Surrounded by books unfinished
I sit with an empty pen.
---X---
I consider myself to be a pessimistic optimist.
One who hopes for the better while knowing the journey is going to be tough.
I think this is the philosophy of life. And the real truth.
…And when the Show is Over, the white paint and the red nose comes off.
A lonesome creature walks out of the tent and into the night as the Lampposts add new companions to his feet.
It was raining heavily outside. He sat on his chair smoking his dope. His room had nothing but a table, a chair and the carpet.
A knock on the door. He walked up to the door and looked through the keyhole. A tall slender figure stood there with a small handbag on its side. He smiled and opened the door.
A girl walked in wearing a raincoat. She was completely drenched. She took off her raincoat and let it rest on the handle near the door. .
A small yellow light in the room made everything visible.
Almost visible.
"hey baby, ready for a round?" Her sexy voice dripped with sensuousness that would make any guy swoon.
he smiled and motioned her to the carpet.
She took off her shirt. The dim yellow light made her skin glow like gold in candlelight. She went and laid on the carpet, teasing him as she went. Her chin up, she looked into his eyes. The yellow light is all that she could see in the specs he wore. He was looking at her.
Her lips were red as cherries, her bosom as curved as the edges of a cola bottle. Her brown eyes were now, wandering around the room. Her hands, trying to touch the ceiling, were going swaying in the air.
He went to the cupboard and came out with a stack of green cards held together with a string. They looked old, as if worn out with time.
“what do you call them again?”
“Leaves.”
“Oh yea, I remember. The first time you told me you about them, I had not believed you. I was more intrigued than tempted the try them out. i had heard so much about them. I know they are supposed to be extinct. I don’t know from where you got them, But man. do they taste good. What is it that you always say abut them?..”
“Leaves that make you leave.”
He smiled as he took out one of the ‘leaves’ from the stack and made it into a roll. He started making them wet with the tip of his tongue.
She looked at him with an anticipation of pleasure. Her lips said it all. They were wet, almost drooling.
“I was reading one of the old journals the other day. They had an article about the lost art of smoking. You know, in earlier times people used to roll up leaves in small sheets and then inhale the smoke to get high? It was supposed to make them feel more in control of themselves. But the scientists came out with a theory that this was killing people and the worst part was, the government supported them. Together, they burned every fucking tree down. Fucking scientists. No wonder their race died down.”
He looked at her, passing the roll to her, smiling through his specs.
“What makes you think they died down?”
--G--
Its been a while now.
Alone.
Its not that bad really.
For the first few days, you feel scared, frightened actually. You look for someone to talk to, run around trying to find someone who is willing to hear your voice. But you find no one. All you can find are empty roads and vacant houses.
Hunger hits you and you hit the food joint. As usual. Only this time, you don’t have to pay.
Sitting in the empty mall, watching the microwave cook your food for the day, you think. That is what the human mind does when you do not have anything to do.
Think.
Silence speaks to you in whispers filling your head with the endless possibilities. if you are an optimist like me, you would know the endless resources to choose from. No one to stop you.
The next few days are spent ravaging and breaking window panes. Blowing petrol pumps and laughing at the fire. Freedom. No rules to bound you. No one to stop you from doing anything. You blow up a fire hose and have a bath right there on the street, and there is no one to stop you. Carrying a metal stick, you roam around breaking cars, shouting at the top of your voice.
losing head. Caring less. Free.
You try out all the latest clothes and accessories, admiring yourself in the mirror. The beard has grown bigger. The smile on your face grows bigger.
You leave the store naked. Just the way you came to the world. You love it.
A big smile on your face.
TV Reception is gone, but you have all the DVDs to pick from. If you are a movie buff like me, you learn the technicalities of running a projector and make the movie hall your home. A dark room with a small shining eye at the top. Lights from the silver screen light my nights and the voices fill up the empty spaces in my mind
Ah! Life could not be any better. And no one to worry you…
My only concern is, what happens when the food crosses the expiry date. What the hell, I have a lot of dead bodies to choose from anyway.
--G--
Robin sat at the shores looking into the sea. David sat beside him smoking his cigarette.
“So you say I cannot go back now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“yes you did,”
“I just said you cannot go back to your world.”
“So that means I am dead, right?”
“No. that means you are just taking a break from everything that once surrounded you and when you go back to your world, it would have changed. YOU would have changed.”
“Huh?”
Robin could not say anything to that. He had been in that place for quite some time. The sun had just been circling the island instead of setting. it was big red in colour so you could look at it all the time and your eyes would not hurt. It was like a big red bulb without hinges. Or was it like an eye looking at them all the time. He had no clue.
“So how long is it now?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Robin did not have a watch. He never had a watch. He would wake up when the sun rose and sleep when the Diana’s side of the wall stopped making noises.
At this place, he could not sleep. rather, he did not sleep. because strangely, he was never tired.
"how do you know what time it is here?”
"I already told you this was a place beyond time. Why do you think it has a name like that?”
”Ok, tell me why is it called a land beyond time? And who the hell named this place that?!”
David just smiled and lit another cigarette. Robin noticed his cigarette did not have a butt. David would smoke the whole thing up. Also, the cigarette never left ashes. It was as if he was smoking air and smoking it away.
Into thin air.
“I named it the Land beyond time. Just like you named me David.”
“What?”
“If you were given the chance to name the place, what would you call this place?”
“I would call it a strange place. Thats it”
“ok.”
David went back to his cigarette sitting unassumingly at looking at the sea. He did not stare at the sun. In fact, he was sitting facing his back to the sun. He stared the side which had blue sea and a blue sky with nothing on it. It was like a blank blue canvas ready to be filled up.
“What do you mean by ok?”
“We will call it a strange place from now on.”
Robin could not make head or tale out of it.
“Ok. So when do I go back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean by I don’t know?”
“When do you want to go?”
“Right now.”
“Ok. Leave then.”
David got up and started walking back to the canvas.
Robin looked at all his sides. There was water everywhere. It was like a hemisphere with the island at its centre. Only the sun gave any sense of direction.
“How?” Robin looked at David. David had already reached the canvas. The painting in the canvas vanished with a touch of the brush. It had turned completely blue.
“How?”
“I don’t know. I am not the one who wants to leave.”
