Urine Trouble. A Life in the Splash Zone of Democracy’s Waterpark.

I grew up Catholic in India, which is like being a snowflake in a tandoor oven. We were 0.07% of the population, which meant we were wildly outnumbered and convinced we were right about everything. My early political memories were a perfect preview of things to come: Indira Gandhi was assassinated by her own guards, and then Prime Minister Morarji Desai went on TV to proudly announce he drank his own urine. Twice a day, for health and wellness.

And you wonder why I left.

I arrived at Syracuse University  in 1986 on a student visa. I discovered instant mashed potato and people who said “have a nice day” without meaning it. It was magical.

Reagan was president. Americans thought he was a visionary. I thought he was a game show host who acted his way into the White House. But in college, politics wasn’t a thing. We worked very hard, intensely focused on getting laid.

In 1988, Saatchi & Saatchi hired me and got me a work visa. I braced for racism but got a “secretary” who “went to Brown.” I figured a backlash was coming. I waited. Nothing. Just free bagels and people wondering why my last name was Mexican. I still get spammed in Spanish.

Bush Sr. took over. He was polite, boring, and I imagined that he smelled like a Rotary Club. He seemed to know what he was doing, which immediately got him fired.

Then came Clinton, half genius, half used-car salesman, all horndog for the big haired ladies and lost interns. He deregulated Wall Street, blew up the prison system, and somehow made it all sound fine. He lied, got caught, kept lying, and his approval rating went up. That’s when I realized politics here was fabulously entertaining, still not as cool as a piss drinking prime minister but it had potential. 

JWT helped me get a green card. I felt seen. Then I moved to Berlin with a state department issued gold etched White Passport, which looked like a royal yacht club membership but was really just a document that said “this guy’s only medium suspicious.”

Berlin was very serious, they didn’t scream about politics. They just looked at you like they’d already done the math and decided you were an idiot. They were still repenting for their unbecoming behavior in the 1940s.

Amsterdam was the opposite. People argued, insulted your hair, then invited you home for dinner. It was honest. I liked it. Dutch politics made no sense to me, but at least everyone admitted that.

In 2000, I moved back to New York and became a U.S. citizen. I had to renounce my Indian citizenship, which hurt a little, like breaking up with someone you still kind of stalk online. During the oath, they asked if I’d be willing to take up arms. I said yes, but only if they were light.

Then came 9/11. I was in Manhattan. The silence was deafening. Bush gave a good speech, then gave the rest of the presidency to Dick Cheney. We invaded Iraq because, I don’t know, a black general on TV said it was a good idea.

Obama came next. I voted for him. Twice. He was smart, poised, and made me feel like maybe America had grown up. Then he kept bailing out banks and drone-bombing weddings. I still liked him. I just stopped expecting magic. Though I must admit I’m pissed off that he let zombie-Biden off the hook. 

Then Trump. He ran for president the way a salesdick sold magic potions in gilded bottles to idiots. I thought it was a joke. Turns out the joke was on me. He tweeted threats, insulted everyone, but still managed to get a vaccine out fast. The man’s like a malfunctioning cock, I mean clock, he shouldn’t work, but sometimes he does.

Biden followed. Good enough guy. Decent enough guy. Sounds like your 105 year old rural ancestor reading cue cards at an Elk’s Club Jamboree. He passed bills that actually mattered, but everyone just wanted him to take a nap.

Now I live in Madison, where politics is less of a conversation and more performance art. Everyone agrees violently. If you ask questions, someone will email you a 12-page reading list and tell you how weary they are. Breathing is often offensive. They are wound so tight their assholes are vicelike steel traps. 

Trump’s back, millions think he’s Jesus part 2 and the other side thinks he’s Hitler lite. I think he’s just a gilded POS. 

And now Elon Musk has a political party, I hope subway. I don’t know what it stands for yet. Possibly Asperger’s and flamethrowers. All I know is I’m waiting for the next presidential candidate to proudly announce they drink their own pee.

–Ray