ON THE OTHER SIDE … PART 2
Hingewadi is the IT hub of Pune. There are nearly twenty IT companies situated in a relatively small area. The huge dazzling offices scattered in a planned manner give a clear indication of the part of India which is growing, is mercilessly competitive and is highly ambitious but otherwise dangerously unconcerned. It wants to earn in dollars, dine in five stars and drive in Mercedes. These KPOs in India have indeed helped many a dreams come true.
Fortunately, my visit to Hingewadi was not limited to just admiring its grandeur, and I also saw a more gross but familiar picture. My article is dedicated to a lady with whom I happened to exchange just a couple of sentences, but never the less, left me feeling so utterly helpless.
In front of a tall white building with shiny slaty green glasses is a huge field which belongs to a farmer. The field is no more used for cultivation but is now used as a dumping site for most of the garbage and debris that the industry produces. There is a complete hierarchy of rag pickers who collect the recyclable waste and sell it. This is their only source of income. There are some rag pickers, who are at the top of the pyramid and they collect garbage directly from the offices. They are very few in number and my project is to try and increase the number of such rag pickers. Currently, not all the companies give garbage directly to the rag picker but they dump it directly in the field.
At the second level are the ones which collect garbage from the dumping site for which they pay the farmer on a per tractor basis. And then there is a third level of those who can not even afford to pay for the tractor and they pick from what ever is left after the second level rag pickers have picked and left the spot.
I was visiting the place with a lady who also works for the same NGO as mine. Her name is Sangita. We talked to the second level of rag pickers. They were a group of men who had come from Uttar Pradesh leaving their families behind. They told me that the rate of garbage had nearly halved in last two weeks (this global meltdown is indeed global) and so they were facing a lot of difficulty. They told me that there were many scrap shop owners who had closed their shops and left for their home towns because they were facing heavy losses.
Then we moved on to talk to another group of rag pickers. They belonged to the third level which I realized only after talking to them. They were not rag pickers by profession but were forced to do so. They were basically construction workers (building another such sparkling office in the same area) and they had no work for past few days as the construction had stopped due to some reason. I asked a woman what she was doing. She relied, “Kuch din se kaam band hai, hum kyaa karenge. Hamare bachche bhookhe hain”. She said this with a beautiful smile but only a blind could have ignored the pain of helplessness hidden in it. Sitting beside the woman, I saw a little girl (her daughter) digging the debris, her hands grey with cement and mud, trying to dig out a small piece of blue polythene bag which the second level of rag pickers would have accidentally overlooked. I felt equally helpless. Sangita told me, “Garibi bas bhookh janti hai, use dhoop chhav ya dhool mitti se koi fark nahee padta.” Then we moved on.
My task is to try and see how more rag pickers can be directly incorporated with the IT companies so that their share of garbage increases. I feel like a consultant working at the lowest level. The only problem is to find motivation to do a project which would help earn some poor woman a little extra at the cost of snatching bread from another rag picker’s hands.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Friday, November 28, 2008
ON THE OTHER SIDE
When reality sinks in deeper, when truths become starker, when the ideas of beauty and romance are replaced by struggle and survival, then folks, I guess, it is time to move from fairy tales to raw facts, from fiction to non-fiction. I am back on my blog with my new post and this time it is not a story but an article. Hope you enjoy it.
On the other side…. Part 1
…… and the door bell rings. You get up and open the door to find a familiar face who at once says kachra. You go inside and come back with the a plastic bag or a dustbin trying to hold it so that least portion of your sensitive finger skin is in contact with it, your arms stretched horizontally to maintain the maximum distance from your body, and hand to over to the dirty ‘dirt cleaner’. Without even looking at the person you close the door and go to the wash basin to wash your hands. End of story.
Well this one begins right where your ends.
This is the story of nearly 6000 rag pickers of Pune and their union called KKPKP which are the first letters of five marathi words (I am still not able to pronounce them) when written in English. I guess Pune is the only city where these rag pickers have a union. The process described above is what is called as ‘door step collection’. But the process does not end here. The rag picker goes to nearly 300-400 doors each day, carrying a vehicle which has a couple of large bins and a big bag. She (I am using the word she because most of the rag pickers are females) separates the garbage into dry waste and solid waste. Out of these 300-400 houses most of them do not pay anything. Some do, ten (or fifteen if they are too generous) bucks a month. There are many households who do not give the garbage to these rag pickers; rather they give it to the bai who works at their homes. The bai throws it at on the road or somewhere else from where ultimately these rag pickers pick the garbage and do the segregation. This task, I guess, earns her ten bucks or perhaps the image of a better bai. Thus there is virtually a competitive market between the kaam waali bais and the rag pickers!
After the rag picker has segregated the garbage, he throws the wet garbage into a huge bin which is picked by vehicles of PMC (Pune Municipal Corporation). These are further collected into bigger vehicles of PMC and dumped at a place Uradi, some 20 Kms from Pune. Some of it is also composted in local compost pits, but only some. The dry garbage is further segregated into a number of items like while paper, coloured paper, cardboard, metal , metal foils, plastic bottles, plastics bags, colored bottles, quarter bottles, bear bottles and many others including even slippers and shoes! Each is sold at kabari shops at a different rate. The rag pickers have to pay nearly 30 to 40 bucks as the transportation fare everyday which is nearly 25 percent of their daily. The kabariwaala then sells it to bigger shops from where the goods are sent to be recycled.
I guess these sorts of things happen in all cities. But the difference is brought by KKPKR which has worked tirelessly trying to improve the conditions of the rag pickers. They do many jobs including running a micro bank.
When I went to see the place from where the bank runs I was almost shocked. It’s a small room with few computers and a few chairs. All the data is recorded in thick registers and also feeded in the computer. It is mostly looked after by a very simple looking lady named Sangita Jhon. Apart from that there are a few staffs; two of them are girls around twelve years old. There are nearly 2000 rag pickers registered in the bank. The loans are given at 24 percent per annum and the interest rate on saving is around 5 to 8 percent depending on how much profit the bank makes in that year. The profits are greatly affected by rate of defaults. So to check the defaults any loan is issued only if the concerned person can get two guarantors. You would be surprised to know that each member has her own credit rating! They also have the provision of borrowing by keeping gold as collateral. As I was talking to Sangita I discovered that she remembers the names of all members, their family background and even their credit ratings. For a moment I wanted to ask how much formal education she had had but honestly I did not have the guts to. I know I would have been embarrassed. I am so poor at remembering names.
There are many other social, cultural and economic aspects which I am not touching in this story because I am feeling too lazy to write or I was too lazy to explore. If you want to know more facts, just let me know I can send you any pdfs and word files. But they would also not convey many aspects which you have to see to believe.
Past few days have been a new experience in many ways. The ones which you can not guess are the fact that I have learnt the art of making a poker face because you do not have the liberty to frown or twitch your nose at a dirty site or at a foul smell. I have also started having much more tea and less of cigarettes. I also feel slightly more humble but then I think that the fact that I am saying this states otherwise.
I have got a few projects which are not very well defined. Basically I have to try and come up with a more profitable door step collection system and try and improve the existing banking system. I am almost clueless till now. Any suggestions???
On the other side…. Part 1
…… and the door bell rings. You get up and open the door to find a familiar face who at once says kachra. You go inside and come back with the a plastic bag or a dustbin trying to hold it so that least portion of your sensitive finger skin is in contact with it, your arms stretched horizontally to maintain the maximum distance from your body, and hand to over to the dirty ‘dirt cleaner’. Without even looking at the person you close the door and go to the wash basin to wash your hands. End of story.
Well this one begins right where your ends.
This is the story of nearly 6000 rag pickers of Pune and their union called KKPKP which are the first letters of five marathi words (I am still not able to pronounce them) when written in English. I guess Pune is the only city where these rag pickers have a union. The process described above is what is called as ‘door step collection’. But the process does not end here. The rag picker goes to nearly 300-400 doors each day, carrying a vehicle which has a couple of large bins and a big bag. She (I am using the word she because most of the rag pickers are females) separates the garbage into dry waste and solid waste. Out of these 300-400 houses most of them do not pay anything. Some do, ten (or fifteen if they are too generous) bucks a month. There are many households who do not give the garbage to these rag pickers; rather they give it to the bai who works at their homes. The bai throws it at on the road or somewhere else from where ultimately these rag pickers pick the garbage and do the segregation. This task, I guess, earns her ten bucks or perhaps the image of a better bai. Thus there is virtually a competitive market between the kaam waali bais and the rag pickers!
After the rag picker has segregated the garbage, he throws the wet garbage into a huge bin which is picked by vehicles of PMC (Pune Municipal Corporation). These are further collected into bigger vehicles of PMC and dumped at a place Uradi, some 20 Kms from Pune. Some of it is also composted in local compost pits, but only some. The dry garbage is further segregated into a number of items like while paper, coloured paper, cardboard, metal , metal foils, plastic bottles, plastics bags, colored bottles, quarter bottles, bear bottles and many others including even slippers and shoes! Each is sold at kabari shops at a different rate. The rag pickers have to pay nearly 30 to 40 bucks as the transportation fare everyday which is nearly 25 percent of their daily. The kabariwaala then sells it to bigger shops from where the goods are sent to be recycled.
