As I slowly glide in my car into parking outside (always giving the bumper a slight bang against the tree), I am welcomed by my house that has been my home for the past 1 year since I started working in Delhi as a 'sales' man. Through the gates I march in, making sure I close the gate properly else the 'Grand Man' of the house will have a cow of the number of dogs sneaking in.
Its close to 9pm in the evening after one of those days when your boss doesnt ask you to stay back but you just do because you know he will feel better if you do. Dinner, has been laid on the table with the ol'Grandmother and Grandfather debating on which show to watch, (nothing new about that) but something is not right, my chair has been taken ! I had no information of having peopple over for dinner and nobody really comes to this house for the food, then what was the case ?
Narrowing my eyes with curiousity and some disgust, I approach closer and closer but before I can even apprehend my culprit, I am suddenly greeted by this unwanted customer with a tight hug ! Well, sure Im a lovable guy who likes hugs from the odd female but this was ridiculous really. Once the culprit is caught, its a usually a slap that takes them directly to the CID office this was not in the script !
Letting go of this solid embrace, I give a quizzical stare at my grandparents who couldnt care less with their eyes on the idiot box and I have a good look at this fiend, this rogue, this impostor. I was even half afraid that my grandparents had mistaken this person for me and had fed him dinner ! With a height as much as mine, lean figure, skin tight clothes, gelled hair (a little thin though), clean shaven and a silly smile on his face, I had just met my cousin for the first time.
Its surprising how you get through a quarter of your life without even knowing that you have cousins existing in all corners of the world that you are yet to meet. This one was from the city of Joy, Kolkata and had come to Delhi to work for a Tour and Travel frim. Supposedly, this firm organises tours for rich and snobby French Tourists who with their thrill and gusto for experiencing the Orient. India is one of those destinations to visit for them as they bring over their enormous rucksacks and Guide Books and this firm helps them by organising their escapades into the land of Tigers, Tantriks and Tendulkar. So all my cousin has to do is, look up touristic locations, study them and propose them to the top management and he his daily bread is made.
Well, you must be wondering whats so 'cute' about him then ? Since 'he' is not a 'she' and 'I' am not a 'Bi', why the false adjective ? Well I say so because of a trait I found in him, a very deep connection with his hidden estrogen. They say behind every man is a woman, I think in this case, she just piggybacked on to him.
Now before the critics begin to boo,hate,spit,shout and tweet about my so-called outlook of things, might I add, it was something I really take joy with no selfish motive in knowing, observing and sometimes 'absorbing' and as every brother loves his brother, I love him too.
Now that you critics have shut up, might I add, he has this affinity to finding anything and everything as superstitious too. His love for fighting the evil spirits makes him a well deserving candidate for the Medal of Honor but for now he was happy just collecting all of his good luck charms. From travelling the entire length of the city to collect one rock that he could hang around his neck to avoiding paths that have been cut across by cats, (Be it any colour, he too had a dream...) he always had something up his skin tight sleeve.
But what amuses me the most are his long stares at my forehead as he scans it from left to right asking the same question over and over again, "Where do you get your eyebrows done ? Mine are so hard after I come from the boutique, you know when you shave your chest, yeah exactly like that". He never believes me when I tell him I do neither of those but he goes ahead and accuses me of being a liar and goes and complains to my Grandmother about it ! And she has one line prepared for it:
"Na puttar na, jhoot nahi bolte, bata de raje nu, phir saath mein jaana"
(Dont lie to him son, tell the sweetheart and then the both of you can go together.)
There was even once an incident when he made me sing out "To the Moon and back" during a Karaoke night at a pub. At the end of the song, even the crickets wanted the last 5 minutes of their life back. I was never allowed in that pub ever again. Being from Kolkata, he was able to converse well with my the home domestic servant or better known as my Grandmother's arch nemesis, Raju in Bengali and they would share a 'Didi' joke or two from time to time. Despite the friendly banter, at the end of the day, even Raju would have a word or two to say about him as he grinned and giggled.