Robin looked around. His mind was racing. He looked at the water. He had come up from the water. So that must be the only way out of here. He kept his foot on the water. He realized his foot would not go into the water. It felt like a rubbery soft surface. He put his other foot on it.
Robin could walk on water.
He had no clue what was happening, but this was not some dream. he was completely awake. He tried to remember what he had had for breakfast and then remembered he had not had any. Maybe that was it. he had not eaten for three days, and he had just collapsed and now he was in some sort of Coma. It was all an illusion. A hallucination.
“Sure. If that makes you happy.”, Quirked David with his cigarette on his lips.
Robin looked at him. He was not angry at David anymore. It was a long time since he had painted the canvas. The painting of his life. He had sat there on the sand and had cried for a long time. His tears had stopped after some time. He kept staring at the painting for a long time. David had just sat there unassumingly staring at the sea. Soon, the faces in the canvas had changed characters. The faces he knew started seeming like someone else. And after some more time, It was just a picture. A canvas with paint on it.
“You know, you have a very strange sense of humor.”
David looked at him and smiled. He had painted Robin standing in the water with the exact same expression as he was having then.
“Who ARE you.”
__________________________________
“I switch through lives. I switch through times. I switch through worlds. I switch through time.
Call me anything you want to.
I am not who you think I am. I am what you imagine I am.”
This time, It made perfect sense to Robin.
He felt himself drowning and falling into a deep sleep.
____________________________________________
Writing is telling a story. It may be true, or it may just be a figment of your imagination.
There used to be a time when writing was thought to be restricted to the elites. Something only the learned would indulge in, writing about the times they lived in, their lives and their surroundings. For common people, writing for leisure was something like cycling for exercise in the 18th century. Unheard of.
So our first stories were stories of lands far far away. Either they had gods and magical kingdoms with demons to be defeated, or we had stories of brave men fighting for justice.
Stories were told, stories were heard. Stories were remembered and then passed on. We would always imagine how the other world would be, even the ones which were close by but still beyond reach. Sometimes we would find a picture and then we would compare our fantasy with the reality.
Writers knew that everything they wrote had a meaning and a consequence attached to it. Not much space was taken and each alphabet was treasured. Every word had a purpose and the writers knew the cause.Their thoughts echoed through the hearts and minds of those who read them. Every line had many different meanings and even more interpretations.
The Daily happenings were delivered at the doorstep as newspapers, two inches longer and wider than now, its yellowish tinge making it all the more special.
Mornings started with the elders sitting cross legged with a cup of chai and the paper in their hands and the younger ones trying to imitate them, sitting cross-legged and trying to open the supplementary section like a book keeping the hem in line. It was a difficult job considering the papers carrying the news were themselves half their size. Many failed. Those who succeeded, found a new world inside.
Lives were shared, Stories were told. Times changed with bold headings. Heroes were created with full page reviews. Celebrities were just frames on a piece of paper or pixilated laughing voices from a box. We lived in a world of fables. A simple, yet beautiful world.
But that was then.
The times I talk about has long gone by. The times when the only net known in households was used to ward off mosquitoes while we slept.
What we saw, what we heard, what we talked about, and eventually what we learned, we would pen down the thoughts that our mind cultivated from them into a piece of paper. Either to show it to someone, or to keep it closed in a journal, hidden from the rest of the world.
Now, things are different.
The late 90s saw the awakening of a different kind of a box. Only this one did not seem to be an idiot. A ‘social experiment’ by the CIA and a guy named Lee came up with 3 Ws and the World changed around us. Suddenly, the paper lost its magic. It was stolen by a plastic typewriter look-alike, only thinner and much lighter. The world did not seem that mysterious, and the land far away came within a click’s distance.
Lives were still being shared but they happened via a massage box on a screen. Stories were still being told, but suddenly, there were more variations than interpretations. Heroes were being created and pulled down with a click of a button. We were willing to believe, and believe we did. In ourselves, and the ones sitting on the other side. The Fog of mystery was being lifted for a world less ordinary and very much real.
The clock ticked by. People got closer. Relationships became like rubber bands. First coming close, and then too close for comfort. We now talked but conscious of every word that was typed. We were becoming writers in ourselves, writing fables of our own, creating identities that we wanted. We just needed a platform. And a platform we got.
We reached the time when the box gave us a chance to say something to the world. A story which we wanted to weave on our own. And this time, the world would be an audience. Suddenly, everyone became a writer. Everyone had thoughts that needed to be shared. Everyone had something to talk about and strangely, everyone had a listener. Every writer had an audience.
The paper was still there, yes. but now, it was just paper. you could not watch videos on it, neither would your comment re read and then commented on. The yellow tinge now reminded of old times.
Now, We live in times where clicks are paid for, and words are not weighed for thoughts, but by their numbers. Where memorable quotes are not remembered, they are re-tweeted. Where an article’s importance is not by its value, but by the number of comments it gets.
Now, every thought from every mind is God’s word. And you have plenty of gods to choose from.
I too, belong to the same group who want their ramblings to be heard and their words to be read. And this space which actually resides in servers and words exchanged by air, provides me a chance to speak out without the fear of being judged and without the insecurity of being incorrect.
Of course I might be wrong. Who is not.
I am here to tell stories. Of my times. Of my life. Of my people. Of everything I am surrounded with.
This space in the virtual world is a place where dreams are born. Some may come true. some may not. Who cares…
After all, its the thought that matters.
Doesn’t it?
---X---
LOCATION: Mumbai Pune Expressway
EQUIPMENTS: Panasonic DMC LZ5
Part II | To Darkness and Beyond | : Here
Ok.
So whats the point of a blog if you do not vent out in it.
Atleast that is what I always used it for.
Until now.
Now, I also use it for doing something Creative.
Sadly, both of them have been stuck for some time. And there is a specific reason behind it.
I have been busy.
Very busy.
A lot of things have come up. Both on the professional and personal front, and I hardly have time left to breath now.
That doesn’t mean that I would be Neglecting Nehaad or Rh. The work is happening. The Third, rather the fourth Edition of Nehaad is almost out and the pictures are ready, but I am still working on the Dialogues. Rh., on the other hand, will have to wait for some time. I will come up with the Third part soon. But not before July.
I want the stories to be as comprehensive and spell binding as can be. I don’t want to put in any random BS and pull it off in the end just for the Heck of it.
