Kisse Jindagi Ke : Episode 2

Rohan woke up late next morning, around 11, and still felt tired. The maid had come, made Anda Bhurji for breakfast, cleaned the house & utensils and left. He found some bread in the fridge, and toasted it. The spiciness of the Bhurji was what really brought him up from his slumber and he though to himself while relishing it, 'Aah, small pleasures in life'. 

He had a long shower after the breakfast, it seemed to help the aches in multiple places. The moment he got out, he took the report form, finished it off and sent it out. 

He felt like going out so quickly set about getting ready. By the time he was ready, it was almost 1. He was just trying to figure out where he would head when he remembered that Parmeet had mentioned last night that they were planning to get together at their place today to watch the Match today and he was welcome to join.

He felt inclined to call, not so much because of the match, but because of that little inkling at the back of his mind that Riya would be there, which suddenly became a fact of immense importance. He wasn't sure thought that Pam ( He winked internally at that) really meant for him to come or was just being polite. His confusion though was then relieved when he saw's his phone ringing. It was Pam.

Half an hour later, he was at Pam's and Kunal's place. He quickly fluctuated between disappointment when he realized that Riya was out, and sudden joy when Pam said she would be there in an hour though. He wasn't sure if Pam had realized this or not though. 

The match was about to start, so they got about arranging for food & beer and were all set right before the toss. 

Unfortunately, as is wont to happen to matches in India at this time of the year, it started raining at the match, and the play was delayed. Harsha Bhogle, in his ever positive tone was still informing them though that the showers should stop soon as per the weather forecast  and we should have a full match. Rohan said that Harsha was probably the only one in the country who still followed the weather forecasts and Pam & Kunal chuckled in agreement through their beers. 

Rohan & Pam had lamented Kunal enough on how could he think Rohit Sharma was the most important player in the squad. They agreed that since this was in India, he could do well but Virat was playing and of-course, he was the key to this game. Kunal was about to make his argument when Riya the keys clicked in the door. Rohan looked at Kunal wondering who could this be and he informed him while walking towards the door that it must be Riya as he had given her his keys. 

Pam had felt the last time that he noticed something in Rohan's face when they were talking about Riya and it was confirmed when he saw his face lit up at this. He smirked to himself thinking that this could turn out to be an interesting turn of events, though  kept quiet about it, knowing Kunal's protectiveness about his sister and not wanting to spoil the evening.

Riya walked in super happy, with another girl who neither of them knew. She introduced Tanu to everyone as one of her friends from engineering who she had invited to join them. 

They welcomed here, and informed the girls that the match was delayed, when Riya said, "That's fine, Rohan can tell us about the 'lambi kahani' he was talking about last night in the meanwhile" and sat down on a bean bag taking two bears from the fridge and handing one to Tanu.

Rohan was stumped, on two counts. He hadn't expected Riya to ask for his story like this, and further, he didn't know what and how much to tell them.

However, men will be men, and since Riya was the one who had asked, Rohan really had no choice but to recant everything. He did feel like adding some bravado in some places to impress Riya, but the horror of it all came back to him and he just said like it was. He was surprised that it took all of 15 minutes to go through all the events as he felt so much had happened. 

All the others in the room were stunned by the time Rohan had finished telling them and Kunal was the first one to break the silence. " Dude, tu sure hai tu theek hai, you should get yourself checked man", to which Rohan murmured he was fine. Pam seemed to have transitioned to anger by this time from bewilderment and said "We should all go back to that agent of yours, find these guys and beat the shit out of them" to which Riya reacted, "Idiot hai kya, we should go to the cops. This is serious".

Rohan was amazed at these people who were arguing about all this even though they had just met him last night and wondered why was this when Tanu said " Why can't we just let it be, he is fine now, that's whats important?"

Rohan latched onto this and told them he had decided to let it be and had already filed a report of a 'normal claim' and sent it out. This was met with vehement discord, but he somehow found his voice and cut them short "Kya kar lenge boss apan, hum long gunde nahi hai, police bhi kisse mili hai, kaun kaun mila hai main nahi janta, I am a simple working guy and don't need to get into any further mess. I am sure they would have by now found out about my report and would let it be hopefully" with his anguish clearly reflecting in his voice. For some reason, the others understood what he was going through and quieted down. 

His cause was helped by Harsha again coming back on the screen and announcing that the match was back on. The match progressed and Rohan's cause by furthered a surprise spell by 'Sir Jadeja', who took two wickets in his second over and became the topic of conversation taking away the spotlight.

It was almost 35 overs and the proteas had only got to 180, which seemed to keep all of them interested. Pam suddenly looked at his phone had said, "Oh Teri!!, lag gayi aaj to. Lovleen ki flight 20 minute main land hone wali hai. Kunal chabi de bhai, time pe lene nahi pahuncha to mera breakup ho jaega" Everyone laughed, Kunal threw him the keys and he ran out. The others got back to the match.

A little while later, Pam had just crossed the 'The Maratha' and was wondering if he would be there in time, when he remembered the last time he had gone to the airport in a hurry , the auto wala had taken him through a shortcut which took a left just before the Sula Hotel. Although the road was bad and went from the middle of small slum dwellings, it would definitely save time as opposed to the western express and he decided to take that route.

He was feeling comfortable about the time he had made up on the shortcut, but was still driving fast when he suddenly saw a hen or cock, he didn't realize which, run in front of the car and though he tried to break, he ended up running it over. He was dumbfounded as to what to do now for a minute. He thought about getting out and then decided against it. 

In the meanwhile, the kids from the corner shanty where the hen had rushed out from ran back in. One of the kids told their father, "Baba, 200 ka nuksaan ho gaya, apne subah ke truck main ek murgi kam jaeygi. Wo gaadi ke neeche aa gayi" The father suddenly stood up, picked up a rod lying nearby and smirked at the kid. " Beta, nuksaan nahi fayda hua hai, tujhe suna nahi?, zinda murga khak ka, mare to pyare laakh ka." and started walking out, shouting for the other shanty owners in the area to come out and his kids followed.

Lovleen's flight had landed on time and since she had no check in luggage, she had started to walk out. She tried calling Pam but that Idiot was not picking her calls. She thought to herself "Agar ye idiot match dekhte dekhte mujhe lene aana bhool gaya to aaj iski khair nahi hai " and started walking on. She called Kunal after Pam didn't pick up for the nth time, who told him Pam had left and should be reaching soon. She felt happy that he had remembered and thought may be he was driving in traffic and hence didn't pick her calls. She texted him to not come inside the airport, and that since she was already here, she would walk out and see him in front of the Avalon hotel gate, as that would save time. She was sure he would check his message before getting into the airport as they had done this often in the past also.

