About two hundred persons perished in the rail sabotage yesterday at West Midnapore. Earlier this month, several innocents died in violence at Dantewada. Last month 75 CRPF men succumbed to an attack in the same region. The government admits its inability to do much because of the “mixed mandate”.
One wonders if one would ever have a stronger mandate to take effective action. The government comprises of representatives who win elections on the basis of votes supposedly cast by citizens under their free will. Several people don’t exercise their franchise. Those, who do, may not always act under the so called “free will”. Money power, muscle power, caste considerations, peer pressure, and several other factors influence the “will” of the voters. Candidates spend a fortune and toil hard before elections. If the purpose were only to serve people, it could be achieved more effectively and without bearing so many hardships. The purpose of getting elected is evidently entirely different. The rewards of the office are so attractive, that people try to get elected every time the elections are held.
Under such circumstances, how can elected representatives speak against their own electorate? And why should they allow anyone to take action against their electorate? Doing that would mean bidding a permanent goodbye to their goldmine. So, whether it is a ‘khap’ or a ‘dalit’ or a ‘marathi manus’ or a ‘maoist’ cause, the policy makers of our nation continue to wag their tails, bowing before selfish sectarian interests, and making lame excuses before the rest.
The common man is accused of inertness. It is said that one gets the government one deserves. The reality is different. Common man is so occupied to make both ends meet, arrange education for children, run around doctors, and stand in different queues, that he cannot even dream of contesting an election. All that he dreams of is about leading a peaceful life. Life, that includes happy reunions with relatives and friends. Life that involves getting down peacefully from a bus or a second class train compartment, and hugging the dear ones waiting to receive him.
Unfortunately, all that the dear ones receive today are severed body parts, coffins, and empty promises. But they should not complain. They should understand that the mandate before the government is mixed. And wait for their turn to die in a similar fashion.
शनिवार, 29 मई 2010
मंगलवार, 13 अप्रैल 2010
We Don’t Care Two Hoots
A man joined a Mahatma Gandhi organisation. One day Mahatma Gandhi visited the organisation and the man found himself standing face to face with Bapu. Mahatma Gandhi was a world famous personality. This man was just an ordinary person. Nervous, he tried to introduce himself. Gandhi patted his shoulder and said with warmth, “Yes, I know you. You are such-and-such person’s son!”
The man stood stunned. It was true that he, along with his father, had met Mahatma Gandhi earlier; but that happened only once, and that too years ago. It was remarkable that Gandhi not only recognised the man even after the lapse of so many years, but also remembered his father’s name.
Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore once saw two children walking with their hands on each-other’s shoulder. He found it overwhelming, and tears started flowing from his eyes.
An interpreter sat beside Mrs Indira Gandhi during a long discussion. As the discussion was over and everybody started departing, Mrs Gandhi turned and said, “The interpreter did not have anything to eat. Please ensure that she is served well.”
Mohammed Rafi used to thank every accompanist after a recording, while most other singers just walked out in a hurry to catch their next recording.
A young lady employee stood alone at night in front of the Tata Centre in Mumbai. She was waiting for her husband. To her amazement, she found JRD Tata walk up to her. JRD gave her company till her husband arrived. He did not want the lady to stand alone in the night.
These people were perhaps more busy than we are. They perhaps had many more important issues to tackle than we have. Time was perhaps more in short supply for them than it is for us. Yet, they behaved far better than an average person does.
What makes us ignore the sentiments of others? Why is it a matter of pride for us to snub those who have less money, yield less power, or are physically less attractive? Why does a minister not think twice before ordering his bodyguards to open fire on citizens trying to air their grievance? Why does a boss fail to notice that his subordinate has wished him? Why does a man find nothing wrong to call his younger siblings or wife names?
The situation changes dramatically the moment the so-far-weakling acquires a position of power. Voice becomes laced with honey. Nothing but respect oozes out of the body language. An ear-to-ear smile is flashed at the slightest opportunity. People who were nasty lose count of your good qualities.
Man, how can you change so much? Neither your hatred, nor your love is true. You don’t care two hoots for anyone! I never forget these lines from a decades old Sahir nazm:
Har Ik Jism Ghayal, Har Ik Rooh Pyasi,
Nigahon Mein Uljhan, Dilon Mein Udasi,
Yeh Duniya Hai? Ya Alam-e-badhawasi?
