The Madness of Being First – “Sabse Aage Honge Hindustani”
The iPhone 17 launched, and sure enough in India too the hoda-hodi (scramble) began: who will be the first to get it? Congratulations are in order for Ankush Goyal ji, who camped all night outside the store and grabbed the “first iPhone” like a rashtriya record. Now the entire Bharatvarsh can puff its chest with pride—bigger than conquering Mount Everest or finding life on Mars is this feat of being the first iPhone buyer!
Of course, in the West this madness only started with the iPhone. But we Indians—our DNA itself is wired for “sabse pehle.” We must be first to arrive, first to grab, first to announce, first to loot, first to run, first to divide. What makes a true Indian is this obsession: to be first everywhere. That line “Sabse aage honge Hindustani” isn’t just a song lyric, it’s our life-philosophy, our birthright—and we have taken it dead seriously.
Bole to—we even race with ambulances. Yes, even if a bechara accident victim is inside, we’ll rev our two-wheelers alongside. If we could, we’d beat the ambulance not just to the hospital but maybe to Yamraj’s office itself. We know every jugaad—how to dodge the traffic signal, how to slip past the trafficwaale, how to elbow through rallies and chakka-jams, scraping other people’s shins while saving our own.
Just watch our bike-veers—snarling exhausts, honking horns, throttles revved like swords in battle. Imagine Maharana Pratap’s horse Chetak, stopped in mid-charge—the rider’s arm clenched on the accelerator as if on the hilt of a sword. God save us: if it were up to them, even the traffic light would be forced to turn green out of fear.
See them roar, these race warriors, pushing cars at 140 kmph, seatbelt dangling loose, ready to leap on bonnets if anyone dares block their way. At airports they power-walk, elbow in queues, all for being the first at the counter. At langar, rabdi, prasad, satsang, knowledge-sessions, street fights, or cricket matches—the rule is the same: first in line, provided it’s free. Frankly, if free poison were being distributed, they’d want to be the first in queue for that too.
Every day in my OPD I see this psychology. People bend papads in every way possible just to cut the line. Someone with a fracture from two months ago will swear it happened this morning. Someone flashes a netaji’s phone call, someone claims to be the doctor’s long-lost cousin—just one mantra: “sabse pehle dikhna hai.” One day a fellow was alone in the waiting room. Receptionist asked, “Whom are you waiting for?” He replied, “No one else is here, so obviously I am first!” His whole joy lay in proving that when others come later, he had already been the first to see the doctor.
Line-breakers here are less worried about their illness than about the terrifying thought that the doctor might reach the chamber before they do!
The truth is, the moment we slip to second place, we’re consumed by FOMO. That’s why we abandon general tickets and buy costly AC class train tickets—not for the AC, but because in general compartments we’ve lost wallets, torn kurtas, forgotten luggage, even misplaced children in the stampede to be first inside.
In flights too, we queue up an hour before check-in, terrified the plane might fly without us if we’re not first through security. The “bye-bye” and “welcome speech” from the flight attendants—we must hear them first, otherwise what’s the point of an expensive ticket?
Bank counters, ration lines, reservation windows—everywhere we hunt for the patli gali (narrow alley) to sneak in ahead, even if our car gets stuck blocking the lane forever.
Even in shavyatras (funeral processions)—we must march in front. If the dead had his way, he’d probably sit up on the pyre and say, “Arre, if you’re in such a hurry, why don’t you lie down here instead?” Yes, even death must be a pre-booked, first-served competition.
Morning walks? If you see someone rushing, rest assured he’s not late for office—he’s simply terrified that the walker ahead might overtake him. Temples? Same story—pushing barricades, buying VIP tickets to make sure we get first darshan.
As poet Rajneesh Swachhand wrote:
“Zindagi ki raftaar kuch itni tez thi, main raha thehra, woh aage nikal gaye
Qaid karna chaha ret ko apni mutthi mein, katra-katra kar woh fisal gaye.”
And that, dost, is the true Indian condition: to live, to breathe, to sweat—always in the rush to be first.
— डॉ. मुकेश ‘असीमित’
मेरी व्यंग्यात्मक पुस्तकें खरीदने के लिए लिंक पर क्लिक करें – “Girne Mein Kya Harz Hai” और “Roses and Thorns”
Notion Press –Roses and Thorns
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