She had now been standing at the avalon hotel for 15 minutes and was now getting perturbed. She was thinking 'weekend ko itna traffic to nahi ho sakta, kahan rah gaya ye. Airport ke andar bhi gaya hota to ab tak to call karta, and he is still not picking my calls'. From what Kunal had told her, he should araam se have been here by now. She was about to call Kunal again to tell him that she was getting worried and he should do something, when she suddenly saw a car, with one light struck out, screech out from under the flyover and stop right in front of her. She was aghast to see Pam sitting in the driver seat, bleeding from the head and right arm, the driver window was also broken and rushed straight to him.

What happened with Pam ? Catch episode 3 to find out :)

Link for Episode 1: http://siddjay.blogspot.in/2016/04/kisse-jindagi-ke-episode-1.html

Kisse Jindagi Ke : Episode 1

It was dark, but the white markings on the road were shining. A green sedan, cruising along, was the only thing visible on the road, apart from the still, gloomy, sparse trees. If one looked closely, one would notice that there weren't many leaves on the trees.

The man, standing behind one of these trees, had just figured out where he was, recognizing a closed shanty nearby from earlier that day.  It was the first sane thought that had come to him in a while.

He was wearing a grey hooded jacket, and a jeans, which he had found in a cottage he had just broken into.

He felt exhilarated and sad at the same time. Exhilarated to be back to the world as he had once known it, but sad because he would never forget what he had done to be here.

He stepped out of the trees and hailed at the green sedan for a lift. He knew it was unlikely that the driver would stop for a stranger at this hour and on this road, but what choice did he have than to take his chances. 

The car of-course just zoomed past him. Ahh, such is life!. He gathered himself and started walking towards the north. It was almost 11, and soon the entrance to this route will be blocked till the morning. He needed to find himself a spot for the night.

He was still wandering on the road, when he felt the sound of a car coming from the back. He turned just in time to see a white Creta come to a halt behind him. The window came down on the passenger side, and a man, about the same age as him, visibly drunk asked him," Buddy, do you know how to get out of this place on the Powai side"

Minutes later, he was in the car with them, finally heading home. The man that had spoken to him had turned out to be Parmeet, a cut surd who lived in Powai with his roommate who was driving the car, Kunal. They both worked in the financial analysis division of a big firm. At the backseat was Kunal's cousin Riya, who had just moved to Mumbai and was joining a software firm next week. They were returning from a party in Goregaon and had gotten lost in Aarey, looking for the Powai exit when they spotted Rohan.

He was now seated in Parmeet's seat who asked him from the back: " Dude tu yahan kar kya raha tha iti raat ko" . It took a while for Rohan to figure out how to respond. He just ended up saying " lambi kahani hai Parmeet, fir kabhi sunaunga" 

" Abe kya Parmeet Parmeet laga rakha hai, kitna old fashioned hai. Parmeet Singh Ahluwalia. I prefer Pam." Said Pam. Both Kunal & Riya burst out laughing. Rohan also smiled. 

They dropped him at his 1 BHK 25 minutes later, they exchanged numbers promising to catch up soon enough. Rohan was now back in his room, looking at the ceiling, wondering what had just happened and what was he going to do about it.

It all started on Wednesday evening.  Rohan worked as an insurance inspector and on Wednesday he had taken in a call of an accident where a truck had fallen off the road somewhere outside of Mumbai in the Western Ghats. Since this was a long weekend coming, with Gudi Padwa(Thursday) and Good Friday falling just around the corner, most of his team members were on leave. Somebody had to go do the recce of the location on Thursday and with his darn luck, it turned out to be him. Rohan felt his weekend was in jeopardy, just how much jeopardy he had no idea yet.

Thursday morning, Rohan left his house grudgingly, dreading the long day ahead. The journey from his flat to this village near the old Mumbai Pune highway near Khopoli was quite uneventful. He had his breakfast at the Midway but along with it, it was normal fare.

He reached the site and saw the regular police cars, the boundaries put up to cordon off the area and the truck lying in the pit right next to the road.

Rohan's job here was simple. His firm had an insurance contract with the transport company that owned the truck. Whenever any such accident happens, the assigned auditor would go and verify the extent of the claim liable to be paid by the firm, and basis the assessment and police confirmations, the transporter would be paid up.

The accident had been a lucky one as no one has been hurt. Before he could go observe the truck, he was just taking a download from the police man in charge. He was told that the driver and his helper had climbed down on the corner of the road to take a leak and left the truck on hand brake. Somehow the brake had failed and the truck slid around the bend and fell in the valley. The entire cargo of food products was destroyed along with the fall as it had fallen into the valley and most probably contaminated. While they were now not going to look for it, the cargo was also insured and hence Rohan had to sign off it's value as well. He looked at the documents and they all seemed to be in place and the value of the cargo was closed to 8 lakhs, apart from the residual value of the truck, which was minimal as the truck was very old. It was the cargo that would hit his department's P&L.

After noting all the details, Rohan moved to have a look at the wreckage. He looked at the truck below and it was in shambles. Good that the driver and helper weren't in it or they wouldn't have survived. 

Somehow though, he felt something was not right here. The truck seemed to have fallen from a position perpendicular to the road , which is unlikely if they had parked it like they had said.

He tried to ask the cops but they told him he was mistaken and the truck may have changed the orientation while falling which was confusing him. Looking to get back home soon, he was about to accept their explanation and close the case, when he spotted one of the food packets on the floor. It apparently had dropped off the truck while it fell.

The packet was still sealed but felt unusually light to him. He opened it and saw that the pack was actually empty. His suspicions arose again. This time though, he thought better than to ask these cops. He told them he had everything he needed and will send the report to his superiors on Monday, and left.

On his way back, as soon as the car was some distance away, he opened his laptop to do some research. The transporter had filed 11 claims on his trucks in the last two years, all of them cases where the trucks were very old, and all of them carrying cargo of 3 times or more the residual value of the truck. Luckily, nobody had been injured in any of the accidents and all the claims had been settled. 

Rohan was now almost sure that there was something fishy going on.

All these claims were filed in different locations, so nobody would connect two incidents. 

He decided to investigate further. He found out the name of the agent who had done the insurance contract, a Shukla ji, based in Goregaon. He also owned a kirana store, and ran the insurance business from the same place. He told his driver to take him to the kirana store.

It was almost 6 when he reached the location. Shukla ji told him to wait for 5 minutes, as he was just attending some customers in his outlet. Once the customers left after some persistent haggling over prices of dal, Shukla ji asked his helper to take care of the outlet, and he will be back in sometime. 

He met Rohan outside a tea stall, and ordered two cutting for both of them. He said, " kahiye Rohan sahab, aaj chutti ke din aap head office wale yahan kis khushi main pahunch gaye."

Rohan: " are kuch nahi Shukla ji, thodi jankaari chahiye thi to socha aapse mil ke hi pooch lun, thoda ghumna bhi ho jaega aur fir aap chai bhi to pila rahe ho!"