My cousin dreams of tattooing his arm and sporting studs on his earlobes as he looks to defy his age (Its bad manners to speak it out) till his parents find him a suitable match. When sad, he sits by himself and sips his Breezer but when he is his jovial self, he shall talk of his famous Fashion Designer friends, his escapades in 'Cal' and ofcourse, my eyebrows.
There's more that I'll soon get to know about him and probably smile about. Im glad we finally met on that fateful night, sooner than later. Sometimes, you see people on the street, and sometimes they see you, with no words, no handshakes, no feelings, they walk past by you and you by them. Other times, its nice when they just come over and give you a hug.
Showing posts with label Lost Treasures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lost Treasures. Show all posts
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Trees
Yes, Trees. The combination of green and brown that you have grown up to drawing on your A3 sheets since childhood. Always picking a separate colour for every different tree. scribbling along its borders, making sure it doesnt fall out of your perfect outline. Giving it a nice little curve around the bark and smaller curves for its head where birds may sit and small squirrels may poke out and hide again.
And then you play around them as kids, hiding behind them from enemies, climbing on top of them for safety, plucking mulberries in the summer and making it the crucial wicket which must be hit to ensure there is a change in the order of play.
And in adulthood you sit under them, for hours and wonder, you write or atleast think of writing. The lesser few bring their partners for a kiss or two and mark it as 'their tree' and the immature ones carve out their names to immortalize their presence in that span of time when they cared about nothing but each other.
As you grow older, they tend to resemble your stature for some reason. Bent, bowed and fruitless. Counting each tree as you walk across a park or jog along a track. Some of us carry ourselves to nostalgia under it and others just stare at the ants below.
They may laugh at us as we pass by standing tall and bare, witnessing our behavious and mocking us for our foolishness but they acknowledge us for the gratitude we may have given it, always giving us peace in the absence of humanity.
As silent it may be, it chose to silence us even further.
And then you play around them as kids, hiding behind them from enemies, climbing on top of them for safety, plucking mulberries in the summer and making it the crucial wicket which must be hit to ensure there is a change in the order of play.
And in adulthood you sit under them, for hours and wonder, you write or atleast think of writing. The lesser few bring their partners for a kiss or two and mark it as 'their tree' and the immature ones carve out their names to immortalize their presence in that span of time when they cared about nothing but each other.
As you grow older, they tend to resemble your stature for some reason. Bent, bowed and fruitless. Counting each tree as you walk across a park or jog along a track. Some of us carry ourselves to nostalgia under it and others just stare at the ants below.
They may laugh at us as we pass by standing tall and bare, witnessing our behavious and mocking us for our foolishness but they acknowledge us for the gratitude we may have given it, always giving us peace in the absence of humanity.
As silent it may be, it chose to silence us even further.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The death of the blogger
Why should one write a long paragraph when one can get noticed by one single tweet ? From scraps to statuses to tweets, the blogger has been watching them come and go and watch himself sitting in a corner in a heap of long forgotten muses and incomplete articles. Its a shame, its a shame. Words are getting shorter and lives are getting longer. But who shall have the time to read ? I for one was never in the habit of reading but typing the odd word or two would be never that much of a pain.
Today the secret is out, the secret to a successful life is not to waste time thinking about it. Just do it. So why write ? You could type once, you could text once and now you just touch and the impossible happens. The human mind's lack of thought has come down to 5 seconds, his mind diverts from one point to the other, there is too much information and too little time. Updates, deadlines, PINGs and all those superfast things.
Little did one know that while we were caught up in this rat race.
All the cheese had been left behind.
Today the secret is out, the secret to a successful life is not to waste time thinking about it. Just do it. So why write ? You could type once, you could text once and now you just touch and the impossible happens. The human mind's lack of thought has come down to 5 seconds, his mind diverts from one point to the other, there is too much information and too little time. Updates, deadlines, PINGs and all those superfast things.
