New Delhi Railway Station, 6:15 am.
A Sunday ruined. Instead of sleeping late and give my body a well deserved break, I found myself outside the railway station on a cold winter morning. The temperature outside was 6 degrees Celsius.
Coming from Gurgaon did not help either. I had a hard time reaching the station as I had to juggle between two buses, a rickshaw and a cycle rickshaw as well.
In between all these disappointing scenarios, I somehow managed to reach New Delhi station an hour ahead of time. It was a relief as I had managed to stick to my schedule and make it well in time. But with that came the agonizing prospect of facing the cold for one full hour. I had prepared reasonably well though as not an inch of my skin showed anywhere. Monkey caps, gloves, shoes and every other sundry winter item were on me at that moment.
Due to increased security measures no one was allowed inside the station premises. Not that it would have helped in any way but it still would have given a meagre protection against the bitter cold outside.
I decided that the best thing I could do was to have a nice and warm cup of tea in a small tea-shop just outside the railway station and so I started walking in that direction.
Nice store for a small shop. Apart from tea, there were sandwiches, burgers, chips etc too. Pretty crammed up that place, but good to see on a cold winter morning. I took tea and sandwiches and started munching of them merrily, trying to shake away the cold that was slowly engulfing me from all sides in that open space.
As I was busy alternating between gnawing my teeth vigorously and sipping my tea, along came a man. He was wearing a cotton shirt, a tattered turban, a tattered blanket over his shirt and ‘dhoti’ which fell till his knees. He was wearing sandals but no socks.
Just seeing him made me feel cold from my innards. How could such a man be oblivious to the cold surrounding him? But I probably realized he must be a ‘mazdoor’ (labourer) from the nearby construction site.
All I could see was that he had a five rupee note clutched in his fist. Nothing else.
He came near the shop and surveyed it, corner to corner. His eyes going from the chips, the still ceiling fan to the boiling kettle. His surveying stopped when his eyes landed on a loaf of bread.
‘Chai kitne ki?’ (How much for the tea?)
‘Do rupaiye’(Two rupees)
‘Aur ye paav?’ (And this piece of bread?)
‘Pandrah rupaiye, ise mat dekho, tumhare bus ki baat nahi hai’ (Fifteen rupees, don’t look at it, you will not be able to afford this)
Till that time his arm was in motion upwards; the arm in which he had clutched his five rupee note, in order to give the shopkeeper the exact change. A single load of bread (paav) costs three rupees around these parts, and the tea was for two rupees. But his arm's upward motion stopped on hearing the ‘paav’ was for fifteen rupees. His mouth fell open, amazed as to how could he be charging this loaf of bread for fifteen rupees? His hand slowly came back to its original position and once again clutched the five rupee note.
I could see in his eyes that he was shocked and was in total disbelief. His only hope of morning tea along with a single loaf of bread earned with honest labour was also taken away by this greedy shopkeeper. He was probably thinking that the shopkeeper had not thought even twice to cheat an ordinary ‘mazdoor’ like him.
He was so completely broken that he did not even ask his question again. He just stood there, with an angry look in his eyes, the eyes in which now there was no hope. The whole idea of surviving this daily grind, especially in this cold winter, was just a laughable joke to him now. With those angry, but empty eyes, he just turned, looked back once at the ‘paav’ and then started walking the way in which he had come.
I noticed that the ‘mazdoor’ had started shivering while he was walking back. Maybe it wss the cold which was breaking his indomitable will slowly but surely. The five rupee note was still clutched in his hand, probably hoping that this meagre amount would be appreciated elsewhere.
What had happened was that the labourer had mistakenly taken the burger for a ‘paav’. But he could not see the filling inside the two loaves of bread from the position in which he had stood. All he could see and understand that it was an ordinary ‘paav’ and the shopkeeper had cheated him out of that too. He had come fighting the cold, he had come fighting against all odds of surviving each day, and he had probably fought even for saving this five rupee note. But now that he was ‘out of the game’ he did not have the will even to ask twice.
The shopkeeper also did not bother to explain thinking that he was an illiterate man and would not even have heard the word ‘burger’.
The mazdoor never came back again to the store till the time I was present.
Such are the circumstances of the ordinary man in his/her daily life. Some people have lost even their basic need, and that's hope.
The hot tea no longer could warm my body because my soul had turned ice cold.