Jahan Ik Khilona Hai Insan Ki Hasti,
Yeh Basti Hai Murdaparaston Ki Basti,
Yahan Par Ke Jeevan Se Hai Maut Sasti!
Jawani Bhatakti Hain Badkar Ban Kar,
Jawan Jism Sajte Hain Bazar Ban Kar,
Yahan Pyar Hota Hai Vyapar Ban Kar!
Yeh Duniya Jahan Admi Kuchh Nahin Hai,
Wafa Kuchh Nahin, Dosti Kuchh Nahin Hai,
Yahan Pyar Ki Kadra Hi Kuchh Nahin Hai!
मंगलवार, 23 मार्च 2010
The Beast within Us
Mirza Ghalib wrote, “Dil Hi To Hai, Na Sangokhisht, Dard Se Bhar Na Aaye Kyon?” Ghalib felt that the human heart was full of pathos, unlike an insensitive stone brick structure.
I wonder whether Ghalib was right.
Two days ago Times Now repeatedly ran a news clip. A man was being beaten mercilessly at the Vadodara station. The man, a ticket checker, was bleeding profusely, crying for help and trying to protect himself with his bare arms. Cut to the shot of another man, who was very happily running towards the ticket checker for another assault. Cut to the shot of the ticket checker being hit on the head with a boulder, streams of blood turning his white shirt to a deep crimson. Cut to the shot of onlookers who appeared to be enjoying the agony of the hapless ticket checker.
Few years ago, I noticed a crowd of about fifty people curiously looking in a particular direction at the Kanpur railway junction. The centre of attraction was a lunatic walking on the roof of a railway bogie. The naked man was precariously close to the high tension wires that power the electric locomotives. After striding confidently for a few minutes, the man stopped and stretched his limbs. His hands touched the wire, there was a deep thud, and the man collapsed. If the man was not dead, he was surely unconscious with the near lethal dose of high voltage electric current. Worse, he had started sliding down from the curved roof. By this time some police jawans had arrived. They waited for the body to fall from a height of four metres. And it did fall eventually. The naked man soon lay sprawled between two railway tracks. The two jawans swung into action. Holding a hand each of the dying man, they made him stand, climbed over the platform, and made him walk, perhaps right up to the thana. The crowd found the spectacle of a naked man walking between two uniformed policemen funny, breaking into laughter, hooting and clapping.
I am still unable to forget the footage of an injured man being lifted through his broken arm during the Mandal agitation about twenty years ago. The man died within minutes.
Why does man treat man in such a despicable way? What makes us relish the discomfort of others? It it true that under the garb of civilisation hides a beast within us, waiting to be released at the slightest opportunity?
सोमवार, 15 मार्च 2010
The ‘Interest’
It was the ‘haldi’ ceremony of Anupam. I wore a yellow dhoti and a kurta with a shawl draped over my left shoulder. Rani and I sat next to the priest. The priest was young. An MA in Sanskrit, he had resigned as lecturer in a college to don the role of a priest. His children did not like the small town where he lived during his stint as a lecturer. The low salary was another turn off, he said.
Talkative, the priest explained why certain things were performed during the puja, and also clarified the correct manner of doing them to gain desired results. A pleasant person, the priest cracked harmless jokes at appropriate moments.
An important ritual in the ceremony involved recalling dead relatives. The priest explained the process, and then said something funny. He said, “Man is more interested in his grandchildren, than in his own children. His own children are the principal amount, while the grandchildren are the interest accrued! The lender is always interested more in the interest than in the principal amount.”
The simile sounded absurd to me. I smiled, but rejected it almost instantaneously. My paternal grandfather met me only on two or three occasions, that too for very brief periods of time, and never displayed affection. He never took me around, played with me, or even talked to me beyond the one-liner, “Do you recognise me?”
My maternal grandfather saw me a little more, but he, too, was more interested in my younger cousins and my elder sister. Perhaps we never talked, though I remember touching his feet and he saying “thak, thak” every time we visited Nanaji’s place.
