was the reason Oongah couldn't get any sleep at night. He kept thinking of her. "Oongah and Oprah" had a nice ring to it. How wonderful it would be to have her in his cave. After returning from a hunt, he could put her in one corner, relax on a rock and watch her all night. Was there anything better than watching Oprah talking?
Hongah knew immediately what Oongah desired. Though he didn't want to give Oprah to a brute like Oongah, he was willing to listen to Oongah's offer. So he held out his hands as if to say, "How much?" Oongah decided to be direct: He pointed at the animal hanging from his shoulder and said, "Five bucks."
Oongah was shocked. Five bucks? That was too little, an insult to his daughter. She's worth a million bucks, he thought. He grunted at Oongah and stomped away in the direction of the mulberry tree.
As time went by, Hongah began to see the limitations of any monetary system. Leaves were no good, because it was important for parents to be able to tell their children that "money does not grow on trees." Leaves were too common, anyway. Everyone would have them and nothing would separate the filthy rich from just the filthy.
Bucks would make a better currency, but Hongah knew a lot of people who were quite happy without bucks. He had even thought of a name for them: vegetarians.
His biggest worry was that people would start measuring their lives solely in terms of bucks. They would do anything to make a quick buck. They would feel worthless if they didn't have enough bucks -- even if they had things that were worth a million bucks, things such as health, freedom, friendship, and a talkative daughter.
At any given time, more than a billion people around the world are unemployed. About a third of them are actively looking for jobs, another third are searching half-heartedly and the remaining third have resigned themselves to living with a rich relative. Or at least a relative who has a decent job and a pull-out couch.
Finding work isn't easy, especially when you have trouble understanding the job ads and figuring out exactly what employers want. Some want you to be a "self-starter," as though you're a lawn mower or something. Others expect you to list three references on your application, as though "dictionary" and "encyclopedia" aren't enough. A few want to pay you a salary that's "commensurate with your experience," as though you've had any experience at all with the word "commensurate."
To make things easier for job seekers, I've decided to create an "employment dictionary" that explains, from an employer's point of view, the various terms and phrases found in job ads. Some of the entries would look like this:
"Salary negotiable": We don't want to mention any salary here, just in case you're willing to work for less. Don't worry: We will pay you what we paid the previous person or what you expect to be paid, whichever is lower.
"Previous experience necessary": We will not consider future experience. Please tell us only what you did in the past, not what you plan to do in the future. Nobody can predict the future, but we can certainly look into your past.
"Excellent P.C. skills required": We expect everyone in our office to be politically correct. You must not make fun of the Kenyan man who says, "Sank God it's Fly-day," nor the Indian guy who warns everyone about "compooter wire sirs."
"Must be self-motivated": We prefer employees who can inspire themselves, including those who are inspired to take a nap under the desk. We particularly desire self-motivated self-starters who have self-esteem, self-confidence and a good collection of self-help books.
"Exceptional communication skills needed": When we ask you if you've done any bookkeeping, we don't want to hear about all those Danielle Steel novels you didn't return to the library. And when we ask you to "cc the human resources director," we don't want you to go and see the director twice.
"Come and join our winning team": We haven't won anything in our lives. By calling ourselves a "winning team," we're hoping to forget all our sports disappointments, including the last-place finish in the kindergarten egg-and-spoon race.
"We offer an attractive benefits package": The president's secretary has a particularly attractive package. Please do not touch it. That's not one of your benefits.
"Energetic and enthusiastic individual needed": Your energy will be highly valued in our office, especially when we ask you to fetch the coffee. Your enthusiasm will come in handy too: We expect you to jump and scream when we give you the annual bonus, free fries at McDonald's.
"You must have good organizational skills": We may ask you to organize the company picnic. But if our budget is skimpy, please do not organize any type of strike. Otherwise you may have to organize a group trip to the unemployment office.
"No phone calls please": We hired the president's niece as our receptionist. She's still trying to figure out how to answer the phone. We're trying to teach her the proper greeting: "Hold please." If you have any questions about our job openings, please consult Shashi's employment dictionary. Especially the section about nepotism.
What's it like to live in a country of more than one billion, a country that's one-third the size of Canada, yet has thirty times the population? It's not that bad, really, even if you happen to be the last person on the bus. At least you can stretch your legs, enjoy the view and convince yourself that getting on the bus is much better than getting in the bus.
As I visit my native India, I find myself marveling at how people deal with the immense population, which grows by a staggering 15 million a year, so many that if rabbits had a lobbying group, we'd all be using the phrase "breeding like Indians."
Nowhere is the population more pronounced than in public transportation. Buses are often crammed with people, beyond their capacity, with some passengers getting seats and many others pressed together in the aisle, close enough to know what each other had for lunch.
A few passengers travel on the outside, grabbing onto whatever they can, the frame of the door perhaps. These are the people who know what it means to "catch the bus."