I left the tea and sandwich there unfinished. It was time up by the way and I left for the station.
It was time up not only for me but for a lot of people nearby.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Evolution
After a long time I had an opportunity to parse through all my previous posts. Right from the first blog to the latest one, I read it all. Not only did I read all my previous posts word for word but I read all the comments that were interspersed in between.
It was a refreshing experience as well as an exercise on introspection. It literally was a step by step diary of the evolution of my mind through these three years (almost three!). The first thing that I had to analyze was that how far a changed man was I through this whole period? Was I an idiot before and grown to be a wise man? Or was I a wise man earlier and grown into an idiot?
Other questions followed too. Now that I was reading my own posts, I at times felt as to why would I write such a thing? But this answer was clear enough. I could recall each of the motivations/momentous bursts of creativity that made me write those posts. If you would have read all my posts you would realize that my posts meander from observation to critical thinking. But yes, I could recollect the reasons for writing each one of my blogposts.
I could also see that previously there was a rash character into my posts. Youthful exuberance or youthful immaturity is for you to decide. But yes there is a sense of finality to my opinions that I have expressed in some of the matters which I now think I rather should not have done. As with the planet, animals and alike, our mind evolves too. People change as they grow. So opinions are bound to differ from one point in time to another.
I feel that I have mellowed down in my writing. Not in terms of content but in terms of tone and style. I do believe that it is a result of the conscious decision to edit and re-edit my blogs for grammatical errors, complex sentences and the pursuit of simplicity with minimum usage of complex words. I don’t claim my posts to be error free, but yes I do feel that the magnitude has gone down.
Experiences have made my blog the way it is today. I do like to ponder about little things which are mostly inconsequential. But our lovely mind likes to wander and thus the relations and analogies in my blogs. Most of you have enjoyed it, but in the same breath I admit some of you did not.
I remain a voracious reader as always.
Lately I have also ventured into short story writing on another blog of mine, the link for which you will find at the bottom of the page.
On introspection it has been a good journey so far. Thanks to all the people who have commented on my blogs. You all are a very integral part in what I feel I have accomplished so far. Your comments and brickbats, as always, are most solicited.
Just before I end this here I recollect one sentence from the book ‘Alchemy of Desire’ by Tarun Tejpal. The main protagonist is a writer himself. He says that the best of writers don’t put their creative words immediately on realization of an idea but over a period of time in a soft , leaky sort of way. They make fewer errors that way and are clear in the thought process while writing. This advice has stayed with me since. It works.
It was a refreshing experience as well as an exercise on introspection. It literally was a step by step diary of the evolution of my mind through these three years (almost three!). The first thing that I had to analyze was that how far a changed man was I through this whole period? Was I an idiot before and grown to be a wise man? Or was I a wise man earlier and grown into an idiot?
Other questions followed too. Now that I was reading my own posts, I at times felt as to why would I write such a thing? But this answer was clear enough. I could recall each of the motivations/momentous bursts of creativity that made me write those posts. If you would have read all my posts you would realize that my posts meander from observation to critical thinking. But yes, I could recollect the reasons for writing each one of my blogposts.
I could also see that previously there was a rash character into my posts. Youthful exuberance or youthful immaturity is for you to decide. But yes there is a sense of finality to my opinions that I have expressed in some of the matters which I now think I rather should not have done. As with the planet, animals and alike, our mind evolves too. People change as they grow. So opinions are bound to differ from one point in time to another.
I feel that I have mellowed down in my writing. Not in terms of content but in terms of tone and style. I do believe that it is a result of the conscious decision to edit and re-edit my blogs for grammatical errors, complex sentences and the pursuit of simplicity with minimum usage of complex words. I don’t claim my posts to be error free, but yes I do feel that the magnitude has gone down.
Experiences have made my blog the way it is today. I do like to ponder about little things which are mostly inconsequential. But our lovely mind likes to wander and thus the relations and analogies in my blogs. Most of you have enjoyed it, but in the same breath I admit some of you did not.
I remain a voracious reader as always.
Lately I have also ventured into short story writing on another blog of mine, the link for which you will find at the bottom of the page.
On introspection it has been a good journey so far. Thanks to all the people who have commented on my blogs. You all are a very integral part in what I feel I have accomplished so far. Your comments and brickbats, as always, are most solicited.