I guess these sorts of things happen in all cities. But the difference is brought by KKPKR which has worked tirelessly trying to improve the conditions of the rag pickers. They do many jobs including running a micro bank.
When I went to see the place from where the bank runs I was almost shocked. It’s a small room with few computers and a few chairs. All the data is recorded in thick registers and also feeded in the computer. It is mostly looked after by a very simple looking lady named Sangita Jhon. Apart from that there are a few staffs; two of them are girls around twelve years old. There are nearly 2000 rag pickers registered in the bank. The loans are given at 24 percent per annum and the interest rate on saving is around 5 to 8 percent depending on how much profit the bank makes in that year. The profits are greatly affected by rate of defaults. So to check the defaults any loan is issued only if the concerned person can get two guarantors. You would be surprised to know that each member has her own credit rating! They also have the provision of borrowing by keeping gold as collateral. As I was talking to Sangita I discovered that she remembers the names of all members, their family background and even their credit ratings. For a moment I wanted to ask how much formal education she had had but honestly I did not have the guts to. I know I would have been embarrassed. I am so poor at remembering names.
There are many other social, cultural and economic aspects which I am not touching in this story because I am feeling too lazy to write or I was too lazy to explore. If you want to know more facts, just let me know I can send you any pdfs and word files. But they would also not convey many aspects which you have to see to believe.
Past few days have been a new experience in many ways. The ones which you can not guess are the fact that I have learnt the art of making a poker face because you do not have the liberty to frown or twitch your nose at a dirty site or at a foul smell. I have also started having much more tea and less of cigarettes. I also feel slightly more humble but then I think that the fact that I am saying this states otherwise.
I have got a few projects which are not very well defined. Basically I have to try and come up with a more profitable door step collection system and try and improve the existing banking system. I am almost clueless till now. Any suggestions???
Thursday, February 7, 2008
MOCHA
MOCHA
My eyes were bedazzled. I had just seen a couple kiss for the first time in my life. Standing at a corner, holding a tray in my hand, I kept staring at them. They were sitting on a couch half embracing each other, sideways. The guy was playing with the girl’s hair, twirling them into curls. His fingers were caressing her fair skin around the neckline. One of the girl’s hands lay on the guy’s thighs. Every now and then they exchanged looks and smiled. Suddenly she turned and bit the guy’s earlobe. His face twitched a little and then he placed his lips on the girl’s and they kissed again.
“What are you looking at?” Kabir said nudging me with his elbow, breaking my rapture.
“Nothing” I replied, looking at the floor.
“How can someone …”
“This is common at this place. You will get used to it.” Kabir interrupted. He patted on my back and went to attend a call from another table.
My name is Arvind. I am a simple guy and come from a small town. I am not telling you the exact name as you won’t remember it in the same way you won’t remember this story after reading it. I came to Mumbai in search of some work and now I am working at Mocha (a famous coffee chain) as a waiter. Kabir who was born and brought up in Mumbai has been working here for past one year. That was my first day at Mocha. Kabir later told me that this was how Mumbai was. No one bothered the least about what was going around. Everyone is lost in his own world.
There were a lot of other things about Mumbai which I learnt soon. Earlier when I used to walk on the roads, everyone would overtake me. And by everyone I mean everyone; be it men going to their offices, ladies returning from the market with over flowing bags, kids going to school with their back loaded with the burden of a dozen books, and even old people with capacious bellies making home after their walk. Gradually I learnt to keep pace with them. I also learnt how to grab a seat in a local train and how to cross the busiest roads within minimum time. Kabir told me that the secret was never to be afraid, or even if you are, never to let anyone know that you are. Once people know that you are afraid they would never hesitate from trampling over you.
It had been almost one month since I was working at Mocha. The job was easy but still irksome. The place was a little too dark for my liking; and smoky as well from the cigarette and hookah which boys enjoyed, inhaling and exhaling and trying to feign that they were intoxicated and in a different world filled with eternal pleasure. Their artificial faces which loomed through the grey smoke suggested otherwise. The aroma of the place, though, was nice, a soothing blend of coffee, chocolate and vanilla.
I had almost reconciled myself with the new lifestyle of Mumbai, only little did I know that the rhythm was soon going to be disrupted. One day when I was working at Mocha, a girl came and sat at sat at one of my tables. (I say ‘my’ table because the tables are divided among the waiters, each having the responsibility of taking the order at the table allotted to him.) She was very beautiful and was wearing a white salwaar-kurta.
“What would you like to have madam?” I asked with a smile. I was supposed to smile whenever I took an order but perhaps this was the first time that it was not stilted.
“Nothing as of now. Actually I am waiting for someone.” She said smiling back at me. Our eyes met for a second and my heart stopped at that moment. She had large candid eyes and thick eyelashes. I was reminded of the Chinese doll which my uncle had brought from the city for my younger sister.
“Thank you ma’am”, I said and left.
I stood at the corner and kept admiring her hoping that the person she was waiting for gets delayed. But that did not happen.
A guy soon came and sat beside her. I noticed that he had small squinted eyes which would give no inkling of what emotions or intentions hid behind them. He was wearing a cross which hung over his dark leather jacket. By a slight gesture of his finger, he summoned me and ordered two cups of cappuccino.
As they sat and drank, I stared at them, envious of the guy who some how appeared a little shrewd to me, unworthy of the delightful company he was savouring.
“The girl was too innocent and too beautiful to be with a guy like him”, I thought.
“Don’t even think about her. She is like an angel, whom you can not even touch.” Kabir said,
interrupting my stare.
But I had already fallen head over heels for her.
The next few days I was very restless. Kabir kept telling me to forget her. But I could not. I hoped that the girl would come again at my table and that our eyes would meet again and she would reply with the same innocent smile. I also hoped that this time she would not be accompanied by that guy.
My hopes partly came true when I saw the girl enter through the gate to my immense pleasure but unfortunately accompanied by the same guy. They once again sat at the same table. The girl was wearing a sleeveless mauve shirt and jeans.
“What would you like to have ma’am?” I reiterated the well rehearsed question.
“Two cappuccino and a walnut brownie.” The guy ordered, before the girl could speak, in plain emotionless voice. I felt that his voice was similar to his eyes, denying any revelation.
The girl did smile back at me though. But she also smiled with the guy. They laughed together and flirted with each other. Every word which the boy spoke, every move, every gesture he made, every expression on his face appeared well crafted to me.
The second meeting with the girl had made me even more vulnerable. I just kept thinking about her. I tried to think of ways so that she could be mine, and not that phony guy’s; but every time reality sunk in I ended disappointed and frustrated.
One night I was lying down in my bed and thinking about her. I had a cigarette in my hand which remained the only meager source of illumination in my shack after the flickering bulb had surrendered. I inhaled and exhaled and tried to feel the way boys used to after taking puffs of hookah. The girl’s face hovered in front of my eyes behind the cigarette smoke.
“Will you be mine?” I asked her, but she did not reply.
“I don’t like that boy you go out with. You should leave him.” I told her.
I felt that she was about to say something when suddenly the pinch of a mosquito bite on one of my legs disrupted my train of thoughts and her face disappeared. I slapped my leg to kill the mosquito but it flew away in the dark, as if trying to teasing me. Then I realized something. I did not even know the girl’s name. That made me sad.
I kept thinking about her through out the next day. Kabir kept reminding me that I should forget her. It was almost nine in the night and was drizzling outside. And then she came.
She was looking different. Her hair had crinkled slightly due to the rain. She wore a black dress which revealed her legs below the knee. This time they did not sit on my table.
“Kabir, will you do me a favour. May I take the order at your table?” I asked.
“You can not help it. Can you?” He smiled. “Go boy, she is all yours.”
“What would you like to have ma’am?” I asked with a smile.
She smiled back.
“Did she recognize me?” I wondered.
“We will have two cappu…..no, wait.” The guy turned towards the girls and inquired thus with a mischievous smile.
“Let’s have some thing different tonight. May be whisky? What do you say?”
The girl refused.
“Come on.. be a sport. You are slightly wet and it’s cold outside.”
He finally convinced her and they ordered whisky.
I did not like the girl having whisky. The way she was drinking it suggested that she was having alcohol for the first time. They continued drinking and chatting. Then they ordered another whisky. After about an hour, I felt that the girl was beginning to feel it.
I have told you, the guy appeared shrewd to me. But I had never imagined what happened next. The guy tried to kiss the girl. But the girl turned her face. He tried again and she pushed his head away with her hand.
“That bastard is trying to take advantage of the whisky kicking inside the girl.” I thought. My blood was boiling hot. I could hear my heart thumping against my ribs.
“Calm down.” Kabir told me.
I was not listening to him. After a while, the guy tried the same trick again. That was enough for me.
“O.K., that’s it.” I said.
I went to the table and said, “Sir, kindly leave the girl and let her go home.”
The guy was taken aback for a moment. He would never have thought that he would be interrupted by a waiter. But he was too experienced a player to be bogged down upon by such an interruption, and in a moment he regained his composure.
“Be in your limits and mind your own business. Why do you care what I do with my girlfriend?” He replied in a stern voice.
