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
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Gujarat : A Dead State
It really pains me to say this, but the fact of the matter is that Gujarat is a dead state.
I simply cannot relate to image created of Gujarat around the world of that being a resilient state in the aftermath of the Bhuj Earthquake in 2003. The praise that was showered upon India’s most Industrious state seems really incredulous now.
Gujarat is really a dead state at present, which meekly submits to an unimportant but powerful few.
It all started with the riots, the image of Gujarat was tattered. But it has gone deep, much too deep. It has somehow scathed the psyche of the people of Gujarat. The state which was always in the news for its industriousness, entrepreneurship is suddenly a graveyard for the free thinking and broad minded people of Gujarat. That is why I support Mumbai more. Although it has gutters overflowing, facing daily power cuts and cramming with people, but the atmosphere is free. People do what they seem is best for them. Any cowardly act is swiftly denounced and trounced upon. The people are more aware, more participating and the media is also pro-active in supporting the free and broadminded people.
Make no mistake; I have been in Gujarat for a better part of nine years. But I definitely don’t like what Gujarat is becoming into.
Mistaken nationalistic fanaticism is hijacking the very fabric of the state. Right from Gujarat riots, the banning of the film Parzania to the attack on art students. Gujarat is taking huge strides in falling from one ebb to the other.
I also won’t blame the Government of Gujarat. Failed state machinery will only feed on the mute behavior of its subjects, nor do I have any sympathy for the people of Gujarat. If you don’t stand up and fight, then be ready to be mowed down upon.
It really sickens me to no end when artistic freedom is hijacked in the name or religion. The exhibition was not meant for the public so the public have no business in giving opinion about it. Even if you do have an opinion, there is a way to express it. And what’s worse is the fact that the poor student is in jail and the dean has gone into hiding.
I am sure the court will give a verdict in favor of the broadminded majority. I have at least that much faith in the judiciary, the last bastion of our democracy.
But if you, the people of Gujarat don’t stand up and be counted, forget the court, not even God himself will be able to save your Gujarat in imploding into a failed state.
I simply cannot relate to image created of Gujarat around the world of that being a resilient state in the aftermath of the Bhuj Earthquake in 2003. The praise that was showered upon India’s most Industrious state seems really incredulous now.
Gujarat is really a dead state at present, which meekly submits to an unimportant but powerful few.
It all started with the riots, the image of Gujarat was tattered. But it has gone deep, much too deep. It has somehow scathed the psyche of the people of Gujarat. The state which was always in the news for its industriousness, entrepreneurship is suddenly a graveyard for the free thinking and broad minded people of Gujarat. That is why I support Mumbai more. Although it has gutters overflowing, facing daily power cuts and cramming with people, but the atmosphere is free. People do what they seem is best for them. Any cowardly act is swiftly denounced and trounced upon. The people are more aware, more participating and the media is also pro-active in supporting the free and broadminded people.
Make no mistake; I have been in Gujarat for a better part of nine years. But I definitely don’t like what Gujarat is becoming into.
Mistaken nationalistic fanaticism is hijacking the very fabric of the state. Right from Gujarat riots, the banning of the film Parzania to the attack on art students. Gujarat is taking huge strides in falling from one ebb to the other.
I also won’t blame the Government of Gujarat. Failed state machinery will only feed on the mute behavior of its subjects, nor do I have any sympathy for the people of Gujarat. If you don’t stand up and fight, then be ready to be mowed down upon.
It really sickens me to no end when artistic freedom is hijacked in the name or religion. The exhibition was not meant for the public so the public have no business in giving opinion about it. Even if you do have an opinion, there is a way to express it. And what’s worse is the fact that the poor student is in jail and the dean has gone into hiding.
I am sure the court will give a verdict in favor of the broadminded majority. I have at least that much faith in the judiciary, the last bastion of our democracy.