Just before I end this here I recollect one sentence from the book ‘Alchemy of Desire’ by Tarun Tejpal. The main protagonist is a writer himself. He says that the best of writers don’t put their creative words immediately on realization of an idea but over a period of time in a soft , leaky sort of way. They make fewer errors that way and are clear in the thought process while writing. This advice has stayed with me since. It works.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Just Wondering
Place. My room.
My roommate had the remote. He was flipping through the channels, while I was listening to music on my lappie. And it was going like this for quite some time.
Call it timing, or pure luck but my friend had stopped at a music channel and at the same moment the song ended and stopped playing on my lappie.
At that moment we both were listening to that one song on TV. Nothing else made a sound. Nothing even moved. Except for the song playing and the ceiling fan rotating everything else was silent. It made for a surreal setting.
That moment seemed as if stuck in twilight.
That moment went away as swiftly as it had come. My roommates fingers twitched on the remote again, the T.V humbly followed and changed the channel.
The situation was like this, we both were given a choice at that instant. We both gave a precious 30 seconds of our mortal life listening to the song. He chose not to listen to it, while I chose that I wanted to listen. But he had the remote and he changed the channel, leaving me with the thoughts as to whether I would be able to hear this song again. I could not catch the name of the song, nor the band, nor the lyrics, nor any clue. All I could catch was a lovely tune which was now lost in time.
I began to wonder, how many times in our lives do we have to face a similar situation. Just as my roommate had the control over the infinitesimally small moment, similarly at times other forces too control our lives and destiny for a certain amount of time. But it makes a lot of difference and at times it leaves a lasting impression.
Just as I had compromised on my choice, I wonder how many people had to compromise because of one or many unwanted compulsions in their lives. How many people did not take up a nice lucrative job because their wives were pregnant? How many people would have just picked up a piece of expensive jewellery and put it back again just because they could not afford it? How many people could not marry somebody whom they loved just because they did not say it?
How many, just how many were forced to do something they otherwise would not have done? Just because at that moment the remote control of their lives were not with them but with somebody else? How cruel and helpless it feels knowing that for that particular moment you are not in control of your own destiny?
And in some situations you are no longer in control for the rest of your life.
Just wondering.....
Life goes on as it usually does.
My roommate had the remote. He was flipping through the channels, while I was listening to music on my lappie. And it was going like this for quite some time.
Call it timing, or pure luck but my friend had stopped at a music channel and at the same moment the song ended and stopped playing on my lappie.
At that moment we both were listening to that one song on TV. Nothing else made a sound. Nothing even moved. Except for the song playing and the ceiling fan rotating everything else was silent. It made for a surreal setting.
That moment seemed as if stuck in twilight.
That moment went away as swiftly as it had come. My roommates fingers twitched on the remote again, the T.V humbly followed and changed the channel.
The situation was like this, we both were given a choice at that instant. We both gave a precious 30 seconds of our mortal life listening to the song. He chose not to listen to it, while I chose that I wanted to listen. But he had the remote and he changed the channel, leaving me with the thoughts as to whether I would be able to hear this song again. I could not catch the name of the song, nor the band, nor the lyrics, nor any clue. All I could catch was a lovely tune which was now lost in time.
I began to wonder, how many times in our lives do we have to face a similar situation. Just as my roommate had the control over the infinitesimally small moment, similarly at times other forces too control our lives and destiny for a certain amount of time. But it makes a lot of difference and at times it leaves a lasting impression.
Just as I had compromised on my choice, I wonder how many people had to compromise because of one or many unwanted compulsions in their lives. How many people did not take up a nice lucrative job because their wives were pregnant? How many people would have just picked up a piece of expensive jewellery and put it back again just because they could not afford it? How many people could not marry somebody whom they loved just because they did not say it?
How many, just how many were forced to do something they otherwise would not have done? Just because at that moment the remote control of their lives were not with them but with somebody else? How cruel and helpless it feels knowing that for that particular moment you are not in control of your own destiny?
And in some situations you are no longer in control for the rest of your life.
Just wondering.....
Life goes on as it usually does.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Joyride
Nobody knows him. He is your regular guy at office. Always arrives on time, and leaves on time. He is always found with the same old formals, the same old shoes, the same haircut, and the spectacled frame that hasn’t changed since eternity.
He makes himself comfortable in the office bus, without making a least difference to anybody already present. The pretty girl, with whom he shared the seat did not even look up and took notice. It did not make any difference to him, his face did not twitch. After all it was an everyday occurrence.
