I had 3 huge bags with me. And all of that was mine. Manish was yet to reach the station, while i had already spent around half an hour on the platform observing funny looking passengers. In fact all passengers looked funny to me, dressed up in weird costumes for the night journey, with inhumane amount of luggage carried by human coolies. At least i picked up my own stuff from the taxi stand till the platform, i hated hiring a coolie no matter how much stuff i carried.
It was 5:20 in the evening already, 5:35 the train was scheduled to depart. Manish's phone was unreachable. Sweat dropped off my forehead without shyness. I just wasn't ready to forgive him this time. It was not the first time that he was late, getting late has almost been his hobby for years. Once i waited for him for six hours at the V.T. station, can you beat that? Six hours? And his biggest asset, he always sounded jolly, even when he was running four hours late, he was in a great mood, assuring me that he will be there in the next five minutes, it took him another two hours to reach! And yet when he reached, he smiled and joked around with such elan, that i couldn't even shout at him! we have been friends since we were 5, anyway, now it was 5:25. i was trying his phone continuously, without bringing down the machine, just assuming the redial button's position and pressing it again and again. His phone finally rang. he picked up and said " i'll be there in 15 minutes"
i was furious, and perhaps for the first time i shouted at him " how can you be here in 15 minutes, the train leaves in 10 minutes, in fact less than that now "
"Don't worry, i'll be there, you are getting me late" he hung up, sounding in 'just a bit' of hurry! but did i hear him right? he said "you are getting me late" ? i was getting him late? for heaven's sake, this was far beyond my tolerance level!
i decided to sit on my berth, irrespective of his arrival, thinking at least i will be on my way to delhi, even if he misses. i saw my watch again, it was 5:30. Manish was calling me,i picked up and even before i could say hello, he spoke with tremendous hurry, " come down to the food court, near the entrance of the station,i'm eating there." i again blasted out "what are you doing there, the train is about to leave, i'm already at my berth". But then Manish said something which made me feel like a fool, " the tickets are with me" . I ran with my luggage to the food court, almost with no time remaining for the train to depart, i saw him checking out the menu. as i reached, he asked me to sit calmly, as he had inquired and the train was 10 minutes late. This made me slightly relaxed, but within a few moments i was back to my anxious best. Manish held a huge plate and came towards me to sit & have his 'lunch'. the plate would take atleast 15 minutes to finish, even if i try my hand at "fast food"! How would manish finish all that in 7-8 minutes was mind boggling. so i did not trust him, and i decided to interfere. " eat this, the chapatis, ya, now take that dal, ya, now eat the sweet, lets finish it up, ya ok take that last bite"... manish ate silently & obediently the things i told him . others in the restaurant found all this pretty amusing. but alas, when he finished, train was yet to leave. We ran back, reached our compartment, then our berths, and sat, as the train slowly but surely started to move on. it seemed as if manish had bribed the train authorities to wait for him.
Our journey till delhi was enjoyable! although i made it a point to mention this to him that i'm extremely pissed with the way he goes about his time commitments! we went back to our own places, his parents stayed in hari nagar, and mine in katwaria sarai. We were supposed to meet again the next day, on the reception party of our professor's wedding. Our professor, Mr. Varun Negi, was just 28 when he taught us genomics in Delhi University. Now 34, he finally agreed to get married after much coaxing from his parents, to a girl from Bareily! Arranged marriage.
That night my father and i sat through till 3 in the morning with a chivas regal whiskey bottle accompanying our varied subjects of discussions! My father had waited for me to come back home for a long time, to enjoy such long hours of talks with his son. After a certain age, a son can become his father's best friend!
By the time we finished, both of us were drunk. my father decided to sleep there and then itself in the drawing room. i behaved as the one with more control and went to my bedroom to sleep. i woke up next morning with my cellphone ringing and vibrating under my pillow. i picked it up and without my saying hello, he spoke " where the hell are you, i'm waiting for half an hour! where have you reached?"
I saw the watch, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, i had asked Manish to reach at 12 near PVR plaza in connaught place as i would pick him up by my car from there.
I answered " driving, i'll be there in 10 minutes"
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Cloudy 'State' of Affairs
The elections were too close; you could almost smell the red flags around. This time, the city was vastly peaceful. But one can never predict anything in Calcutta, any moment the riots would break out. The communist party members were the noisiest, as usual, with their marches and slogans. For years they have been ruling, very much like dictators! The people almost had no choice, but to vote for them. For some, it was to survive, or else they’ll be slaughtered to death. Yes, it was like that, not without reason did I use the word ‘dictators’.
My stint with the communist party was pretty small, yet people had managed to remember me after almost a decade now of my leaving the party. Though it’s not very tough to see the reason why. Perhaps I was the only one they thought who was not pushing the lines of violence in order to maintain our Marxist ideals! I remained active in my tenure of two years with my mind boggling speeches, although out of a million new ideas I had suggested, only a handful were implemented, and that too not with complete success. Yet I managed to remain the poster boy of Bengal’s politics in the early 90’s. Now after a long time, I’m back into mainstream politics with Trinamool, standing up from arguably the most controversial district at this moment in Bengal, that being of Singur. Mamati di has been very strong and vehement about not allowing Singur to get into Tata’s hands. The farmers here could have been in deep soup, without home and land, if mamata di hadn’t stepped in and ridiculed Buddhadeb’s plans! The people here were happy with us. The rumour was that I was undoubtedly going to win, with a huge margin! Even to just hear this was extremely comforting. It meant healing up of a lot of old wounds!
People were lining up outside booths in massive numbers on the Election Day. So many people together and each having so much power with a vote each, the power of democracy was beginning to scare me now! In my years of graduation in Vardhaman, during which I studied political science, I had read about the initialization of the democratic system, which required mass scale literacy. That being missing from our system, democratic liberty was certainly getting misused. This is what perhaps was scaring me. But the elections were held rather finely, without any ‘major’ chaos in the state. The speculations had now taken the form of betting, people had put money on parties and leaders. Huge money was on stake, from people involved. Days went by, as the temperature of the political environment and my blood pressure increased by leaps. The result day was here, I decided to stay at my home and wait for the news to reach me through television and phone calls.
My victory meant a lot to me personally, not just my party. Even though Trinamool swept around 75-80% of the seats, the one from my district tasted the sweetest, arguably. I planned a weekend trip with my wife and son to Ghoom, a beautiful place, almost heavenly, which comes on the way to Darjeeling from Bagdogra. My wife had always wished to visit the Ghoom monastery, and I could not have found a better time to go there and relax for a couple of days. The mist and the clouds floating in front of our eyes made it difficult for my camera to make crystal clear pictures, but the hard disc in my brain will never have the visuals foggy. I had never seen a place so intimate, and so divine. ‘Ghoom’ in bengali means sleep, and so true to its name. The place ensures one’s relaxation, almost as if you’re sound asleep. We went in the evening to the monastery after a short nap in the afternoon as soon as we arrived. The clouds accompanied us at our eye level, as if touching and speaking to us. But I did not know that they would turn out to be the monsters.
My wife and son have not been found yet, dead or alive since then. I frantically tried but I just couldn’t locate them, the clouds had helped the kidnappers!
My stint with the communist party was pretty small, yet people had managed to remember me after almost a decade now of my leaving the party. Though it’s not very tough to see the reason why. Perhaps I was the only one they thought who was not pushing the lines of violence in order to maintain our Marxist ideals! I remained active in my tenure of two years with my mind boggling speeches, although out of a million new ideas I had suggested, only a handful were implemented, and that too not with complete success. Yet I managed to remain the poster boy of Bengal’s politics in the early 90’s. Now after a long time, I’m back into mainstream politics with Trinamool, standing up from arguably the most controversial district at this moment in Bengal, that being of Singur. Mamati di has been very strong and vehement about not allowing Singur to get into Tata’s hands. The farmers here could have been in deep soup, without home and land, if mamata di hadn’t stepped in and ridiculed Buddhadeb’s plans! The people here were happy with us. The rumour was that I was undoubtedly going to win, with a huge margin! Even to just hear this was extremely comforting. It meant healing up of a lot of old wounds!
People were lining up outside booths in massive numbers on the Election Day. So many people together and each having so much power with a vote each, the power of democracy was beginning to scare me now! In my years of graduation in Vardhaman, during which I studied political science, I had read about the initialization of the democratic system, which required mass scale literacy. That being missing from our system, democratic liberty was certainly getting misused. This is what perhaps was scaring me. But the elections were held rather finely, without any ‘major’ chaos in the state. The speculations had now taken the form of betting, people had put money on parties and leaders. Huge money was on stake, from people involved. Days went by, as the temperature of the political environment and my blood pressure increased by leaps. The result day was here, I decided to stay at my home and wait for the news to reach me through television and phone calls.
My victory meant a lot to me personally, not just my party. Even though Trinamool swept around 75-80% of the seats, the one from my district tasted the sweetest, arguably. I planned a weekend trip with my wife and son to Ghoom, a beautiful place, almost heavenly, which comes on the way to Darjeeling from Bagdogra. My wife had always wished to visit the Ghoom monastery, and I could not have found a better time to go there and relax for a couple of days. The mist and the clouds floating in front of our eyes made it difficult for my camera to make crystal clear pictures, but the hard disc in my brain will never have the visuals foggy. I had never seen a place so intimate, and so divine. ‘Ghoom’ in bengali means sleep, and so true to its name. The place ensures one’s relaxation, almost as if you’re sound asleep. We went in the evening to the monastery after a short nap in the afternoon as soon as we arrived. The clouds accompanied us at our eye level, as if touching and speaking to us. But I did not know that they would turn out to be the monsters.