“But I don’t find your girlfriend comfortable with what you are doing?”
“Shut up! And get lost.”
“Sir I am not getting lost until you leave the girl.”
“What the hell do you think of yourself you bastard?” He shouted and threw the remaining whisky on my face. Every one was looking at me including the girl. She was stunned.
The manager came running.
“What is the problem sir?” he asked.
“Why don’t you better ask your waiter? And teach him some manners.”
The manager asked me but his words were falling on deaf ears. My ears were red.
“We are leaving.” The guy said.
“Please don’t go sir”, the manager said. “I apologize on his behalf and I give you the assurance that you will never see him here again.”
But he did not stop. He picked the girl grabbing her hand and then they walked past me.
As the girl passed by me, being dragged by her wretched boyfriend, I noticed through the corner of my eyes that she was looking at me with a hint of admiration. The manager was scolding me but I didn’t care anymore.
That was the last time our eyes met.
The next day as I sat on my bed contemplating about what happened, Kabir came to my home.
“You should not have done what you did.”
“And, why not?” I enquired.
“Because that was of no use.”
“Don’t say that it was of no use.”
“You tell me what was the use of what you did there. Do you think you are a saviour. Or do you think that the girl was so impressed that she would return back to you. Get some sense you idiot. You have lost your job as well. It is not easy to get a job in Mumbai.” He was speaking to me like a concerned teacher.
I, like a bad student though had no answer.
It has been six months past that incidence. Kabir was right. It is not easy to get a job in Mumbai. After trying hard for three months I did get a job though. Now I am a waiter in a pub. The place is not very different from Mocha apart from the aroma which was good there. It is dark, smoky and the smells like a mixture of various hard drinks. One day the same girl came again to the bar. For a moment I was delighted. Then I saw that she was accompanied by another guy. He was not the same guy but was similar. Especially the eyes were same, small and squinty. They sat at one of my tables. I did not go to take the order immediately. I waited where I stood. Then I called a fellow waiter and said-
“Will you do me a favour? Will you take the order at my table?”
A RANDOM WALK
A random walk
An abrupt thud woke him up. Something had hit the glass panes of his window. Nikhil reluctantly pulled open one of his eyes. The table clock was showing fifteen past three, contrary to the brightness his eyes was trying to adjust to. He looked harder. The thin yellow second’s hand had stopped moving.
“Why the hell did I wake up?” He contemplated, taking a turn away from the light coming through the translucent window.
“Must have been the bloody paperwaala”. He tried to sleep but could not, partly because of the light, but prominently because of the irritation in his right foot caused by the new leather shoe he was still wearing. With a dejected sigh he sat up and looked at the motionless clock wryly. He did not make any further attempt to know the time. Perhaps, he just did not want to know the time. He finally dragged himself out of his bed, thrust his leg so that the shoe flew to another corner of the already chaotic room and limped towards the wash basin.
As he washed his face he tried to recall when and how he had fallen asleep the last night.
It was Friday, and Lehman Brothers (a reputed investment bank), where he had been working since past one and half years had thrown a party, which they often did to make a futile effort to appease the generally pissed off employees. He had been to numerous such parties before, all of them ended inevitably after midnight and then they all went back home stuffed with free food and alcohol. He was exhausted after having worked hard for two days and a nearly sleepless night, and hence decided to skip the dinner. He went straight to home, the cozy bed was invitation enough to fling himself on it without bothering to undress, and started snoring, needless to say, within seconds.
He went to the balcony to have a look at the news paper.
A head line with three continuous letters in bold effortlessly caught his attention.
“Another IIT student commits suicide”
The news read.
His face twitched.
“Fuck” he muttered and scanned the news.
A third year electrical engineering student had committed suicide by jumping of the main building. The reason had been extra academic pressure. The dean had made a promise to look after the matter but had also suggested that a certain standard was necessary to maintain the brand name of the institute, which on any condition could not be compromised.
Nikhil became reminiscent. He himself was an IIT Delhi graduate, had passed the institute just one and half years back and was well aware how screwing the IIT system could become if you meddled with it. He felt sorry for the boy.
Then he realized that his own life had become no less a mess than the boy’s might have been.
“Working late in the night, smoking dozen cigarette’s a day, listening to boss’s non stop non-sense, busting your ass off with the least clue of why you are working apart from a handsome salary which could buy you Italian or Chinese but not a descent home cooked Indian meal, what your long term goals are.. life was no better than shit.” He had crumbled the edges of the paper while thinking all this. Looking down the balcony, for a moment or two, he toyed with the idea of finishing it all in one go.
“God! What am I thinking?”
He shook his head and then decided to go for a random walk.
Heera Nandani is the perfect place to live in for all those people who believe in man and his power more than nature and her beauty. Concrete cast into grand structures with ornate façades resting on thick stocky pillars create a majestic arena, most of buildings are either offices of multinational companies, or shopping malls or are apartments (with surprisingly small flats). The area, naturally being a nearly flawless abode for the emulous Gen-Y, is one of the costliest places to live in India.
Nikhil recalled that he had loved the place when he had first arrived here, but never again did he get time to admire it. He treaded lazily examining his locality. Few people would wake up at this hour, and he could only see some doodhwaalas and paperwaalas hurrying on their Adam aged bicycles. Some were out for the more conventional morning walk, as Nikhil gathered from their shorts and joggers contrary to his jeans and sandals.
He took a left from the next square.
D’Mart .. HSBC ATM.. Crossword.
“Crossword.. can’t remember when I read the last book”, he thought. Nikhil used to vouch on books when he was in college. But he had not paid a visit to Crossword since ages.
A reverberating black Pulsar caught his attention. His head moved in an arc following the bike which seated a couple, the girl’s hands curled around the guy. They looked very happy.
Nikhil sighed. He took out a cigarette, ignited it and took a couple of deep puffs.
A young girl suddenly passed by him. She was jogging. After she had moved a few yards ahead of Nikhil, she stumbled over a stone, her ankle twisted and she fell down. Nikhil quickly went near her but before he could lend his hand for help, she got up on her own examining her elbow which was slightly bruised.
A missed opportunity had left him a slightly bitter. Perhaps, that was the reason why he deliberately did not put off his cigarette, even though the girl was graceful and elegant enough to command a natural respect and modesty. She was wearing a white T-shirt and navy blue shorts which left her legs bare revealing her shapely calf muscles. She had walnut coloured skin and her thick hair was tied neatly into a pony tail. Tiny droplets of sweat on her forehead and nose glistened in the early morning yellow light. Her personality exuded a rare aplomb and poise.
“Are you all right?” Nikhil inquired.
“What do you think?” She replied, beating the dust out her shirt.
“Your elbow is injured.”
“Don't worry about it. It's just a small bruise. Thank you for your help.”
Which male, that too a bachelor, would hesitate from offering help to an attractive lady? He thought.
“But I haven't helped you.”
“You at least came for help.”
“Hmmm... do you go for a jog everyday.” Nikhil asked with subtle emphasis on 'everyday' after they had taken couple of steps.
She sniggered.
“No, I don't go for a jog everyday. But I try to. It's not easy though, I can assure you.”
“I would be the last person to disagree with you. I mean, look at me. My life so botched. Don't have time to arrange my room, leave alone go for a jog.” He said taking another puff and then exhaling through his nostrils forming two thin clouds of grey smoke.
“What is the problem?”
“Jeopardies of the job”, he smiled a little, wryly.
“Actually I work in Lehman Brothers, and you must be aware how screwing life in an investment bank can be. So, let's say, the hectic professional life is taking its toll. And plus that motherfucker Srinath.”
Her countenance changed which vividly suggested that she was displeased.
“I am sorry for the use of the word.” Nikhil apologized, drooping his head.
“Who is Srinath?”
“My boss. He is a bugger. Just keeps coming at me, never allowing a second to breathe.”
“But that is his job. Isn't it?”
“Now you don't start taking his side. O.K.”
Another puff.
“O.K.”
“Let us keep my disarrayed life aside. Tell me, what do you do?”
“I work in Kingfisher Airlines.”
“Air hostess?”
“No,no.. marketing division.”
“Ohh..your life must be busy too.” He said with a slight surprise.
“Yeah, sometimes.”
They walked a couple of yards and nobody spoke. She was limping slightly. Nikhil took another puff.
“Why do you smoke?” She asked, pointing towards the cigarette.
He snickered.
“Hmmm... let me put it this way. When you feel the heat, you just let the smoke out.”
She did not like the answer.
“I think, I would disagree. In my opinion, it's not because you let the smoke out that you stop feeling the heat. It is because you are converting your own body into a kiln, so you don't feel the heat inside you. All I want to say is that you are ruining your own body.”
“Who cares? After all it's my life.”
“No, it is NOT your life.” Her voice became firm and slightly louder.
“What do you mean?” He asked, startled at her sudden outburst.
“I mean, it is not your life completely. Everyone who loves you, cares for you, every well wisher, every friend, every relative owns a part of your life. You do not have complete right over your life as you are responsible to them as well.”
A frown on Nikhil's face clearly portrayed his confusion.