As the bus starts moving, he notices himself in the rearview mirror. Although he was just a few years out of college, he already appeared to have a thinning brow line. His hair was flowing with the breeze. The driver had switched on his FM radio. The bus with its slow whirring noise of the engine and rhythmic vibrations soon put our man to sleep.
In his dreams, he is again transported back to the time while he was studying. He found himself giving a speech during student elections. By the time he ended the crowd acknowledged his presence with a thunderous applause.
Although unknown to him at that time, the same song which was on the FM radio at that time was being played in the club (in his dreams) which he used to frequently visit while he had a active social life. With his friends, all were watching him dance and soon a crowd had gathered around him watching his every move. He was in high spirits, it was due to him that everybody was having fun; it was due to him that he was making their evening memorable.
The pretty girl in the bus came in his dreams and was highly impressed. He got the first kiss of his life her. With smiles on each others faces, he felt especially proud.
Suddenly the pretty girl started to say ‘hello’ with a broad smile. Confused he too said hello, wondering why the hello came after the kiss. After what seemed like a full second, she said ‘Excuse me’ with that same 1000 watt smile and with a slight poke on the shoulder.
Slowly the 1000 watt smile faded and she started howling uttering ‘Hello’ and ‘Excuse me’. He tried his best to understand the girl’s behavior but to no avail.
At the last instant she gave him a tight rap on the shoulder. This time making our man wake up. ‘Excuse me, this is the last stop and I am getting late’ said the pretty girl. Our man momentarily blurred, brought himself back to consciousness and reality. He smiled and said ‘Sorry, I dozed off’.
The girl while getting down turned back and looked back at him and gave him that 1000 watt smile, this time for real, and walked away.
‘Best thing that has happened today’, he muttered to himself, as he made his way into the platform to complete his harrowing journey back home. Again returning to his old avatar of the unknown man.
Life’s little happy packages come in little dreams, on a little joyride.
Life goes on in the city as usual……
He makes himself comfortable in the office bus, without making a least difference to anybody already present. The pretty girl, with whom he shared the seat did not even look up and took notice. It did not make any difference to him, his face did not twitch. After all it was an everyday occurrence.
As the bus starts moving, he notices himself in the rearview mirror. Although he was just a few years out of college, he already appeared to have a thinning brow line. His hair was flowing with the breeze. The driver had switched on his FM radio. The bus with its slow whirring noise of the engine and rhythmic vibrations soon put our man to sleep.
In his dreams, he is again transported back to the time while he was studying. He found himself giving a speech during student elections. By the time he ended the crowd acknowledged his presence with a thunderous applause.
Although unknown to him at that time, the same song which was on the FM radio at that time was being played in the club (in his dreams) which he used to frequently visit while he had a active social life. With his friends, all were watching him dance and soon a crowd had gathered around him watching his every move. He was in high spirits, it was due to him that everybody was having fun; it was due to him that he was making their evening memorable.
The pretty girl in the bus came in his dreams and was highly impressed. He got the first kiss of his life her. With smiles on each others faces, he felt especially proud.
Suddenly the pretty girl started to say ‘hello’ with a broad smile. Confused he too said hello, wondering why the hello came after the kiss. After what seemed like a full second, she said ‘Excuse me’ with that same 1000 watt smile and with a slight poke on the shoulder.
Slowly the 1000 watt smile faded and she started howling uttering ‘Hello’ and ‘Excuse me’. He tried his best to understand the girl’s behavior but to no avail.
At the last instant she gave him a tight rap on the shoulder. This time making our man wake up. ‘Excuse me, this is the last stop and I am getting late’ said the pretty girl. Our man momentarily blurred, brought himself back to consciousness and reality. He smiled and said ‘Sorry, I dozed off’.
The girl while getting down turned back and looked back at him and gave him that 1000 watt smile, this time for real, and walked away.
‘Best thing that has happened today’, he muttered to himself, as he made his way into the platform to complete his harrowing journey back home. Again returning to his old avatar of the unknown man.
Life’s little happy packages come in little dreams, on a little joyride.
Life goes on in the city as usual……
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Down Memory Lane
Nostalgia.
We have all experienced this feeling sometime of the other in our lives, although with varied intensities. But one thing that nobody can deny is the power with which this feeling grips you once you encounter it. All would agree that it has to be experienced in order to understand it.