But if you, the people of Gujarat don’t stand up and be counted, forget the court, not even God himself will be able to save your Gujarat in imploding into a failed state.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
A not so famous Joint.
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Life of contenment
Contenment. You must be joking. For a guy who's just 23 the word contenment is sure not on his dictionary.
After all you have a lot to worry about.
At this juncture I am stuck at a point where I want something else but know for sure that I am going to get everything except that something else.
Lots of hopes to fulfill, lots of people to answer.
After all it isn't my life anyway.
Still wondering when will I be able to live for me and to do what I want and to stand up for what I believe.
Hope you all are faring better than me.
After all you have a lot to worry about.
At this juncture I am stuck at a point where I want something else but know for sure that I am going to get everything except that something else.
Lots of hopes to fulfill, lots of people to answer.
After all it isn't my life anyway.
Still wondering when will I be able to live for me and to do what I want and to stand up for what I believe.
Hope you all are faring better than me.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Another day in the life of my company.
(This article was written for my company, which had its founding day recently. This article was a huge hit with my folks, hope it is with you too.)
The Headline is misleading actually, it’s not just another day.
Today is our founding day.
As I was risking my life on the roads of the city, fearing of getting late, some pretty eyed girls in saris were preparing for our welcome (in retrospect the fear of getting late was inconsequential. This is positively the last time I risk my life on the road.)
As I entered the office, the best girls around here stood for our welcome with roses (pretty romantic actually!) and Cadbury’s Perk (the staple food of my company) and offered us with such a broad smile that you were tempted to count their teeth.
Jokes apart, I could see people were preparing themselves for this day. The Gents look absolutely stunning in formals and neckties. The Ladies look beautiful and elegant, their beauty enhanced by the good old Sari.
I looked at myself. I made a sorry picture of being unshaven and without a belt (don’t blame me for the belt, got lost amongst my heap of clothes, which in turn led me to become late, which in turn did not let me shave). I at least came in formals. That was a saving grace for me.
We have a lot of work to do, but it looks as if we are attending a marriage ceremony today. I personally feel like enjoying and doing nothing today, but still I open my P.C and pretend that I am working. I nudged a few colleagues and churned the truth out of them. They too were feeling like me, not willing to work and bask in the festive atmosphere. So I concluded, with some sense of accuracy, that people were blindly clicking on the computer wishing to do absolutely nothing.
And as I continue to look around me, all smart guys and beautiful girls are still pretending to work, so I start my work too and end this article here.
So much in a days work.
Debayan
The Headline is misleading actually, it’s not just another day.
Today is our founding day.
As I was risking my life on the roads of the city, fearing of getting late, some pretty eyed girls in saris were preparing for our welcome (in retrospect the fear of getting late was inconsequential. This is positively the last time I risk my life on the road.)
As I entered the office, the best girls around here stood for our welcome with roses (pretty romantic actually!) and Cadbury’s Perk (the staple food of my company) and offered us with such a broad smile that you were tempted to count their teeth.
Jokes apart, I could see people were preparing themselves for this day. The Gents look absolutely stunning in formals and neckties. The Ladies look beautiful and elegant, their beauty enhanced by the good old Sari.
I looked at myself. I made a sorry picture of being unshaven and without a belt (don’t blame me for the belt, got lost amongst my heap of clothes, which in turn led me to become late, which in turn did not let me shave). I at least came in formals. That was a saving grace for me.
We have a lot of work to do, but it looks as if we are attending a marriage ceremony today. I personally feel like enjoying and doing nothing today, but still I open my P.C and pretend that I am working. I nudged a few colleagues and churned the truth out of them. They too were feeling like me, not willing to work and bask in the festive atmosphere. So I concluded, with some sense of accuracy, that people were blindly clicking on the computer wishing to do absolutely nothing.
And as I continue to look around me, all smart guys and beautiful girls are still pretending to work, so I start my work too and end this article here.
So much in a days work.
Debayan
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