Shukla ji smiled at this warm fellow from the HO, and said " boliye sahab, kya kar sakte hain aapke liye".

Rohan showed him the file of the transport company and started inquiring about the owner.

Through his conversations he realised that the owner had been a small time guy when he signed him up, and had two trucks only. But the business had been very good for him lately and he had increased his fleet to 25 trucks in the last five years and was one of his most respected clients in the area.. He had kept in touch with Shukla ji throughout and was the nicest of guys according to him. He often brought sweets for his kids when he came to see him. Shukla ji also remembered that he actually lived nearby, somewhere in Aarey colony. 

Rohan thanked Shukla ji and headed back to his cab, thinking about his course of action.

It was almost eight and he decided he had done enough of sleuthing. He would mark the case suspicious with all his observations and let the firm take it from there. He asked his cabbie to call it a day, and he decided to drop into his friend's place in Malad, where he was sure some sort of weekend celebration was definitely on.

In the meanwhile, Shukla ji had made a call to the transport company owner asking about whether all was fine, as he had seen in Rohan's file that one of his trucks had met an accident. He was assured that all was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

Rohan called his friends but they were all in Kashid, enjoying the long weekend. Dreading his darn luck, he started walking towards the nearest auto stand. As he was looking for an auto, one just came and stopped next to him and the driver asked him, " kahan jaenge".

"Powai"

" aarey se jaunga, chalega? Jvlr pe bahut jaam hai"

"Chalega"

And off they went. This journey however wasn't that uneventful. After moving into aarey for a while, the auto stopped and before he could say something, the auto wala turned and hit him on the head with a bat. 

He woke up in a chawl, his hands tied behind his back, dried blood around his head. He looked up and saw the autodriver along with two other brutes.

One of them had Rohan's wallet in his hand. He looked inside and took out his license. 

"Rohan ji, aap bade aadmi ho, achi life jeete ho, kyun doosron ke mamlon main taang adate ho"

"Kya jaroorat thi itni chaan been karne ki. Araam se report likhte aur ghar jate. Ho gaya na ab locha"

Rohan was by now scared witless, understanding that he had gotten himself into a mess.

The other brute had come close up to him but then and was looking at him intently.

Rohan looked at him and muttered " sorry....mujhse galti ho gayi, mujhe jaane do, please, aap jo kahoge likh dunga report main"

The other brute just punched him in the face.

" are re re.maro mat use. Kah to raha hai jo kahoge likh dega "

" par ise sab samajh aa gaya hai. Agar chod diya aur bahar jake isne kisi ko bata diya to"

" kyun Rohan sahab, ab samajh gaye hamari scheme?  Purana truck khareedo, thode din chalao, fir nakli maal bhar ke khai main gira do

Truck aur maal ki Kimat aap log de dete ho, aur asli maal jiska consignment tha, use bazaar main bech ke naye truck main laga do. Genius hai na?"

Rohan could have figured this out, he had almost suspected something like this, but right now, he was busy trying to free his hands, as that punch had loosened the grip a little.

He just replied muttering "ji"...

Suddenly, a large crashing sound was heard from outside, as though some accident had happened nearby. The brutes looked at each other, then at the auto wala who had been sitting in a corner all this while and said." Iska dhyan rakh, hum 10 minute main aate hain."

And walked out. The auto wala just nodded meekly and sat close to the door, looking at Rohan. 

Rohan's hands just came free at that moment but he did not know what to do next. 

He asked the auto wala to please get him water, in order to distract him and try to run away.

The auto wala hesitated for a moment, but then stepped out of the room. Rohan quickly tip toed to the door, looking to get out behind him and wanting to just run.

Just about as he was reaching the door, the auto wala came back in. They both saw each other, he dropped the glass of water and rushed at Rohan. Rohan spotted the bat he had been hit with just in time, picked it up and banged it straight into the autowala's head as he ran in. He fell down and Rohan hit him again and again, forgetting everything else till the auto wala was lying unconscious and bloody. 

Rohan came back to his senses, realised what he had just done and ran out of the chawl. Luckily, none if the two brutes were back yet, but he still kept running relentlessly. After about 15 minutes of running, he saw an open cottage with no one inside. He ran in, changed, washed his face and head and ran out again. Threw his blooded clothes in a secluded garbage dump and went on running.

He was tired and hailed behind a tree, and then realised he had come back to the main aarey road, where the auto wala had stopped, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Rohan had lain in his house all night, thinking about the day he had had.

There was one thing he needed to decide on. Should he tell people what had happened ? He was back in his home safe,but scared of the people he had angered. And he had no idea what happened to the autowala. But what if something like this happened again, or they kept on cheating the insurance firm? But if he reported, would they not find him again? He kept wondering all this for a long while.

He finally reached a decision, and then sleep took over.

Wait for episode 2 to find out what did he do:)

Update: Link for episode 2 : http://siddjay.blogspot.in/2016/06/kisse-jindagi-ke-episode-2.html

Food tales

It's been one hell of a week of eating out!
Tuesday at No. 101 powai, Mumbai with Nidhi, as always loved their food but they seemed to have upped their prices significantly since i went there the last time...too soon guys!

Wednesday morning flight to Bangalore, lunch at the Marriott was what such five star lunches are like, elaborate, moderately spicy and amazing looking. They could do with a better coffee though, like seriously!
Wednesday evening and eating at the Bangalore airport , the local Mangalore wada and idli. Oh so gud!!!
Side note: Sambhar is the best down south, and the worst in Mumbai. Period.

Late night landing in Hyderabad, but thanks to a friend, the biryani hopes are still alive.

Sai ghouse biryani at char minar ( hope I got the spelling right) OMG!!  Have mutton biryani here with thumbsup here ( what else haan ?, need to learn to be able to eat with bare hands though)

And then that Irani chai...if it could wow a non tea totaller ..u know it was gud

Lunch next day at greenpark , nothing really noteworthy about it.

Late night flight to Chennai, but you could always trust KFC for a quick fiery bite..I think they finally figured out what we north Indians want from chicken with their fiery chicken...

Late night dinner at the taj vivanta Chennai ..i told them I wanted my pasta extra spicy and they sent me tobasco sauce with it!! Best in room kettle coffe ever though!!

Lunch next day was typical five star fare, the highlight being the ohh so yum malpuas and the vanilla ice cream with Pillsbury milk choco spread...#blatantselfappraisal #shameless promotion #ohsohappypic

Evening took us to woodland hotel and better Mangalore's wadas than Bangalore and SAMBHAR...and filter coffee... U can't leave Chennai without it!

Waiting for a lasagna now.. Haven't asked for tobasco sauce though ;)

Hoping the week continues into the weekend with some awesome food.

P.S. : luckily saw the "thus auto" myself #feeling yay!!

Indigo so cheap!!

