It has been long since I last wrote something useful. But I have to admit that I have not made myself of any particular use either during this period.
A lot has happened since I last wrote, most notably the world cup hoopla. But lets not get into that, if you want to read anything more regarding the event you will find the entire blogosphere and the newspapers brimming with world cup news.
My office has a rather peculiar sight. It's an old Bajaj Chetak scooter. Reminds me of the good ol' days and I picture a whole family of four (maybe six!) riding on the same Bajaj Chetak or a Rajdoot Motorcycle. Uncle Singh, his son, another Singh, Singh's mummy (the son Singh's mummy) and a toddler whom we shall name Munnu (to make it a family of six add one or two more toddlers).
They used to make it sturdy and durable those days, not anymore. You get all swank and cool things but durability is missing. The license plate is a testimony to the old age of the scooter. It has only three digits.
And to my surprise the owner actually turned out to be a Singh. A nice old Sardarji from up North. He had been in Mumbai for a better part of 16 years. I got this information from our Building complex's watchman. He was a credible source for a whole gamut of information, so I believed him.
Now turning our attention back to the scooter let me describe it to you. It was a beauty, not a single scratch anywhere; even the license plate was clean. Obviously it had been repainted 'n' number of times but it spoke of Mr. Singh's love for the scooter and the special bond that they both shared.
One morning, I came early and to my surprise I found the Bajaj Chetak already parked in its regular place. A 'fruitwallah' had already made the scooter useful by spreading his variety of fruits on the seat, near the brake, and some even on the leg stand. He made use of every inch available on the scooter as he even hung in a few polyethylene bags from the handle of the scooter. Slowly a crowd began forming around him as he started his day. I did not interrupt nor tell anything to Mr. Singh, the 'fruitwallah' went about his own business and so did I.
This became a regular occurrence; the fruitwallah became quite famous for his quality of fruits and his peculiar choice for a selling place.
But it was not quite over here.
During the lunch break, each day, a young couple came to the scooter, munching on nuts or sandwiches or something alike. They made themselves comfortable on the scooter and chatted on for hours, holding hands. I have personally seen the girl blush as she probably got her first kiss one lonely evening night. The boy was careful, but to their bad luck I was just passing by and I witnessed it as well. After all it was a good sight to see something human going on, even if it was on an old Bajaj Chetak.
Some call center employees also came around the scooter. Initially to make fun of the outdated vehicle but later they too cozied themselves on it and started having long chats right from Iraq to the newest girl in office while they had lunch and smoked cigarettes Sometimes they managed to talk about office and their pending targets as well.
Slowly the scooter became an inseparable part of their lives. The fruitwallah, the couple and the call center employees almost mechanically made their way to the scooter and without even looking down used to let themselves fall knowing that their fall will be arrested by the soft cushion of the scooter seat which never moved from its original place. There might have been others whose lives revolved around the scooter, but I observed only them as their office time matched with mine.
Meanwhile America was eying Iran, Indo-US nuclear deal was almost through, but the fruitwallah prospered and bought himself a new pair of kolhapuri sandals and a new cotton cap (typical Maharashtrian type). I bought a few oranges that day myself, as he was happy and giving fruits at a discounted rate. The couple got married. After their honeymoon when they first came to office, they both promptly went back to the scooter during lunch hour and started chatting again reminiscing of the old times they spent on the scooter. This time the boy gave a peck again on her cheek but as they were married now the boy was a bit bolder. The girl however blushed like old times. The call center guys completed their targets somehow and managed to get themselves a promotion. They celebrated their party on the Bajaj Chetak.
One fine morning as I was going up the slope to my office, just for a second something seemed to be out of place. I could not fathom it that time, but I came back to inquire as soon as we alighted from the bus. A big new multi utility vehicle was parked right where the Bajaj stood. I did not give it much attention as I assumed that it must be a new guy who did not know where to park, nobody dared to park in the place where the Bajaj Chetak stood. But it was the same next day and the day after. I again approached the watchman and asked him for his counsel to my problem. He said that the happy Sardarji had expired a few days back, and the first thing his 25 something son did was to get rid of the scooter and bought the new multi utility vehicle for himself.
The Fruit wallah loitered around for a few days here and there, but eventually he stopped coming. Maybe he opened his shop elsewhere. The couple who came after a few days tried frantically to locate their favorite Bajaj Chetak but to no avail, it was I who had to break the news to them. They were surprised but more than that they were saddened. Now I no more see them during lunch break hours although the watchman told me that nowadays they sit in the office canteen. I was wondering how would he manage to kiss his lovely wife in that public space.
The call center employees looked with contempt at the new multi utility vehicle, which had robbed, them of their conference place. One especially queer fellow managed to make himself comfortable on the bonnet of the new MUV but he did not try it afterwards as promptly the alarm went off.
More than the loss of the scooter it was a loss of a small bit of civilization. A rare bit of socializing in the fast paced virtual world was also lost. It was a personal loss for me, as I no more could witness the soft and subtle human behavior that was so good to see in this world of mistrust and hatred.
The big giant city of Mumbai lost yet another of its not so famous haunts. No one will miss it, even the people involved, including me will forget as we vie for another promotion, the couple will have their kids and financial status to think of. The fruitwallah probably has shifted someplace else.
But if one day I had to look back. I would probably miss the mute and inanimate Bajaj Chetak who for a short time had become inseparable part in the lives of so many, including me who never actually sat on the scooter, but now would never get a opportunity to do so.
Life goes on in the city as it always used too.