My wife and son have not been found yet, dead or alive since then. I frantically tried but I just couldn’t locate them, the clouds had helped the kidnappers!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
One Seven
There were more than a hundred well dressed young people waiting for their turn. When I had started from my home, I had thought this would be a cake walk. And here I was, once again trapped between complacence and destiny! I took a corner seat, trying to avoid as many close sitting candidates as possible. I tried to ignore stares from quite a few of them, and innocently sat with my bio-data file on my lap. In these kind of situations, my behavioral patterns always tended to go a bit feminine, my voice turning softer, tone a lot sweeter, and ass trying to occupy as much little space possible wherever I was sitting. Although after a few minutes, things started becoming more masculine. I felt a part of the group now, and my body language was improving every second. And just then, a girl sitting next to me spoke
“Are you applying for journalism?”
“No, I’m for advertising. Why?
“Oh, just like that! I get very nervous when I see so many people appearing for the same thing as me. So was just checking how many am I really competing with!”
“I see”
“By the way, I’m kaushiki”
“Hi, I’m Norton”
“Antivirus??”
“Oh common, Norton Desouza! I’ve heard that antivirus thing a thousand times. Its not even funny anymore”
“So you are a Catholic?”
“Yes”
“You don’t look like one!”
“Then how do Catholics look like?”
She couldn’t answer as the invigilator called out her name aloud – “ Kaushiki Dasgupta….Room number 4”
She got up from her chair in a bit of disarray, and almost pushed me while asking-
“Wish me luck!!”
“All the best, you’ll be great!”
“Thanks so much man”
She left as I saw her get into Room number 4. She looked confident while entering the room though. “Kaushiki Dasgupta” I thought. “Bengali….hmm…..doesn’t look like one”, I spoke to myself. She had typically north Indian features, and then the complexion to go with it. If it wouldn’t have been my nervousness for my interview, I would have had a crush on her by now. And also she didn’t carry that irritating Bengali accent with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’ wherever ‘a’ exists. The way she introduced herself, was very non Bengali, or else she would have pronounced it like “Kowsheeki”, but she didn’t
Anyway, I needed to get back to my advertising frame of mind. My turn would be very soon. In a couple of minutes, kaushiki came out of room number 4, stood next to my chair and said
“It was good, I think I’ll make it. Chal, I’ll be going now, my boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”
“Ok great, goodluck, bye!”
“Goodluck to you antivirus, bye!”
We had both made it to the institute that year, and were in our respective courses for the next 2 years. We kept meeting each other every now and then in college, even though we had different set of friends. We remembered each other’s birthdays & wished right at the stroke of midnight, a new age trend of wishing birthdays that had cropped up recently that time. We passed out, she got placed with CNBC, I was free lancing initially. But then for a lot of years, there was no correspondence from either side. Both our cell numbers had changed, hence it was even more difficult to now find out about each other.
But then yesterday, after 17 years, we crashed into each other at an awards function. My ad-film was nominated for the best ad-film of the year. Although I didn’t win, I got rave responses, including kaushiki’s! She said
“Wow! You’ve become a big shot, antivirus. Fabulous film!”
“Oh my God, Kaushiki? Where have you been?”
“All around the world! But hey, nice meeting you after almost 2 decades!”
“Same here, are you back in Mumbai?”
“Yes yes! Listen..i need to leave right now, my husband’s waiting, can I have your number, I’ll give you a call soon!”
“Sure man, 9728093611. Give me a miss call, I’ll save yours!”
“I’ll in a while. Sorry I need to rush, bye!”
I waited the whole night, and it’s almost 17 hours now, but she hasn’t given me a missed call.
Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
My cell phone valiantly vibrated till I picked it up.
“Hello…”
“Antivirus, kaushiki here. How long will it take you to reach Infinity mall? I’m getting bored, let’s catch up!
“Alright, I’ll be there in a while, wait!”
“In how much time?”
“Around half an hour”
I reached in 17 minutes.
“Are you applying for journalism?”
“No, I’m for advertising. Why?
“Oh, just like that! I get very nervous when I see so many people appearing for the same thing as me. So was just checking how many am I really competing with!”
“I see”
“By the way, I’m kaushiki”
“Hi, I’m Norton”
“Antivirus??”
“Oh common, Norton Desouza! I’ve heard that antivirus thing a thousand times. Its not even funny anymore”
“So you are a Catholic?”
“Yes”
“You don’t look like one!”
“Then how do Catholics look like?”
She couldn’t answer as the invigilator called out her name aloud – “ Kaushiki Dasgupta….Room number 4”
She got up from her chair in a bit of disarray, and almost pushed me while asking-
“Wish me luck!!”
“All the best, you’ll be great!”
“Thanks so much man”
She left as I saw her get into Room number 4. She looked confident while entering the room though. “Kaushiki Dasgupta” I thought. “Bengali….hmm…..doesn’t look like one”, I spoke to myself. She had typically north Indian features, and then the complexion to go with it. If it wouldn’t have been my nervousness for my interview, I would have had a crush on her by now. And also she didn’t carry that irritating Bengali accent with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’ wherever ‘a’ exists. The way she introduced herself, was very non Bengali, or else she would have pronounced it like “Kowsheeki”, but she didn’t
Anyway, I needed to get back to my advertising frame of mind. My turn would be very soon. In a couple of minutes, kaushiki came out of room number 4, stood next to my chair and said
“It was good, I think I’ll make it. Chal, I’ll be going now, my boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”
“Ok great, goodluck, bye!”
“Goodluck to you antivirus, bye!”
We had both made it to the institute that year, and were in our respective courses for the next 2 years. We kept meeting each other every now and then in college, even though we had different set of friends. We remembered each other’s birthdays & wished right at the stroke of midnight, a new age trend of wishing birthdays that had cropped up recently that time. We passed out, she got placed with CNBC, I was free lancing initially. But then for a lot of years, there was no correspondence from either side. Both our cell numbers had changed, hence it was even more difficult to now find out about each other.
But then yesterday, after 17 years, we crashed into each other at an awards function. My ad-film was nominated for the best ad-film of the year. Although I didn’t win, I got rave responses, including kaushiki’s! She said
“Wow! You’ve become a big shot, antivirus. Fabulous film!”
“Oh my God, Kaushiki? Where have you been?”
“All around the world! But hey, nice meeting you after almost 2 decades!”
“Same here, are you back in Mumbai?”
“Yes yes! Listen..i need to leave right now, my husband’s waiting, can I have your number, I’ll give you a call soon!”
“Sure man, 9728093611. Give me a miss call, I’ll save yours!”
“I’ll in a while. Sorry I need to rush, bye!”
I waited the whole night, and it’s almost 17 hours now, but she hasn’t given me a missed call.
Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
My cell phone valiantly vibrated till I picked it up.
“Hello…”
“Antivirus, kaushiki here. How long will it take you to reach Infinity mall? I’m getting bored, let’s catch up!
“Alright, I’ll be there in a while, wait!”
“In how much time?”
“Around half an hour”
I reached in 17 minutes.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
During Turin
I and my wife always fight. Here’s one of our recent telephonic conversations:
Me: I hope you are coming on time…
Her: of course
Me: cool then, don’t get late
Her: whaaat?? Did you just say don’t get laid?
Me: whaaat?? Are you insane? Why will I say that, I said don’t get late, l for lousy, a for ass, t for torture, e for eternity!
Her: (on top of her lungs) how dare you speak to me like that?
Me: like what? I just was kind enough to spell out a word which is almost your middle name.
Her: no! That was deliberate. You could have said l for lovely a for….. you know….something like that.
Me: see..exactly. There are no nice words that would describe you. Even you could just remember ‘lovely’ spontaneously, which I agree you were 10 years back!
And this went on.
I had a friend working in Turin for long. He was the one who encouraged me to come to Italy, as he said many Asians, and particularly the ones from the subcontinent, come and earn a more than a decent living there. He had spoken about things which I had not heard of. Like one was this that there in Italian cities, people keep old stuff which they don’t want any more outside their houses, and the needful could take them to their homes without any restrictions! I was amazed on listening to such a custom. Though when I reached Italy, it was more of an ambitious dream coming true rather than putting logicalities together. I had seen beautiful and flamboyant pictures and scenes from films of Venice; I could have never imagined a place like that if I wouldn’t have seen them. My friend assured me of a job there with him, hence it was easier for me to come so far away from my country and work here. Now I’m in Naples. After a few months with my friend at Turin, I shifted base to Naples. Through a few Bangladeshi friends of my friend, I got contacts in Naples to get employed as the driver of Deigo Maradona. I drove from his place to the Stadio San Paolo where he practiced with the rest of his Napoli team mates, and then back to his place after the sessions. He used to drive himself whenever he went to parties or pubs in the night. People around me had started saying that Maradona is past his prime now, and that his genius is on the decline. From the little I understood of Maradona’s mobile conversations while he sat in the car as I drove him, I could make out that he was unhappy in his personal life, he was asking for drugs and women at his place late at night. I kept out of all this and did my job the way every driver should, and that was to drive him safely to his destination.
My wife arrived finally, but as expected half an hour late than what I had asked her to. We were in Turin, at the Delle Alpi, home of Juventus. This was Maradona’s big day. Italian Serie A champions was going to be virtually decided that eve, whoever wins would pick up the title. Infact Napoli had to win; Juventus was higher on goal difference so even a draw couldn’t have helped Maradona’s 11. He had given me 2 special passes for me and my wife for this match, something he had never done before. Here is how it went when my ‘not at all the better half’ arrived and sat beside me:
Her: We must win this one, we can’t afford a draw.
Me: We? Who are ‘we’?
Her: Napoli you idiot! We are from Naples, do you remember?
Me: Of course I remember, but since when have you become such an ardent follower of the Napoli football club?
Her: why else do you think I came here to watch a match with you? I have been a huge fan of Maradona since childhood.
Me: since childhood? How old are you?
Her: are you retarded? I’m your fucking wife; you don’t know how old am I?