Little did one know that while we were caught up in this rat race.
All the cheese had been left behind.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Living Life Grand - II
Here I am, with my bags in my hands, craning my neck up high to the walls of G-28, Saket, New Delhi. The shadows of the dark gate of my driveway look down upon me although with that blank yet haunting stare, they welcome me back to the lair of those two individuals who are black and white, yin and yang, grandfather and grandmother.
Although my parents are the ones who have the right to call me their son, I give an equal and privileged right to my grandparents too. Not only have they fed me and given me the same amount of pocket money, they have been my major source of entertainment in my life as well. No soap opera, comedy show or horror film matches up to these two. A few years back, I had paid them a tribute by writing about them and I had realized that they deserved a book of their own, but for now I just have another article about them. This time however, they are joined by their least favorite henchman, the side-kick, the minion, Raju, also called the servant boy of our house. Raju has had his own share of exploits, where sadly he has received the wrong end of the deal. One of them being, abandoning his city girlfriend to marry a village girl according to his families wishes only to realize on his wedding night that his wife was pregnant with somebody else’s child !
Sorry to say so but on hearing that story even my grumpy grandfather had let out a chuckle. Speaking of whom, Manohar Lal Talwar or he is cutely referred to as “Laal” by his better half, is the proud owner of this house. Although he does have a little problem with his memory from time to time, whenever he is asked about his younger days, he never forgets to mention this Russian girl he had met on a ship on his way from the USA to India. The girl had grown fond of him and had asked him to elope with her. He never really tends to remember the rest of that story or maybe he catches the eye of my Grandmother at that very instant staring down at him with a rolling pin in her hand. When it comes to the issue of food, you wouldn’t find a bigger critic than my grandfather. Dinner and lunch are the times of the day when my servant undergoes the Litmus test. Raju must remember that no food must be cooked with gravy and there should be no salt in his food. If he is to ever forget one of these principles, he would get a shouting which would sound something like:
“Yeh kaisi tari banayi hai ! Man karta hai ismein peshaab kardoon !” .
(What kind of gravy is this ? I feel like urinating in it !)
Trust me, worse things have come out of this man’s mouth.
There is only one woman in this world who can take all the words of my grandfather and mince them to zilch. She is Kamlesh Talwar or better known as ‘Tennu’. Why tennu ? Well whenever she is referred to by my grandfather, it comes out as:
“ Tennu ki lod hai bolan di” (What is the need for you to talk ?)
“ Tennu koi samajh nahi aandi” (Don’t you understand ?)
“Tennu chitti aayi hai ki bijli aane waali hai ?” (Did you get a letter saying that the electricity will return?)
Along with battling it out everyday with her better half, she also has to deal with the great Raju as well. Whenever a trip has to be made to buy some vegetables, storms rage in the kitchen to debate on the price of a pumpkin. Furthermore, my servant has a race against time to finish preparing the dinner before the beast’s belly starts to rumble which has my grandmother running after him to get done with the food on time. It is in times like these that I bring a solution by ordering a pizza and finishing the feud, even if it is only for a day. Now, when it comes to my grandmother’s daily source of entertainment, they include only two things, the first one being the late night bhajans on TV and the second one being the daily warfare with Raju. Once there came an incident that left the entire house in tatters. It was the day when a murder took plane only 4 houses away from ours. Surprisingly, Raju was considered as one of the suspects and was carried off to the police station for questioning. As soon as my grandmother realized this, tears welled up in her eyes. I considered that she would be fearing the worst for our domestic servant. Whether he was being interrogated under a 1,000 watt bulb or was he being laid on bare ice in chains. She did not wait for a verdict and called up the police station that very instant demanding to speak to our servant. I watched with pride at the philanthropist in front of me who although considered her servant as a menace, still cared about him. Much to her dismay, she was not being allowed to speak to Raju, it was then that I heard her plea to the police for releasing the innocent, noble and blameless servant of ours. It went something like this:
“I don’t care if he has killed a man or even the Prime Minister, who do you think is going to cook my dinner? Are you doing to do it? He has a family to feed here! Find me a servant who can cook dinner for me and then you can do whatever you want with him!”