Right now my life is a mechanical routine. Same set of tasks to be repeated everyday just like a programmed robot. It has been eons since I have just stopped and wonder at the beauty of my surroundings, appreciated music & arts, learnt a new skill, or explore new and different relationships.
My life had got into a rut in the pursuit of materialistic happiness.
It took a jolt, a big one at that, to jerk me off the routine. Sadly it was the death of my grandmother that jeered me off my routine. It was a big shock for us but the shock slowly gave way to reality and practical difficulties like taking almost fifteen days off my work and so on.
Whilst I was here at my home itself, I started dusting my memories of my grandmother. It was a good five to seven years at least since I had seen her. The last time I had seen her she was quite senile. Hardly able to recognize her own sons, her grandsons were absolute strangers. I dug my memory even further, to the time when I was a little kid when I used to get freshly made ‘nadu’ (a sweetmeat consisting of sugar and coconut) and she would summon all her grandchildren together and give the freshly made nadus as ‘prasad’. Alas those are just memories now.
It was a pleasant surprise to reach the small town once again. It had the same old cycle driven rickshaws. Although we did not fit in as comfortably as we did when we were young, it had a nice feeling of old times about it. It was even more heartening to see all my cousins together at one place. I could not recollect when the last time that we all had been together was. Although I did not say it, but I think the death of my grandmother acted as a catalyst. It was shameful, but it was the truth.
I saw my cousin sister, she had grown so much. She was now of marriageable age, but the moment she saw me, she burst into tears and asked me as to why have I come so late inspite of her repeated requests. The repeated requests that she was referring to was the one we had made while we were kids always promising to see each other every year. But since long I had not kept those promises and her questioning made me falter on my stoic exterior, it had even made me feel sorry. All I could have done was to make one false promise again and tell her that no matter what I would definitely try to be in contact more often, but somewhere deep down I could tell that my cousin did not believe it anymore.
I looked at the house. Same old place (but a few storeys added), the same kitchen, the same courtyard. As the power of nostalgia took over me, I reminisced of happier times, when this place was alive. The place was alive with all the people gathering and singing ‘Rabindra Sangit’, the harmonium being played, the sitar and the tabla as well. Tea in kettles used to make rounds here and there, we kids were given any sweetmeat to keep us happy and not to disturb in the hustle and bustle that ensued throughout the day.
The ladies in their typical Bengali sari’s and the gentlemen is sparkling whites was a memory which I could only see in films nowadays.
I checked the same old place where they used to keep their musical instruments. It was still there, but it looked more like a tomb now. The tabla on which energetic hands played was gathering dust, the harmonium had springs coming out in few places and the strings in the sitar were missing. There were a few papers lying about there. I picked up and tried to read it with the rudimentary knowledge that I know of my mother tongue Bengali, it immediately struck me as a verse from a popular rabindra sangit. It was a sacred text back then, the ladies used to keep it along with their jewellery. It was a heart wrenching sight to see it lying about and I locked the vault again before I broke down.
The width of the streets had remained the same. The vehicles had increased though. But still the mode of transport was the cycle-rickshaw, the way it was since I could remember.
Now with the somber mood in our home it looked specially dull, but I was informed by the elders that it was the same no more. People like me who had now grown up were all into their careers, my cousins who had grown up in the small town also were looking for opportunities outside. This house, which once had a life of its own, was now decaying. Our house which was a landmark around where we lived, was now a testament of neglect. People spoke in whispers of the glorious past of our house and how its present condition was. They said that it was the same everywhere in this old town, which had failed to keep pace with the materialistic aspirations of the youth. No longer do they care to go up the small hill to watch the sunset, no fishing in the lakes, no playing cricket with the good old cycle as stumps, nothing. Absolutely Nothing.
After paying our last respects to our grandmother, I sat on the rickety cycle rickshaw once again, my mind wandering back in time, back to the days when life was simple, when life was enriching, when life was not a relentless pursuit of materialistic goals, when life was more about spending quality time doing what you liked, when life was spending quality time with your loved ones.
It all seems so far back in time now, in another world, in another place. It is almost similar to a fresh new photograph, with all colors rich, the brightness perfect, which is now slowly gathering dust , decaying bit by bit. The characters in the photograph remain the same, but the colors have long faded into sepia, with only the warm smiles remaining. The photograph, just like my memory, is waiting to be heard, waiting to be understood.