I decided to stay quite then, it was fast becoming a scene infront of the sophisticated people we were sitting around. The match was being played mainly in the midfield, something that happens quite regularly in a clash of good Italian club teams as both defend par excellence.
Her: I wish we had Maldini in our defense line up, he would have single handedly stopped all these fuckers in black and white stripes! Besides he’s so cute!
Me: that’s all you like about him, women can only look at footballers in a frivolous way!
She gave me a stare, which told me I won’t be spared once we reach back home. But I was confident of what I said; I mean Napoli really didn’t have the budget to afford Maradona & Maldini in the same team. But expecting her to know all this was being foolish in itself. Football was not her ‘plate of pasta’ anyway. It was nil nil till almost closing time, when through a free kick awarded just outside the box, Maradona audaciously put the ball in the net with his majestic left foot. Delle Alpi burst out in a huge roar. Even though this was Juventus’s home ground, there were enough Napoli fans to make Turin feel like Naples for that moment. His teammates carried Maradona on their shoulders to the dressing room after full time.
Her: We won! We won! Forza Napoli!
She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek. It felt good. This had not happened for a long time.
Me: Yes! Yes! We are the 1990 Serie A champions! Yohoooooooooooooo…
I shouted. She had her left hand on my waist holding me tight and jumping with joy. We jumped together! Perhaps I felt my love for her again. One celebration together had made us come so near. She now looked the same effervescent girl I had fallen for in my virginity days. I wanted to make love to her now. I hadn’t kissed her lips for some time, and we hadn’t made love for a long time. She asked me to wait next to my car, as she left for the washroom. I waited for nearly 30 minutes, but that was understandable, as washrooms after the match are queued to long lengths, men and women waiting for their turn to use their respective lavatories. She came back and spoke almost with impatience.
Her: Where is Deigo Maradona?
Me: He must be in his dressing room with his teammates celebrating, why?
Her: aren’t you going to take him back to his hotel tonight?
Me: No, he will be partying with his friends. He’ll be on his own.
Her: Can you please take me there?
Me: Where?
Her: To the place he’s going to party…
Me: What? Why?
Her: Listen…I’ll tell you everything, please take me to him right now!
Me: I hope you are coming on time…
Her: of course
Me: cool then, don’t get late
Her: whaaat?? Did you just say don’t get laid?
Me: whaaat?? Are you insane? Why will I say that, I said don’t get late, l for lousy, a for ass, t for torture, e for eternity!
Her: (on top of her lungs) how dare you speak to me like that?
Me: like what? I just was kind enough to spell out a word which is almost your middle name.
Her: no! That was deliberate. You could have said l for lovely a for….. you know….something like that.
Me: see..exactly. There are no nice words that would describe you. Even you could just remember ‘lovely’ spontaneously, which I agree you were 10 years back!
And this went on.
I had a friend working in Turin for long. He was the one who encouraged me to come to Italy, as he said many Asians, and particularly the ones from the subcontinent, come and earn a more than a decent living there. He had spoken about things which I had not heard of. Like one was this that there in Italian cities, people keep old stuff which they don’t want any more outside their houses, and the needful could take them to their homes without any restrictions! I was amazed on listening to such a custom. Though when I reached Italy, it was more of an ambitious dream coming true rather than putting logicalities together. I had seen beautiful and flamboyant pictures and scenes from films of Venice; I could have never imagined a place like that if I wouldn’t have seen them. My friend assured me of a job there with him, hence it was easier for me to come so far away from my country and work here. Now I’m in Naples. After a few months with my friend at Turin, I shifted base to Naples. Through a few Bangladeshi friends of my friend, I got contacts in Naples to get employed as the driver of Deigo Maradona. I drove from his place to the Stadio San Paolo where he practiced with the rest of his Napoli team mates, and then back to his place after the sessions. He used to drive himself whenever he went to parties or pubs in the night. People around me had started saying that Maradona is past his prime now, and that his genius is on the decline. From the little I understood of Maradona’s mobile conversations while he sat in the car as I drove him, I could make out that he was unhappy in his personal life, he was asking for drugs and women at his place late at night. I kept out of all this and did my job the way every driver should, and that was to drive him safely to his destination.
My wife arrived finally, but as expected half an hour late than what I had asked her to. We were in Turin, at the Delle Alpi, home of Juventus. This was Maradona’s big day. Italian Serie A champions was going to be virtually decided that eve, whoever wins would pick up the title. Infact Napoli had to win; Juventus was higher on goal difference so even a draw couldn’t have helped Maradona’s 11. He had given me 2 special passes for me and my wife for this match, something he had never done before. Here is how it went when my ‘not at all the better half’ arrived and sat beside me:
Her: We must win this one, we can’t afford a draw.
Me: We? Who are ‘we’?
Her: Napoli you idiot! We are from Naples, do you remember?
Me: Of course I remember, but since when have you become such an ardent follower of the Napoli football club?
Her: why else do you think I came here to watch a match with you? I have been a huge fan of Maradona since childhood.
Me: since childhood? How old are you?
Her: are you retarded? I’m your fucking wife; you don’t know how old am I?
I decided to stay quite then, it was fast becoming a scene infront of the sophisticated people we were sitting around. The match was being played mainly in the midfield, something that happens quite regularly in a clash of good Italian club teams as both defend par excellence.
Her: I wish we had Maldini in our defense line up, he would have single handedly stopped all these fuckers in black and white stripes! Besides he’s so cute!
Me: that’s all you like about him, women can only look at footballers in a frivolous way!
She gave me a stare, which told me I won’t be spared once we reach back home. But I was confident of what I said; I mean Napoli really didn’t have the budget to afford Maradona & Maldini in the same team. But expecting her to know all this was being foolish in itself. Football was not her ‘plate of pasta’ anyway. It was nil nil till almost closing time, when through a free kick awarded just outside the box, Maradona audaciously put the ball in the net with his majestic left foot. Delle Alpi burst out in a huge roar. Even though this was Juventus’s home ground, there were enough Napoli fans to make Turin feel like Naples for that moment. His teammates carried Maradona on their shoulders to the dressing room after full time.
Her: We won! We won! Forza Napoli!
She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek. It felt good. This had not happened for a long time.
Me: Yes! Yes! We are the 1990 Serie A champions! Yohoooooooooooooo…
I shouted. She had her left hand on my waist holding me tight and jumping with joy. We jumped together! Perhaps I felt my love for her again. One celebration together had made us come so near. She now looked the same effervescent girl I had fallen for in my virginity days. I wanted to make love to her now. I hadn’t kissed her lips for some time, and we hadn’t made love for a long time. She asked me to wait next to my car, as she left for the washroom. I waited for nearly 30 minutes, but that was understandable, as washrooms after the match are queued to long lengths, men and women waiting for their turn to use their respective lavatories. She came back and spoke almost with impatience.
Her: Where is Deigo Maradona?
Me: He must be in his dressing room with his teammates celebrating, why?
Her: aren’t you going to take him back to his hotel tonight?
Me: No, he will be partying with his friends. He’ll be on his own.
Her: Can you please take me there?
Me: Where?
Her: To the place he’s going to party…
Me: What? Why?
Her: Listen…I’ll tell you everything, please take me to him right now!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Half Truth
Dear Editor,
I am behind bars. After much persistence, efforts and coaxing, these people gave me your postal address. I hope this reaches you and you go through it without throwing it in the bin even before looking at it. Sorry for my harsh words, but kindly understand what state of mind I’m presently in.
I’ve been here in this dingy smelly lock up for the past 8 months. These guys arrested me from my work place. I’m a civil engineer, now after 27 years of experience, have got into the design aspect of construction. I’ve been presently working for the metro constructions in the capital, I mean I was working, till I got arrested. I’m sure you remember the major accident when the under construction pier fell down and led to a few people’s lives. I was one of the few who were arrested. It’s been a year now but I still remember every detail of the visual in front of my eyes. I was on site after the accident, but then when I saw the chaos and the disastrous outcome, I tried hiding my face somewhere, choking with guilt and shame. I was one of the chief designers of the metro bridge dissecting through that part of Delhi. Although it was not the first one to be built in Delhi, and we had done a few before, this one was the first of its kinds. It was crossing through a locality that had a steep diversion, and hence it was designed to have two piers rather than one central to keep the bridge balanced. It was accepted and approved by all governing authorities, and only then did we start with the construction. But once the construction began, slowly but surely we understood, at least I understood that it is going wrong. There wasn’t enough space for two piers, there are residential colonies on both sides and it will be majorly blocking or may be even crashing into them when the piers get made. I immediately informed my seniors and asked them to look into the matter, as the construction had just begun and it was still possible for a makeover.
The idea travelled sluggishly through the clogged arteries of the obese organization I was working in. It wasn’t accepted till they finally saw it themselves. And at that moment again, all designers were called and asked to brainstorm and find out a solution. In such cases, the only solution we felt could now solve was to make a single pier cantilever, removing the other. There are success cases of cantilever constructions within the city itself, so the proposed idea looked executable. But yet there was this problem. I saw it coming again. Since the original design of the bridge was through two piers, suddenly making it cantilever could result in a weak base. For such cases, the whole basic formation is different in a way that the balance is shifted completely on the beams.
I did not speak or discuss this with anyone, may be with this intuition that again nothing will be done about it till they themselves find out. I know I have been spineless in keeping quiet about it, and perhaps I even deserve a punishment. All I want from you sir is to not let this incident pass into people’s minds as such a basic error with a few designers being faulty at their jobs. There is much more to it which I’ve tried telling you through this confessional letter, more of which I’ll describe once I get a reply from you.
Thank you for your cooperation involved in the above stated matter,
Yours sincerely,
Krishna Iyer
My boss suddenly appeared on my desk,
“What’s up Arnab, any interesting letters today?”