So indigo is supposed to be a low cost carrier...really?
Any, and every window or aisle seat now costs 200 . the first row was vacant yesterday and there was an elderly couple  with an infant on the 29 th row. They requested to be allowed to sit in the first row and the lady in blue simply asked for 800 per seat...the seats actually went empty..
One can always sense them eyeing at your luggage at the check in counter hoping for it to please be at least a little overboard!! #moneyhounds

It's a mercy they don't charge a fee to use the washroom on the plane...low cost..really?

It begins again!!

In the age of the MOBILE, it finally dawned me that there must be an app for blogger by now, and voila!, there goes my last excuse to not get back here.

It's been 5 years since I put something up here, so I feel a little rusty. Yet again though, its travelling that brings me here. So here goes nothing! Again!

The Rickety Bus

The rickety bus is a spectacle unique to us underprivileged people of the world. ( Underprivileged here includes Sales Trainees amongst a few other classes). My encounter with this miracle began about a year ago, amongst the throes of people in a demure village of Asansol, West bengal, and has taken me around Mahrashtra, Chattisgarh and Orissa in it's course.

This miracle of an invention is an amazing breeding ground for new thoughts and ideas, as thinking is all that one can do in the crammed space. It gives a whole new meaning to the famous Launchpad ( Duck tales fame) line, " It's gonna be a bumpyyyy ride!!".

A part conspirator in the coming about of this innovation is also the road system in India. The unrelenting bravery with which this system has braved season upon season of monsoon, refusing to change itself even a bit, lest it loose some of its splendid sheen, is a tribute to the grittiness of the nation and it's people in itself.

Nonetheless, make no mistake, I am in no way trying to condemn any profession, and even a nonbeliever may never dare to pass sarcasm over God's own miracles that I mention here.

I call these a miracle because they have taught me lessons my teachers never could. ( In all fairness to them, I never really listened to them and treated the classroom as the unofficial bedroom sans a bed.)

The rickety bus taught me the extent of our nation. It taught me the importance of running at breakneck speeds to put a handkerchief on the seat to block it for oneself. It reminded me of my place amongst this huge mass. It told me that outside the comfort of my home, I m just a meager speck in the multitude.

This bus taught me off the real wealth of this nation. Yes, I am talking of the people, and yet, of more, of that material eloquence that we generally mean when we say wealth. Would you believe that in a village 448 km from Bhubhaneshwar, a man owns a personal helicopter? Would you believe that one of the biggest builders in this part of the world has his office in the crowded streets of Kendrapada, a small business town in Orissa. Would you believe that entire ships of stocks of soaps with no M.R.P. unload in West Bengal every month, and disappear somewhere in the villages of the state. Would you believe if I tell you that I saw a mercedes in a village 270 kms from a Kolkotta. Yes, the rickety bus took me there.

The bus taught me of how shorthanded our sixty year journey of independence has been. How people, clamour in the one and only means of transportation, running after their dreams. How, on non existing roads, the rickety bus symbolizes the aspiration of the growing youth of this country. Don't worry, they are coming. Those kids who play around stacks of coal, who sell "paani pouch" for watching a movie in the evening, who use railway tracks as shit holes, they are coming, to take this country ahead. They are coming because this country may not have given them roads, it may not have given them prosperity, but it did give them The rickety bus.

I have watched these kids stand amazed around my laptop in a bus, bouncing all around just for a glimpse. I have seen them stand outside the only shop watching TV adds. I have seen the torn posters of cars stolen from dumps as their prized possessions. And in some of their eyes, I have seen their dreams.

I have seen the determination, when nobody asks a bus to stop even when a lady shits inside the bus, because these people have to get to the main town on time. I have seen the grit, when amongst the utter disregard for humanity represented by the crowd inside the bus, people hang on for their lives to reach that destination. I have seen the effort when an enormous mob erupts at the 4:30 a.m. bus in a race to be the first to reach the mandi.

Don't call me a cynic for bringing out the hard side of life. I have seen more than fifty drunk people beet the hell out huge drums for 12 continous hours, and the music they produced would beat the drumlines of many music schools in the flip of a second. And I have seen this celebration in a village 300km from Nagpur. I have shared rounds of sattu in a village on Bihar/ WB border, and I have seen these people share and solve each other's problems in a way the modern civilized society would find fit enough to be a part of the eloquent dream of eutopia. Life their has a meaning much deeper than what we have in our cities. And it is this meaning that they bring with themselves that convinces me of the impending glory.

Let the powers that be behold the miracle of the rickety bus, and the dream of India shining shall come tumbling in it.

Why?

I lived in 38 different hotels, had food in more than 100 towns, covered at least 4 states, met my friends for a cumulative 24 hours, and family for 3 days, in the last 10 months. I felt really happy for a cumulative maximum of say what 3 weeks. 3 weeks in 10 months

i live 3000 kms away from my parents, and don't know where i will be next month.

Why am i doing what i am doing.

I sit on sundays, and wonder, always wonder, why?

Why?

and yet, i still do it, keep on doing it, Will keep on doing it.

Why?


What is happening to this Indian generation?
Are we compromising the little things in life which constitute happiness, for the elusive future that probably awaits us on the supposed end of this compromise.

I met a guy the other day. He lives in a small backward town with his parents. He is going to get married soon. He doesn't earn too much. Still, he parties with all his friends every weekend.

Goes back home every night!!

And honestly, he is more happy than I am.

Yet why?

which is the right path?

one question: I am running after an elusive future that i have always dreamt off, but am I loosing the present in this race.

I console myself, that this is a temporary phase. That life will soon move into that future that i Dream of.

Lets hope it does....

Hugs

Who was the last person you hugged? and the one before that? How were the two actions different?

I sometimes wonder, how many different kinds of hugs are there in our lives.

There is this "all out hug" which can easily turn into a bone crushing experience, generally shared amongst guys in one of those super happy friendly moments.

Then there is that "barely a hug", which is more like an awkward pat on the back while standing in front of each other. Mostly happens, when you are not really sure how friendly are you supposed to be.

Then there is that "cuddle", which is what most children give their parents, and is often shared by brothers/sisters as well.

Then there is that "impossibly long embrace", mostly shared between spouses when meeting in public where they are actually reluctant to let each other go, but kinda have to ( I don't know how long into the relationship it continues). I am not even getting into whatever happens in private.

Then there is that "I am not hugging you hug", where it is just a way of telling the other person that I would rather stab you in 21 different places than hug you but I am still doing it just to maintain courtesy. Some couples do graduate to this one from the one above with time. Or may be most do.

Then there is that " Bum out face in crouch ", generally shared amongst between friends of different sexes, for obvious reasons, and in an attempt to avoid awkwardness is probably the most awkward one to look at, because it looks like both the people are using each other as sticks to help them stand, and are suffering from spinal disorder.

You got any additions to the list?...rite on...