Meanwhile, I have been reading a lot of random stuff going around in bookstores and landmarks and crossroads across Mumbai. And my trips didn’t disappoint. I laid my hands on the FULL VOLUME OF SINCITY and SANDMAN.
Ah! Paradise.
Going through the pages of Frank Miller’s Drawings with the dark words on it, there came a time when I stopped and ogled at the sketches. They seemed to have been hurried and unedited, but the details into which Frank Miller has gone just to show the raindrops fall on Merve left me Spellbound. I have to accept it, The man is a Genius. I have just managed to complete the volume I of Sincity and I still have 8 more to go. Trust me when I say I am loving every bit of it.
Also, the virtual world has been throwing some gems at me. I have come across some amazing Blogs and Webcomics.
One of the first blogs which caught my eye was Daily Fiction. Written by Aditya (@fubar69 on twitter), this blog is updated every weekday and each day with a different fiction piece. Going through the posts, I realized that the discipline put in to type in the words each day had not effected the quality of work. His stories are amazing and worth reading.
Second comes the uncompromisingly funny and shooting from his heart, KHAMBA (@gkhamba on twitter). Written by Shri Shri G. G Khambeshwar Maharaj, this one is worth a read. For anyone who wanted to say something of the two faced society in which we are living in but always failed to find words for it would find there voice there. Absolutely worth a read.
Moving on to Webcomics:
The first one would be Viral comix’s Subnormality. While XKCD, PhdComics and Abstrusegoose had an audience in the college grads, this would actually has a universal appeal, and to those who enjoy reading, this one would be one of the real good time passes as they say that the game is about words, and not just pictures.
OGLAF Now this one will raise quite a few brows, and is really not intended for the non-liberal minded. This is the first time I saw a porno webcomic with a coherent storyline worth reading. The first time I read it, I was flabbergasted. Somebody had actually put in a lot of effort in the whole storyline and worked out a medival age porn saga of a witch queen who had sperms as her spies. Though I was a bit disappointed to find out that the series has been left incomplete. I guess the makers are still figuring out how to end it just like I am doing for Nehaad.
Enough Said.
I am in Pune for a week for a company training program and am taking a break from everything for the time being.
Hope the monsoons here do not disappoint.
You can find the first part of the Mini Series Here
________________________________________________________________________
Robin got up shaking the sand off his pants.
“But who are you?”
“What name comes to your mind the first time you think of your father?” David asked him looking him in the eye.
“David.”
“well then call me David.” He said with a smile.
Before Robin could react, he started walking towards the sea.
Robin was completely confused. Why would anyone want to be called by the name of his father? Robin was still thinking when he suddenly saw the man disappear into the waves.
“HEY! WAIT!”
Any other day, Robin would have waited for someone else to go behind a suicidal man who wanted to be drowned in a sea, but this time he ran behind who wanted to be called by the name of ‘David’.
Robin went up to the waist height until he suddenly remembered he could not swim. He stopped dead on track. He could not see David anymore. Either he was getting shorter, or the tides seemed to be getting higher.He was still thinking whether he should go a bit deeper when suddenly a huge tide swept him off his feet. The tides had won the tug of war and Robin was swept off his feet. Robin could not find his feet but strangely, he felt as if he was flying in the water rather than drowning. The water seemed to just carry him from one wave to the other till he could see a small plateau at a distance. David was standing there with a brush in his hands and painting a canvas.
The waves dropped Robin there and died down.
Any other day, Robin would have fainted. But how can a guy who had drowned in a waterfall from an old cupboard die? He would have died already, wouldn’t he? All Robin could make make out of the sequence of events was that he was dead and that he standing in front of God who will soon make the decision to send him to either heaven, or hell.
“So, you think you are dead, eh?” David said without even looking at him. He took another cigarette from his pocket and lit it with his brush. Robin could see now that the brush was actually emitting flames. The flames changed colours as David stroked the canvas with it with a cigarette in his mouth. But this was just what his eyes saw. His brain was on an overdrive.
“how the hell did you know that!!!” Robin didn’t even have to say it. His expression said it all.
“Well, how do you think?” David laughed.
---*---
The Land Beyond Time
Robin stood there stoned. He tried to remember what he had had for breakfast that he was hallucinating waterfall from old cupboards and fire emitting brushes. but his mind returned a void. all he could think of right now was a man drenched to his core reading his mind.
“Who are you?”
David was busy painting his canvas. He didn’t seem to have the time to turn around and speak to Robin face to face. “you yourself christened me David. Remember?” He said with his hands busy on the canvas.
“No, I mean WHO are you? The real you. Not the name I gave you.”.
“Well, that is exactly the question I had asked you to ask. Who are YOU? the REAL you. Not a name someone had given you.” David said chewing his cigarette. Robin stood there speechless. He had never really thought about this before.
Who WAS he?
There was a long pause as the waves came and went at the shore. Robin stood there like a stone while David continued painting with his brush. Robin’s eyes were studying the painting which David was painting. A portion of the painting was hidden from Robin because of David standing in the front. he seemed to be painting the landscape in front of him.
Robin did not say anything. he was still thinking about what David had said.
David turned to him as soon as his canvas was full. Robin could see the complete picture now. David had drawn the whole view around them along with him standing behind standing. The canvas seemed to have a strange three dimensional effect to it. It was as if the pictures were coming out of the canvas. But that was not strange about the whole situation. What was strange was David had not looked behind while painting the canvas. Not one bit.
Did he have eyes at the back of his head?
Davis was unconcerned about that. He obviously knew what Robin was thinking, but he did not show it this time. Maybe he did not want to freak him out completely. He just walked up to David with his Brush and stood in front of him, extending the brush to him.
“Go Ahead. Try it.” He said with smile.
Robin looked at David, and then at the brush. It seemed to be calling out to him. The flames of the brush changed colours every moment. It was so mesmerizing that Robin could not take his eyes off it. With slow, but steady hands, Robin took the brush. A surge of lightning went through him as soon as he touched it. David’s reassuring face made him pick it up. The brush seemed so heavy and full of power that he almost dropped it when David removed his hands from under the brush.
Robin walked up to the canvas. The flames from the brush grew bigger as he approached it. It was like a Magnet which was pulling robin towards the canvas. Robin came and stood in front of the canvas. The Painting had changed. Now Robin was standing in front of the canvas and David was standing behind smiling at him. It was as if the painting was a real life moving picture which showed what was going on around him. Robin touched the canvas with the brush. The Painting began to change.