“Yes sir, there are a couple, one is of this lady who says she was a prostitute in her past life, and she visits all her customers and her families everyday in her dreams, and that too sequentially and the other is…”
“Oh fantastic, I only have one column for you this week Arnab, get this lady on the papers. See you in my cabin when you are done with this.”
“Yes sir!”
I am behind bars. After much persistence, efforts and coaxing, these people gave me your postal address. I hope this reaches you and you go through it without throwing it in the bin even before looking at it. Sorry for my harsh words, but kindly understand what state of mind I’m presently in.
I’ve been here in this dingy smelly lock up for the past 8 months. These guys arrested me from my work place. I’m a civil engineer, now after 27 years of experience, have got into the design aspect of construction. I’ve been presently working for the metro constructions in the capital, I mean I was working, till I got arrested. I’m sure you remember the major accident when the under construction pier fell down and led to a few people’s lives. I was one of the few who were arrested. It’s been a year now but I still remember every detail of the visual in front of my eyes. I was on site after the accident, but then when I saw the chaos and the disastrous outcome, I tried hiding my face somewhere, choking with guilt and shame. I was one of the chief designers of the metro bridge dissecting through that part of Delhi. Although it was not the first one to be built in Delhi, and we had done a few before, this one was the first of its kinds. It was crossing through a locality that had a steep diversion, and hence it was designed to have two piers rather than one central to keep the bridge balanced. It was accepted and approved by all governing authorities, and only then did we start with the construction. But once the construction began, slowly but surely we understood, at least I understood that it is going wrong. There wasn’t enough space for two piers, there are residential colonies on both sides and it will be majorly blocking or may be even crashing into them when the piers get made. I immediately informed my seniors and asked them to look into the matter, as the construction had just begun and it was still possible for a makeover.
The idea travelled sluggishly through the clogged arteries of the obese organization I was working in. It wasn’t accepted till they finally saw it themselves. And at that moment again, all designers were called and asked to brainstorm and find out a solution. In such cases, the only solution we felt could now solve was to make a single pier cantilever, removing the other. There are success cases of cantilever constructions within the city itself, so the proposed idea looked executable. But yet there was this problem. I saw it coming again. Since the original design of the bridge was through two piers, suddenly making it cantilever could result in a weak base. For such cases, the whole basic formation is different in a way that the balance is shifted completely on the beams.
I did not speak or discuss this with anyone, may be with this intuition that again nothing will be done about it till they themselves find out. I know I have been spineless in keeping quiet about it, and perhaps I even deserve a punishment. All I want from you sir is to not let this incident pass into people’s minds as such a basic error with a few designers being faulty at their jobs. There is much more to it which I’ve tried telling you through this confessional letter, more of which I’ll describe once I get a reply from you.
Thank you for your cooperation involved in the above stated matter,
Yours sincerely,
Krishna Iyer
My boss suddenly appeared on my desk,
“What’s up Arnab, any interesting letters today?”
“Yes sir, there are a couple, one is of this lady who says she was a prostitute in her past life, and she visits all her customers and her families everyday in her dreams, and that too sequentially and the other is…”
“Oh fantastic, I only have one column for you this week Arnab, get this lady on the papers. See you in my cabin when you are done with this.”
“Yes sir!”
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Oh i see!
Prasun: I wasn’t keen on finding what I wanted to do, it just happened so that I almost accidentally bumped into my ‘now successful’ career.
Journalist: Right. Sir, in your paintings we have seen a sense of self acceptance and assessment.. all your works have a distinct style and pattern. Is it a deliberate attempt?
Prasun: What ‘all’ have you seen by me?
Journalist: Sir for example ‘the cloudiest day’, ‘a girl in holi’, ‘priest of benaras’ and many such brilliant works, you have kept a distinguishing cow in black and white patches throughout… is it..?
Prasun: Well that’s quite precise I should say! Yes indeed, keeping the cow in these works is deliberate, for more reasons than one!
Journalist: Can we get to know at least one of those reasons (smiles)?
Prasun: What I’ll do is tell you the most common reason, and that is cow being the neutral observer in the paintings, everyone else has a part to play specifically. I try to keep this as a symbolic medium in my works to show that someone’s watching. The fact that I chose a cow and not a horse or even a human, may be purely for artistic reasons. But I’ve always believed that even if someone is masturbating in a dark room, when it is being made into a piece of art, someone should be watching. That’s how I see it. I’m not getting into the argument whether it’s right or wrong, but it is certainly the way I like it.
Journalist: Thank you sir, it was a pleasure talking to you.
Prasun: Thank you, my pleasure!
Journalist: Cut…Debu keep the camera in the car, I’ll just be there.
Debu: Ya ma’am.
Prasun: Would you like some coffee or tea miss…..?
Journalist: Megha… Sengupta
Prasun: Right….Miss Sengupta, some tea or coffee?
Megha: Thanks a lot sir, a tea would be great.
Prasun: Great, you can call your cameraman too inside…umm what’s his name…Debu right?
Megha: Right, he’ll be fine there sir!
Prasun: ok, whatever’s fine with you. Kaka, 2 cup chaa please..(shouts)
Megha: Sir since the camera is not here, can I ask you something more personal related to your works?
Prasun: Ofcourse, go ahead, don’t be intimidated, I’m not as bad as I look…(grins)
Megha: haha…no I meant if you don’t mind that is..
Prasun: Sure, I won’t, go ahead
Megha: I have this intuition that something went terribly wrong in your childhood may be, something you didn’t want to see…
Prasun: How the hell did you deduce that? (astonished) is it because I said I like a neutral observer in my paintings?
Megha: well yes.. and much more than that. I was a psychology student in my graduation, before coming into journalism..I had developed a nice knack of reading people’s minds..even now although I don’t practice, I do it quite successfully.
Prasun: Amazing…its an outstanding quality. I’m rather impressed.
Megha: (blushes) Thanks sir, but what I asked….
Prasun: oh yes.. coming to what you asked. You are quite close. I saw something not just what I didn’t want to see, but also what I was not supposed to see.
I used to be a rigorous cycler in my young days. One day when no one was home and I was asked to stay inside, I didn’t follow the orders and went cycling. Remember I was just 9 then. Suddenly on a T crossing joining the main road, I saw a shootout between the police and someone firing from inside his car. I saw the whole action till the firing ceased, the guy was killed. I later discovered that he had kept ammunitions at his place and had links with the naxals. But what really disturbed me was that he was one of our neighbors. As a nine year old, I wasn’t supposed to see all that. But I did. I didn’t even know how to spell naxals, but I saw its consequences.
Megha: My god, that’s a disturbing piece of experience, I wish I had recorded this…
By the way, lovely tea sir.
Prasun: Thank kaka, he’s been doing this all his life. Anyway, where you headed now?
Megha: I’ll have to leave for the edit now. Quite a lot pending. But I’ll keep in touch sir, I had a great time interviewing and speaking to you.
Prasun: same here miss sengupta..
Megha: call me megha..i’ll leave now sir, debu must be really angry. Goodbye sir, have a good day!
Prasun: thank you megha, bye..take care! Tell me when the interview will be aired..
Megha: sure sir, bye!
Kaka: Has the girl left babu..
Prasun: ya, why?
Kaka: I think she’ll come again. She is in love with you babu. I’ve been observing her all afternoon!
Journalist: Right. Sir, in your paintings we have seen a sense of self acceptance and assessment.. all your works have a distinct style and pattern. Is it a deliberate attempt?
Prasun: What ‘all’ have you seen by me?
Journalist: Sir for example ‘the cloudiest day’, ‘a girl in holi’, ‘priest of benaras’ and many such brilliant works, you have kept a distinguishing cow in black and white patches throughout… is it..?
Prasun: Well that’s quite precise I should say! Yes indeed, keeping the cow in these works is deliberate, for more reasons than one!
Journalist: Can we get to know at least one of those reasons (smiles)?
Prasun: What I’ll do is tell you the most common reason, and that is cow being the neutral observer in the paintings, everyone else has a part to play specifically. I try to keep this as a symbolic medium in my works to show that someone’s watching. The fact that I chose a cow and not a horse or even a human, may be purely for artistic reasons. But I’ve always believed that even if someone is masturbating in a dark room, when it is being made into a piece of art, someone should be watching. That’s how I see it. I’m not getting into the argument whether it’s right or wrong, but it is certainly the way I like it.
Journalist: Thank you sir, it was a pleasure talking to you.
Prasun: Thank you, my pleasure!
Journalist: Cut…Debu keep the camera in the car, I’ll just be there.
Debu: Ya ma’am.
Prasun: Would you like some coffee or tea miss…..?
Journalist: Megha… Sengupta
Prasun: Right….Miss Sengupta, some tea or coffee?
Megha: Thanks a lot sir, a tea would be great.
Prasun: Great, you can call your cameraman too inside…umm what’s his name…Debu right?
Megha: Right, he’ll be fine there sir!
Prasun: ok, whatever’s fine with you. Kaka, 2 cup chaa please..(shouts)
Megha: Sir since the camera is not here, can I ask you something more personal related to your works?
Prasun: Ofcourse, go ahead, don’t be intimidated, I’m not as bad as I look…(grins)
Megha: haha…no I meant if you don’t mind that is..
Prasun: Sure, I won’t, go ahead
Megha: I have this intuition that something went terribly wrong in your childhood may be, something you didn’t want to see…
Prasun: How the hell did you deduce that? (astonished) is it because I said I like a neutral observer in my paintings?
Megha: well yes.. and much more than that. I was a psychology student in my graduation, before coming into journalism..I had developed a nice knack of reading people’s minds..even now although I don’t practice, I do it quite successfully.
Prasun: Amazing…its an outstanding quality. I’m rather impressed.
Megha: (blushes) Thanks sir, but what I asked….