Daddy, that way, was better. I was aware of some correspondence between him and Anupam. Anupam met him last about eight years ago. Daddy enquired about Anupam whenever we spoke over the telephone. However, he forthrightly rejected the idea of attending Anupam’s wedding, citing his poor health! About 80 years of age, he suffers from arthritis. Walking on uneven ground causes pain to him. His knees hurt. He is content lying down on a sofa and watching television most of the time. When he stands, his back bends within seconds. He has partial vision in one eye. And, he appears to be hard of hearing. He lives thousands of kilometres away from all his children, in a house that my mother and he built together in a suburb of Patna. Mummy stayed in that house only on the ‘grihapravesha’ night. Her premature death (read blog 'Strange but True'), daddy’s premature retirement, and his movement to his own house were over in a matter of about two years. Daddy lives there away from his real children, running his mission of transforming the lives of the underprivileged. He appears to be content meeting their requirements, and has so far refused all invitations to live with us.
Rani’s father, Papa, is no more. I do not remember any exchange of affection between him and my son. Papa’s communication with Anupam revolved around securing the main gate at night, shutting down the water pump, operating the valve on the water pipe, and bringing something from the market. If the two of them ever laughed together, I missed that totally.
So, all that proclamation about grandchildren being more sought after than own children was nothing but humbug for me.
A day after the wedding we travelled to daddy’s place to seek his blessings. The train started late by about ten hours, and by the time it reached the destination it was about twelve hours behind schedule. Rather than arriving at dawn, we stood in front of the house in the evening! Daddy and the children had gathered together to welcome the new bride. A colourful ‘alpana’ greeted us at the main entrance. The children performed her ‘aarti’, gave her some sweet to eat, and entered the house behind her. The drawing room was decorated with shiny papers, flowers, and a small poster congratulating Nitasha and Anupam.
Refreshments were promptly served in brand new crockery under the supervision of Daddy. I ignored the gulab jamun, which had sugar stuck over it. The dahiwada was better. So were four or five other delicacies. I was tired, and also a little uncomfortable wondering how the city-dwelling Nitasha would appreciate such rustic fare. Daddy kept on asking whether we liked the food, and I kept nodding my head in mock approval. Frankly, there was nothing extraordinary about it. I am a little apprehensive about food bought from shops, especially if they happen to be located in backward suburbs.
Finally, one of the children broke the news. Daddy had cooked the gulab jamun, the dahiwada, and most of the other delicacies himself! Since he cannot stand for more than a few minutes, he had got the stove placed on the floor, and cooked the food for hours. It was he who had made the poster. Sheepishly, daddy added that he had also stitched new sofa covers for the occasion.
I was shocked! The entire scenario changed. The sofa cover, the decoration, the poster, the food – everything stood transformed! I saw Daddy in a new light. He did not betray any sign of suffering due to sitting for hours cooking, drawing the poster, or stitching the covers. He was happy, eager to know whether we were happy.
My eyes clouded with tears. I thought of the priest’s statement about the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, and took a gulab jamun. It was well made, so what if it had sugar stuck over it!
Talkative, the priest explained why certain things were performed during the puja, and also clarified the correct manner of doing them to gain desired results. A pleasant person, the priest cracked harmless jokes at appropriate moments.
An important ritual in the ceremony involved recalling dead relatives. The priest explained the process, and then said something funny. He said, “Man is more interested in his grandchildren, than in his own children. His own children are the principal amount, while the grandchildren are the interest accrued! The lender is always interested more in the interest than in the principal amount.”
The simile sounded absurd to me. I smiled, but rejected it almost instantaneously. My paternal grandfather met me only on two or three occasions, that too for very brief periods of time, and never displayed affection. He never took me around, played with me, or even talked to me beyond the one-liner, “Do you recognise me?”
My maternal grandfather saw me a little more, but he, too, was more interested in my younger cousins and my elder sister. Perhaps we never talked, though I remember touching his feet and he saying “thak, thak” every time we visited Nanaji’s place.