But still gathering dust.
We have all experienced this feeling sometime of the other in our lives, although with varied intensities. But one thing that nobody can deny is the power with which this feeling grips you once you encounter it. All would agree that it has to be experienced in order to understand it.
Right now my life is a mechanical routine. Same set of tasks to be repeated everyday just like a programmed robot. It has been eons since I have just stopped and wonder at the beauty of my surroundings, appreciated music & arts, learnt a new skill, or explore new and different relationships.
My life had got into a rut in the pursuit of materialistic happiness.
It took a jolt, a big one at that, to jerk me off the routine. Sadly it was the death of my grandmother that jeered me off my routine. It was a big shock for us but the shock slowly gave way to reality and practical difficulties like taking almost fifteen days off my work and so on.
Whilst I was here at my home itself, I started dusting my memories of my grandmother. It was a good five to seven years at least since I had seen her. The last time I had seen her she was quite senile. Hardly able to recognize her own sons, her grandsons were absolute strangers. I dug my memory even further, to the time when I was a little kid when I used to get freshly made ‘nadu’ (a sweetmeat consisting of sugar and coconut) and she would summon all her grandchildren together and give the freshly made nadus as ‘prasad’. Alas those are just memories now.
It was a pleasant surprise to reach the small town once again. It had the same old cycle driven rickshaws. Although we did not fit in as comfortably as we did when we were young, it had a nice feeling of old times about it. It was even more heartening to see all my cousins together at one place. I could not recollect when the last time that we all had been together was. Although I did not say it, but I think the death of my grandmother acted as a catalyst. It was shameful, but it was the truth.
I saw my cousin sister, she had grown so much. She was now of marriageable age, but the moment she saw me, she burst into tears and asked me as to why have I come so late inspite of her repeated requests. The repeated requests that she was referring to was the one we had made while we were kids always promising to see each other every year. But since long I had not kept those promises and her questioning made me falter on my stoic exterior, it had even made me feel sorry. All I could have done was to make one false promise again and tell her that no matter what I would definitely try to be in contact more often, but somewhere deep down I could tell that my cousin did not believe it anymore.
I looked at the house. Same old place (but a few storeys added), the same kitchen, the same courtyard. As the power of nostalgia took over me, I reminisced of happier times, when this place was alive. The place was alive with all the people gathering and singing ‘Rabindra Sangit’, the harmonium being played, the sitar and the tabla as well. Tea in kettles used to make rounds here and there, we kids were given any sweetmeat to keep us happy and not to disturb in the hustle and bustle that ensued throughout the day.
The ladies in their typical Bengali sari’s and the gentlemen is sparkling whites was a memory which I could only see in films nowadays.
I checked the same old place where they used to keep their musical instruments. It was still there, but it looked more like a tomb now. The tabla on which energetic hands played was gathering dust, the harmonium had springs coming out in few places and the strings in the sitar were missing. There were a few papers lying about there. I picked up and tried to read it with the rudimentary knowledge that I know of my mother tongue Bengali, it immediately struck me as a verse from a popular rabindra sangit. It was a sacred text back then, the ladies used to keep it along with their jewellery. It was a heart wrenching sight to see it lying about and I locked the vault again before I broke down.
The width of the streets had remained the same. The vehicles had increased though. But still the mode of transport was the cycle-rickshaw, the way it was since I could remember.
Now with the somber mood in our home it looked specially dull, but I was informed by the elders that it was the same no more. People like me who had now grown up were all into their careers, my cousins who had grown up in the small town also were looking for opportunities outside. This house, which once had a life of its own, was now decaying. Our house which was a landmark around where we lived, was now a testament of neglect. People spoke in whispers of the glorious past of our house and how its present condition was. They said that it was the same everywhere in this old town, which had failed to keep pace with the materialistic aspirations of the youth. No longer do they care to go up the small hill to watch the sunset, no fishing in the lakes, no playing cricket with the good old cycle as stumps, nothing. Absolutely Nothing.
After paying our last respects to our grandmother, I sat on the rickety cycle rickshaw once again, my mind wandering back in time, back to the days when life was simple, when life was enriching, when life was not a relentless pursuit of materialistic goals, when life was more about spending quality time doing what you liked, when life was spending quality time with your loved ones.