Prasun: oh yes.. coming to what you asked. You are quite close. I saw something not just what I didn’t want to see, but also what I was not supposed to see.
I used to be a rigorous cycler in my young days. One day when no one was home and I was asked to stay inside, I didn’t follow the orders and went cycling. Remember I was just 9 then. Suddenly on a T crossing joining the main road, I saw a shootout between the police and someone firing from inside his car. I saw the whole action till the firing ceased, the guy was killed. I later discovered that he had kept ammunitions at his place and had links with the naxals. But what really disturbed me was that he was one of our neighbors. As a nine year old, I wasn’t supposed to see all that. But I did. I didn’t even know how to spell naxals, but I saw its consequences.
Megha: My god, that’s a disturbing piece of experience, I wish I had recorded this…
By the way, lovely tea sir.
Prasun: Thank kaka, he’s been doing this all his life. Anyway, where you headed now?
Megha: I’ll have to leave for the edit now. Quite a lot pending. But I’ll keep in touch sir, I had a great time interviewing and speaking to you.
Prasun: same here miss sengupta..
Megha: call me megha..i’ll leave now sir, debu must be really angry. Goodbye sir, have a good day!
Prasun: thank you megha, bye..take care! Tell me when the interview will be aired..
Megha: sure sir, bye!
Kaka: Has the girl left babu..
Prasun: ya, why?
Kaka: I think she’ll come again. She is in love with you babu. I’ve been observing her all afternoon!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Beautiful Game
The playground near its corners was populated with numerous small groups of friends sitting and lazing around. Meanwhile, the 14 of us covered the majority of the pitch as we started with our routine daily match of football in the afternoon. Some had bunked classes to be there on time for the match. But it was worth it. The weather was outstanding, just ideal for a football match, cloudy yet breezy. There was no hint of sun. The whole look of the day was pretty grayish, almost monochromatic. The match hence was being played with higher spirits and zeal, higher energies. On a day like that, the stamina’s increased, everyone felt like running an extra yard, dribbling the ball through the midfield like a Brazilian, it was after all ‘the beautiful game’. Our college bags were kept together forming heaps to form the poles of goals. I used to be a player predominantly on the right wing. Hence I was closer to the students sitting in chunks of 4-5 near the boundaries and corners of the playground. Time and again it would so happen that the ball would roll out of play and hit one of them. I would go to them and ask for the ball, even say sorry if it had hit a girl. But then this time even though the ball did not roll out, I noticed a group of 3 students sitting quite close to the periphery of our playing area. No wonder why I noticed them. Gauri was there. I just knew her by her name and face. She was a year junior to me, in a different course, so there was no natural way of knowing each other. I was just so madly in love with her that I had to ask a common friend to introduce me to her. She also knew me by face and name, quite lame! We used to say ‘hi’ to each other whenever we crossed paths, but that was it. I grew weak in my knees whenever I used to see her. Now this was my chance. I was now extremely eager to impress her. So I went up to her and said ‘hi’. She replied back and said ‘hi’ too. What this did was that my presence was now felt. Now I would play skillfully and try and be brilliant, and hope gauri watches it. I did just that. I demanded the ball every time my team was attacking. I gave artistic first touches, carried the ball solo through, into the penalty box quite a few times. I absolutely did not realize that it had been raining for the past few minutes now. When I did, I immediately turned to check if gauri was still around. She wasn’t certainly sitting anymore. I scanned through the playground like a hawk, saw various couples standing under trees, ‘enjoying’ the young rain. I had lost track of the ball, my eyes wandered, in pain, just hoping to catch a glimpse of gauri somewhere. I think she saw me before I saw her, because what she did next was so out of the book for her. I noticed she was under the science block roof, but then she came out in the rain, closed her eyes, and let her arms wide open, embracing the rain. I wished if I could zoom into her face, look at the water droplets bouncing off her face, and some rolling through. She just looked immaculately beautiful. I’m not sure about this part, but I think I saw her smile and look at me. I just knew I had to propose to her, there can be no two ways about it.
I turned back and saw that all my football mates were gone. By now another friend of hers had joined gauri in the rain. I picked up my wet bag and went to my classroom. I didn’t feel like going back home, and I felt like coming to college again the next day as soon as possible. With mixed ideas, I came out of my class and started for my home. I met gauri again downstairs, chatting with her friends, as the rain had ended up into only a minor drizzle by now. She saw me coming downstairs and then towards her. I smiled and said ‘bye’, she smiled back and said ‘bye’ too.
I turned back and saw that all my football mates were gone. By now another friend of hers had joined gauri in the rain. I picked up my wet bag and went to my classroom. I didn’t feel like going back home, and I felt like coming to college again the next day as soon as possible. With mixed ideas, I came out of my class and started for my home. I met gauri again downstairs, chatting with her friends, as the rain had ended up into only a minor drizzle by now. She saw me coming downstairs and then towards her. I smiled and said ‘bye’, she smiled back and said ‘bye’ too.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
The Adult film
Jatin, my younger brother, was just younger due to his chronological age. he had matured at 'all' levels more than me much before he saw his teens, and i was almost finishing my teens by then. i'm not sure of the reason how this happened, may be because our younger lot are exposed to television and internet a lot earlier than we were. add to that the intelligence jatin was gifted with, he learnt things faster than kids at his age would. hence his eagerness to know more was inevitable, and invariably it was not possible to stop him from knowing things that were necessarily adult.
i think what made the difference in his case was that he was so keen on growing up, and being the so called 'mature individual', that he couldn't just help killing the kid in him. i would take opinions from him regarding my relationships, dad would ask him on the possible solutions if there was a problem at his work place, mom would share her kitty party conflicts with him. what resulted was a jatin, with more than enough knowledge at his age, and hence an over confident 'under-aged adult'. he would needlessly comment on sachin's dismissal, as if he was a connoisseur of cricket, he would not see commercial films like 'ddlj' and 'kkhh' and rather watch something like a 'fire' or 'satya', almost deliberately trying to show off his taste of things. all this and much more irritated me.i don't know whether i was jealous, or pissed, but i was starting to hate him everyday. the problem i thought was the fact that he himself understood his gift. i feel more often than not, if someone has a special talent, the realization of that quality tends to make the person snobbish and uselessly arrogant. jatin knew a lot of things, true, period. but he was still 12, there were things even if he knew, he couldn't possibly have understood. then why the hell were we treating him like that, weren't we responsible for his wrong grooming?
even i was just 18, i could not have answered all the questions i had. i had to come up with my own solutions. i decided to prove to my parents, by hook or by crook, that jatin was growing up the wrong way. i wanted to prove them that he is not using his gift and channelizing it in the correct path, therefore resulting into a kid who's turned into a brat. atleast this would stop all the pampering he used to get at home.
for days i tried finding flaws in him, trying to peep into his classroom, his bedroom, and when he is all alone using the computer or watching television. i tried meeting his friends too, apprehending that they might tell me if jatin had been drinking alcohol or may be even taking drugs, through friends from senior classes. but nothing of that sort popped out.
after almost a month of rigorous spying and sleuthing on jatin, i almost lost hope. i was slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that he's truly gifted and that he deserves all the attention and accolade. after a point of time, i was so convinced, that i had started talking about him amidst my classmates, praising jatin for his amazing intellectuality at 12. all my friends wanted to meet him. after all he was in the same school. it wasn't very tough to bring him to my classroom during the lunch break and introduce him to my friends. i decided to bring him the next day. as i went back home, with excitement, and keenness to tell jatin that i would take him to my class tomorrow, i saw him standing next to my mother outside our gate. even from a distance i could make out that my mother was waiting for me, and due to some reason extremely anguished. as i went closer, something in her hand became visible. it was a video cd, with its cover. infact, it was indeed the video cd of the pornographic film i had borrowed from one of my friends. after a series of slaps, my mom disclosed that jatin found it on my study table, under my maths text book.
i think what made the difference in his case was that he was so keen on growing up, and being the so called 'mature individual', that he couldn't just help killing the kid in him. i would take opinions from him regarding my relationships, dad would ask him on the possible solutions if there was a problem at his work place, mom would share her kitty party conflicts with him. what resulted was a jatin, with more than enough knowledge at his age, and hence an over confident 'under-aged adult'. he would needlessly comment on sachin's dismissal, as if he was a connoisseur of cricket, he would not see commercial films like 'ddlj' and 'kkhh' and rather watch something like a 'fire' or 'satya', almost deliberately trying to show off his taste of things. all this and much more irritated me.i don't know whether i was jealous, or pissed, but i was starting to hate him everyday. the problem i thought was the fact that he himself understood his gift. i feel more often than not, if someone has a special talent, the realization of that quality tends to make the person snobbish and uselessly arrogant. jatin knew a lot of things, true, period. but he was still 12, there were things even if he knew, he couldn't possibly have understood. then why the hell were we treating him like that, weren't we responsible for his wrong grooming?
even i was just 18, i could not have answered all the questions i had. i had to come up with my own solutions. i decided to prove to my parents, by hook or by crook, that jatin was growing up the wrong way. i wanted to prove them that he is not using his gift and channelizing it in the correct path, therefore resulting into a kid who's turned into a brat. atleast this would stop all the pampering he used to get at home.
for days i tried finding flaws in him, trying to peep into his classroom, his bedroom, and when he is all alone using the computer or watching television. i tried meeting his friends too, apprehending that they might tell me if jatin had been drinking alcohol or may be even taking drugs, through friends from senior classes. but nothing of that sort popped out.
after almost a month of rigorous spying and sleuthing on jatin, i almost lost hope. i was slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that he's truly gifted and that he deserves all the attention and accolade. after a point of time, i was so convinced, that i had started talking about him amidst my classmates, praising jatin for his amazing intellectuality at 12. all my friends wanted to meet him. after all he was in the same school. it wasn't very tough to bring him to my classroom during the lunch break and introduce him to my friends. i decided to bring him the next day. as i went back home, with excitement, and keenness to tell jatin that i would take him to my class tomorrow, i saw him standing next to my mother outside our gate. even from a distance i could make out that my mother was waiting for me, and due to some reason extremely anguished. as i went closer, something in her hand became visible. it was a video cd, with its cover. infact, it was indeed the video cd of the pornographic film i had borrowed from one of my friends. after a series of slaps, my mom disclosed that jatin found it on my study table, under my maths text book.