“Well, I will explain it in your language. Assume that there a company and you are the owner of that company. Even though you have the right to take all the major decisions for the company, yet you can not ignore the shareholders, who own a part of that company. Your decisions, morally, have to take care of their interests. Your life is similar. You can take all the major decisions of your life, but you can not take such decisions which ruin your life or you can not just end your life as you are you are responsible to people who own a part of your life. Do you get my point now?”
That was too much for Nikhil.
“Mind blowing”, he thought.
He was highly impressed by this girl, almost completely bowled over.
“Wow!!” he said with disbelief.
“I have never thought on those lines.”
He threw his cigarette. She smiled.
“But the problem remains..hectic life, unorganised routine.”
“Come on, we are into this professional corporate world because we were thought of as smart persons. If we don't find an optimal solution to balance our private and professional life, who would?”
He was even more impressed.
“You are right.”
“Here comes my apartment”, she said.
“Ohoooo” he said in a muffled voice.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, it's just that we have been talking for so long and we don't even know each other's names.”
“Yeah right... I am Kavita.”
“I am Nikhil.”
They smiled at each other and shook hands.
“Nice meetin....” he suddenly noticed something in her hand
which forced him to take a pause.
It was a wedding ring.
“You are married??” He blurted out.
She sniggered and nodded her head.
“Not only that, I have a one year old kid too. Remember I had told you, it's not easy to go for a jog everyday. And one more thing. Srinath is my husband.”
An abrupt thud woke him up. Something had hit the glass panes of his window. Nikhil reluctantly pulled open one of his eyes. The table clock was showing fifteen past three, contrary to the brightness his eyes was trying to adjust to. He looked harder. The thin yellow second’s hand had stopped moving.
“Why the hell did I wake up?” He contemplated, taking a turn away from the light coming through the translucent window.
“Must have been the bloody paperwaala”. He tried to sleep but could not, partly because of the light, but prominently because of the irritation in his right foot caused by the new leather shoe he was still wearing. With a dejected sigh he sat up and looked at the motionless clock wryly. He did not make any further attempt to know the time. Perhaps, he just did not want to know the time. He finally dragged himself out of his bed, thrust his leg so that the shoe flew to another corner of the already chaotic room and limped towards the wash basin.
As he washed his face he tried to recall when and how he had fallen asleep the last night.
It was Friday, and Lehman Brothers (a reputed investment bank), where he had been working since past one and half years had thrown a party, which they often did to make a futile effort to appease the generally pissed off employees. He had been to numerous such parties before, all of them ended inevitably after midnight and then they all went back home stuffed with free food and alcohol. He was exhausted after having worked hard for two days and a nearly sleepless night, and hence decided to skip the dinner. He went straight to home, the cozy bed was invitation enough to fling himself on it without bothering to undress, and started snoring, needless to say, within seconds.
He went to the balcony to have a look at the news paper.
A head line with three continuous letters in bold effortlessly caught his attention.
“Another IIT student commits suicide”
The news read.
His face twitched.
“Fuck” he muttered and scanned the news.
A third year electrical engineering student had committed suicide by jumping of the main building. The reason had been extra academic pressure. The dean had made a promise to look after the matter but had also suggested that a certain standard was necessary to maintain the brand name of the institute, which on any condition could not be compromised.
Nikhil became reminiscent. He himself was an IIT Delhi graduate, had passed the institute just one and half years back and was well aware how screwing the IIT system could become if you meddled with it. He felt sorry for the boy.
Then he realized that his own life had become no less a mess than the boy’s might have been.
“Working late in the night, smoking dozen cigarette’s a day, listening to boss’s non stop non-sense, busting your ass off with the least clue of why you are working apart from a handsome salary which could buy you Italian or Chinese but not a descent home cooked Indian meal, what your long term goals are.. life was no better than shit.” He had crumbled the edges of the paper while thinking all this. Looking down the balcony, for a moment or two, he toyed with the idea of finishing it all in one go.
“God! What am I thinking?”
He shook his head and then decided to go for a random walk.
Heera Nandani is the perfect place to live in for all those people who believe in man and his power more than nature and her beauty. Concrete cast into grand structures with ornate façades resting on thick stocky pillars create a majestic arena, most of buildings are either offices of multinational companies, or shopping malls or are apartments (with surprisingly small flats). The area, naturally being a nearly flawless abode for the emulous Gen-Y, is one of the costliest places to live in India.
Nikhil recalled that he had loved the place when he had first arrived here, but never again did he get time to admire it. He treaded lazily examining his locality. Few people would wake up at this hour, and he could only see some doodhwaalas and paperwaalas hurrying on their Adam aged bicycles. Some were out for the more conventional morning walk, as Nikhil gathered from their shorts and joggers contrary to his jeans and sandals.
He took a left from the next square.
D’Mart .. HSBC ATM.. Crossword.
“Crossword.. can’t remember when I read the last book”, he thought. Nikhil used to vouch on books when he was in college. But he had not paid a visit to Crossword since ages.
A reverberating black Pulsar caught his attention. His head moved in an arc following the bike which seated a couple, the girl’s hands curled around the guy. They looked very happy.
Nikhil sighed. He took out a cigarette, ignited it and took a couple of deep puffs.
A young girl suddenly passed by him. She was jogging. After she had moved a few yards ahead of Nikhil, she stumbled over a stone, her ankle twisted and she fell down. Nikhil quickly went near her but before he could lend his hand for help, she got up on her own examining her elbow which was slightly bruised.
A missed opportunity had left him a slightly bitter. Perhaps, that was the reason why he deliberately did not put off his cigarette, even though the girl was graceful and elegant enough to command a natural respect and modesty. She was wearing a white T-shirt and navy blue shorts which left her legs bare revealing her shapely calf muscles. She had walnut coloured skin and her thick hair was tied neatly into a pony tail. Tiny droplets of sweat on her forehead and nose glistened in the early morning yellow light. Her personality exuded a rare aplomb and poise.
“Are you all right?” Nikhil inquired.
“What do you think?” She replied, beating the dust out her shirt.
“Your elbow is injured.”
“Don't worry about it. It's just a small bruise. Thank you for your help.”
Which male, that too a bachelor, would hesitate from offering help to an attractive lady? He thought.
“But I haven't helped you.”
“You at least came for help.”
“Hmmm... do you go for a jog everyday.” Nikhil asked with subtle emphasis on 'everyday' after they had taken couple of steps.
She sniggered.
“No, I don't go for a jog everyday. But I try to. It's not easy though, I can assure you.”
“I would be the last person to disagree with you. I mean, look at me. My life so botched. Don't have time to arrange my room, leave alone go for a jog.” He said taking another puff and then exhaling through his nostrils forming two thin clouds of grey smoke.
“What is the problem?”
“Jeopardies of the job”, he smiled a little, wryly.
“Actually I work in Lehman Brothers, and you must be aware how screwing life in an investment bank can be. So, let's say, the hectic professional life is taking its toll. And plus that motherfucker Srinath.”
Her countenance changed which vividly suggested that she was displeased.
“I am sorry for the use of the word.” Nikhil apologized, drooping his head.
“Who is Srinath?”
“My boss. He is a bugger. Just keeps coming at me, never allowing a second to breathe.”
“But that is his job. Isn't it?”
“Now you don't start taking his side. O.K.”
Another puff.
“O.K.”
“Let us keep my disarrayed life aside. Tell me, what do you do?”
“I work in Kingfisher Airlines.”
“Air hostess?”
“No,no.. marketing division.”
“Ohh..your life must be busy too.” He said with a slight surprise.
“Yeah, sometimes.”
They walked a couple of yards and nobody spoke. She was limping slightly. Nikhil took another puff.
“Why do you smoke?” She asked, pointing towards the cigarette.
He snickered.
“Hmmm... let me put it this way. When you feel the heat, you just let the smoke out.”
She did not like the answer.
“I think, I would disagree. In my opinion, it's not because you let the smoke out that you stop feeling the heat. It is because you are converting your own body into a kiln, so you don't feel the heat inside you. All I want to say is that you are ruining your own body.”
“Who cares? After all it's my life.”
“No, it is NOT your life.” Her voice became firm and slightly louder.
“What do you mean?” He asked, startled at her sudden outburst.
“I mean, it is not your life completely. Everyone who loves you, cares for you, every well wisher, every friend, every relative owns a part of your life. You do not have complete right over your life as you are responsible to them as well.”
A frown on Nikhil's face clearly portrayed his confusion.
“Well, I will explain it in your language. Assume that there a company and you are the owner of that company. Even though you have the right to take all the major decisions for the company, yet you can not ignore the shareholders, who own a part of that company. Your decisions, morally, have to take care of their interests. Your life is similar. You can take all the major decisions of your life, but you can not take such decisions which ruin your life or you can not just end your life as you are you are responsible to people who own a part of your life. Do you get my point now?”
That was too much for Nikhil.
“Mind blowing”, he thought.
He was highly impressed by this girl, almost completely bowled over.
“Wow!!” he said with disbelief.
“I have never thought on those lines.”
He threw his cigarette. She smiled.
“But the problem remains..hectic life, unorganised routine.”
“Come on, we are into this professional corporate world because we were thought of as smart persons. If we don't find an optimal solution to balance our private and professional life, who would?”