With a pale and shocked expression I saw her hang up the phone and I don’t know what it was in her voice, but in less than 15 minutes, Raju was brought back from the police station. He didn’t seem to be too happy about it though, I think he preferred the prison cells better than this
Every year as the winter approaches, I see my grandfather get a hold of all the clothes in his closet and put them on. He hates the winters as much as he hates channels ‘Sanskaar’ and ‘Aastha’. It is during these times, he makes the plan of going to Goa’s sandy beaches with the crashing waves, countless shells and I’m pretty sure the bikini babes as well. Unfortunately, my grandmother always shuns the idea with the same one line “Who do you think is going to handle the house?”
I think once I’m done with my grueling days in college, I’ll make some arrangements for them and take them to Goa with me. I can even imagine my grandfather over there, running into that Russian girl, although an old woman now and my grandmother chasing him with a rolling pin as they run across the beach like Baywatch beautys!
It is only with them will I learn to live life grand. Cheers to them.
Although my parents are the ones who have the right to call me their son, I give an equal and privileged right to my grandparents too. Not only have they fed me and given me the same amount of pocket money, they have been my major source of entertainment in my life as well. No soap opera, comedy show or horror film matches up to these two. A few years back, I had paid them a tribute by writing about them and I had realized that they deserved a book of their own, but for now I just have another article about them. This time however, they are joined by their least favorite henchman, the side-kick, the minion, Raju, also called the servant boy of our house. Raju has had his own share of exploits, where sadly he has received the wrong end of the deal. One of them being, abandoning his city girlfriend to marry a village girl according to his families wishes only to realize on his wedding night that his wife was pregnant with somebody else’s child !
Sorry to say so but on hearing that story even my grumpy grandfather had let out a chuckle. Speaking of whom, Manohar Lal Talwar or he is cutely referred to as “Laal” by his better half, is the proud owner of this house. Although he does have a little problem with his memory from time to time, whenever he is asked about his younger days, he never forgets to mention this Russian girl he had met on a ship on his way from the USA to India. The girl had grown fond of him and had asked him to elope with her. He never really tends to remember the rest of that story or maybe he catches the eye of my Grandmother at that very instant staring down at him with a rolling pin in her hand. When it comes to the issue of food, you wouldn’t find a bigger critic than my grandfather. Dinner and lunch are the times of the day when my servant undergoes the Litmus test. Raju must remember that no food must be cooked with gravy and there should be no salt in his food. If he is to ever forget one of these principles, he would get a shouting which would sound something like:
“Yeh kaisi tari banayi hai ! Man karta hai ismein peshaab kardoon !” .
(What kind of gravy is this ? I feel like urinating in it !)
Trust me, worse things have come out of this man’s mouth.
There is only one woman in this world who can take all the words of my grandfather and mince them to zilch. She is Kamlesh Talwar or better known as ‘Tennu’. Why tennu ? Well whenever she is referred to by my grandfather, it comes out as:
“ Tennu ki lod hai bolan di” (What is the need for you to talk ?)
“ Tennu koi samajh nahi aandi” (Don’t you understand ?)
“Tennu chitti aayi hai ki bijli aane waali hai ?” (Did you get a letter saying that the electricity will return?)