It all seems so far back in time now, in another world, in another place. It is almost similar to a fresh new photograph, with all colors rich, the brightness perfect, which is now slowly gathering dust , decaying bit by bit. The characters in the photograph remain the same, but the colors have long faded into sepia, with only the warm smiles remaining. The photograph, just like my memory, is waiting to be heard, waiting to be understood.
But still gathering dust.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Analogy
Mumbai 2008 A.D.
Feb 12th 2008.
Two persons both on the opposite ends of the city eerily were caught in similar circumstances, this is their story………..
Both of them were happy. One had just graduated into a new life, from a small job in a small town to a new job in the city of dreams. With a substantial raise, he was hoping for a nice change, a new way of life. Wife too had managed to get a new job, the company had arranged for the admission of their children into the city’s best school. Life was never this good.
The other had just graduated into his relationship with his pretty girlfriend; he had successfully taken his relationship with the girl to another level. After months of homework, pleading and good old fashioned emotional blackmailing, her girlfriend had finally succumbed to his demands of coming with him on a two day trip to Goa, just the two of them. Ready to graduate from a boy to being a man, he was especially in a good mood, expecting a lot.
The new job one was brought back to harsh reality with a resounding noise of a taxiwallah right near his ear. And suddenly he found himself amidst a crowd of people ready to cross the road and enter the railway station. Almost mechanically he made his way into the station for the first time, he felt as if he was a programmed machine, following the crowd into the station. His friends had warned him about the chaos at Mumbai’s stations, but still he was dumfounded at the sheer density of people crowded in a tiny strip of concrete bounded by railway tracks….
The other too was harshly brought back to reality as he found himself outside an exclusive women’s lingerie store in a crowded mall. All he could see were women inside those glass doors going about their usual business. Not usual for him though, he thought. His friends had warned him, that buying lingerie for the first time wasn’t easy, but still he was dumbfounded when the female security guard asked him to check whether he was about to enter into the correct store….
The man at the railway station was in total confusion, he was at a loss to understand and comprehend what was going on around him. All he could make out were trains zipping past him in either direction. People charged up as if preparing for a war, but all that they were actually doing was to cross the hurdle of jumping off the platform into the train. Bizarre he thought, absolutely bizarre…
Bizarre thought the man at the lingerie store, how could she have asked such a question in front of so many other women, who were right now chuckling and some who were bluntly laughing aloud? After recovering from the embarrassment he managed to utter that he was not blind and knew what he was doing, the female security guard, with certain amount of skepticism allowed him into the lingerie store.
“What do you want?” asked an irritated co-commuter on the platform. He politely answered that he was new and would like some information on how to reach this particular place. After an unexpected lecture on how outsiders were ruining the fabric of Mumbai, putting load on the existing infrastructure, he finally managed to answer what he had initially asked and guided the man to reach the last platform on the station, which was across the other side. Looking at the prospect of crossing the over bridge, he hung his shoulders and started walking towards the over bridge…..
“What do you want?” asked the courteous female across the counter, with a more than normally visible cleavage. Her smile was so inviting that he was left wondering if he would end up buying lingerie or something even better. But as soon as she adjusted her top, he knew he was caught staring and would have to be careful in this alien place. The girl guided him across the counter and started showing all different varieties of women’s innerwear.
The man at the station was on the designated platform. Wondering as to what to make of the odd timings, 19:27, 19:31 and so onwards. More so he was wondering what the abbreviations C, Bo, D, F, S etc stood for. He wondered if a man qualified in cryptography could be found in this crowd, but he dismissed it with a quiet guffaw….
The man at the lingerie store was in utter confusion. After ogling at the innerwear. He was facing a more fundamental problem right now of how to decode the A, B, C and D’s with a two digit number ranging from the minimum 32 (if he had heard it correct) to a maximum of which he did not know (and did not wish to know), when asked to choose, he had trouble imagining her girlfriends breasts because now it was not sexual, it was purely arithmetic. Finally after paying a considerable sum for a set of innerwear, and managing to hear murmurs and laughter after he had stepped out of the store. He finally left the store. In peace and in dreams…..
The man at the station had finally boarded the platform and after much difficulty had managed to get down at his destination. A man who was trying desperately to get inside hit his shins hard. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.” He said. “It’s ok” he replied back. “It has been a hard day”
Saying this he exchanged smiles with him at started on his way back to his residence.