He was even more impressed.
“You are right.”
“Here comes my apartment”, she said.
“Ohoooo” he said in a muffled voice.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, it's just that we have been talking for so long and we don't even know each other's names.”
“Yeah right... I am Kavita.”
“I am Nikhil.”
They smiled at each other and shook hands.
“Nice meetin....” he suddenly noticed something in her hand
which forced him to take a pause.
It was a wedding ring.
“You are married??” He blurted out.
She sniggered and nodded her head.
“Not only that, I have a one year old kid too. Remember I had told you, it's not easy to go for a jog everyday. And one more thing. Srinath is my husband.”
AMNESIA
AMNESIA
His palm lay still on the velvety emerald table, the thumb supported the cue which was held firmly by his other forelimb. Eyes traversed past the white cue ball, the object ball and the dark pocket at the corner, one at a time, the three of them were making a sharp angle. the shot was not going to be an easy one. A fine lock of hair hung over his creased forehead reaching just below his eyebrow. He blew it off and retook the aim.
The cue hit white ball. It rolled forward to hit the object at the precise spot driving it straight into the pocket.
"Super shot, to end a near flawless game" I thought.
He made an unpretentious triumphant gesture with his hand, picked up the sleek goblet kept on the polished chocolate wooden table edge and finished off the remaining vodka in one gulp. He changed his formals and put on a milky 'kurta-pyjama'.
As he was about to go to bed, his eyes caught up the various CD's scattered on the table beside his laptop. They were lying there since many days and he had ignored them everyday. But today he decided to arrange them.
" Spiderman, V for Vendetta, Gladiator..."
he muttered as he arranged them one by one into a stack.
"...Basic Instinct." he looked at the sensual picture of Sharon Stone on the CD cover for a
second, smiled a little and put the stack in the closet.
Before turning off the light he read me. I was hanging on the wall right in front of his bed.
"Woods are lovely dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to before i sleep
and miles to go before i sleep."
“Yeah, yeah..miles to go before i sleep"
he reiterated with a sigh, shook his head and went to sleep.
I am an ordinary cardboard wall hanging, with the famous words of Robert frost written
in gold in a calligraphic fashion, on a once jet black paper. but now i have become dull,
and my corners have wilted. And perhaps even the words written on me have lost its significance. And this has become a daily routine of Himanshu after he has started living alone. before that he shared a flat with one of his friend, who got married six months ago.
I know Himanshu since a long time, its almost ten years now. He had bought me from an Archie store, when he was in college. And since then he has been reading me everyday before going to sleep. the way he reads me keeps changing though, sometimes with a lot of passion and energy , sometimes depressed, sometimes helpless and sometimes it just a glimpse. The frequency of glimpse has increased ever since he has joined his job. But I think we still share a bond, and I feel like I have become an inseparable part of his soul. I can see what he sees .I can feel what he feels. i know everything about him, and sometimes I feel I know more about him than he himself does.
Himanshu is an academic genius. He was brilliant in his college, got placed in a top consultancy firm and now he is brilliant at his job. He will finish of his official projects with such ease and elegance, that his colleagues can not help but envy him. His boss is always happy with him. But he is also considered as an emotional fool. In fact he was teased by a nickname, 'mother' by his friends in his college. The reason was that, once in his college he had started crying on seeing a documentary on Mother Teresa.
It is Saturday. A weekend ahead and no job to do. Tomorrow there is a party in the evening at a fancy restaurant in the newly opened
He had left behind his two little kids and his wife, whom a reporter was interviewing, his kids clinging to their mother, helpless. The anguish and frustration of the lady came out of her mouth in a steady pour. She was crying out loud, and cursing the government, the media, the people of
"It is the fifth suicide in past two months in this area and the government has till now
not taken any step to check the crisis situation."
"Next we take you to the coverage of the wedding ceremony of the most gorgeous couple
of bollywood, Aishwarya and Abhishek. But only after a short break. Stay tuned."
the newsreader recited like a trained parrot in his stereotypical irritating voice.
"Fuck you." he said switching off the television with his remote.
He got off the sofa and took out a bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator.
It was tasteless. The leathery morose face of the indigent lady was still hovering
in front off his eyes. She was blaming everyone, he remembered.
" Am I also responsible for her state." he wondered.
Then suddenly he was reminded of a quotation he had read in an article last week.
“If you are not a part of the solution, then you are part of the problem."
It made him more dejected.
"Forget it" he mumbled after a while shaking his head.
He took another sip of the juice, it was almost still the same, tasteless. Perhaps even
slightly bitter this time. The whole day he could not concentrate on anything. He tried
billiards, he tried a novel, he tried a movie, all useless.
The bell rang at five in the evening. One of his colleagues who was quite older than him
had come to pay a casual visit. And it was not difficult for him to make out that Himanshu was not all correct.
"Feeling lonely... feeling down." he asked.
"Yes."
"Trouble in your work?"
"yeah....." He muttered in a low voice.
"Actually no... Its just some other..some different stuff."
"Don’t worry... it happens with everybody at your age..even the best of guys..
things sometimes get you down... but you will recover.."He preached.
"Yeah..yeah.." Himanshu kept muttering.
“I am a little pissed off.. perhaps need to clear my head."
" Try and get over it. Do something.. get drunk..
get married.. whatever.. And do not think too much.you will be all right, i know."
I was wondering how could getting drunk or marrying be a solution to any of the miseries.
After his friend left he took out his car and went to the Noriman point.He liked sitting there facing the sea. He saw waves colliding with the rocks which had been smoothed by the water. All the irregularities had been corroded and what were left were shining and polished flawless surfaces. He sat there for a long time, baffled. He wanted to do something more earthly, more concrete. Something more worthy than advising the Indian Tobacco company, on how they could capture more market in the rural sector, or suggesting the Honda group if launching their new car in
"Babuji, would you like to have some-coconut water."
An under-nourished old man in tattered vests asked him.
"Ya" he said after a while.
He took the coconut and offered a fifty rupee note to the man.
"Keep the change". His voice reflected frustration more than generosity.
The twinkle in the old man’s eyes was hardly of any help.
He came back home late in the night. He flung open the window of his room trying to invite a non existent wind, hoping perhaps that it would blow off all the ideas in his head and scrape off all the filth and smoothen everything like the waves had done to the rocks. He flung himself on his bed and read me again.
"Woods are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep,
And mile to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep."
"But in which direction do I have to go. And where am I going."
He asked himself. But there was no answer.
I wonder sometimes if I have made a difference in his life. I think if I would not have been there Himanshu would have been different. he would have been less confused. He would not have thought if he is going in the right direction. He would have been more ‘practical’, so to say ,in the language of humans. But more than that I wonder if he would ever get an answer to the questions he poses before himself.
I think I make him more miserable.
It’s amazing what a sleep can do to you.
The next day Himanshu woke up late. And he was all fine. Just an eight hour sleep had done it. All the ideas in head had vanished. Abosolutely clean. I think it is a common 'human being syndrome.' And all humans suffer from it.
Amnesia, it is called . You forget things. You forget everything.
In the evening Himanshu went to the party and had a good time with his friends. Good food, costly wine, nice music. It looked a perfect world, only perhaps too artificial.
"What the hell are you doing here kid?" Himanshu's friend asked a child who was
trying to clean the car parked outside the mall.
"Just cleaning it sir." he replied.
"Hey! don’t you dare touch my car with your filthy hands you sick bastard."
"Sorry sir, I just need some money for my books."
"Get lost I say." his friend roared.
“Why were you so rude to him." Himanshu asked his friend, clearly disturbed.
“You don’t know these guys... they are thieves. They will steal the tape recorder,
or may be drain out the petrol, you never know."
"But he might have been saying the truth." he poked again.
“Oh! Come on. I know these guys too well. They are the scum of the earth."
The guy looked no different than the farmer's son Himanshu had seen yesterday.
And once again all the thoughts that troubled him came back.
He wanted to get over it.
He set the billiards table and took aim. But all the shots lost their target. The vodka had lost its punch as well. Everything he tried to do appeared so shallow, so dull, so unfulfilling. It was like a song without music, like smoking without inhaling, like college without girls, like sex without orgasm.
He lay on his bed and read me again.
"And miles to go before i sleep." he muttered.
He was staring straight at the ceiling, his brain blank.
A void surrounded him. He was going crazy.
Suddenly a tiny bright orange moth caught his attention. It was entangled in a cobweb in a corner, fluttering its wings trying to free itself. A spider approached it slowly and then its legs started moving in a synchronized motion. Like a skilled craftsmen the spider weaved around the moth and chocked it to death.
Abruptly Himanshu got up from his bed, took a duster, and smacked it twice.
The spider was dead. He threw the duster, and fell on the easy chair.
“What the hell am I doing? Killing a spider." he thought pulling his hair, his jaws
clenched tight , his body stiff and his brain blocked.
The phone rang.
"Hello"
"Hello beta, how are you." his mother asked.
"I am OK mom, I am OK."
But his voice was sullen enough to suggest otherwise.
"What's the matter son? Not feeling well?”
"Just tired of work. That’s all."
He woke up early in the morning got ready and went to office.
"Amnesia" I thought.