THE BIG FAT RAT

I just learned that you Standing-on-two-legs-large-no-tails call me the Big Fat Rat. I am grateful for being called Big, as it implies a great respect in us beings, though it is difficult for me to understand why you would use big and fat in the same name as they mean almost the same thing, don’t they? May be it’s my lack of a proper education. You see, I never had a teacher, like those mad gatherings you have in places you call schools have for you. You know, I have always wanted to ask this. How come all of you wear the same Wrappings-that-are-so-tight when you go to these schools? I mean whenever we have any gatherings amongst us, we sharpen each our nails so differently, to show off our individuality you know, don’t you guys do it?


Anyways, I want to take some time to tell you things about me, and it would do you well to know since you always seem to be ignorant to any existence beyond your own. May be that’s why God took away your tails, because they would have stopped wagging or going up suddenly or doing anything because of your sheer lack of emotion for others. May be God should not have taught you to stand on two legs, that ways you would not have become so high, and may be then you would have noticed other beings, and have some emotion for them. You know, most of the others hate you because of the way you trample the little-six-legs-no-eyes-smell-followers. But I know something else. Not all of you are all that bad you know, especially those little-chubby-no-tails, may be because they are not so high like the others.


You know, like most of you no-tails, some of us also like to tell stories. May be there is something common in us after all. Today, I want to tell you a bit of my own story. The oldest memory of myself I have is one where I used to play around in our family grounds with my cousins, there were three of them. Sharp-tooth, who used to be especially naughty you know, long-legs, he was the fastest runner amongst us and always beat us at all our games, dark-hair, who used to be the eldest and always the gentle and the responsible, and they called me run-over, because I had a tendency to run-over things because I am so Big you know. Not the way you do, only things, not others. We used to play in these barren grounds for hours and hours, before some of you people came and made this vicious jungle out of our grounds. Everyone of our family went away then, looking for new grounds as you had robbed us of our home. But I stayed. May be because I was too lazy to go. It has been such a long time since then I don’t even remember why I really stayed you know. I don’t even know if all my family is alive anywhere or not. Do tell me if you see them anywhere, I would love to meet them you know.


But I like this place. This massive jungle that some of you only made. And there are so many of you around here all the time. Though, I don’t understand why you ever come here? With all your bags packed and ready, you come here and wait for hours, and then happily move out to the graveyard, where that massive-many-winged-noisy-fly awaits you all, which eats you all up and then flies away. I think there are many of those birds, though I admit I have always been too scared to find out for myself. I think all of you go to the graveyard in search of a passage to the other side, and there must exist one, because I have noticed some of you coming out from the graveyard, tired, looking for your bags, may be coming from the other side. Although I also think I once saw the massive-many-winged-noisy-fly vomiting some of you out through it’s tongue and then you came back. I don’t understand that. May be the noisy-fly doesn’t- like the taste of some of you no-tails. Talking of bags though, I don’t understand why so many of you He no-tails keep staring at those she no-tails who also always use those similar Wrappings-that-are-so-tight around them are always moving around the jungle, with their bas moving following them. Those bags weirdly behave as dogs you know, always following those she no-tails.


Did I tell you about the foolishness of some of those no-tails who keep tying cords around your bags so I cannot reach into your bags and find some foods amidst all the garbage you throw in there. They don’t know that although sharp-tooth was my cousin, my teeth are sharp enough for their stupid cords anyway. I always laugh at them when I take some of your food away. Sorry, but I have got to feed myself no.
What I never understood was, when all of you are sitting in the jungle waiting for your turn to come to the graveyard, why are you always so happy. I mean you are going to the graveyard after all. May be you are happy to see so many no-tails together.


The other day, there were these no-tails who were here all night, and made so much noise I couldn’t sleep at all. There was this guy who smelled so bad even I couldn’t go near him, and he was all tipsy, falling here and there. May be he was sick. May be he was going to die soon so he was going to the graveyard. May be the noisy-fly would also get sick by eating him. Then there was a set of he and she no-tails who held on to each other’s front legs all the time. You know, I think I have seen some of no-tails do that before as well. There were those two very old she-no-tails who kept walking to and fro all night. I think I heard them say they were doing it to not sleep. I don’t understand why they would not want to sleep? But they were very slow walkers, like they were sleeping while walking anyway. I could easily take 6 rounds of the area by the time they took one. Weirdly, they never went outside my part of the jungle till morning. May be they knew this is the only safe part, where the noisy-fly can’t even see you. That is why I always stay within the lines of this part, which I have come to call as my part. There was also this old he no-tail who had so much of that drink that comes out of that hole on that tube coming out of the red tree that is at so many places in the jungle. You no-tails sure can drink a lot I learned that day. There was a group of 4, no 5 no-tails who were clustered around each other. May be they were a family. I miss my family a lot. There was this huge tall he no-tail sitting in one corner. I think he was reading a book. He sat all alone or a while. After a while, a she no-tail also came there and sat next to him. They didn’t talk for a long time. I don’t understand why when so many of you are here you don’t talk amongst each other. That is what you are supposed to do in gatherings no? Anyway, after a while those two no-tails in the corner started talking to each other. Though every time one of them was not looking, the other would smile as though they had just won some big game. I didn’t understand that.


Alas, there were so many of you here that day but I couldn’t find any food. I was hungry. I suddenly saw the family of no-tails eating something. I rushed towards the food because I was so hungry. They all jumped. And as you no-tails always do on seeing me, dropped the food. Good for me no, though I don’t understand why you are scared of me, when you are so huge yourself.


I was very happy after that. One, because I got good food. Two, because all you no-tails here that day finally started talking amongst each other. It’s so good to see a gathering like this where every one talks. I wish there were others like me I could gather around. I think all of you were talking about me. Some of you were laughing. I don’t understand how you can be scared of me one minute and laugh another. Though it’s good to see you laugh. We cousins used to laugh a lot too. There was this she no-tail who started running after me with a stick in her hand. Her wrappings were so tight; she couldn’t even come close to me. But it was fun to make her run. After that all of you started laughing even more. I was very happy to see you laughing. I tried to come and see may be if I can talk to you, but you started jumping every time I came close. So I sat in the corner and saw all of talking. And whenever you would go quiet, I would come again so that you some of jumped again. And then all of you would talk again. Some of you tried to chase me, but run-over is too fast for any no-tail on this land. I watched you no-tails for a long time that night. Till you all went away one by one to the graveyard, which made me sad. After that I slept. I was at least happy that I had managed to get all of you to talk in the gathering. You should always talk.


I thought about saying all this today because I was reminded of that day as the he no-tail who was reading a book that day in the corner is back today. The she no-tail is not with him anymore. May be the noisy-fly ate her, or may be she got to the other side. I hope she did. He has also brought something some of you no-tails who have too many Wrappings around them often bring to the jungle. It looks like a book but it shows TV on it. You no-tails have amazing things you know. You know there was SRK on that TV today, and he was looking so good. Why are you wondering how I know SRK. Common, everybody knows SRK.