Slowly, It changed to a room where there was a small boy sitting on the ground playing with logo bricks while a lady was cooking with the back towards him. Soon, it changed again. This time, a man appeared in the picture wearing an army suit and the lady was hugging him. The child remained in the same position. He seemed to have grown a bit though.
Robin kept looking as the objects in the room changed positions and so did the lighting. Days passed and nights went by in the painting as Robin saw the man come home and leave innumerable times. He could see the pain in the lady’s face. Soon, the child in the picture had vanished. Instead, the room in the background had a light glowing. The lady was now being accompanied with a different guy. As the pictures changed, she would always be accompanied with a different guy. Her expression changed from pain to a smile and slowly, ecstasy took over. This continued till one day, there was no lady in the house. Instead, there was the army man sitting with his head on his hands and a revolver at his side. There was a jeep standing outside with a bag. Two small eyes were looking from the crack of the door in the background.
Robin Dropped the brush. It was all too obvious to him. He knew the lady and the man. And the small boy.
There are things which the mind just wants to remember as a dream. Things which are worth forgetting, but cannot be forgotten. The brain pushes those things in the unconscious part of the brain and there it lies until brought forward in a moving painting on an island with someone who could read people’s mind.
Robin sat on the sand for some time till he had the power to speak. He looked at David. He was smiling as he had been. He walked up to Robin and whispered in his ears:
“Who are you, Robin. Who ARE you?”
“What is this place?” Robin said in a completely exhausted voice. He was too emotional to say or do anything more.
David looked up to the sky and put his hands up.
“Welcome, to the Land Beyond Time”
----X----
(Contd…)
Locations: Home, Marine Drive, Matunga
Equipments: 1 MP mobile camera, Panasonic DMC LZ5
Nehaad III | Running away from the Dark |: Here
How many of you would run away at the thought of going to a movie?
Ok. i will simplify the question for you. How many of you will run away from the thought of a movie which stars Barbara Mori. I think most of you will not. But How about it also stars Hrithik Roshan and is called ‘Kites’?
Now you seem to get a vague idea of what I am talking about.
No, this post is not a review of the movie or about me going to the cinema hall and then sleeping/ walking out in the interval (though I think i would have done just that). Infact, this post has nothing to do with the movie at all. This post is about all that happened ‘because’ of the movie.
Let me fill you up with the background a bit.
There is a certain friend of mine whom we lovingly called ‘Nagraj’ (No, he does not have green scales on his chest though he might have a red underwear which he wears on top of his pants at night). My friend here just got through the coveted CAT and is leaving for IIM-L in a while. Presently, he works in an oil based company which makes him work for 2 weeks a month on a rig far far away from land, and the rest two weeks of his are spent at home. Every week, on a certain day, he takes a helicopter from the rig to touch land and then spends time in Mumbai before he leaves for home.
Yesterday was one such day.
In the evening at around 7, I gave him a ring asking his whereabouts. He was sitting in some anonymous cafe in Santacruz surfing the web. Yes, he had touched base in Mumbai.
When we met, our conversation went something like this:
Me: Abe Daaru maarne chalte hain be.
Nagraj: Nahi be. Mere ko movie dekhna hai.
Me: abhi koi dhang ki movie nahi lagi hai be.
Nagraj: Koi bhi dekhenge be. Chal,
Me: Kahaan?
Nagraj: Oberoi mall (Goregaon)
Me: Wahaan?..chal.
Both of us took an auto from Santacruz to Goregaon, a trip which took around half an hour and a part of our wallets (actually his. He was the one giving the treat). Our destination was the PVR mall at the corner of the top floor in the mall.
By the time we reached there, it was 8:30 and we had only two options left. Kites (9:20 PM) and Shrek Forever After (11 PM).
Though we are not so much of newspaper readers, we had still managed to hear about the harrowing experiences of people who had watched the movie. People had freaked out in the middle of the movie and had gone out tearing their hairs out. So much so, that People were being asked ot go to watch the movie at their own risk. Now, Nagraj is a person who drinks Mountain dew (you get the joke, right?) so he was game for it. But I am a creature of a very weak heart. I enjoy simpler tihngs like ‘no kites’ and ‘Shrek forever’. But My friend here is not so much an avid fan of animation as i am.
Nagraj: Kites Dekhte hain be.
Me: Paagal ho gaya hai kya?
Nagraj: Problem kya hai?
Me: Problem to kuch nahi hai. Par jaisa suna hai, kaafi khatarnaak movie hai. It might scar us for life.
Nagraj: hmmm…
Me: Shrek dekhte hai be.
Nagraj: nahi be. Wo to nahi hi dekhna hai.
Me: Aur koi option nahi hai. Kya karna hai bol…
After a few minutes…
Me: Abe Daaru maarne chalte hain be.
Nagraj: Ruk saale. Wahaan se yahaan aaye hain, ab phir waapis jaaein?
Me: To kya karna hai..Kites Dekhni hai?
Nagraj: Abhi Landmark chalte hain, phir sochte hain.
We went to Landmark and browsed through the stacked books there. Nagraj was looking for a book on chanakya neeti. He had noticed it in a Landmark in the Airport and was hoping he would lay his hands on one here too. There was no sign of one here except for the Chanakya DVDs of the TV series. We came out of the place and headed back to the PVR. halfway, we changed track and started walking towards the food section. We had still not decided what to do.
The clock chimed 9. We were running out of time.
Me: Shrek dekhte hain be. 3-D mein hai.
Nagraj: Nahi dekhna hai be. Animation hajam nahi hota hai.
Me: To phir kya karna hai?
Nagraj: Khaana khaate hain.
Me: Ok.
We went and stood in the KFC counter not paying much attention to the fact that we were actually standing in front of a closed counter. People in the adjacent lines kept ordering and going while we waited for someone to come and ask us when suddenly, I spotted the obvious.
All this was happening because our minds were preoccupied. Such was the terror of the movie that a soon to be IIM Grad was not being able to make up his mind whether to go inside the Cinema hall or not. We stood in a running counter. Just as our number came, the counter closed and the one where we were standing earlier started running.
Maybe it was a sign.