Himanshu has come home after a week today. And he has brought a beautiful guest with him, his wife. He had gone to his home town to get married to this lovely lady his mother had selected for him.
"I hope this is for the better." I said.
His wife changed the whole look of the house. The billiards table was replaced by a dining table. The vodka bottles have been replaces by orange squash. There are no cobwebs anymore. The 'Basic Instinct' CD was thrown into the dustbin and so was I.
Yes, one day, his wife brought a beautiful scenery with a beautiful house, and trees around it and a rising sun in background, and hung it where I was. And I like a tattered used tissue paper was tossed into the dustbin.
"I hope it is for the better. And I hope it will end his miseries."
I thought.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
love
LOVE
.........
I saw blood drip from my veins, staining the milky marble floor,as I sat
panting ,by back resting against the hospital bed.As I closed my eyes my
brain was flooded with the memory of past two months .
The joy I derived from the thought of doing an mba from Harvard university
was slightly marred by the strain I had to bear making numerous rounds of the
passport office. But the job was done finally and now I had to get a visa
for States. As I entered the visa office, I was guided to a room where I had to get my
documents verified. I was greeted by a pretty girl there. She was wearing
an embroidered white top and denim blue jeans, and was looking extremely elegant.
To tell you the truth, I was floored by her beauty at the first sight.
"can I have your documents please " she said , tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, of course " I replied drawing my attention back to earth.
As she was going through my documents, she suddenly looked at me
and caught me gazing at her. I felt slightly embarrassed and started pretending
that i was examining the room.
" Your photo in your passport, doesnot match your face."
"What?"
The fact was that the photograph in the passport was an old one
in which I looked different. But I had never thought even in my wierdest dreams
that this would become a cause good enough to raise an alarm in head of this pretty
looking stupid girl. But I had to get my work done. I did not want to mess
it up at the very end. I had to convince her that it was me.
" Kinndly look carefully, it is one hundred percent me in the photograph ." I tried
to be as polite as possible.
But she was not convinced.
" Must be a new recruit... that is why she is so fussy" I thought.
" Look maam, I am an ex-student of IIT Kanpur and have been working with
the firm Inductis for past three years, which is an internationally reputed firm.
You can have a look at my identity card." I said reaching for my wallet in my
back pocket.
"When I do not trust your passport, what makes you think that I will trust your
identity card."
I was really frustrated.
"What the hell is this non sense... do I look like a terrorist to you about to
create another 9/11 ?"
My tone was rude.
"Look Mr. Abhinav Sharma, I am only doing my job. I will have to talk to my boss in
this regard . Follow me."
"Please, go ahead ."
I do not know what the boss saw in me , wether he liked my face or he was
convincedby my I-card, but my job was finaally done without any more trouble.
Once the tension of the visa and passport eased off I was really annoyed at
having screwed up the conversation with this beautiful girl. I have never been
good at talking to girls and perhaps that was the reason why I had never had
a girlfriend ever in my life.
"To hell with it " I said, more to console than to convince myself.
But perhaps lady luck was more kind to me this time, and sooner than later
I again met the 'visa girl.' I could not think of any other identification
(I did not know her name till then) for her when i saw her at the Adidas
showroom checking out a pair of joggers.
"What is this charming girl doing, buying a pair of joggers intead of high heel
sandals." I contemplated. I did not want to miss out this opportunity and went
to her.
"Hi...."
As soon as she recognized me her sweet round smiling face turned flat and
and a distinct frown suggested that she had not forgotten my rudeness.
"I am profoundly sorry for my behaviour that day. And I..."
"And now you would like to make up with me. And ask me my name and ..."
" To which you would say a straight no and turn me down completely or.. since
I have already apologised to you and you seem to be a nice girl to me,
you might as well consider telling me your name which is.... "
I was waiting for her reply, holding my breath , motionless and concerned not to
send a wrong signal.On the other hand she was staring straight at me, nibbling her
lower lip, as if I was a code which she needed to decode, and that too, immediately.
"Anjali Gupta" she replied to my delight.
"Nice name ."
" Would you like to have coffee with me." I asked.
" I dont take coffee ."
" Neither do I. Come on."
Soon we were sitting at the Barista.
"What will you have ? Tea ." I guesssed.
"Yes."
" One tea for the lady and a hot chocolate for me " I ordered.
"So what do you do apart from identifying terrorists." I teased.
"To be honest you did resemble a terrorist in that photograph, with your moustache"
You might be surprised to know that I had a moustache a year ago and I shaved it off
only after I learnt from a magazine that they can act as women repeller more often
than not.
" So how do I look now , without one ."
"Hmmmmm.... very much, unlike a terrorist ."
" Oh! I am honoured. Thanks for the complement. "
"But seriously, whats your story ?"
Sipping my hot chocolate I listened to her. She belonged to Bombay,but had
done her masters from Delhi University and then had joined the visa office
two months ago. And she loved sports.
"Now that is something common between us. I love sports too. Was the captain of the
basketball team in my college. " I said.
"Impressive ."
" Thank you. Appreciations have become rare these days. What do you play ?" I asked.
" I am more into atheletics. I go for jogging every morning." she replied taking a sip.
" So thats the reason you were looking out for the joggers? "
" Yes ?"
" And that is the reason for a toned body and a fair glowing skin ?"
She smiled.
" You guys start immediately. Dont you ."
This is the problem with Indian girls. You can not even complement them.
"I believe that, beauty is meant to be apprecaited and it should be. There is no
meaning of the 'Taj' if there is no one to see and complement it. "
"You IITians have a reason for everything. Even for hitting out on pretty girls."
"Ya,that is why we are famous all over the world " I said with an artificial pride.
We ended our respective drinks.
" When will I have the pleasure of seeing you again."
"Not before the next weekend ."
That was a long duration for me.
" And when can I talk to you again? I would be glad if it is before the next weekend"
I said trying to mimic her.
" So you want my number?"
" Affirmative " I noded my head.
I called her the next day and convinced her for a date a day later.
Thus began our friendship and before we could realize, we were madly in love with
each other.
The table was set, the order had been placed and everything seemed perfect.
I was celebrating valentine's day for the first time and had made special plans.
Instead of spending the day at some other place i had invited her to my home.
"Half past six, an hour still before she would arrive."
I muttered. I rechecked my look in the mirror and as I adjusted my hair the bell rung.
I opened the door and and was stunned. She was looking awesome.
I have already told you she was beautiful but she looked really special today.
She was wearing a black dress which ended just below her knee and had matching sandals.
A silver necklace glimmered around her neck. Her hair was untied and she had put on
lipstick, not very dark but just a natural shade which made it appear extremely
kissable.
"Can I come in."
" Yes, Yes sure." I smiled at her and she smiled back.
"A little early ?"
"Just wanted to give you a small surprise ."
"Or was it that you could not wait any longer to meet me ?" I mocked.
"Shut up." she said hitting me with her purse.
"Would you also like to have champagne" I asked her putting a slice of her favourite
onion capsicum pizza on her plate.
"Yes" she replied as her face simmered in the flickering candle light.
I poured the sparkling champagne into the crystal glasses.
"Would you like to dance with me?"
I took her hand into mine and we could feel the warmth of each other's breadth as we
moved on the soft instrumental music.
"Can I kiss you? " I asked.
"No." she replied calmly.
I respected her and we continued dancing.
"Tell me , how much do you love me ?" she asked after a while.
" I dont know. The only thing I can say is that I love only you and would never ever
fall in love with anyone else."
" Really ? What if i leave you and go out with some othe guy. wont you go out with
any other girl then" she said smiling.
"No".
"Stop lying you scoundrel " she said punching me on my chest with her fist.
I firmed my grip on her back.
" I am not lying " I said drawing her closer staring straight into her clear eyes,
" I would kill myself before seeing out another girl. "
Her face suddenly became stern. There were no words exchanged for a few moments and
then she kissed me on my cheek and placed her head on my shoulders.
"I love you".
"So do I" I replied lost in the aroma of her perfume.
"It is quite late . I think I should go back home now." she said
"come. I will drop you by my car."
"Happy valentine's day" I said as I saw her adjust her hair which was flowing in
the wind.
When I opened my eyes I could see saline bolltles hanging over me againt the white
ceing walls. The last memory which I could recollect was that of a pair of headlights
heading straight towards me. It took me only a split second to comprehend what had
happened.
"Where is Anjali" I thought.
I tried to get off my bed and felt an enormous pain in my back and fell down.
A nurse came rushing in and picked me up.
"Where is Anjali" I asked. "
" She is alive ." she said.
"I want to see the doctor ."
" Mr. Abhinav , you should take rest " the doctor adviced.
" No , I want to see Anjali first"
"She is on life support system and there is one more bad news " the doctor's voice
was grave.
"What?"
"She will never be able to walk again. Her spinal cord was badly damaged in the
accident."
I felt as if some one had stabbed a chilled dagger into my heart.
"I want to see her."
As I entered her ward I saw her lying still in the bed. Her face was pale, badly
battered and bruised. There was earring in only one of her ears and the other side
was heavily bandaged. She was looking hedious and I turned my face from her as I
felt like throwing up.
