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Don't Damn The Flash Mobs

Don't Damn The Flash Mobs

February 12, 2012

Don’t you just love it when your life has a soundtrack and people jump out of the woodwork and dance for you?

Just when you have given up all hope on mankind, they go and do something so wonderful that you want to keep rooting for their continued existence.

Flash Mob.

Don’t you just love it when your life has a soundtrack and people jump out of the woodwork and dance for you?

I love it. I watch it on YouTube and I cry tears of joy.

Yep. Cry.

It’s this new thing that growing older has bestowed upon me. It comes from the lower levels of testosterone. So along with man boobs, I cry at weddings, movies and watching puppies play. Girls love my company and I don’t feel the urge to sleep with them.

This is what they must call hell.


Back to flash mobs.

Who thought up that name? It makes sense. It combines flashing, which is what that uncle in the school playground did when I was a kid, and mob, which we all know stands for those mindless zombies that gets activated by words like Rama, Allah, Rushdie and the like.

But Flash Mob purifies that image. It takes two crappy words, baptizes them in the river of human spontaneity, generosity and playfulness and gives us something that brings a smile to our face.

And tears, in some cases.

And like everything wonderful. It has come to India.

I don’t care if some think that this is an aping of western culture. That this is just another case of imitation and will erode the values of our once great culture, that needs to be tended and protected like a dying pet. That good kids are not meant to dance in front of total strangers, unless it is on a stage, dressed in 6 yards of silk and a face hidden within a pancake of foundation cream.

I say, don’t listen to them.

Those who are involved in this, please, just do what you guys do. I don’t even want to know how you do it. I want nothing to spoil that spontaneity of going to the railway station on a boring day and suddenly there’s Jai Ho’ blaring from the speaker and one lone kid starts to dance, watched by all of us, wondering what he or she is on. Then that kid is joined by two others, who dance to perfect choreography. Next thing you know, that uncle who was standing next to you, joins them. So does that tourist.

You watch it and feel this immense pressure in your chest area and feel like you are going to burst. This is what joy must feel like. You watch people of different nationality, gender, race, creed and breed, dance in perfect unison.

They are dancing for you.

An ordinary day has become magical.

Then the music stops and they merge back into the crowd they came from.

If this isn’t what makes us beautiful, I don’t know what is.

It doesn’t stop there. It can now happen to you anywhere.

Supermarket. Malls. Traffic signals. Airports. Hell, even on the roads. You don’t know when it’s going make you pull out your mobile phone and start recording this amazing thing you are now witness to. Beats the hell out of recording accidents and para medics pulling out dead bodies from a mangled vehicle.

These guys strive to entertain us. No rewards, just something to make our day.

That’s until someone, somewhere starts seeing a potential profit margin.

Along come the corporates
. And in one case, some douche bags from some Hindi music reality show start using the concept as an advertisement for their show. A movie production company using it as publicity for their movie.

Flash Mob is soon on its way to becoming a commodity.

Which is kind of sad.

No free lunches anymore, are there?

I would hate to be witness to a seemingly spontaneous dance, only to be given a pamphlet at the end of it informing me the inauguration of yet another mall, or god forbid, the new season of another reality show. Another advertisement that made you switch from watching TV to DVD about one year back.

Then they become, to me, dancing monkeys.

I would feel sorry for them, but I might still drop that coin into the tin of their master who holds their leash.

But I will walk away a little sad.

It would have taken away the feeling of being witness to something that was being done for me because you just wanted to, into exploiting me into doing something that you wanted me to.

I deal with that already.

So please dance.

Dance for yourself

Dance for the joy of it.

Dance for me. You make me want to believe that there’s still beauty.

Photo credit


  • Snow Leopard
    Snow Leopard
    17.02.12 09:53 AM
    A very well written post Mr. Tysonice.
    But personally I beg to differ. I found the flash mobs, a bit irritating.
    Maybe the reason for my indifference towards people dancing around is deep rooted in my utter contempt for musicals.
    14.02.12 12:26 AM
    Hi TYS

    The other area that is more intresting which is in dark, is there since the dawn of time man. I don't think much can be improved there, apart from buying a Ferrari or Mercedes atleast as a compensation. :) All Indians have problem with this, listen to Russel Peters he will tell you the same. I had to buy one as well, that's what the Mrs said. :) :) :)
  • tys
    13.02.12 10:25 PM
    @writerzblock : what! no senti tears? u cold hearted youth!

    @harry : my toes have long been eclipsed by my midsection that has its own climate and pin code. There are other areas more interesting than my toes that has been in the dark side for ages. I know it exists though I cant see it, hmmm, kinda like god.

    @dr.idli : andropause? Isnt that the new cell phone? now you r just scaring me...pls dont...i will start to cry...

    hey, whats with this obsession with my man boobs? Read further..i did say something about flash mob...
  • dr_idli
    13.02.12 02:55 AM
    I agree with Harry on this one , the flash point of your article is the first part .
    Gosh , as i doc , i cant help but associate it with the side effects of smoking up grass : lower serum testosterone levels, mood disorders and of course gynecomastia or man boobs.
    Or it could just be all simply be andropause !
    12.02.12 11:08 PM
    Hi Tys
    Few words of advice mate, it's nothing wrong in enjoying Flashmob. But when you start crying it's called over 40's and 50's, depending on the size of tears, that's hell. It's all scientific (no god involved). This is not good dude.

    Buddy, it's time to joint the gym, when you start getting man boobs (moobs). One test you need to do is, stand still and try to look at your toes, and if you can't see them, then definitelt joint the gym. :) I did. Happy days.
  • Writerzblock
    12.02.12 01:29 PM
    Loved your post, as always, Tys. 'An ordinary day has become magical.' I think that summarises it.

    On another note, I don't shed senti tears any more. Hallelujah!! I'm not growing old :-)

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