We looked at each other. It was 9:15. It was the time when we finally had to make a decision. I looked at Nagraj as to what should be done. Either we can catch the movie, or we can have our food in peace. Nagraj finally opened his mouth.
Nagraj: Ek kaam karte hain…
Me: Kya?
Nagraj: Chal daaru maarne chalte hain.
So off we went down from the topmost floor of the mall to the ground floor and out, into an auto and traced our way back to Vile Parle to our regular joint: the place I had initially told him we should be in.
While having drinks, the thought of how the movie would have been crossed our minds. We had drinks all the time, but an experience of something as scary and never-experienced-before boredom as ‘Kites’ was a once in a lifetime one. And we missed it. How would it have been? would horns have grown on our heads while watching the cinema? Or the pretty girl sitting next to us would have started throwing up? Would we have nightmares about the movie after going home? How would Kites have been..
I think we would never know. Or would we.
It was just like any other day.
Actually no, it was not. It was one the weirdest days of his life.
Robin had just returned home after being fired from his job. He still did not know why. All he knew was when he reached office, there was a pink slip on his table which, when opened just said two words : You’re FIRED!
Why? He had no clue.
When he tried reaching out to his Boss, he got a cold shoulder from both his secretary and the secretary’s secretary. He was asked to clear his desk and leave office before lunch. A thing which, as an obedient employee, he did without fail.
And now when he returned home , Robin found his whole room ransacked. Standing there with the office belongings in his hand, he started thinking: Who did it? In fact, why would anyone do it in the first place. He did not have anything expensive or costly in the first place which could be stolen. In fact, the last time he had tried to give his things to a beggar, the old man with worn clothes refused to take it saying it was useless even for him.
This, after his father passed away without leaving him a penny.
All his life, he has lived under the shadow of his father. His Father, Colonel David Hood had been a true military man. Like all great Military men, he had squandered all his money on liquor and good petite women, whom he used to bring in his house right in front of Robin.
In fact, sometimes the girls would wink at Robin before going in his father’s room.
Robin’s Mother had passed away a long time back. So long, that even Robin did not remember how long it was. His father had practiced celibacy for the first few years. Being a gentleman that he was then, he would tell Robin stories of his youth and the times of war. Robin would sit and listen to them like a small child does to his father’s stories. Like any other child, In his childhood, Robin idolized his father. For him, if there was a god, he was a warrior. And if that god had an avatar, it was his dad.
All this changed when he graduated from college. His father, having conducted the final duty as a father, getting his son graduate without failing from a decent college, had suddenly returned to his journey of finding his youth. He would sometimes bring home not one, not two, but four girls with him. When Robin confronted him, all he had to say was, “Son. there comes a point in life when you have to choose whether to be good, or whether to be happy. I chose to be happy.”
After graduation, Robin joined a normal 9 to 5 job. the job was so normal that it was too boring to even call it normal. but he did not leave the job because he was being paid enough to support both himself and his father’s with it. Robin would be greeted with moaning sounds coming from his father’s room whenever he would come back from work. The sounds disturbed him initially, but as days went by, he got used to it. Later, when the house would be silent, he would twist and turn in his bed trying to sleep in the systematic churning sound of the old fan in his room.
One night, when Robin came home, he realized that his house was silent which was very uncomforting for him as he had got used to the sounds coming from his father’s room. He walked towards his father’s room and found the door open. It was again very strange for him as his father never left his door open. According to him, his room contained the belongings and secrets of the wartime which should not be seen or heard by anyone. He would never allow anyone to come inside the room except the whores he would bring from the street. In a way, he trusted the whores of the underworld more than the gentlemen roaming around in broad daylight.
When he walked inside and switched the lights on, he saw his father lying on his back, stark naked, staring at the fan which was churning slowly, moaning in its own rusted voice.
For the first time in his life, he saw god Naked. He would see him again in that state when they gave him a bath before his burial. Doctors never came to know the reason of death of Colonel Hood. He seemed to be smiling in his last moment. Maybe some whore gave him such pleasure that he died with an orgasm and a smile on his face.
Still, Robin did not hate his father. In fact, he still believed his father was god, and that now with his death, God was no more.
The will was read and all the belongings of his father was transferred to Robin. Colonel David Hood had left Robin with a house which was mortgage to an old man living somewhere in Indonesia. Robin had no idea who he was or how the hell did his father end up in debt for that guy. And the biggest mystery was how did that old man get whiff that David had passed on to the next world and he was here to take back the house.
The other belongings were payment for his other debts. After all the mathematics in kind, Robin was left with a bed and a cupboard with a locker without a key. He shifted to small dingy garage which was given to him after a friend took pity on him and allowed him to stay in the only vacant place in the house.
And right now, Robin was standing in front of a heap of ransacked clothes and books which he had very meticulously kept in the different shelves of his cupboard. And he hated his father today.
Land Ahoy!
Robin walked through what seemed to be a deserted war field. Books and clothes strewn everywhere.
“Bugger..did not leave me with anything…” He muttered to himself as he walked picking up his stuff.
He went in his friends house through the back door, the one he had always used, to see it spick and clean.
“what the…”, he exclaimed.
His Friend Diana’s parents were sitting on the table having dinner. Her parents looked at him enquiringly as he walked in through the back door. they never trusted him. The first time Diana had told them that one of her friends, who is now an orphan, needs a place to stay, they had frowned making the most ugly faces a human can make. But being orphans themselves, they had a soft corner for him and they let him stay in their garage with their old chevy in it. Robin did not mind as it doubled up as his bed and changing room. Robin had to come home before 8 in the night and no visitors were allowed. Also, under no circumstances was he allowed in Diana’s room. Robin did not mind that as he always saw her as a friend who was helping him in the most trying of times. In fact, he was surprised when she suggested that he should move to her home if he could not find or afford a place of his home. Why would someone who knew him as the biggest loser in office offer him a place to stay in her house. That too after he was fired out of office.
Robin stood in front of them for some time waiting for them to say something. For two seconds, both sides were motionless with Diana’s parents holding their spoons in mid-air and their mouths open waiting for him to say something.
“uhh…Did someone come to visit me today?”
“An old guy. he went into your room and came back after a few minutes. Said you were not there”, Mr. Skynard said.
“so…you did not tell him that i was at work?”