Along with battling it out everyday with her better half, she also has to deal with the great Raju as well. Whenever a trip has to be made to buy some vegetables, storms rage in the kitchen to debate on the price of a pumpkin. Furthermore, my servant has a race against time to finish preparing the dinner before the beast’s belly starts to rumble which has my grandmother running after him to get done with the food on time. It is in times like these that I bring a solution by ordering a pizza and finishing the feud, even if it is only for a day. Now, when it comes to my grandmother’s daily source of entertainment, they include only two things, the first one being the late night bhajans on TV and the second one being the daily warfare with Raju. Once there came an incident that left the entire house in tatters. It was the day when a murder took plane only 4 houses away from ours. Surprisingly, Raju was considered as one of the suspects and was carried off to the police station for questioning. As soon as my grandmother realized this, tears welled up in her eyes. I considered that she would be fearing the worst for our domestic servant. Whether he was being interrogated under a 1,000 watt bulb or was he being laid on bare ice in chains. She did not wait for a verdict and called up the police station that very instant demanding to speak to our servant. I watched with pride at the philanthropist in front of me who although considered her servant as a menace, still cared about him. Much to her dismay, she was not being allowed to speak to Raju, it was then that I heard her plea to the police for releasing the innocent, noble and blameless servant of ours. It went something like this:
“I don’t care if he has killed a man or even the Prime Minister, who do you think is going to cook my dinner? Are you doing to do it? He has a family to feed here! Find me a servant who can cook dinner for me and then you can do whatever you want with him!”
With a pale and shocked expression I saw her hang up the phone and I don’t know what it was in her voice, but in less than 15 minutes, Raju was brought back from the police station. He didn’t seem to be too happy about it though, I think he preferred the prison cells better than this
Every year as the winter approaches, I see my grandfather get a hold of all the clothes in his closet and put them on. He hates the winters as much as he hates channels ‘Sanskaar’ and ‘Aastha’. It is during these times, he makes the plan of going to Goa’s sandy beaches with the crashing waves, countless shells and I’m pretty sure the bikini babes as well. Unfortunately, my grandmother always shuns the idea with the same one line “Who do you think is going to handle the house?”
I think once I’m done with my grueling days in college, I’ll make some arrangements for them and take them to Goa with me. I can even imagine my grandfather over there, running into that Russian girl, although an old woman now and my grandmother chasing him with a rolling pin as they run across the beach like Baywatch beautys!
It is only with them will I learn to live life grand. Cheers to them.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Silent Echoes
As the eagerness of returning to a familiar location reached its brink, I stepped on what seemed to be the soil of a place long forgotten. In the humid air of a night in March, I carried my belongings and subconsciously walked to my depot of transportation.
But on arriving at this depot, there seemed to be a change in the chaos that would usually embrace me as I looked the other way with the slightest bit of snobiness. Not disturbed by this slight change in proceedings, which could probably be another step towards reating the ideal world, I grab my wheels and head home. As the shimmer of the street lights light up my vehicle as it arrives on the centrestage of madness and disorientation, the lull seems to continue. It was as if my hearing abilities seemed to have been enhanced or deteriorated. Everything looked the same,smelt the same but somehow the fragment of discontent and disturbance seemed to have vanished. I raised my ears to gather the blare of a horn or the rumble of an engine but of no avail. Maybe it was the wind that was different or the time of the night was too late. But it actually remained the same as it was before. Probably I had changed.
Proceeding on through the streets of the forgotten metropolis, I glanced at the walls and faces of the millions. In the glow of the street light, I seemed to have caught the face of a woman in her late 40s holding her child as her better half drove their scooter. Making use of my ability of deduction, I deduce the age of the scooter, the cause of its dents, the price of the driver's watch the nature of the barber who cuts his hair. But what I was really interested in was what I had seen first. Surrounded in the halo of the street light that decided our fates to cross paths, was her visage with the hair on her face a little more prominent than expected. Not the hair that sprouts from your head and is a nuisance to get rid of from unwanted places, I talk about the tiny ones that are millimetres in size and almost invisible.The ones that seems invisible but are felt at the back of our neck whenever we feel the chill run down our spine. They stood as one and chose to accept me as their admirer. As I smiled at them, they waved back at me.
As they illuminated her aura that was shadowed by the smoke in the air, it seemed to be a masterpiece of sorts that was yet to be signed.
And it was in the middle of my admiration for the picture I had just captured that the baby chose to intrude and cut the strings I was attached to. A wailing cry leapt up in the air and grabbed hold of the chaos ready to erupt. And it was then that I caught a hold of my own belongings and found myself back where I belonged, the epicentre of noise and cacophony.