Daddy, that way, was better. I was aware of some correspondence between him and Anupam. Anupam met him last about eight years ago. Daddy enquired about Anupam whenever we spoke over the telephone. However, he forthrightly rejected the idea of attending Anupam’s wedding, citing his poor health! About 80 years of age, he suffers from arthritis. Walking on uneven ground causes pain to him. His knees hurt. He is content lying down on a sofa and watching television most of the time. When he stands, his back bends within seconds. He has partial vision in one eye. And, he appears to be hard of hearing. He lives thousands of kilometres away from all his children, in a house that my mother and he built together in a suburb of Patna. Mummy stayed in that house only on the ‘grihapravesha’ night. Her premature death (read blog 'Strange but True'), daddy’s premature retirement, and his movement to his own house were over in a matter of about two years. Daddy lives there away from his real children, running his mission of transforming the lives of the underprivileged. He appears to be content meeting their requirements, and has so far refused all invitations to live with us.
Rani’s father, Papa, is no more. I do not remember any exchange of affection between him and my son. Papa’s communication with Anupam revolved around securing the main gate at night, shutting down the water pump, operating the valve on the water pipe, and bringing something from the market. If the two of them ever laughed together, I missed that totally.
So, all that proclamation about grandchildren being more sought after than own children was nothing but humbug for me.
A day after the wedding we travelled to daddy’s place to seek his blessings. The train started late by about ten hours, and by the time it reached the destination it was about twelve hours behind schedule. Rather than arriving at dawn, we stood in front of the house in the evening! Daddy and the children had gathered together to welcome the new bride. A colourful ‘alpana’ greeted us at the main entrance. The children performed her ‘aarti’, gave her some sweet to eat, and entered the house behind her. The drawing room was decorated with shiny papers, flowers, and a small poster congratulating Nitasha and Anupam.
Refreshments were promptly served in brand new crockery under the supervision of Daddy. I ignored the gulab jamun, which had sugar stuck over it. The dahiwada was better. So were four or five other delicacies. I was tired, and also a little uncomfortable wondering how the city-dwelling Nitasha would appreciate such rustic fare. Daddy kept on asking whether we liked the food, and I kept nodding my head in mock approval. Frankly, there was nothing extraordinary about it. I am a little apprehensive about food bought from shops, especially if they happen to be located in backward suburbs.
Finally, one of the children broke the news. Daddy had cooked the gulab jamun, the dahiwada, and most of the other delicacies himself! Since he cannot stand for more than a few minutes, he had got the stove placed on the floor, and cooked the food for hours. It was he who had made the poster. Sheepishly, daddy added that he had also stitched new sofa covers for the occasion.
I was shocked! The entire scenario changed. The sofa cover, the decoration, the poster, the food – everything stood transformed! I saw Daddy in a new light. He did not betray any sign of suffering due to sitting for hours cooking, drawing the poster, or stitching the covers. He was happy, eager to know whether we were happy.
My eyes clouded with tears. I thought of the priest’s statement about the bond between grandparents and grandchildren, and took a gulab jamun. It was well made, so what if it had sugar stuck over it!
सोमवार, 8 मार्च 2010
The Neighbourhood Restaurant
As I knocked at the door, I noticed a colourful pamphlet tucked under the door handle. The pamphlet was folded strategically to remain stuck under the handle until someone retrieved it deliberately. Well, it was the door to my house, and so I grabbed the pamphlet. Before I could start reading it, Rani opened the door. We both looked at the pamphlet with curiosity. The multi-page pamphlet on its cover bore the name and phone number of a restaurant. It promised ‘free home delivery’ of Thai, Chinese and Indian food.
Interested, we opened the pamphlet. This restaurant served over hundred variants of food! Usually some price is mentioned for each dish in such pamphlets, but this one was unique. It revealed no price!
We returned to the cover page. The restaurant appeared to be located nearby. I called up my colleague who has been staying in the area for donkey’s years. He very patiently advised me to get out of my house, turn left, and keep going straight for three kilometres to reach the place through Ramachandrapura.
Rani and I were excited. Why not visit this place during our evening walk? Determined, we came out of the house, and took left. Rani and I do not like that particular stretch of road. It does not have footpath, and the traffic is substantial. One cannot enjoy a leisurely walk on such roads.
We turned back, deciding to reach the end of the road through another route, lined with tall trees full of purple, white, and yellow flowers. Half our way through, we noticed a boulevard parallel to the road suggested by my colleague.
“Why not take this road? After all, the two roads are parallel and one can always take a cross road to reach the intended one”, said Rani. Reading the doubt in my eyes, she added, “Okay! I will ask someone to be sure”. She asked a person who appeared to be walking back home after a day at office. The person confirmed that the road indeed led to the locality intended.