When the bus is packed, getting on and off is a major challenge, but so is getting in and out. One method is to drop to your hands and knees and crawl between people's legs, though this doesn't work so well, I've found, when women are wearing saris. Another method is to try to empty the bus, perhaps by pointing to the street and yelling, "Oh my gosh! Salman Khan!" The popular actor can empty just about anything: buses, trains, kegs of beer.
What he doesn't empty, though, are movie theaters. Indians are crazy about two things: movies and cricket. (Hence the popularity of the Oscar-nominated "Lagaan," a movie about cricket.) When half the population wants to watch the latest blockbuster, the chances of getting tickets on the day of a screening are similar to the chances of running into Paris Hilton in a public library. Even if a few tickets are available, you'll have to stand in a long line -- and that's to bribe the theater owner.
But Indians are used to waiting in line. At the last general election, people stood in line all day to exercise their right to kick the bums out.
When you visit a doctor's office, the clerk may be poor at grammar, but he's not incorrect when he asks, "Are you patient?" My wife and I took our kids to a pediatrician for a vaccination and, despite having an appointment, had to sit in the waiting room until the next day! Yes, we got there at 9:45 p.m. and didn't see the doctor until after midnight. Everyone else in the packed waiting room didn't seem to mind, perhaps because the doctor, in his infinite wisdom, was showing them a movie.
Indians encounter crowds almost everywhere: in the courthouse, at the market, even in their own bedrooms. When you're living with your extended family in a two-room dwelling, you have little privacy. But who cares about privacy when there are bigger issues to deal with, such as grandpa's snoring? Or grandma's habit of cutting in line everywhere, especially at the bathroom.
That reminds me of the bikini-clad tourist who posted a sign at the beach that said, "Please form a line here," with a hundred Indian men standing in front of it. "What's she giving away?" someone asked one of the men. "She's not giving away anything," he replied. "She just wants us to stare at her in an orderly manner."
Ek din, main Delhi pahuncha, Station pe ek coolie se bahar jane ka rasta pooncha. > Coolie ne kaha: "Bahar jaake poocho." > > Maine khud hi rasta dhundh liya, > Bahar jaake taxiwale se pooncha: > "Bhai saab Lal Kile ka kitna loge?" > Jawab mila: "Bechna nahi hai." > > Taxi chod, maine bus pakad li, > Conductor se pooncha: "Ji, kya mein cigarette pi > sakta hoon?" > Wo gurrra kar bola: "Hargiz nahi, yaha cigarette > pina mana hai." > Maine kaha: "Par wo janab to pi rahe hai!" > Phir se gurrrraya: "Usne mujhse pooncha nahi hai." > > Lal Kile pahucha, hotel gaya. > Manager se kaha: "Mujhe room chahiye, satvi manzil > pe." > Manager ne kaha: "Rahane ke liye ya koodne ke liye?" > Room pahucha, waiter se kaha: > "Ek paani ka gilas milega?" > Usne jawab diya: "Nahi sahab, yahan to saare kanch > ke milte hain." > > Hotel se nikla, dost ke ghar jaane ke liye, > Raste me ek sahab se pooncha: > "Janab, ye sadak kaha ko jaati hai?" > Janab hans kar bole: "Peechle bees saal se dekh > rahan hoon, > Yahi padi hai... kahin nahin jaati." > > Dost ke ghar pahucha, to mujhe dekhte hi chownk > pada, > Usne poocha: "Kaise aana hua?" > Ab tak to mujhe bhi aadat pad gayi thi, > Maine bhi jawab diya: "Train se." > > Meri aaobhagat karne ke liye dost ne apni biwi se > kaha: > "Areeee sunti ho... mera dost pehli baar ghar aaya > hai, > Uuse kuch taja taja khilao." > Sunte hi bhabhiji ne ghar ki sari > khidkiya aur darwaje khol diye. > Kaha: "Taji hawa kha lijiye." > > Dost ne phir se baday pyar se biwi se kaha: > "Areeee sunti ho, inhe jara apna chalis saal purana > aachar to dikhana." > Bhabiji ek baatli me rakha aachar le aayi. > Maine bhi apnapan dikhate hue bhabiji se kaha: > "Bhabhiji, aachar sirf dikhayengi, chakhayengi > nahi?" > Bhabiji ne taak jawab diya: "Yuhi agar sab ko > chakhati > To aachar chalis saal purana kaise hota?" > > Thodi der baad dekha, bhabiji apne potey ko sula rah > thi, > Saath me lori bhi ga rahi thi: > "Diploma so ja, diploma so ja." > Lori soon mein hairan hua aur dost se poocha: > "Yaar, ye diploma kya hai?" > Dost ne jawab diya: "Mere grandson ka naam, > Beti bambai gayi thi, diploma lene ke liye > Aur saath mein ise le aayi, > Isiliye hamne iska naam Diploma rakh diya." > Phir maine pooncha: "Aajkal tumhari beti kya kar > rahi hai?" > Dost ne jawab diya: "Bambai gayi hai, degree lene ke > liye."