It was good to be home
But on arriving at this depot, there seemed to be a change in the chaos that would usually embrace me as I looked the other way with the slightest bit of snobiness. Not disturbed by this slight change in proceedings, which could probably be another step towards reating the ideal world, I grab my wheels and head home. As the shimmer of the street lights light up my vehicle as it arrives on the centrestage of madness and disorientation, the lull seems to continue. It was as if my hearing abilities seemed to have been enhanced or deteriorated. Everything looked the same,smelt the same but somehow the fragment of discontent and disturbance seemed to have vanished. I raised my ears to gather the blare of a horn or the rumble of an engine but of no avail. Maybe it was the wind that was different or the time of the night was too late. But it actually remained the same as it was before. Probably I had changed.
Proceeding on through the streets of the forgotten metropolis, I glanced at the walls and faces of the millions. In the glow of the street light, I seemed to have caught the face of a woman in her late 40s holding her child as her better half drove their scooter. Making use of my ability of deduction, I deduce the age of the scooter, the cause of its dents, the price of the driver's watch the nature of the barber who cuts his hair. But what I was really interested in was what I had seen first. Surrounded in the halo of the street light that decided our fates to cross paths, was her visage with the hair on her face a little more prominent than expected. Not the hair that sprouts from your head and is a nuisance to get rid of from unwanted places, I talk about the tiny ones that are millimetres in size and almost invisible.The ones that seems invisible but are felt at the back of our neck whenever we feel the chill run down our spine. They stood as one and chose to accept me as their admirer. As I smiled at them, they waved back at me.
As they illuminated her aura that was shadowed by the smoke in the air, it seemed to be a masterpiece of sorts that was yet to be signed.
And it was in the middle of my admiration for the picture I had just captured that the baby chose to intrude and cut the strings I was attached to. A wailing cry leapt up in the air and grabbed hold of the chaos ready to erupt. And it was then that I caught a hold of my own belongings and found myself back where I belonged, the epicentre of noise and cacophony.
It was good to be home
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Mean Mobs
I am a child of a sweet nature that was brought up in a society that wished for us to live and let live. Today I look at that society as an imaginary and utopian image of my screenshots of life. I look at the dogs who fight for their trritory, I look at countries that fight for their oil, I watch bureaucrats fight for their seats and then I watch my colleagues, turn into number-crunching maniacs of the 21st century. Where strengths and weaknesses are more important than Simon and Garfunkel. Pay Packages are more influential than Item Packages. The hopes of a parent hangs above like a pendulum of knives, where a simple internet connection tends to act as a portal of who is the president of what under whose reign in which country established in which century under what circumstances.
I look at my beligerent predecessors and tsk at their accomplishments for the youth that they lost in the colours of festivals are now strewn in the mud of today. Where black and white of the rain clouds are more prominent than the seven colours of the rainbow. Or are they the colours of the LGBT ? Who knows, they just might ask us in the interview.
It is the line of control that is crossed in my war with my own youth. Where innocence is lost and confidence is the unanimous winner. Who wondered about the bottles of beer as long as you know the amount of consumption that takes place in each city, based on how many can afford it, steal it, racket it, hoard it or even sell it at showrooms. Distribute, add, subtract, divide and then make the percentage of a fraction.
Will I be ever selling a washing machine wearing a tie who sails his words through the tunel of doubt and comes out on the other side with a fake smile but an incentive to the bonus ? Or will I revolt to the society and continue being the sloth of the middle class riding a scooty and chasing after electricity bills ?
I will never know, maybe Gurus can predict it for me, maybe they can even choose my wardrobe, maybe they can sow my careers and give me the blessings as i raise my family of 4. They will frown upon my divorce and grant me my first grandson... Or will the balloon just pop and I shall be back on my cradle, playing with my He-Man and living a life devoid of any sort of worry or disdain. Maybe I'll just close my eyes and head for a slumber in the blind light of my future and dream of a perfect world.