“Dekkkha?”, Rani exclaimed with joy, and we started walking. Walking on that road was a pleasure. Palatial bungalows. Wide footpaths. Trees. Smell of clean air. We liked it for about twenty minutes, and then began a series of shops and residential buildings.
“Ah, look there, to your right!”, I pointed towards a decent government priced foreign liquor shop. We almost halted. “From the looks of it I can say that one can get genuine scotch and wine here”, I declared.
“Shall we walk up the stairs and check?”, asked Rani.
I was in two minds. Meanwhile, two persons started looking at us from the shop.
“Well, it would not be correct to enter the shop and enquire about a lot of things when we don’t have to buy anything now”, we agreed and resumed walking after making a mental note of the shop.
Another ten-minute stroll, and we were at a ‘T’ junction. By this time daylight had almost disappeared. We were nowhere near our destination, and didn’t even know where to find it. We had walked more than three kilometres. Luckily, most of it had been downhill.
I decided to abandon our quest and return home.
Rani checked up with another person. She was still hopeful of finding the place.
The person advised us to continue for another two kilometres and then take left to reach Ramachandrapura.
“Will you care for a samosa?”, I asked, exploiting her weakness for junk food.
“No, I am fine”.
So be it. We resumed walking.
Another ten minutes, and we saw a Maruti service station.
“We can buy the door knob here!”, we exclaimed in unison.
The broken knob lay in my pocket. It had come out in two pieces a few days ago. I had both the pieces with me. I entered the workshop, taking the broken pieces out. As I reached the door of the shop, one piece fell down and vanished somewhere. The remaining piece was sufficient for the shopkeeper to identify the desired knob and sell it to me for a princely sum of Rs.5.
We were happy. So what if we could not locate the restaurant? We had been successful in finding a decent wine shop which we would not have seen otherwise. And, we had also been able to buy the door knob, which was not available in other markets.
We walked with greater determination, and reached another ‘T’ junction. The signboards here proclaimed the name of the locality we had set out for.
“This is Block One. The restaurant is in Block Five.” Rani observed.
We took right, walking half a kilometre. Block One, like a faithful companion, continued.
“We will walk up to that red billboard and then return”, I declared.
The red billboard, too, happened to be in Block One. Perhaps Block Five was another two kilometres away.
We turned around, walking back uphill for forty five minutes, to reach home.
“I wonder how the restaurant delivers the food thus far”, I expressed my worry.
“The restaurant man does not come walking”, Rani said.
“Yes, he will not come walking”, I agreed. “And we will not walk to that place again”, I said, examining the door knob carefully.
Rani agreed. Our two-and-a-half hour long walk must have done us some good, we thought, and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
We have not talked about that restaurant since then.
Interested, we opened the pamphlet. This restaurant served over hundred variants of food! Usually some price is mentioned for each dish in such pamphlets, but this one was unique. It revealed no price!
We returned to the cover page. The restaurant appeared to be located nearby. I called up my colleague who has been staying in the area for donkey’s years. He very patiently advised me to get out of my house, turn left, and keep going straight for three kilometres to reach the place through Ramachandrapura.
Rani and I were excited. Why not visit this place during our evening walk? Determined, we came out of the house, and took left. Rani and I do not like that particular stretch of road. It does not have footpath, and the traffic is substantial. One cannot enjoy a leisurely walk on such roads.
We turned back, deciding to reach the end of the road through another route, lined with tall trees full of purple, white, and yellow flowers. Half our way through, we noticed a boulevard parallel to the road suggested by my colleague.
“Why not take this road? After all, the two roads are parallel and one can always take a cross road to reach the intended one”, said Rani. Reading the doubt in my eyes, she added, “Okay! I will ask someone to be sure”. She asked a person who appeared to be walking back home after a day at office. The person confirmed that the road indeed led to the locality intended.
“Dekkkha?”, Rani exclaimed with joy, and we started walking. Walking on that road was a pleasure. Palatial bungalows. Wide footpaths. Trees. Smell of clean air. We liked it for about twenty minutes, and then began a series of shops and residential buildings.
“Ah, look there, to your right!”, I pointed towards a decent government priced foreign liquor shop. We almost halted. “From the looks of it I can say that one can get genuine scotch and wine here”, I declared.