Friday, April 17, 2009
25 minutes
This was the last thing i wanted to do. i was never one of those guys who would push boundaries. in cases like this one, if i like a girl, it remained that way till the time i got out of touch. but from my end my feelings were never communicated to the other person.
i was on the bus stand, looking at the waiting fellow passengers, who would board the bus with me. we had been waiting for around 5 minutes now. all this while when i looked at them for the last 5 minutes, although i stared at them, but with each face came a different thought in my perplexed mind. as i moved from face to face, i imagined the various consequences that could result from my actions. i imagined mrigya not opening the door at all, and me standing outside her gate and sweating the same way as i was at this moment thinking about it waiting for the bus. almost out of a blur, the bus arrived. the blur was perhaps of my coming back to present reality, almost the way its visualised in films. we boarded the bus in a civilized and decent way, everyone moving up in a que, something i've come to appreciate about mumbai. i took a window seat, a preferance all kids have, neither was i out of that mode yet. with the unbearable humidity in the city, a bus ride without a window seat could prove to be quite 'saline' indeed! anyway, as the bus moved, my mind blurred back to imaginary sequences of my trying to convince mrigya that all she needs to do is give me one chance. i saw myself telling her that it was ok if she's not in love with me initially, as i'm certain if she gives me that extra liberty of 'being more than just friends', slowly but surely she would fall in love with me someday. i would happily wait for that day, and till then make her happy with the best of my love. i saw myself telling her that i've never loved someone so selflessy, and that i could even be a dog to be with her. i saw her giggling at this, giving an expression through her eyes as if i've lost it. i loved her eyes, they justified her name. i loved her name.
the bus halted due to traffic. we had been in the bus for around 15 minutes by now. ideally it should take me 10 more minutes to reach her place, but the jam could really screw it up. even though i enjoyed all these imaginary sequences going through my mind, i mean all that was missing was a song & dance sequence like in films, but yet i couldn't wait any longer to speak to mrigya. my abdomen was feeling the cramps of anxiety and tension, and apprehension, and what not! the bus halted irritatingly at all bus stands which were amazingly,just a few metres away from the traffic signal. time and again it would so happen that the bus would stop at the stand when the signal's green, and when it moved, the signal was red again, the bus halting inevitably again, delaying my arrival at mrigya's place. at around in 10 more minutes, god knows how, i deboarded the bus, at the stand closest to her place.
these 25 minutes are like a trophy of rememberance for me. i didn't get mrigya in my life as my love interest, and i never will, but that little journey i had made will remain with me as the longest relation i've shared with anyone. even my wife knows about it. i'm sure my kids will too, once they are born.
i was on the bus stand, looking at the waiting fellow passengers, who would board the bus with me. we had been waiting for around 5 minutes now. all this while when i looked at them for the last 5 minutes, although i stared at them, but with each face came a different thought in my perplexed mind. as i moved from face to face, i imagined the various consequences that could result from my actions. i imagined mrigya not opening the door at all, and me standing outside her gate and sweating the same way as i was at this moment thinking about it waiting for the bus. almost out of a blur, the bus arrived. the blur was perhaps of my coming back to present reality, almost the way its visualised in films. we boarded the bus in a civilized and decent way, everyone moving up in a que, something i've come to appreciate about mumbai. i took a window seat, a preferance all kids have, neither was i out of that mode yet. with the unbearable humidity in the city, a bus ride without a window seat could prove to be quite 'saline' indeed! anyway, as the bus moved, my mind blurred back to imaginary sequences of my trying to convince mrigya that all she needs to do is give me one chance. i saw myself telling her that it was ok if she's not in love with me initially, as i'm certain if she gives me that extra liberty of 'being more than just friends', slowly but surely she would fall in love with me someday. i would happily wait for that day, and till then make her happy with the best of my love. i saw myself telling her that i've never loved someone so selflessy, and that i could even be a dog to be with her. i saw her giggling at this, giving an expression through her eyes as if i've lost it. i loved her eyes, they justified her name. i loved her name.
the bus halted due to traffic. we had been in the bus for around 15 minutes by now. ideally it should take me 10 more minutes to reach her place, but the jam could really screw it up. even though i enjoyed all these imaginary sequences going through my mind, i mean all that was missing was a song & dance sequence like in films, but yet i couldn't wait any longer to speak to mrigya. my abdomen was feeling the cramps of anxiety and tension, and apprehension, and what not! the bus halted irritatingly at all bus stands which were amazingly,just a few metres away from the traffic signal. time and again it would so happen that the bus would stop at the stand when the signal's green, and when it moved, the signal was red again, the bus halting inevitably again, delaying my arrival at mrigya's place. at around in 10 more minutes, god knows how, i deboarded the bus, at the stand closest to her place.
these 25 minutes are like a trophy of rememberance for me. i didn't get mrigya in my life as my love interest, and i never will, but that little journey i had made will remain with me as the longest relation i've shared with anyone. even my wife knows about it. i'm sure my kids will too, once they are born.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Anil uncle’s night out
I entered my place at around half past midnight. What struck me from outside itself was that I could see the tube light of our drawing room switched on. Now that was quite strange because our landlord used to be asleep by 11pm, even that being the latest. I hurriedly got in, willing to find out the matter. As I entered, I saw one of my roommates sitting near the telephone, along with one of our neighbors. Our landlord wasn’t there on his bed. Both of the members presently in the room sat silently searching numbers through the telephone diary. On my inquiry, my roommate revealed, that Anil uncle (our landlord) hadn’t returned home till then. He had gone out to visit his doctor during the afternoon.
The phone calls these people made in my absence till then, made them learn that Anil uncle hadn’t reached his doctor. He also, quite surprisingly, wasn’t picking up his cell phone since evening. All the detective literature I had read since my school days started playing on me suddenly, and I began thinking like a sleuth. The first deduction I made was that since we had given uncle umpteen calls till now, and they have been unattended, thence his cell phone should conk off in a while. Also I figured that his not picking up the phone is his inability to do so, and not his choice, because all the calls we made rang till the end. If it was really his choice, after a while he would have disconnected them every time they rang. May be he would have even switched it off. I explained my panicking roommates that uncle must be trapped in a situation where he’s not able to attend to his calls. We checked all the hospitals where he possibly could have gone. We also called all his relatives and friends. All in vain.
I and one other roommate decided to stay awake that night. Others slept. I and the other guy gradually went into a nostalgic conversation and recollection of our graduation days. I discovered that we had common friends, whom both of us knew. We, for a couple of hours almost forgot the reason, for which we were awake, and suddenly I looked at the watch; it was 4 in the morning. My roommate decided to call Anil uncle again. As he called, I stood next to him. Something made me really apprehensive. After a few seconds of my initial nerves, I was back in the moment because of a strange sound. There was an extremely light sound of something rubbing against another, periodically. I smelt the rat. I followed the sound. I was playing Mr. Holmes in my head. I reached the kitchen following it. The sound became more distinct and louder. Now I was chasing it. It came extremely close to my perimeter, but still not found. I called my roommate to the kitchen, like Holmes would to Dr. Watson. He within a few seconds opened a drawer, and pulled out a silently vibrating cell phone. We looked at each other, astonished. Now we knew that uncle had deliberately kept his cell phone on silent mode and went away so that no one reaches him.
A score of days have gone by, Anil uncle still hasn’t returned. We are still waiting for ‘the’ news!
The phone calls these people made in my absence till then, made them learn that Anil uncle hadn’t reached his doctor. He also, quite surprisingly, wasn’t picking up his cell phone since evening. All the detective literature I had read since my school days started playing on me suddenly, and I began thinking like a sleuth. The first deduction I made was that since we had given uncle umpteen calls till now, and they have been unattended, thence his cell phone should conk off in a while. Also I figured that his not picking up the phone is his inability to do so, and not his choice, because all the calls we made rang till the end. If it was really his choice, after a while he would have disconnected them every time they rang. May be he would have even switched it off. I explained my panicking roommates that uncle must be trapped in a situation where he’s not able to attend to his calls. We checked all the hospitals where he possibly could have gone. We also called all his relatives and friends. All in vain.
I and one other roommate decided to stay awake that night. Others slept. I and the other guy gradually went into a nostalgic conversation and recollection of our graduation days. I discovered that we had common friends, whom both of us knew. We, for a couple of hours almost forgot the reason, for which we were awake, and suddenly I looked at the watch; it was 4 in the morning. My roommate decided to call Anil uncle again. As he called, I stood next to him. Something made me really apprehensive. After a few seconds of my initial nerves, I was back in the moment because of a strange sound. There was an extremely light sound of something rubbing against another, periodically. I smelt the rat. I followed the sound. I was playing Mr. Holmes in my head. I reached the kitchen following it. The sound became more distinct and louder. Now I was chasing it. It came extremely close to my perimeter, but still not found. I called my roommate to the kitchen, like Holmes would to Dr. Watson. He within a few seconds opened a drawer, and pulled out a silently vibrating cell phone. We looked at each other, astonished. Now we knew that uncle had deliberately kept his cell phone on silent mode and went away so that no one reaches him.