By the way, since you no-tails are scared of me, let it be known, that just before the land of the noisy-fly, the graveyard, lies another forsaken land, of one Run-over, the one you refer to as The Big Fat Rat. You all no-tails are always welcome to the jungle of this hairy-tail, given that you bring food for the mighty owner. I like sweets. I thought you should know that.


The Big Fat Rat.
Address: The jungle of the noisy fly.

P.S. I just learned you people call this place "airport", whatever that means.

MELANCHOLIA

A collision leads to a transfer of momentum. My physics teacher must have said that a thousand times. I understood him the other day, sitting on a railway platform in a small village, the eternal backdrop of the recently glorified Indian nation. I was sitting there because I was scared to stay in this village till late in the night. It turns out; there are still places in this country where we have separate food joints for Hindus and Muslims. You see I am a Hindu, who was sporting a French beard, which somehow signified to the locals that I am a Muslim. I was scared what collision might happen in the neighborhood because of the confusion. I was scared because the scorn in the voice of the shopkeeper who had just stopped me a while ago when I was entering a food joint was so palpable, I could feel it almost as real as the clothes I was wearing. While getting into the restaurant, he had stopped me to shout, “ tumhe hindu restaurant jaana hai ya muslim.” Confused, I looked up and saw the name of the restaurant: “Maa Tarini Hindu Hotel.” That is when, fearing the transfer of momentum which may create a chaos if a collision happened on this account, I rushed to the railway station.

I was sitting on the station, waiting for my train, trying to get my thoughts away from my fears. A fast nonstop passenger was due to pass through track number three, before my train came on it, the village where I had just had my enlightening experience being too insignificant for the train to stop there. Another fast moving train, a “maal gaadi” filled to the brim of the coal rushed on to the platform on track number 4. Its speed was so great that it looked like a mad beast on a mission, roaring through the station. At the same time, the nonstop passenger rushed onto track number three. The collision between the air in the platform and the onrushing trains was so great, that I felt the platform itself shaking, the vibrations of air from one train to another moving my whole being. I am overwhelmed by the transfer of momentum that must have happened in that insignificant yet palpable air to make me feel what I was feeling. I looked at the people around me. Each one of us for those few instants at least had the same feelings, irrespective of our backgrounds, religions, occupations, economic status, we all felt shaken. And then we all lapsed into our own beings once again. The sole beggar at this time on the station, looking with a longing towards a group of people, half wasting their food, in an attempt to jump at it at the same time. Friends, having fun I guessed. The hawker readying his basket of local made delicacies, for the oncoming train, in hope to try and get into the sleeper or ac compartments, where at least some may buy his product, and he may go home with more than those very delicacies with him. The railway policeman, uninterested in whatever was happening around him, probably worried about some issues of his personal life. The “stallwala” fellow, beaming with a sense of pride, probably because he had managed to secure a stall on the station that was probably the singular biggest achievement by anyone in his family line. A procession of people, with a groom with his bride at the head, both of them oblivious to everything but each other. A smart man, wearing a tie, working with a calculator and a sheet of paper, hoping his boss won’t call before he finishes the report. Life for each one of us had taken different collisions, and thus momentum had taken each to it’s different course.

May be I was remembering my physics teacher too much that day.

For those few instants that those trains were passing in opposite directions on my two sides, I had many other souvenirs from the past coming before me. In each window of that passenger train, I could see someone or the other of my friends, from whom I was so far away. On the coal bearing beast’s sides, I saw memories of our family gatherings. I used to love being with my friends. On one window, I saw a picture of seven men, with their feet over a stone, assuming a mock oath. The fateful stone of bachelorhood we guys had called it. Ironically, it was the stone exactly in front of the girl’s hostel in college. On the next window, I see a huge group, playing cards on the roof of the library they had somehow managed to surmount. The pantry car passed, and on it’s windows was painted the DLP Canteen. I could almost smell the maggi and the aloo pyaz paranathas. On the other side, on the coal bearing steel, I saw a kite shaped like a rooster, soaring all alone, like a king in the sky, its string being passed amongst us brothers and our sister, on our rooftop. A party in our city’s “revolving restaurant”. The broken shards of the tube-light, which had suffered the misfortune of being in the way of our cricket ball. There were many more pictures, although how so many of them managed to come upon in those few instants is a credit to the pace at which the human brain can function. All that is so distant now. Somewhere a momentum shift had happened, taking everything so far away. I hope another shift happens soon, taking me back closer. I really hope so.

Sitting there, the word Melancholia came to my mind. A state of sadness, that’s how my friend had described it. The state that was this city, the states that were our different lives, the state that was the distance between me and my close ones. Melancholia. I doubt my physics teacher even knew this word, though I am sure he must have felt it. Each one of us has. Such is Life.

Weird thoughts - continued

Ever wondered what were you like when you were a kid??..

Were you the hunk/babe in your class?.. were you the bully....were you the nerd...were you the nobody.....were you the guy everybody picked on??...were you the teacher's favorite?...were you the school head types???...

are you the same guy now...do u even know the guy that was there...
do u know his friends???...did he have any friends...?...what do his friends think of him now??

have u changed?..why...or why not...?...did u always want to be the guy u are now?...or the guy you sometime ago were...or something else completely...

and if so...why did u end up here??

Ever wondered, why some people change with time, and some others don't. And what side of the line are you on?.

Things to do when you are all alone in a far away town where nobody knows you:

Thing to do No. 1: Window shopping, and if that doesn't help enough, look admiringly at the most expensive product available, ask the store manager to give you all possible schemes on it, and then tell him you will come back to get it once you get your salary.

Thing to do No.2: Go back to the store manager, tell him you got your salary, but you don't like the product anymore.

Thing to do No.3: Go to a famous restaurant, order a coffee. Sit at the table in front of the door. Stare at everybody who comes in. Most people will look away.

Thing to do NO.4: Read as many books as you can. Then sell them. Because you will need money to buy more.

Thing to do No.5: Get an internet connection. At-least you can abuse, insult, crib to, blast off your friends.

Thing to do No.6: Try to download movies on your stupid connection, then crib to anybody who will listen that the speed is too god-damn slow.

Thing to do No.7: Write weird boring posts on your blog.

Thing to do No.8: Force your friends to read them.

Thing to do No.9: Curse everything and everybody you can think about. Blame it on them that you are in such misery.

Thing to do No.10: Chat, on the phone, on the internet.

Thing to do No.11: Go to INOX. Watch back to back movies. Crib that they were sad. Find out that everybody knows that they are sad.

Thing to do No.12: Go to work on your beard.

Thing to do No.13: Watch weird movie on star movies. Watch them again when they show repeat telecasts.

Thing to do No.14: Watch Roadies. Watch Splitsvilla. Watch their repeats. Crib aloud that these are the worst things you ever saw. Then watch fast and gorgeous and take back your words. This is definitely worse.