The train meanwhile had started moving; the man who was trying desperately to get inside, holding his prized possession in a polyethylene bag, his gift for his girlfriend, and quietly muttered “It has been a hard day for me too”
Both proceeded to realize their own dreams. Life goes on in the city as it used too
Feb 12th 2008.
Two persons both on the opposite ends of the city eerily were caught in similar circumstances, this is their story………..
Both of them were happy. One had just graduated into a new life, from a small job in a small town to a new job in the city of dreams. With a substantial raise, he was hoping for a nice change, a new way of life. Wife too had managed to get a new job, the company had arranged for the admission of their children into the city’s best school. Life was never this good.
The other had just graduated into his relationship with his pretty girlfriend; he had successfully taken his relationship with the girl to another level. After months of homework, pleading and good old fashioned emotional blackmailing, her girlfriend had finally succumbed to his demands of coming with him on a two day trip to Goa, just the two of them. Ready to graduate from a boy to being a man, he was especially in a good mood, expecting a lot.
The new job one was brought back to harsh reality with a resounding noise of a taxiwallah right near his ear. And suddenly he found himself amidst a crowd of people ready to cross the road and enter the railway station. Almost mechanically he made his way into the station for the first time, he felt as if he was a programmed machine, following the crowd into the station. His friends had warned him about the chaos at Mumbai’s stations, but still he was dumfounded at the sheer density of people crowded in a tiny strip of concrete bounded by railway tracks….
The other too was harshly brought back to reality as he found himself outside an exclusive women’s lingerie store in a crowded mall. All he could see were women inside those glass doors going about their usual business. Not usual for him though, he thought. His friends had warned him, that buying lingerie for the first time wasn’t easy, but still he was dumbfounded when the female security guard asked him to check whether he was about to enter into the correct store….
The man at the railway station was in total confusion, he was at a loss to understand and comprehend what was going on around him. All he could make out were trains zipping past him in either direction. People charged up as if preparing for a war, but all that they were actually doing was to cross the hurdle of jumping off the platform into the train. Bizarre he thought, absolutely bizarre…
Bizarre thought the man at the lingerie store, how could she have asked such a question in front of so many other women, who were right now chuckling and some who were bluntly laughing aloud? After recovering from the embarrassment he managed to utter that he was not blind and knew what he was doing, the female security guard, with certain amount of skepticism allowed him into the lingerie store.
“What do you want?” asked an irritated co-commuter on the platform. He politely answered that he was new and would like some information on how to reach this particular place. After an unexpected lecture on how outsiders were ruining the fabric of Mumbai, putting load on the existing infrastructure, he finally managed to answer what he had initially asked and guided the man to reach the last platform on the station, which was across the other side. Looking at the prospect of crossing the over bridge, he hung his shoulders and started walking towards the over bridge…..
“What do you want?” asked the courteous female across the counter, with a more than normally visible cleavage. Her smile was so inviting that he was left wondering if he would end up buying lingerie or something even better. But as soon as she adjusted her top, he knew he was caught staring and would have to be careful in this alien place. The girl guided him across the counter and started showing all different varieties of women’s innerwear.
The man at the station was on the designated platform. Wondering as to what to make of the odd timings, 19:27, 19:31 and so onwards. More so he was wondering what the abbreviations C, Bo, D, F, S etc stood for. He wondered if a man qualified in cryptography could be found in this crowd, but he dismissed it with a quiet guffaw….
The man at the lingerie store was in utter confusion. After ogling at the innerwear. He was facing a more fundamental problem right now of how to decode the A, B, C and D’s with a two digit number ranging from the minimum 32 (if he had heard it correct) to a maximum of which he did not know (and did not wish to know), when asked to choose, he had trouble imagining her girlfriends breasts because now it was not sexual, it was purely arithmetic. Finally after paying a considerable sum for a set of innerwear, and managing to hear murmurs and laughter after he had stepped out of the store. He finally left the store. In peace and in dreams…..
The man at the station had finally boarded the platform and after much difficulty had managed to get down at his destination. A man who was trying desperately to get inside hit his shins hard. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.” He said. “It’s ok” he replied back. “It has been a hard day”
Saying this he exchanged smiles with him at started on his way back to his residence.
The train meanwhile had started moving; the man who was trying desperately to get inside, holding his prized possession in a polyethylene bag, his gift for his girlfriend, and quietly muttered “It has been a hard day for me too”
Both proceeded to realize their own dreams. Life goes on in the city as it used too
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