“Shall we walk up the stairs and check?”, asked Rani.
I was in two minds. Meanwhile, two persons started looking at us from the shop.
“Well, it would not be correct to enter the shop and enquire about a lot of things when we don’t have to buy anything now”, we agreed and resumed walking after making a mental note of the shop.
Another ten-minute stroll, and we were at a ‘T’ junction. By this time daylight had almost disappeared. We were nowhere near our destination, and didn’t even know where to find it. We had walked more than three kilometres. Luckily, most of it had been downhill.
I decided to abandon our quest and return home.
Rani checked up with another person. She was still hopeful of finding the place.
The person advised us to continue for another two kilometres and then take left to reach Ramachandrapura.
“Will you care for a samosa?”, I asked, exploiting her weakness for junk food.
“No, I am fine”.
So be it. We resumed walking.
Another ten minutes, and we saw a Maruti service station.
“We can buy the door knob here!”, we exclaimed in unison.
The broken knob lay in my pocket. It had come out in two pieces a few days ago. I had both the pieces with me. I entered the workshop, taking the broken pieces out. As I reached the door of the shop, one piece fell down and vanished somewhere. The remaining piece was sufficient for the shopkeeper to identify the desired knob and sell it to me for a princely sum of Rs.5.
We were happy. So what if we could not locate the restaurant? We had been successful in finding a decent wine shop which we would not have seen otherwise. And, we had also been able to buy the door knob, which was not available in other markets.
We walked with greater determination, and reached another ‘T’ junction. The signboards here proclaimed the name of the locality we had set out for.
“This is Block One. The restaurant is in Block Five.” Rani observed.
We took right, walking half a kilometre. Block One, like a faithful companion, continued.
“We will walk up to that red billboard and then return”, I declared.
The red billboard, too, happened to be in Block One. Perhaps Block Five was another two kilometres away.
We turned around, walking back uphill for forty five minutes, to reach home.
“I wonder how the restaurant delivers the food thus far”, I expressed my worry.
“The restaurant man does not come walking”, Rani said.
“Yes, he will not come walking”, I agreed. “And we will not walk to that place again”, I said, examining the door knob carefully.
Rani agreed. Our two-and-a-half hour long walk must have done us some good, we thought, and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
We have not talked about that restaurant since then.
शनिवार, 30 जनवरी 2010
An Orchestra of Villains!
With the departure of Smriti to Delhi, we decided to shift residence to a place nearer my office.
The duplex bungalow we resided at so far was now too big for our needs. When on tour, I remained worried about Rani’s safety. A thief could lurk anywhere. A robber could force entry through any of the four doors. The locality had lost its rustic charm with the appearance of residential apartments all around. I already hated the raddiwalla shop at the head of the lane, and the emergence of a meat shop on the approach road had turned the matter worse. The final nail was driven in the coffin with three tyre punctures within a span of forty-five days or so.
The flat we moved into is part of an apartment. It has power back up, security, and other such small comforts. Smriti and Anupam liked it, and Rani, in spite of rejecting it initially, accepted it later. Some of the furniture – an almirah, a writing desk, a cabinet, etc., could not be accommodated and had to be sold off.
The commuting time has been shortened by one complete hour! The place is safer. We have a neighbour to whom Rani can talk. The market is nearby.
However, one cannot have everything good in life! The place has a major drawback. It is next to a traffic junction. There are speed breakers on two major sides of the junction. Vehicles coming near to the junction apply brake, speed up, realise that another side also has a speed breaker, apply brake again, accelerate and zoom ahead. In the dead of the night the sound is enough to rudely wake you up, and keep you awake.
It appears that jackals or some similar animals infiltrate into the area when it is dark. The dogs object, and a howling, barking and shrieking campaign starts. The cacophony continues till somebody warns the dogs with a “heh”!
A stray bull also appears to have liked the area for its nocturnal pursuits. While taking the round at about 2 PM, it makes a typical sound as only bulls can make.
The sum result is that I keep awake most of the nights listening to the orchestra of bull as the lead singer, the dogs as the chorus, and the sound of the vehicles as the accompanying music.
Day before yesterday I decided to sleep in the other room. Repeated the act yesterday. The room is definitely less noisy, but the bed is too small to accommodate two persons!