I look at my beligerent predecessors and tsk at their accomplishments for the youth that they lost in the colours of festivals are now strewn in the mud of today. Where black and white of the rain clouds are more prominent than the seven colours of the rainbow. Or are they the colours of the LGBT ? Who knows, they just might ask us in the interview.
It is the line of control that is crossed in my war with my own youth. Where innocence is lost and confidence is the unanimous winner. Who wondered about the bottles of beer as long as you know the amount of consumption that takes place in each city, based on how many can afford it, steal it, racket it, hoard it or even sell it at showrooms. Distribute, add, subtract, divide and then make the percentage of a fraction.
Will I be ever selling a washing machine wearing a tie who sails his words through the tunel of doubt and comes out on the other side with a fake smile but an incentive to the bonus ? Or will I revolt to the society and continue being the sloth of the middle class riding a scooty and chasing after electricity bills ?
I will never know, maybe Gurus can predict it for me, maybe they can even choose my wardrobe, maybe they can sow my careers and give me the blessings as i raise my family of 4. They will frown upon my divorce and grant me my first grandson... Or will the balloon just pop and I shall be back on my cradle, playing with my He-Man and living a life devoid of any sort of worry or disdain. Maybe I'll just close my eyes and head for a slumber in the blind light of my future and dream of a perfect world.
Friday, October 16, 2009
In the days of Autumn...
In the days of Autumn...
I was tired a little at first
But I saw my 2 tires
then I tried a lot
and was tried a lot.
At the end, we had you...
Take one down and pass it around
150 Bundles of Pecmag on the wall
150 Bundles of Pecmag
I was tired a little at first
But I saw my 2 tires
then I tried a lot
and was tried a lot.
At the end, we had you...
Take one down and pass it around
150 Bundles of Pecmag on the wall
150 Bundles of Pecmag
Saturday, September 13, 2008
The Teenager
Stirred from my slumber by the golden rays. I open the window to a new day. A day like any other as thoughts rush back into the head as I become aware of my surroundings. The remnants of last night play back as I retrospect, I try to recall the mysterious dreams and somehow like Freud, try to relate them to my life. Never do I get an answer. I pick up the newspaper which never fails to impress me. A neat and tidy document that has been twisted, turned, thrown and been given oh so many forms of physical torture. But at the end of it all, it is ready to wish me good morning and educate me a little bit more. As I look at the first page, I see what the world has done to itself. Butchered, Smashed, Crushed, Hammered and Whipped itself only because it had an itch. Another day, another blast, another terror, another suspect and another dead end. Dictators are hated by all but I look at them in awe at times no matter how brutal and inhuman they were. Quoting the words of Joseph Stalin " The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic." Words so sinister yet so true I am yet to hear.
Then my eyes shifted to a corner of the front page and I looked at something that made my tummy take a somersault. It was the date. 14th September 2008. A day before my birthday. In other words, the last day of my teens. I felt weird and as I sat there blankly staring at my newspaper, I ran through the pages of my life. Starting from my 13th birthday to all the things I had done the following years, the ups, the downs, the tears, the sweat, the girls, the papers, the new looks, the lies, the friends, the fights. It all seemed to pass by so quickly. And today was the last day of that life and maybe something was still left for me to do before I let go of this part of my life. So I stood up in an instant as the sun shone on my eyes and I as if posing a challenge, stared back at it huffing and puffing. I looked at my bed and wondered, "How many hours and days I had wasted of my teens just sleeping ?" I tilted my head low in shame. But I tilted it up again with pride and with an agility that I had never had before, jumped back into the bed as I answered " Maybe Not Enough"...