A score of days have gone by, Anil uncle still hasn’t returned. We are still waiting for ‘the’ news!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
By de'fault'
i was staring at him for quite some time.his navy blue t-shirt went with his complexion so perfectly that it was difficult to not stare at him, atleast for me. even as a child, i knew i wasn't very keen on girls, the way other boys of my age used to crave about them. for me girls were just there for me, existing. my first crush being the immensely good looking actor Rishi Kapoor, even this guy looked quite attractive.
the gentle wind blew, caressing his hair. the curtain of my window touched my nose every now and then as it moved with the cool air passing through. he was waiting at the tea stall for someone. surely he was waiting. he hadn't ordered for a cup of tea till then. atleast i presumed so, even though i was too far away to listen to his conversation with the chaiwala.
from his appearance he looked atleast 3-4 years older than me. there was hair on his face that had been shaved recently, and had grown again. i envied his bicycle too, it just went with his personality so much. for a boy of my age,13, bicycles used to be a big deal. my bicycle was something i was willing to sell for free. it was honestly an embarrassment riding it. in every couple of days i had to go repair it for punctures or my rusted breaks or rusted chain and what not! anyway, his was good, that's the point.
after a while, came a girl dressed in a white t shirt and blue jeans. my friends surely would have found her hot. the love of my life hugged her, and then they went somewhere from the spot in their respective bicycles.
i kept staring at the place he was standing before they left.it was getting dark outside. but that was nowhere close to how dark i felt inside. there was no one at home for a while. i wanted to tell and burst out in front of my mother, about how painfull and dizzy i felt from inside when that boy hugged the girl.
now i really feel it was a blessing in disguise that i couldn't share it to my family that day. the day my family learnt that i am a homosexual, there came an immediate break in the attachment. infact, in an year after that, me and my family parted ways, for more reasons than one though. but surely, this was a major factor. now at 58, unmarried, and with no one who would look after me when i grow older, i feel a terrible void inside me. and this incident suddenly flashes every now and then. not just the boy, but the incident also reminds me of my parents who were not their with me then, and they aren't with me now.
the gentle wind blew, caressing his hair. the curtain of my window touched my nose every now and then as it moved with the cool air passing through. he was waiting at the tea stall for someone. surely he was waiting. he hadn't ordered for a cup of tea till then. atleast i presumed so, even though i was too far away to listen to his conversation with the chaiwala.
from his appearance he looked atleast 3-4 years older than me. there was hair on his face that had been shaved recently, and had grown again. i envied his bicycle too, it just went with his personality so much. for a boy of my age,13, bicycles used to be a big deal. my bicycle was something i was willing to sell for free. it was honestly an embarrassment riding it. in every couple of days i had to go repair it for punctures or my rusted breaks or rusted chain and what not! anyway, his was good, that's the point.
after a while, came a girl dressed in a white t shirt and blue jeans. my friends surely would have found her hot. the love of my life hugged her, and then they went somewhere from the spot in their respective bicycles.
i kept staring at the place he was standing before they left.it was getting dark outside. but that was nowhere close to how dark i felt inside. there was no one at home for a while. i wanted to tell and burst out in front of my mother, about how painfull and dizzy i felt from inside when that boy hugged the girl.
now i really feel it was a blessing in disguise that i couldn't share it to my family that day. the day my family learnt that i am a homosexual, there came an immediate break in the attachment. infact, in an year after that, me and my family parted ways, for more reasons than one though. but surely, this was a major factor. now at 58, unmarried, and with no one who would look after me when i grow older, i feel a terrible void inside me. and this incident suddenly flashes every now and then. not just the boy, but the incident also reminds me of my parents who were not their with me then, and they aren't with me now.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Please love me
There was nothing cheerful about the evening. I still said “cheers”, to myself. Yes! I was drinking alone in my room. Both my roommates were away on their official work and I was back from my job place. It was kind of new to me to drink Jack Daniels all by myself, but I cherished the fact that no one else will get to touch the top notch quality whisky! It was so smooth that the first 2 pegs, no 3 pegs, wait, I don’t remember entirely, whatever….the first 2-3 pegs I drank on the rocks, neat! Smooth it was. Though things started getting blurred. My room suddenly seemed bigger than it usually was, it was suddenly not a 1 BHK anymore (bedroom hall kitchen), it looked atleast a 2 BHK. Never mind.
I got up and began my search for a knife. The kitchen was in a mess. None of us cook but it still looked so used up that nothing was in its place. To my utmost vain I couldn’t find it, the time I needed a knife the most in my life. I began thinking then, what else could be found which would be useful. I wasn’t surely in a mood to die by getting bombed through gas cylinders. The next effective way I thought was finding a rope and tying it to the ceiling fan. How would I find a rope now, only my bed sheets could be used for that purpose. I tied it on the ceiling fan and kept a stool beneath it so that I could climb up and hang. I put my head in between the loop I had made, and kicked the stool with my right foot. For a minute, I struggled…choking to breathe, vomiting out the alcohol, and then I suddenly fell down. The ceiling fan lost its hold on the ceiling wall, and fell with me on the floor. With it fell lumps of cement, which gave my skin a color tone I could have never achieved with sunscreen lotions.
I was unconscious till my roomies woke me up after around a couple of hours. They were panicking with the visual in front of their eyes, and they demanded an instant explanation of the series of events that made me do the heart wrenching act. I started- “I called up mayuri last night. I just wanted to clear it out with her. I just can’t believe two people who were so madly in love once are not speaking at all now. So what that we’ve broken up! Both of us have new partners, don’t we? So why is it so hard for her to just communicate with me and be friends?”
“So what did she say?”
“She wasn’t picking up at first…as usual. I didn’t give up this time. I kept on calling her…continuously. I kept doing it for at least 10 times, and then she picked up. You guys have no clue how she spoke to me…”
“How?”
“She said- I don’t want to speak to you…ever, is that fine with you? I said no… then she said- don’t ever speak to me again, and she hung up after that. How else do you want me to take it and react? It’s so insulting.”
“But you can’t do this because that happened? Mayuri is history ok? Sneha is your present…why do you keep going back to Mayuri’s hallucinations when you’re drunk?”
I had no answer to that. My roommate was right. Perhaps I wasn’t yet out of love for my first. Mayuri was my first love…I felt week in my knees when I first saw her. When we started going around we did so much together, we smoked for the first time together on the college staircase. Both of us surprisingly got drunk on breezers the first time we had it, we hadn’t tasted alcohol by then. I remember we were coming back from a college fest night when we had it, she had her head on my lap after her breezer. It was the first time we smooched, perhaps the most beautiful goodbye I’ve ever shared with someone. Wasn’t all this too much to get out of it? I mean…ya I cannot cling on to the relation once it’s all over, but…
My phone rang suddenly. Sneha was calling. I "picked it up".
I got up and began my search for a knife. The kitchen was in a mess. None of us cook but it still looked so used up that nothing was in its place. To my utmost vain I couldn’t find it, the time I needed a knife the most in my life. I began thinking then, what else could be found which would be useful. I wasn’t surely in a mood to die by getting bombed through gas cylinders. The next effective way I thought was finding a rope and tying it to the ceiling fan. How would I find a rope now, only my bed sheets could be used for that purpose. I tied it on the ceiling fan and kept a stool beneath it so that I could climb up and hang. I put my head in between the loop I had made, and kicked the stool with my right foot. For a minute, I struggled…choking to breathe, vomiting out the alcohol, and then I suddenly fell down. The ceiling fan lost its hold on the ceiling wall, and fell with me on the floor. With it fell lumps of cement, which gave my skin a color tone I could have never achieved with sunscreen lotions.
I was unconscious till my roomies woke me up after around a couple of hours. They were panicking with the visual in front of their eyes, and they demanded an instant explanation of the series of events that made me do the heart wrenching act. I started- “I called up mayuri last night. I just wanted to clear it out with her. I just can’t believe two people who were so madly in love once are not speaking at all now. So what that we’ve broken up! Both of us have new partners, don’t we? So why is it so hard for her to just communicate with me and be friends?”
“So what did she say?”
“She wasn’t picking up at first…as usual. I didn’t give up this time. I kept on calling her…continuously. I kept doing it for at least 10 times, and then she picked up. You guys have no clue how she spoke to me…”
“How?”
“She said- I don’t want to speak to you…ever, is that fine with you? I said no… then she said- don’t ever speak to me again, and she hung up after that. How else do you want me to take it and react? It’s so insulting.”
“But you can’t do this because that happened? Mayuri is history ok? Sneha is your present…why do you keep going back to Mayuri’s hallucinations when you’re drunk?”
I had no answer to that. My roommate was right. Perhaps I wasn’t yet out of love for my first. Mayuri was my first love…I felt week in my knees when I first saw her. When we started going around we did so much together, we smoked for the first time together on the college staircase. Both of us surprisingly got drunk on breezers the first time we had it, we hadn’t tasted alcohol by then. I remember we were coming back from a college fest night when we had it, she had her head on my lap after her breezer. It was the first time we smooched, perhaps the most beautiful goodbye I’ve ever shared with someone. Wasn’t all this too much to get out of it? I mean…ya I cannot cling on to the relation once it’s all over, but…
My phone rang suddenly. Sneha was calling. I "picked it up".