Thing to do No.15: Jot down a list of weird things to do.Make others read it.


P.s. If u did read this, probably you are in a situation very similar to mine, so please go ahead and add on...

The fables of the one legged rider - Rich or poor

It's 2:00 p.m. The sun is blazing in full glory, hell bent on burning right through the small clutter of clouds, which were trying to shield the people, for just a little while. Soon the sun got the better of them, and battered, tired men, sweating profusely in the heat, started to head back for their homes.

It's a small corner of an important business street, in a small industrial town, where hoards of men and women come every morning, with a sens of purpose, looking up to the day's business. Today was no different. In the midst of the numerous shops, big ones, grand ones, some small ones, and some so small, the owners fight a war every morning just to get in them, were these men, winding the first shifts to their work, hoping for some respite from the heat. A tall, bald man, walks out of an exclusive showroom, more than just grand, recently opened with the paint still fresh, the first of its kind in the city. As he moves out, a BMW X3, probably the only one in the city comes and stops right in front him. The rich man, wearing a blue linen shirt and branded cotton trousers, black, sits in, and the mean machine wheels off.

Our dear rider has just been dropped off at the corner by his fat friend on a Bajaj Chetak. As his friend, rattles off on his not so mean machine, he looks around, at the aghast faces of men around him. The monsoon is late this year, and the water is dripping from the men's faces instead, though how much of it is courtesy the sun or the worries, resulting from bad business in the present times. To make matters worse, a little fellow called AILA, has just paid the neighbourhood a visit recently, and is responsible for all the battered poles, for Shahrukhan's face rotting in the mud (it was supposed to be up on a hoarding advertising some phone, though people don't seem to mind it's fate that much), for the fallen trees, and possibly for a few of the sweat drops.

As he looks on, the BMW passes him, and he admires the exquisite looks. Just as it turns round the bend, a cycle-rikshaw puller comes around from the other end, wearing a torn vest, probably used by someone else and then gifted to him, and a chequered "dhoti", probably one of his few prized possessions. He is done waiting for travellers at the corner, and has now decided to call it a day and moves away from the stand, riding his life support – the rickshaw. He is off to his small shanty, at the other end of the street, that is if it is still standing, after the meeting the little fellow called AILA (if you haven't realised yet, this little fellow is a cyclone that just hit some parts of our country).

Its 2:05, and the shutters on all our shops are down, and the corner suddenly seems deserted to the rider. Most of the corner that is, except that little section, where lies the only veg. restaurant-cum-dhaba-cum-sweets-corner-cum-ice cream corner-cum a lot more on the street. There is only one word that explains this place, "adda".

The rider walks in, looking for his usual table, which has become part of the semblance of reality that he has created for himself in these places, far off from his home. There are three men sitting on the table, with one space vacant for him. For those of you who do not understand, in these kinds of places, one never occupies the entire table, but just one seat, so that a complete stranger may well, and often does, sit beside you at lunch. Believe it or not, many friendships start at such tables, and last a lifetime.

On first look, the table looks like a set of misfits in this place. The first man sitting on the table is an executive from one of the leading banks in the country, or so the card attached to his imported belt says. The second man is wearing an orange collared shirt. The collar is open, probably strategically, to show off a heavy gold chain, thick enough for a dog's collar. Right across him is a man dressed in formals, and by the manner he always agrees to what the fat orange shirt says, the rider guesses that he must be the assistant. The fourth on the table is our rider.

Activity is at its peak, with more people than the place can take, looking expectedly towards the kitchen, hoping to see their order come out. The four men, alas, are still waiting for their turn to place their orders, let alone have them served. Looking at their glasses of cold water, a respite that has helped them relax, all four men are lost in their thoughts.

The power goes out. It is a completely regular feature ever since the advent of that very little fellow we talked about and the people are so used to it by now, that almost nobody reacts.
That is, except the orange shirt. Looking at the fan, as though it might just start running, scared of the look from him, he remarks ,"kya bekkar jagah hai, generator bhi nahi hai".

That is just a start, to his unending brickbats. They must be a regular feature, because the assitant mutely agrees, without offering any explanations or remarks. The other two men, are not that aware, and thus explain to him, that since some electrical work is on, the generator can't be switched on.

Then ensues an unending list of problems with this place. Most of the good dishes are not available, the menu is too small, there is no attention to "customer service” and so on and on and on and on. By now, the other two have also realized the story, and are silent, looking forward to the food they have just ordered. The orange shirt hasn't though, because he is still busy commenting. The rider wonders why the orange shirt didn't go to a five-star if he wanted so much of customer service, and if he is here, why can he let everybody eat in peace.

Amongst these thoughts, the rider sees the old waiter at the place, the one he has come to recognize too, bringing his order, the rider smiles. The orange shirt suddenly starts shouting an order at the old waiter, and manages to offend quite a few people on his way. Once the old man brings the order, he shouts again, and sends half of it back, because he is not in the mood for it anymore, and orders something else, about which he complains later, that he was not told by the old man that half a dish can also be ordered at this place, though it would only have taken the reading skills of a second grader to read the same on the board right in front of him, but then, may be that was too lowly for him, and may be the assistant should have done it, the lesser - mortal who only knows how to agree, and it is his fault after all. To his credit, the old man shows the orange shirt the board, which does seem to amuse the rider and the banker, though the assistant refuses to look up.

When the old man, finally moves away with the empty plates of the four men, the orange shirt comments " kya fakeer aadmi rakhe hue hain?", loud enough for the old man to hear. At this, the rider has had enough, gives him a look which couldn't mean much else than anger, and would have been easy to decipher even for the extremely dumb orange shirt.

He then walks too the old man, hands him is bill, holds him and tells him, " Dada, aap gareeb sahi, par fakeer wo hai, Dil ka fakeer".
With a smile from the old man, the rider rides back on to the road, questioning, which ones of us are really rich, and which ones really poor?

The fables of the one legged rider - Style

It is early hours if the morning, with a slight mist in the air. It is the month of january in a north Indian city, and those of us who have witnessed it, this was no time to be outside the warmth of one's bed.

A lonely auto-rickshaw, the only means of communication that available at this hour, was moving briskly along a clean, smooth and deserted road. One side of the road was the state university, silent and huge. On the other side were the houses of people who could easily be classified in the upper strata of the city, with multiple sedans standing in the open parkings that people prefer in these regions. The houses themselves were nothing short of princely bungalows.

The rickshaw driver, after taking a few extremely sharp turns, that apart from scaring the wits out of the passenger, also managed to amaze him at his own competence, though he knew he would not have dared any such thing if the roads were not deserted; he reached the lane the passenger had asked him to move to, and with a few further directions from the passenger, they reached their destination.