“how were we supposed to know you were not there?” Robin was amazed that they did not even know his work timings.
“uhh…ok. Did he give any contact details or something before he left?”
“nothing. He just said that you would know he had come. And now you do.” Mrs. Skynard quipped with the spoon half in her mouth.
“ok.” He started walking back when suddenly Mr. Skynard stopped him.
“wait!”. Robin stopped.
“ He said something else too. Something about the cupboard.:
“the cupboard?!” Robin turned back.
“Yes. He said that he had left the key on the top shelf and that you would find it there.
“what key?”
---*---
Robin came back to the garage. he walked past the wreck of books and clothes to reach the cupboard. He looked up at the top shelf. it was too high. Robin tried to feel the shelf with his fingers barely reaching them. As he pursed the shelf, his hands touched something metallic. He could not quite get it down. He grappled for it and finally managed to get it close enough to be able to pull it down. it was a brass key with a small dragon made in its hole.
Robin was confused.
He tried to fit it in the main keyhole of the cupboard. it did not fit in. He closed the door and then tried to fit it in. the key went in but it did not turn.
Robin suddenly noticed the old rusted locker in the cupboard. For the first time, Robin felt a gleam in the shelf. He fit the key in. the key went in like a hot knife on butter.
click.
the key had opened something which was closed for more than ten years.
As soon as Robin turned the key, he could hear the gush of water from the other side. before he could react, he found himself floating in water.
“what the hell…”
Water came gushing from the other side of the locker. Robin did not have time to react. he was too surprised, too taken aback by the current of the flow and from the fact that there was WATER locked inside the locker for all these years. Maybe that was the reason for the rust in the cupboard.
Soon, All his books, his clothes, his bed, the old chevy, everything in the closed garage got submerged in the water. And while this was happening, all Robin could think about was one simple fact:
“why the hell did I not learn swimming?!!”
As the water poured on him overwhelming him with the force, all he could see was the roof of the garage chiseled with holes. he could see the sun-rays passing through them. As he gazed on them not trying to resist the current, he felt the rays getting brighter.
As his ears got submerged into water he could hear the song his mother used to sing to him. it was like he was drowning in music. he could almost see the aquatic creatures swimming around him in the water now.
He did not resist. Life has played a joke on him. a big fucking joke. and the biggest joke of them all was a waterfall in the middle of his room. something which he could not comprehend even in his wildest dreams had come true. So he just let it be. He smiled as he took his last breath in the present world. he could feel the water seeping in his nose, his ears, his eyes, his brains.
From a distance, he could hear Diana calling to him. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too late now. He has gone beyond reach of anyone human. Through the water, he could make out a form who was reaching out for him. he reached out with his hand. His fingers barely touched the water surface. the sun rays had become bright enough to resemble the sun itself.
Amazingly, he had still not fallen out of his consciousness. Even in water, and with water in his lungs, he could still see and feel everything. His vision, though blurred underwater, could make out the figures and he could feel himself trying to swim to the surface.
Suddenly, a hand held his fingers and then his arm. He felt a tug and was pulled into the sunlight. A figure stood in front of him. he could only see a silouette with the sun behind him.
Before he could say anything, a pair of strong hands pulled him out of the water. it was broad daylight. His roof and garage had disappeared in thin air.
Robin found himself sitting in the sand with vast coconut trees lining the borders of the sea shore. In front of him stood a strongly built man in his late twenties. He had a cigarette in his mouth. His clothes were torn but felt as if they were tailor made for him. His face was blackened because of the sun behind him. He seemed to be smiling at him.
“Goodness me…look at you. Fancy finding you in the middle of nowhere…” he quirked chewing on his cigarette.
“where am I?” Robin asked.
“Get your question right son. Ask ‘who’ am I.”
“Who… Who am I?”
The guy came close to his face blocking the sun.
“Who are you my friend?..who ARE you?”
Robin looked at the face. From up close, the face was full of wrinkles. Wrinkles not from age, but from staying in the water for too long. He had never seen anyone like that before. He was speechless for some time till words found a way out of his mouth.
All he could say were three words:
“Robin. Robin Hood.”
(to be continued…)
__________________________________________________________________________________
LOCATION: In front of Hub Mall, Goregaon.
EQUIPMENTS: 1 MP Mobile camera : Sony Ericsson K500i
NEHAAD II | To Darkness and Beyond| : Here
NEHAAD III | Running away from the dark | : Here
I just realized that every time I sit down to write, I inevitably start writing about myself.
Now that would make me a narcissist.
But then who in this world is not.
Even the ones who dedicate their lives for the good of others are inevitably making secret plans for a better afterlife. And here, if I think about my own goodwill, people come pointing their fingers at me saying that I think only about myself.
You are damn right I think about myself. And if you are not thinking about your own self right now, Either you let someone else make your decisions for you or you are downright stupid thinking a heavenly light would fall from above and enlighten you about life.
NOTE: A self introspective rascal wanting to come out of his shell. Nothing else. Peace.
Ever since I was a child, I had the the thought of just picking up a bag pack and leave towards a land that I had never seen, go there, meet the people there. so this time, when I finally managed to get a 10 day holiday, I decided to fulfil my dream of doing just that. My intention was to cover 5 places in four days and then spend the rest of the 5 days at my humble abode in Kolkata in the lap of my mother.
So, I chalked down a trip starting from Mumbai, circling through the central, west and north India, through to East India, and then back to the south west corner which was Mumbai.
My trip diagram looked something like this:
Mumbai --> Ujjain --> Jaipur --> Pushkar --> Ajmer --> Jaipur --> Delhi --> Kolkata --> Mumbai.
Why was I doing it? I don't know. Sometimes, I had the thought of not wasting the precious holiday and spend all of it at home, but I was rebellious and adventurous enough to go for this trip. After all, how many times would you get such a chance?
The Ticket to UJJAIN
The beginning of the trip was not without its share of headaches, anxiety and legwork. For getting the first flag-off, I had to run to the Bandra Railway Terminus in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.The story goes something like this.
Initially I had booked a ticket in Pune-Indore Express and had got a WL-16 Status. I still had a week to go but as the days passed and the date of journey approached, the status did not budge an inch.
I could not abandon this journey for the world as everything I had planned started with me reaching Ujjain.