Let’s see what happens tonight!
The duplex bungalow we resided at so far was now too big for our needs. When on tour, I remained worried about Rani’s safety. A thief could lurk anywhere. A robber could force entry through any of the four doors. The locality had lost its rustic charm with the appearance of residential apartments all around. I already hated the raddiwalla shop at the head of the lane, and the emergence of a meat shop on the approach road had turned the matter worse. The final nail was driven in the coffin with three tyre punctures within a span of forty-five days or so.
The flat we moved into is part of an apartment. It has power back up, security, and other such small comforts. Smriti and Anupam liked it, and Rani, in spite of rejecting it initially, accepted it later. Some of the furniture – an almirah, a writing desk, a cabinet, etc., could not be accommodated and had to be sold off.
The commuting time has been shortened by one complete hour! The place is safer. We have a neighbour to whom Rani can talk. The market is nearby.
However, one cannot have everything good in life! The place has a major drawback. It is next to a traffic junction. There are speed breakers on two major sides of the junction. Vehicles coming near to the junction apply brake, speed up, realise that another side also has a speed breaker, apply brake again, accelerate and zoom ahead. In the dead of the night the sound is enough to rudely wake you up, and keep you awake.
It appears that jackals or some similar animals infiltrate into the area when it is dark. The dogs object, and a howling, barking and shrieking campaign starts. The cacophony continues till somebody warns the dogs with a “heh”!
A stray bull also appears to have liked the area for its nocturnal pursuits. While taking the round at about 2 PM, it makes a typical sound as only bulls can make.
The sum result is that I keep awake most of the nights listening to the orchestra of bull as the lead singer, the dogs as the chorus, and the sound of the vehicles as the accompanying music.
Day before yesterday I decided to sleep in the other room. Repeated the act yesterday. The room is definitely less noisy, but the bed is too small to accommodate two persons!
Let’s see what happens tonight!
मंगलवार, 22 दिसंबर 2009
The Mysterious Smile
Airports have a unique personality. Artificially warm voices, zombies as security personnel, rows of chairs receiving multiple bums within a matter of minutes, highly priced insipid food, and passengers lost in themselves.
My flight was getting delayed. I sat in the chair, looked around for friendly faces, tried to read a novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored.
I decided to have a glass of water. After a brief walk and a trip to the urinal, I found that a woman had occupied the chair next to the one on which I had been sitting. I felt a little awkward, but that was the only vacant chair available. I occupied the chair, careful not to cause a brush with the lady.
Settled finally, I looked around, avoiding the lady. My gaze stopped at a man who looked at me with a glint of mischief. His lips betrayed a smile. He nodded at me.
It was an embarrassing moment. Perhaps the lady next to me was a celebrity and I had violated her personal space by sitting so close to her. But if the lady was offended, she did not express so. Reassured, I leafed through the novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored again.
I looked around, and the gentleman again caught my eyes. He nodded, with a hint of a smile. I nodded back, trying to place him in my memory. I was sure that I had not met him earlier, but then I could be wrong as well.
At the announcement of a departure call, the gentleman got up, and stood in the queue. He was behind a large man.
Not talking to anyone, he was still nodding.
My flight was getting delayed. I sat in the chair, looked around for friendly faces, tried to read a novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored.
I decided to have a glass of water. After a brief walk and a trip to the urinal, I found that a woman had occupied the chair next to the one on which I had been sitting. I felt a little awkward, but that was the only vacant chair available. I occupied the chair, careful not to cause a brush with the lady.
Settled finally, I looked around, avoiding the lady. My gaze stopped at a man who looked at me with a glint of mischief. His lips betrayed a smile. He nodded at me.
It was an embarrassing moment. Perhaps the lady next to me was a celebrity and I had violated her personal space by sitting so close to her. But if the lady was offended, she did not express so. Reassured, I leafed through the novel, stared at banners, played with the handle of my bag, and got bored again.
I looked around, and the gentleman again caught my eyes. He nodded, with a hint of a smile. I nodded back, trying to place him in my memory. I was sure that I had not met him earlier, but then I could be wrong as well.
At the announcement of a departure call, the gentleman got up, and stood in the queue. He was behind a large man.
Not talking to anyone, he was still nodding.
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