" She will never be able to walk again. "
The doctor's words kept reverberating in my years as I was lying the whole day in my
sickening room. Her gruesome face was right infront of my eyes. I was restless.
"What have i done to her." I thought as i felt a vacuum consume me.
It is all because of my carelessness.
" She will never walk again."
A tear rolled down the corner of my eyes.
It was midnight and there was no sound. I got off my bed and went to Anjali's room
and bolted the door. She was the same as in the morning, lying down bereft of any
consciosness, cold and calm. I looked at her with a blank face. Then i turned over
her and kissed her with all the passion and energy our relationship shared.
With one hand I plucked off the life supporting system.
I could feel her heart beat die out.
I removed my lip from hers and fell on the floor like
tree chopped off its trunk.
I took out a knife and slit open my veins.
.........
I saw blood drip from my veins, staining the milky marble floor,as I sat
panting ,by back resting against the hospital bed.As I closed my eyes my
brain was flooded with the memory of past two months .
The joy I derived from the thought of doing an mba from Harvard university
was slightly marred by the strain I had to bear making numerous rounds of the
passport office. But the job was done finally and now I had to get a visa
for States. As I entered the visa office, I was guided to a room where I had to get my
documents verified. I was greeted by a pretty girl there. She was wearing
an embroidered white top and denim blue jeans, and was looking extremely elegant.
To tell you the truth, I was floored by her beauty at the first sight.
"can I have your documents please " she said , tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, of course " I replied drawing my attention back to earth.
As she was going through my documents, she suddenly looked at me
and caught me gazing at her. I felt slightly embarrassed and started pretending
that i was examining the room.
" Your photo in your passport, doesnot match your face."
"What?"
The fact was that the photograph in the passport was an old one
in which I looked different. But I had never thought even in my wierdest dreams
that this would become a cause good enough to raise an alarm in head of this pretty
looking stupid girl. But I had to get my work done. I did not want to mess
it up at the very end. I had to convince her that it was me.
" Kinndly look carefully, it is one hundred percent me in the photograph ." I tried
to be as polite as possible.
But she was not convinced.
" Must be a new recruit... that is why she is so fussy" I thought.
" Look maam, I am an ex-student of IIT Kanpur and have been working with
the firm Inductis for past three years, which is an internationally reputed firm.
You can have a look at my identity card." I said reaching for my wallet in my
back pocket.
"When I do not trust your passport, what makes you think that I will trust your
identity card."
I was really frustrated.
"What the hell is this non sense... do I look like a terrorist to you about to
create another 9/11 ?"
My tone was rude.
"Look Mr. Abhinav Sharma, I am only doing my job. I will have to talk to my boss in
this regard . Follow me."
"Please, go ahead ."
I do not know what the boss saw in me , wether he liked my face or he was
convincedby my I-card, but my job was finaally done without any more trouble.
Once the tension of the visa and passport eased off I was really annoyed at
having screwed up the conversation with this beautiful girl. I have never been
good at talking to girls and perhaps that was the reason why I had never had
a girlfriend ever in my life.
"To hell with it " I said, more to console than to convince myself.
But perhaps lady luck was more kind to me this time, and sooner than later
I again met the 'visa girl.' I could not think of any other identification
(I did not know her name till then) for her when i saw her at the Adidas
showroom checking out a pair of joggers.
"What is this charming girl doing, buying a pair of joggers intead of high heel
sandals." I contemplated. I did not want to miss out this opportunity and went
to her.
"Hi...."
As soon as she recognized me her sweet round smiling face turned flat and
and a distinct frown suggested that she had not forgotten my rudeness.
"I am profoundly sorry for my behaviour that day. And I..."
"And now you would like to make up with me. And ask me my name and ..."
" To which you would say a straight no and turn me down completely or.. since
I have already apologised to you and you seem to be a nice girl to me,
you might as well consider telling me your name which is.... "
I was waiting for her reply, holding my breath , motionless and concerned not to
send a wrong signal.On the other hand she was staring straight at me, nibbling her
lower lip, as if I was a code which she needed to decode, and that too, immediately.
"Anjali Gupta" she replied to my delight.
"Nice name ."
" Would you like to have coffee with me." I asked.
" I dont take coffee ."
" Neither do I. Come on."
Soon we were sitting at the Barista.
"What will you have ? Tea ." I guesssed.
"Yes."
" One tea for the lady and a hot chocolate for me " I ordered.
"So what do you do apart from identifying terrorists." I teased.
"To be honest you did resemble a terrorist in that photograph, with your moustache"
You might be surprised to know that I had a moustache a year ago and I shaved it off
only after I learnt from a magazine that they can act as women repeller more often
than not.
" So how do I look now , without one ."
"Hmmmmm.... very much, unlike a terrorist ."
" Oh! I am honoured. Thanks for the complement. "
"But seriously, whats your story ?"
Sipping my hot chocolate I listened to her. She belonged to Bombay,but had
done her masters from Delhi University and then had joined the visa office
two months ago. And she loved sports.
"Now that is something common between us. I love sports too. Was the captain of the
basketball team in my college. " I said.
"Impressive ."
" Thank you. Appreciations have become rare these days. What do you play ?" I asked.
" I am more into atheletics. I go for jogging every morning." she replied taking a sip.
" So thats the reason you were looking out for the joggers? "
" Yes ?"
" And that is the reason for a toned body and a fair glowing skin ?"
She smiled.
" You guys start immediately. Dont you ."
This is the problem with Indian girls. You can not even complement them.
"I believe that, beauty is meant to be apprecaited and it should be. There is no
meaning of the 'Taj' if there is no one to see and complement it. "
"You IITians have a reason for everything. Even for hitting out on pretty girls."
"Ya,that is why we are famous all over the world " I said with an artificial pride.
We ended our respective drinks.
" When will I have the pleasure of seeing you again."
"Not before the next weekend ."
That was a long duration for me.
" And when can I talk to you again? I would be glad if it is before the next weekend"
I said trying to mimic her.
" So you want my number?"
" Affirmative " I noded my head.
I called her the next day and convinced her for a date a day later.
Thus began our friendship and before we could realize, we were madly in love with
each other.
The table was set, the order had been placed and everything seemed perfect.
I was celebrating valentine's day for the first time and had made special plans.
Instead of spending the day at some other place i had invited her to my home.
"Half past six, an hour still before she would arrive."
I muttered. I rechecked my look in the mirror and as I adjusted my hair the bell rung.
I opened the door and and was stunned. She was looking awesome.
I have already told you she was beautiful but she looked really special today.
She was wearing a black dress which ended just below her knee and had matching sandals.
A silver necklace glimmered around her neck. Her hair was untied and she had put on
lipstick, not very dark but just a natural shade which made it appear extremely
kissable.
"Can I come in."
" Yes, Yes sure." I smiled at her and she smiled back.
"A little early ?"
"Just wanted to give you a small surprise ."
"Or was it that you could not wait any longer to meet me ?" I mocked.
"Shut up." she said hitting me with her purse.
"Would you also like to have champagne" I asked her putting a slice of her favourite
onion capsicum pizza on her plate.
"Yes" she replied as her face simmered in the flickering candle light.
I poured the sparkling champagne into the crystal glasses.
"Would you like to dance with me?"
I took her hand into mine and we could feel the warmth of each other's breadth as we
moved on the soft instrumental music.
"Can I kiss you? " I asked.
"No." she replied calmly.
I respected her and we continued dancing.
"Tell me , how much do you love me ?" she asked after a while.
" I dont know. The only thing I can say is that I love only you and would never ever
fall in love with anyone else."
" Really ? What if i leave you and go out with some othe guy. wont you go out with
any other girl then" she said smiling.
"No".
"Stop lying you scoundrel " she said punching me on my chest with her fist.
I firmed my grip on her back.
" I am not lying " I said drawing her closer staring straight into her clear eyes,
" I would kill myself before seeing out another girl. "
Her face suddenly became stern. There were no words exchanged for a few moments and
then she kissed me on my cheek and placed her head on my shoulders.
"I love you".
"So do I" I replied lost in the aroma of her perfume.
"It is quite late . I think I should go back home now." she said
"come. I will drop you by my car."
"Happy valentine's day" I said as I saw her adjust her hair which was flowing in
the wind.
When I opened my eyes I could see saline bolltles hanging over me againt the white
ceing walls. The last memory which I could recollect was that of a pair of headlights
heading straight towards me. It took me only a split second to comprehend what had
happened.
"Where is Anjali" I thought.
I tried to get off my bed and felt an enormous pain in my back and fell down.
A nurse came rushing in and picked me up.
"Where is Anjali" I asked. "
" She is alive ." she said.
"I want to see the doctor ."
" Mr. Abhinav , you should take rest " the doctor adviced.
" No , I want to see Anjali first"
"She is on life support system and there is one more bad news " the doctor's voice
was grave.
"What?"
"She will never be able to walk again. Her spinal cord was badly damaged in the
accident."
I felt as if some one had stabbed a chilled dagger into my heart.
"I want to see her."
As I entered her ward I saw her lying still in the bed. Her face was pale, badly
battered and bruised. There was earring in only one of her ears and the other side
was heavily bandaged. She was looking hedious and I turned my face from her as I
felt like throwing up.