All my other tickets were confirmed except this one. And this being an E-Ticket meant I would not be allowed in the Train if the ticket was not confirmed. I waited till before 3 days before the journey date but the WL Status refused to budge.
I have an E-ticket booking counter right near my house and as a normal lazy fat-ass would be, I was as loyal to the counter as a cat would be to the nearest dhaba.
Finally, I decided to get a Tatkal ticket done for this one. I told the E-ticket reservation guy near my house to get the ticket come what may, as this was of prime importance and assumed that since I had been loyal enough to him all this while, he would be the same and pay heed to my repeated requests. However, on the 28th of April, As I walked to the counter at 8 AM in the morning, I found myself standing in front of closed shutters. I tried calling him up on the number he had provided but all I could hear to was "Zoobi doobi zoobi doobi..." a number of times. Further investigatons revealed that the fat bugger was always late and would not open the shop before 10:30 AM. I sent him an SMS and left for office.
At around 9 AM, a sweaty me in a hands-up position, surrounded by people in Hands-up positions in a completely packed compartment of a Churchgate Fast gets a call from the E-Ticket guy. Apparently, my repeated calls had woken him up and the SMS had reminded him of my request. I was now looking at a WL -9 even for Tatkal now. Trying to keep a cool head, I asked him what is the next feasible thing to do for me to board the train. He aked me to go to any railway terminus and get a Ticket booked for general, even if it was WL, so I would be allowed inside the train, and then pay the TTE some money for confirming a berth to me.
Thus came forth my first Bike ride in Mumbai from BKC to Bandra Railway Terminus. For those yet to ride a bike in Mumbai, I must tell you, the first time you ride a bike in Mumbai traffic, it is AWESOME. The second time you ride a bike in Mumbai, it is GOOOD. The Third time you ride a Bike in Mumbai, you start yearning for two things: Looking at the other bikers with a sunglass wearing Lasses behind them, you yearn for a companion to share the bike ride with you, and secondly, you wish that the bike was your own and not a borrowed one from your colleague.
Anyway, I got a WL-141 for Avantika Express, which, in a way, was my pass to my first out-of-Mumbai Journey after coming to Mumbai.
Onboard the Avantika Exp.
TRAIN : AVANTIKA EXP.
BOARDING : BOMBAY CST : 6:30 PM
DEPARTURE: 7:05 PM
SEATED: TTE SEAT in S-5 Compartment
I knew that I would not be able to get a seat even if I wanted to with the kind of WL status I had. Having no intention of spending another 200 bucks on getting a seat, I made myself comfortable at the TTE seat with Gabriel Garcia Marquez to give me company as ‘One Hundered Years of Solitude’.
The train left the platform at the assigned time and seated near the compartment door, I saw the stations whizzing past me after a very long time. My first long distance train journey in over 2 years.
Resting my head on the window Sill, I did not know when I fell asleep, but I do remember waking up to a girl’s laughter. My trip had begun.
The Girl in Pink
As I slowly opened my eyes, I realized it was 1 AM in the night. The train was standing in the Vadodara station platform and right in front of me stood a beautiful 17 year old in a pink pullover and a sweat shirt, one hand trying to straighten her wrinkled hair, and the other in the hands of a guy who was standing beside her on the platform. Having been in Mumbai for some time, I had got used to such a sight, but what set me thinking was the time and the location of the scene.
I got up and took a coffee from a nearby stall listening to their conversation. As I made my way back to the seat, I realized it was another classic Orkut meeting in the middle of the night, quite similar to one which I had had a long time back (Yes, I too had been through the phase like many of you). The guy was from Vadodara while the girl was from some other place. They had met on Orkut and had got closer with time. The girl was traveling with her family and had informed the guy that her train was going to pass through Vadodara getting the guy to come to the station at 1 AM in the night where they had their first face to face meeting in front of a few gawking hawkers who stopped hawking just to enjoy the scene, a bit-embarrassed railway guard and a spectacled guy with tea and a book in his hand sitting on the TTE Seat.
I had initially thought of taking a snap of the two for my photo-blog but finally decided against it for the fear of scaring the love birds away with the flash of my camera.
As the train started moving, the girl stood at the door of the compartment while the guy walked along the platform still holding her hand. As the train gained speed, the girl planted a light kiss on the guy's cheek with words of wisdom to stay woth him for the rest of the night. "Go, study. and don't think about me." Ah! Teenage love. How I miss them.
The station disappeared behind us with the guy still searching for her in the dark while the girl disappeared somewhere in the compartment receding to her berth with her parents. I still had marquez to give me company.
In the Couch
The rest of the journey was spent in a sometime sleeping, sometime reading, sometime clicking state. Stations which rang a bell in my mind whizzed by in the dark.
The lights near the lavatory (which incidentally is a place very neat to the TTE seat) never go off, which let me read my book. There were people all around my feet strewn as bodies without life. An occasional TTE or a railway guard would chance upon waking some up and asking for tickets leading to a sudden surge of life amongst them, only to let them go back to their original state after some time.
UJJAIN
As I set my foot down on the platform at 7 AM in the morning, a lot of temple bells greeted me. I made my way out of the station and the first thing I did was something which I had longed for all through my train Journey: A cigarette. I found a small gumti near the station which had cigarettes. Not Surprisingly enough, they did not have GF lights in their stock. Not stooping to the level of having a Four Square, I opted for a GFK. I lit the cigarette while I took an auto to my friend’s place and immediately felt that something was not right with it. In my five years of filling my lungs with smoke, the only time I had tasted a cigarette like this was on my way to Delhi from Kolkata one year back when I had bought a pack of Fake GFK near Kanpur. I took two more puffs just to make sure and then threw it away.
I suddenly remembered that I had a lone GF Lights in my bag which I had kept for emergency purposes when I was packing. I took it out and lit it only to feel a similar taste in my mouth again. I was sure that this cigarette was not fake as I had had its brother in Mumbai before boarding the train. What was wrong, I did not know. Maybe something was different about the air here.
My auto stopped in front of my friends’s house. My home for the next15 hours.