Friday, February 6, 2009
The Magician
All of us were craving for the first round of the evening tea. by then we had already exerted ourselves enough with 2 matches of carrom.The third would start only if we get our throats wet with some 'chaa' (tea in bengali). the 'royals club' at park street saw us daily in the evening.if the club was a person, he would have been pissed by now. after our routine office timings, all 4 of us found some valuable excitement and thrill playing our 'hard fought' carrom matches till the club shuts down in the night.
i was called the magician by my friends, there were times when i started the game and no one else got a chance, i finished the whole game without passing on the striker to the next person. ofcourse, it wasn't very common. so i decided to accept the tag too, it made me happy.
the 'chaa' finally arrived, now we would light up our cigarettes and start the third match. i had lost the first two matches, so there was a hell lot of pressure on me to win this one and prove my worth to my friends. there was something wrong with me in the first two matches. i just wasn't able to concentrate, something was bothering me and strangely enough i had no clue what! the third game began miserably for me, my strikes weren't accurate enough, infact i was missing from quite a distance. the count of cigarettes smoked increased, another round of 'chaa'came. i lost the next two games with big margins. suddenly just when the 5th game was about to begin, i got up from my chair and came out of the club. i was feeling suffocated, not because i couldn't breathe, but because i wasn't feeling good at all. my mind and heart both were terribly choked, and sad, and gloomy,and....what not!
i left for my home in a taxi. my father opened the door, as i rushed in and went straight to the bathroom. i splashed chunks of water on my face and eyes, and came out with a towel. right then, my father asked me to come to his room. i smelt trouble. he normally never calls me to his room for a chat.
what he told me cleared my confusion about my awkward feeling the whole evening. my sister had run away from home, with her boyfriend. she had left a note for my father in his room. there was no note for me.
i was called the magician by my friends, there were times when i started the game and no one else got a chance, i finished the whole game without passing on the striker to the next person. ofcourse, it wasn't very common. so i decided to accept the tag too, it made me happy.
the 'chaa' finally arrived, now we would light up our cigarettes and start the third match. i had lost the first two matches, so there was a hell lot of pressure on me to win this one and prove my worth to my friends. there was something wrong with me in the first two matches. i just wasn't able to concentrate, something was bothering me and strangely enough i had no clue what! the third game began miserably for me, my strikes weren't accurate enough, infact i was missing from quite a distance. the count of cigarettes smoked increased, another round of 'chaa'came. i lost the next two games with big margins. suddenly just when the 5th game was about to begin, i got up from my chair and came out of the club. i was feeling suffocated, not because i couldn't breathe, but because i wasn't feeling good at all. my mind and heart both were terribly choked, and sad, and gloomy,and....what not!
i left for my home in a taxi. my father opened the door, as i rushed in and went straight to the bathroom. i splashed chunks of water on my face and eyes, and came out with a towel. right then, my father asked me to come to his room. i smelt trouble. he normally never calls me to his room for a chat.
what he told me cleared my confusion about my awkward feeling the whole evening. my sister had run away from home, with her boyfriend. she had left a note for my father in his room. there was no note for me.
Monday, January 12, 2009
My Grandfather’s Radio
That wretched radio. I just can’t believe I’m writing about it. It was the most irritating thing in this frigging world for me. Since the time I was 6 or 7, till my late teens, it remained an object of hatred. Even now, at 46, when I look back upon those days, it fills me up with this unavoidable rage that for the next thirty minutes or so I don’t speak to anyone straight faced.
My old lanky grandfather, used to carry it everywhere with him, may be even to the loo… I mean who knows, we never checked! That was literally a part of his body, a black colored object, with a rusted yet still silvery antenna on its head, which remained attached to his left hand all the time. In my childhood days I honestly believed he was working in the Air India Radio. Why else would you keep listening to it, even when it produced the most irritating of noises! I call it noise, because after a certain point of time it wasn’t sound anymore. And sometimes it was just playing, I noticed he wasn’t even listening, but the fact that it was playing is history!
My grandfather passed away when I was 21. I was studying my masters in a different city by then, I used to visit him once every two months. But his unexpected demise made me visit him earlier that time, within a month of my last visit. All throughout my way to his place, which I used to travel in a train that took exactly 4 hours for the coveted journey, I thought about how to face what I was going to witness. It was something certainly I had not expected to happen, and neither had I ever faced a death in my family before. The whole thing frankly was more awkward than sad to me. I was promising myself throughout the journey that I would behave like a grown up there, with maturity and without getting too sentimental about it. My grandfather was 84 when he died of a stroke. How more he would have lived, I thought. I felt it was better for people to expire after an age where they can’t take care of themselves. Or else they would just end up in extreme pain not just themselves, but also for people who cared about them. As my train entered the Howrah station, I was completely in control of myself, at ease with the ‘happening’. I was prepared to see a lot of family members crying, I had made myself strong enough not to get affected by all of it in these 4 hours.
The Gariahat market was hustling with activity, and people, specifically the housewives who had come to ‘spend’ their evening in the market. My rickshaw puller hand pulled the vehicle carefully through all this, trying not to hurt anyone. I reached my grandfather’s place within ten more minutes. There were around a dozen people just inside the entrance, talking among themselves. I recognized only three of them. I went in, decided not to enter the room where the ladies of the families were. I chose to sit in the room my grandfather used to sleep in. There hung a large picture of his, with flowers all round it. I sat on his bed and began looking at his room in an intrusive manner. Things were placed just at the places they always used to be. But there was something that did not suit the room. On a side table, which my grandfather usually used to keep his collection of books about Swami Vivekananda, there was that black radio besides these books. I picked it up and switched it on. There was no sound.
I broke into tears.
My old lanky grandfather, used to carry it everywhere with him, may be even to the loo… I mean who knows, we never checked! That was literally a part of his body, a black colored object, with a rusted yet still silvery antenna on its head, which remained attached to his left hand all the time. In my childhood days I honestly believed he was working in the Air India Radio. Why else would you keep listening to it, even when it produced the most irritating of noises! I call it noise, because after a certain point of time it wasn’t sound anymore. And sometimes it was just playing, I noticed he wasn’t even listening, but the fact that it was playing is history!
My grandfather passed away when I was 21. I was studying my masters in a different city by then, I used to visit him once every two months. But his unexpected demise made me visit him earlier that time, within a month of my last visit. All throughout my way to his place, which I used to travel in a train that took exactly 4 hours for the coveted journey, I thought about how to face what I was going to witness. It was something certainly I had not expected to happen, and neither had I ever faced a death in my family before. The whole thing frankly was more awkward than sad to me. I was promising myself throughout the journey that I would behave like a grown up there, with maturity and without getting too sentimental about it. My grandfather was 84 when he died of a stroke. How more he would have lived, I thought. I felt it was better for people to expire after an age where they can’t take care of themselves. Or else they would just end up in extreme pain not just themselves, but also for people who cared about them. As my train entered the Howrah station, I was completely in control of myself, at ease with the ‘happening’. I was prepared to see a lot of family members crying, I had made myself strong enough not to get affected by all of it in these 4 hours.
The Gariahat market was hustling with activity, and people, specifically the housewives who had come to ‘spend’ their evening in the market. My rickshaw puller hand pulled the vehicle carefully through all this, trying not to hurt anyone. I reached my grandfather’s place within ten more minutes. There were around a dozen people just inside the entrance, talking among themselves. I recognized only three of them. I went in, decided not to enter the room where the ladies of the families were. I chose to sit in the room my grandfather used to sleep in. There hung a large picture of his, with flowers all round it. I sat on his bed and began looking at his room in an intrusive manner. Things were placed just at the places they always used to be. But there was something that did not suit the room. On a side table, which my grandfather usually used to keep his collection of books about Swami Vivekananda, there was that black radio besides these books. I picked it up and switched it on. There was no sound.
I broke into tears.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The little master
My ten year old son, Prateek, fondly called as ‘Puchu’ by me and my wife, surprised his mother this morning by waking up before time for school. For nearly 2 minutes, I and my wife felt elated as like other days we won’t have to deal with his normal morning tantrums. But then I realized sooner than later. Puchu ran towards the TV, switched it on and tuned into DD sports. He heard Charu Sharma speak as if he understood what he really meant. May be he understood, I almost can’t guess how much this next generation understands and knows. But much to his annoyance, his mother picked him up in her arms like a toddler and took him to the wash basin. Puchu turned his head repeatedly towards the television while brushing his teeth, almost oblivious to the fact that a lot of rinsed toothpaste was falling on the floor rather than on the basin.
It was a one day international between India and Sri Lanka, at the Mohali cricket ground. Thank god it wasn’t at the Ferozshah kotla in Delhi, or else Puchu might well have ran to the stadium itself after waking up, with his toothbrush hanging in his mouth. I mean literally. I never quite understood how a kid can be so insanely obsessed with Sachin Tendulkar. Anyway, I moved on towards my cupboard, it was time for my getting ready too. All this while when I was dressing up, I could hear my wife shouting at puchu, supposedly because my son was delaying his normal process of getting ready for school since he was too consumed watching the match. In fact, the match hadn’t even started. He almost jumped with victorious joy when he learnt that Ganguly had won the toss, and selected to bat first. My son jumped in a way Javed Miandad had jumped to retaliate against his dismissal appeal in ’92 world cup against Azharuddin’s India.
It was almost time for us to leave, puchu’s school bus would be there at the stand any moment. I’m sure he knew it better than me. I could almost see what he was planning in his little head. He wasn’t surely in a mood to ‘sacrifice’ the match by ‘visiting’ his wretched school today. I’m sure he had started hating his friends too for time being, they weren’t intelligent enough were they? They won’t be interested in the match as he was, surely that’s how he felt. How could he be even with them? Chheee!
His mother grabbed him again in a fashion similar to the earlier one, made him wear his well polished school shoes, and did all that with a very stern face indeed. Puchu started crying suddenly, and I wasn’t surprised. My wife besides being beautiful, could look the most dreadful when she would raise her eyebrows and look at someone with anguish with “I’ll slap you” kind of eyes. We were almost going to lock the door when my son, suddenly broke free from his mother’s lap, slammed the door open and ran towards the television. I was amazed at this sudden show of power from my undernourished son! Somewhere I felt quite proud. But anyway, now it was my job to bring him back outside. So I got in too, trying to grab puchu and tell him it’s ok to miss a match but not school. What we witnessed next on television was what actually made puchu go to school without any more retaliation. The scorecard said-
S R Tendulkar bowled by C.Vaas - 0
S Ganguly batting 5
R Dravid batting 2
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