Then my eyes shifted to a corner of the front page and I looked at something that made my tummy take a somersault. It was the date. 14th September 2008. A day before my birthday. In other words, the last day of my teens. I felt weird and as I sat there blankly staring at my newspaper, I ran through the pages of my life. Starting from my 13th birthday to all the things I had done the following years, the ups, the downs, the tears, the sweat, the girls, the papers, the new looks, the lies, the friends, the fights. It all seemed to pass by so quickly. And today was the last day of that life and maybe something was still left for me to do before I let go of this part of my life. So I stood up in an instant as the sun shone on my eyes and I as if posing a challenge, stared back at it huffing and puffing. I looked at my bed and wondered, "How many hours and days I had wasted of my teens just sleeping ?" I tilted my head low in shame. But I tilted it up again with pride and with an agility that I had never had before, jumped back into the bed as I answered " Maybe Not Enough"...
Monday, June 23, 2008
Soup, Specs and Stars
I was woken with a jerk as the bus pulled over at the bus station. I hadn't realised when I had fallen asleep but I sure wasn't happy to be woken up. It's hard to sleep in a rickety old bus that has to travel for 6 hours and stop at every point to pick up people. I didn't mind the bus company making its living but flooding every inch of the bus with human kind wasn't my idea of making profit. Anyway, my legs were all cramped up and I had to move out of this temporary prison of mine. Descending down the steps, the cold caught hold of me and went straight to my nose resulting in a loud sneeze. Achoooooo !!! I sneezed, cursing the cold. Wiping off what was left of my sneeze by my sleeve, I proceeded on to the bus station (or what was left of it) in search for food,warmth and a place to pick up that much awaited long distance call of nature. With a stretch of the neck to the left and a quick glance to the right, I found myself right where I was with nothing. The cold was getting to my throat and more importantly, on my nerves. Comfort was what I was looking for in the middle of nowhere and I was just getting poked by the spring of the sofa.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glance of something rising up to the air and vanishing into the dark sky. The view drew me closer and closer like a moth to light and when I was finally there, I saw this man wrapped up in everything he owned, peering out to the crowd with the only opening in his ' attire '. His eyes seemed to be old even though he seemed to be much younger. And there he was, serving tomato soup for a meagre 10 Rs. Tempted by the thought to help him and the more tempting thought of savouring soup. As I took the glass from his woolen glove, I let out a slight 'Thanks' and left him with a brand new 10 ruppee note, just to give that extra happiness that may give him warmth on this cold night.
As I blew on the soup as lightly as possible making sure sure not to spill any, I tilted my head upwards and stared into the night sky. Many a times I would do this without any reason or purpose, always search throught the deep dark voids for something. Not a UFO or an undiscovered planet, but just for soemthing, maybe I searched for myself. I could see only a handful of stars and always wished to have a telescope to uncover this blanket of darkness and reveal the cosmos to my eyes.
At that moment I realised that I had something with me, my new pair of specs that my mom had insistently made for me. I hated them the moment I put them on and swore never to wear them while I can see the number of fingers on my hand. I took them out of the case anyway and put them on. There werent any giggly girls or nosy bullies to mock me, it was just me and the night, embarrasment was a milestone far far away that said " Far far away 0 km"
As I took a sip from the hot soup and looked up into the night sky, an emotion came to life in me that started from the tip of my fingers to the tip of my nose. It was mixed with the tangy taste of the soup and the sight of watching thousands of stars so clear and alive for the first time in my life. It was like little white dots had sprung up out of nowhere and even though they were millions of light years away from me, I felt like i could pluck from the sky and place them on my cheek as glitter. I gazed and gazed and gazed a little more, it was a wonderful sight to see and wondered if anyone else ever tried this while at this bus station. It was an amazing feeling to be out there in the cold and yet be radiating with warmth that came not only from the soup, but from every cell in my body.
I stood there till the bus sounded its horn for us to depart and get on with the journey that lay ahead. As the wheels of the bus went round and round, I closed my eyes (still laden with my specs) with the image of the stars pasted in my mind and the taste of the soup hovering over my semi-burnt tongue.I enjoyed the rest of the bus ride happily ever after.
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