The rider, handing the driver his promised Rs. 40, got his luggage down with amazement in his eyes. He was expecting a locked gate, instead he found his entire family coming out, ready to leave for somewhere he definately didnt know. His first reaction was of shock, and worry, because it was quite uncharacterstic of everybody to be up together so early, but a close look at their merry faces had told him that nothing was wrong, but then, where were the headed?

He soon find out, that he happend to drop back home, at one of the Holy days, and everyone was headed to the nearby temple. Not to much of a relegious person, the rider weighed whether to go along or not, and finally decided too, just to be with everybody.

With continous chit - chat on the way, the rider moved inside the temple feeling it was a little too close to their place. All of them entered the magnanimous campus, most with their hands folded.

A special prayer had been organized by the Pujari Ji, and there were quite a few people present to attend it. Not being a very relegious person himself, with a much greater belief in science, which automatically contrasted with relegion, the rider soon lost interest in the prayer. The fact that he didnt understand much of it for it being in sanskrit might have added to hi disinterest. He started off with his favorite activity of observing others.

The group consisted of all kinds of people, of different backgrounds, age groups etc.
There was a mother holding a small baby in her lap, sitting in her corner. The baby seemed to be awake but peaceful, the mother smiling. A small lean kid, was moving around the campus, lost in his own merriness, and could not have cared less. There were old men and women, in their sixties and seventies, mostly retired, with grey hair, and lost in memories. Then there were not so old people, working men, women, housewifes, incharge of their households, all dressed smartly. There were also a few younsters, like our rider, some a little disinterested, others greatly devout. This was as vivid an assortment of people as any.

While the "pujari ji"'s prayers were about to come to an end, a few regulars at the temple went about distributing a few musical instruments, a "dholak" etc. A typical indian instrument, two metal plates tied together with a string which gave a distinct ding on striking upon each other, was in such abundance that within minutes, almost everyone had one.

By the time the prayers were over, the man siting with the dholak started playing it, and singing a popular hymn which was known to everybody in the country. Moments later, he was joined by a couple of ding sounds. Soon, a few other joined the chorus of the hymn. Withing minutes, everyone was in on it.

The rider, could beleive the effect the symphony was having on him. Although he didn't have any intentions to, he couldn't stop himslef from joining in with one of those instruments.

The rider thought to himslef, once the hymn was over, that what amazing effect it had had on everyone around. The baby was smiling wildly in his mother's lap, the kid was also looking at the deitie's idol, inspired it seemed. All the other grown ups, which the rider felt included him, were so relieved of all their worries, problems, issues, everything, by merely being able to come together in such a fashion.

With the proceedings over, he started walking back towards outside, amazed. He suddenly remembered that he was limping, the limp being much more pronounced than in later years, as the wound was still quite fresh. It is then that he realized, that astonishingly, he hadn't even remebered his pain during the hymn.

He wondered at the power it had possesed, turned back, looked straight towards the idols, and said in his mind," Kuch bhi kaho boss, maan gaye, Style to hai aap me!"

And with this new definition of style in his mind, along with his family, he rode on!!

The fables of the one legged rider - Choice

The rider, is sitting in a local train, moving from one suburb to another, of the fastest city in this country, our financial capital as they call it, our dear Mumbai.

The crowd is so immense that the rider can see little more than the sweaty shirts of the two people standing in front of him and the train's roof.

His station is about to arrive, and he manages to reach the passageway between the two doors, getting to hear some not so pleasent words on his way, because of having acccidentaly pushed so many people, not that it was possible to reach there without doing so anyway.

Without worrying about the pleasentries, and happy that the tough part was over, he stood, waiting for the push to come.

And come it sure did, as it always does in a local, where you never have to get down, the crowd makes you do it for you.

Amidst the thousands of people rushing out of the station, the rider, a small notebook in hand, started moving towards an automobile plant nearby that he had been visiting for a few days .

Inside the plant, he went about finishing his work, as this was his last day here, and he was ready with most part of the report he had to submit a few days later.
In the last hour or so, with his work done, he was sitting on the floor , in a small clearing on the plant floor, amidst the loud din that goes on because of the machinery, so that no one can talk to another human, even if they wanted to because there was no chance anyone would hear him. He was looking at all the workers, going at their tasks, faithfully, without fail, again and again and again, for as long as he could remember.

At the same time, he thought of the fishermen, who go to catch fish, day after day, casting the same nets, in the seas around, enduring all the waste we throw in near the costs. The women who sold these fish, sitting all day in that uncomparable smell., the janitor, who cleans our office floors everyday, taking all the dust in his nostrils, doing the same thing..again again again, taking the tiring local to their jobs, with less free space than a fly would need to pee in, again again...forever.

The rider had once heard someone say, that with time, these people get used to it all, and actually started liking it. Well, that someone hadn't been to any of these places more than once for sure, so the rider thought.

Listening to the din, the rider wondered, there was no way anybody could ever like this, or even get used to it. That much he had realized working in the plants for the limited period he had. Then why do these people keep on going at it??

The answer came to him when he saw a worker's son sleeping in a corner. These men had made their choice, the choice to have a family to go back to, to try and provide or them, and "live" whatever semblance of life they could manage. And these jobs, were the best opportunity they got.

And in this huge country of ours, many dont even get that, and so these men are happy they got atleast this!

The rider just then got a call from his boss, that its time to go.

Wondering that was it really a choise these people got, and what of those who were worse off, he "rode" out of the plant.

Weird Thoughts - Continued

Weird thought about a bookmark
I had just finished a book called Wheels, while on my way back from work, and was wondering where to put the bookmark "in" now.

I kept it aside for use in my next book, and it is then that I wondered, what would it be like, to be a bookmark.
To be in touch with so many books, for such long periods, and then part, the moment the reader is done with the book.

I believe every book would leave a certain kind of mark on it, a small scratch, a little fold, an ink mark where water had spilled on the book with the book mark in it.

How would the bookmark feel, while looking back at all it's marks it had collected over the years.
And then I wondered, isn't a book mark a lot like us??..

We meet so many people - our books, have relationships, become friends, create memories - our marks, and then move on in life, without knowing when we will come across the same books again.

Or may be a bookmark is like a philanderer, who has small - term relationships, with many women (or men at times, if you know what I mean), and then moves on, with no marks, no guilt, no feeling whatsoever. And may be someday, the reader would forget it, inside a book, and that would be the philanderer's marriage, and it will stay there forever if that book was never retrieved.

But such a bookmark, would always look anew, since it would have no marks from the books in the past.

Ans somehow, I have never seen a used bookmark, which looks anew. The marks are always there.



Weird Thought about Buses and Bathrooms

What is common between buses and bathrooms, apart from the facts that they both start with a "B", and that in both places, people are often present, sitting in a relaxed manner, and some are known to fall asleep in both places.

I figured it is the fact that I keep getting all of these weird ideas in these places only.

But you know, it might have to do with the fact that my head is idle at both these times, since one doesnt use it much while sitting alone in a bus, or well you know, at the other place :)