" She will never be able to walk again. "
The doctor's words kept reverberating in my years as I was lying the whole day in my
sickening room. Her gruesome face was right infront of my eyes. I was restless.
"What have i done to her." I thought as i felt a vacuum consume me.
It is all because of my carelessness.
" She will never walk again."
A tear rolled down the corner of my eyes.
It was midnight and there was no sound. I got off my bed and went to Anjali's room
and bolted the door. She was the same as in the morning, lying down bereft of any
consciosness, cold and calm. I looked at her with a blank face. Then i turned over
her and kissed her with all the passion and energy our relationship shared.
With one hand I plucked off the life supporting system.
I could feel her heart beat die out.
I removed my lip from hers and fell on the floor like
tree chopped off its trunk.
I took out a knife and slit open my veins.
Monday, April 9, 2007
cricket
bahut prayas ke bawajood apne office ka kaam samay par
khatma na kar pane ke karan main thoda khinn tha.
do ghante se balance sheet mein sar khapa raha tha
lekin kafi kaam abhi baki hi tha. uspar se flatmate
ki bina silencer ke generator ki tarah karrate ki
aawaz. main apni kursi se utha aur fridge ka thanda
pani piya. ek cigarette jalayi aur apne chote se
flat ki chhoti si balcony mein chala gaya.
dasmanjili apartment ki chhathi manjil par
munder ki tek liye khada main aaj paas ke nazare
ka awlokan karne laga.
samne concrete ke kai aur bahumanjile daitya khade
the jo apne andar na jane kitne supt manushya
samaye hue the. kuch ek lighten jal rahi theen.
samne ek aur balcony mein ek aurat anpe rote hue
nanhe shishu ko chup karane ka prayas kar rahi thee.
iske alawa kisi aur manushya ke darshan nahi hue.
upar dekha to ek bhi sitara nazar nahi aaya.
yah samajh mein aate hi ki we badal ki ot mein
chupe hue hain, main kuch pareshan ho gaya.
" kal final hai, world cup cricket final. kahin
baarish na ho jaye. sara maza hi kirkira ho
jayega. 9 february, 2011 bharat ke cricket itihass
ka ek aur swarnim din ho sakta tha.bharat banam
dakshin africa. kya bharat jeet payega. aath saal
baad bharat final mein hai.teen din se mein isi
din ka intzaar kar raha hoon."
"kareeb 6 saal pehle maine pehli baar cuttak
cricket stadium mein bharat ka koi match dekha tha.
agar aapne stadium mein koi match dekha hai to aap
us anubhav ko bhool nahi sakte hain. hazaron ki
sankhya mein deewane darshak...
ek chauka ya chakka pada nahi ki sabhi apni seat
se uth khade hote hain aur paaglon ki tarah
chillate, nachte hue uska abhinandan karte hain.
koi plastic ki bolton se kursiyan peet raha hai,
koi dhol baja raha hai aur koi uspar nach rhaa
hai. wo josh, wo utsah, wo umang ,wo urja, wo
kolahal ...ek awismaraniya watawaran ko janma
deta hai.
lekin kolakata ke eden garden mein world cup
fianl dekhna kisi swapna ke kam nahi hoga.
subah nau baje match shuru hona hai. abhi lagbhag
ek baj rahe hain aur main apne office ke kaam
mein hi laga hua hoon. raviwaar ki chutti ke din
match hai, aur is chutti ko barbaad karne ke napak
mansoobe se boss ne somwaar ko hi mujhe report
jama karne ko kaha hai."
inhi khayalon mein main khoya hua tha ki achanak
dayen hath ki ungli mein tej jalan ka anubhav hua
aur jalti hui cigarette, newton ke sidhhdanta ka
palan karte hue munder se niche gir gayi.kal main
free rehna chahta tha isliye office ka kam nibtaya
aur kareeb teen baje sone chala gaya.
na chahte hue bhi mujhe uthne mein der ho gayi.
aankh khuli to mez par rakhi ghadi paune nau
ka samay dikha rahi thee. main samajh gaya ki
match ke pehle ghante ka kabada ho chuka hai.
main jaldi se tayar hokar ghar se nikal hi raha
tha ki phone ki ghanti baj uthee.
'is phone ko bhi abhi hi aana tha.'
maine socha.
'hello.'
'hello... ujjwal bol raha hoon.'
ujjwal mera karibi mitra tha jo bhuwaneshwar mein
rehta tha. wah agle hafte apne kapde ke vyapaar
ke silsile mein kolkata aa rha tha. cricket ke
diwanepan ne meri juban ko itna berukha kar diya
ki baat lambi nahi hui. mahaj do minute ke
wartalaap mein sari aupcharikta nibha kar maine
phone ka reciever patak diya aur tej kadmon se
lift ki or ruksat ho liya.
apni chamchamati hui wagaon-r par baithte hue
main aaj ke match ke bare mein soch raha tha.
sath hi main apni shart ke bare mein bhi thoda
chintit tha. hindustan mein har aadmi har doosre
aadmi se jyada cricket janta hai aur main koi
apwaad nahi tha. sabhi apne apne kayas lagate
hain aur maine bhi chati thok kar office mein
yah dawa kar diya ki is baar dhoni bharat ke
liye sabse achha khelega. mere ek punjabi mitra,
jo ki harbhajan ko lekar thoda bhawuk the, ke
gale se yah baat niche nahi utri aur unhone
mujhse paanch sau rupee ki shart laga li ki
bharat ke 'spin friendly' pitchon par harbhajan hi
bharat ka turup ka ikka saabit hoga. bharat abhi
tak aath match khel chuka tha aur shart ka faisla
is final par aa tika tha.
meri car assi km prati ghante ki raftaar se daud
rahi thee. aap kolkata mein kabhi itni tej car nahi
chala sakte hain lekin aaj baat kuch aur thee.
maine kabhi bhi kolkata ki sadken itni sunsaan nahi
dekhi thee. lagbhag ek lakh log eden garden mein
match ki lutfa utha rahe the aur baki apne apne
television screen se chipke hue bhaarat ki jeet ki
prarthna kar rahe the. aisa sannata ek vishesh
parsthiti ki yaad dilata hai. yah paristhiti shayad
pehli baar tab dekhne ko mili thee jab raviwaar
subah nau baje ramanand sagar ki ramayan dekhte hue
poora desh apna saara kaam tyagkar bhakti bhav mein
ram jaata tha. amitabh bachchan ki kaun banega
karodpati aur baharat-pakistan cricket match bhi
kuch aisa hi prabhav paida karne mein saksham hain.
pachches minute ke safar ke baad main aakhirkaar
stadium pahoonch hi gaya. itni gadiyan maine ek
saath apne jeevan mein kabhi nahi dekhi thee.
lekin insaan ikka dukka hi najar aa rahe the.
main car park karne ki jagah dhoond hi raha tha
ki meri najar kareeb 50 gaj door ek vrididhh
'popcorn' bechne wale par padee jo apni hi
duniya mein khoya hua, apne paise ginte hue
sadak paar kar raha tha. shayad wah itna anbhigya
tha ki use pata bhi na chala hoga ki kab ek tej
daudti hui safed ambassador car use takkar marte
hue chali gayi aur kab wah chetna ke doosre aayam
mein pahunch gaya. is dardnak hadse ne mujhe kuch
pal ke liye kinkartawyawimudh kar diya tha. hosh
sambhalte hi main apni car se nikal kar uski taraf
bhaga. uski sanse abhi chal rahi thee lekin sharrer
itna kshat vichchhat ho gaya tha ki haath lagane
mein bhi ek ghrina aur bhaya ka aabhas ho raha tha.
uska matha phat gaya tha. badan khoon se lathpath...
dayen haath ki kuhni ulti disha mein mud gayi thee aur
raktaranjit manspeshiyan ek vibhatsa drishya paida
kar rahi thee. maine bayin hatheli ki nabja dekhi.
bahut kamzor. zindgi aur maut ke beech jyada waqt nahi
reh gaya tha.
maine idhar udhar nazar daudayi lekin madad ke liye
mujhe koi dikhayi nahi diya. meri samajh mein nahi
aa raha tha ki main kya karoon. tabhi meri vyakul
nigahon ko ek ummed ki kiran dikhi. kuch abhage jo
meri hi tarah late ho gaye the, jaldi se jaldi
stadium mein ghusne ki koshish kar rahe the. maine
unhe aawaz lagayi lekin ya to un logon ko meri
bat samajh mein nahi aayi ya unlogon ne mujhe jan
bujh kar andekha kar diya aur andar chale gaye.
main awaak thaa. jehan mein uthe rosh ko avilamba
dafna karte hue maine us jarjar sharir ko apni god
mein uthya aur car ki taraf bhaga. kisi tarah pichli
seat ka darwaza khola aur ahiste se use wahan lita diya.
khoon se range kampte hue surkh hathon se maine car
start ki.
"shayad ye nahi bachega"
maine man hi man socha.
tabhi stadium se uthe ek ulaasporna kolahal ne
mera dhyan apni or akarshit kiya.
ek lakh log ek saath jhhom uthe the.
"shayad dhoni ne ek aur chhakka mara tha."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)