Of drizzles and spelling mistakes
Living in a small town has its advantages. Like getting a flat the size of an apartment in Mumbai for 2.2K. I drooled and drooled over her house as I went from one end to the other. It was one airy, comfy, had an attached toilet, and a kitchen, two book shelves, a bed, chairs, everything you would wish for. All for 2200/-. And here I was, spending 9K for a small room in Mumbai. Hmph.
cal mistakes, a Restaurant which did not know how to pronounce its name in English, a shop selling heart shaped cushions, and above all, two watch towers on the top of temples, each showing a different time. There was a strange calmness all around, which you would never find in Mumbai. At that time, I realized that no matter how big a city you go to, you alw ays become more and more distant from the peace and calmness that a small town can provide.
There were policemen sharing a friendly chat with shopkeepers over a cup of chai. There were cows sitting by the road, a marriage celebration went by blocking the road for some time. All this put a smile on my face, not the fake one which I put on everyday in my office, 
Walking back, I suddenly felt a drop of rain on me. Then another, then another till it started drizzling. Big drops of rain preceded by cold wind and succeeded by the moist smell of the earth made me remember by childhood days in Ranchi.
Right from childhood, I had got used to knowing the difference between rain and a drizzle. Whenever drops of water interrupted our cricket, I would gauge with my trained 13 year old eyes and hands the time it would it take for the rain to stop. And more often than not, I was always right.
“it would just be 5 minutes”, I said.
“Are you mad?!” she shouted at me trying to find a shelter.
The raindrops started getting bigger and heavier. I stood in the rain for sometime, looked at my watch then started walking slowly towards her.
As I stood by her in a shelter of a cloth store, the intensity slowly decreased. When it came to a stop, I looked at my watch. It was 4 minutes and 30 seconds. I held her hand and we slowly walked home silently.
I left for Jaipur at 10 in the night in 'sleeper' bus. I never even knew something like that sort existed till I got in.
Fear and Loathing in Pushkar
The bus was similar to the normal buses except for the luggae section near the roof of the bus. Instead of the luggage compartment, sleeping bunkers were etched in. My friend had booked one for me for my ride to Jaipur. And here I thought an IIT Civil Engineer knows everything when it comes to transportation.
When I had made my plan for going to Jaipur, My sole intention was to get to Pushkar. Pushkar, being hailed as the Amsterdam of India, Me and my partner-in-crime Handeshwar had planned to get hold of a Handy cam and record our whole trip as ‘Fear and Loathing in Pushkar’, the Indian Counterp art of the Del Toro, Depp Starrer ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’.
However, the spoiler of the trip came much before I even reached Pushkar. Firstly, the bus which was supposed to reach Jaipur at 8:30 in the morning was standing in the middle of the
desert in a place named TONK, 100 kms from Jaipur at 9 AM in the morning. The earliest I would reach would be 11 in the afternoon. Running on a tight schedule, my morning was eaten up in the bus journey and we were left with only an evening in Pushkar.
I called up Mr. H to break the news and he told me the driver of the rented car has been sitting at his home from 8 in the morning.
“Atleast we can still make the movie.”, I said.
“Movie? What movie?” came a startled voice from the other side of the phone.
“Fear and Loathing in Pushkar, remember?”
“Oh, THAT one! Yes that we can. You got the Handy cam right?”
“Handy cam? What Handy cam?! I thought you had the Handy cam!” I remember distinctly him telling me that he had the Handy cam with him when we had discussed the idea initially.
“DUDE! I NEVER had a Handy cam. I thought you had one when you had thought of the idea.”
“But, but….Hmph.” My DG Cam with batteries which last less than 15 minutes in video mode were of no use unless we wanted to make a 10 minute trailer for the movie.
A good Idea gone to waste.
We were still going to Pushkar, the Amsterdam of India. That gave me Solace.
“Banjar hai sab Banjar hai…
Jab dhoondne hum firdaus chale…”
This was the song which kept playing in my head as my bus made its way towards Jaipur. Barren land with sand everywhere surrounded me. Somewhere in between, I even saw the string of Lahenga choli clad girls with Matkas on their head going in search of Water. Looking from the open window, I was reminded of the scenes of Road, Movie.
Pitstops in the middle of the desert brought pagdi wearing Rajasthani people and long ghoonghat clad women to the bus looking for a ride towards the Pink city. This place seemed alien to me. The people seemed alien to me. And I guess, An aviator wearing white guy with a big black bag was an alien to all of them. 
Eyes searched me as I got down my berth and made my way towards the door.
It was 11:30 in the afternoon. 47 Degree heat and a half quarter wearing Handeshwar were waiting for me for the trip we had been waiting for all this while.
Of Pushkar and All the G-azz
A rented Indica can have four inhabitants when it is on a 
By the time we reached Pushkar, we both had no 
energy to move or look for the stuff which had brought us to the place in the first place. We booked a room, had lunch and then fell on the bed with no energy left in the body.
My eyes opened at around 7:30 in the evening, and I suddenly 
realized that it might soon be too late if we do not start looking for weed soon. Handeshwar was still asleep, so I decided to embark on the journey alone. My first enquiry was from a guy selling peanuts and his reaction told me the whole story. Pushkar might have been the Amsterdam of India some time back, but now, it is like any other city. In each curio shop, I would find the embroidery and posters of babas smoking chilams, but each time I approached a baba and asked him where I would find some ‘Ganja’, I was greeted by ‘wo sab hum nahi bechte hain’. One of them even went on to saying that ‘teen baba ye sab bechte hue pakdaaye the, ab jail mein hai, yahaan pe ab kuch nahi milta.’
After a lot of digging around and asking about, I was told of a Hotel where I would find ‘everything’. I made my way through the pathways and narrow lanes to that place. Just outside the place, I found a shady looking character who, in any other city, would have been selling weed. But here, me asking him about it seemed to have offended him. Moving and behaving as a Junkie, he told me that he did not know where to find any weed.
I reached a roof top restaurant where a lot of Israilies were sitting and having their Dinner 
.I approached one of the lonely looking characters and asked them whether they knew where we would find some weed, he told me that ‘ A lot of people have been approaching me trying to sell me stuff. They were standing right there’ pointing to the same guy whom I has asked previously and who had become offended then. Who said Apartheid was gone. It was right here, in Pushkar. White skin treated with Weed, while Us brown skins, not even a puff?
Handeshwar Joined me in the restaurant after some time as we snooped around some more. Finally, we both went to sleep having only the smoke of Cigarettes in our lungs and not even a whiff of weed in it.
Ajmer
After a disappointing Pushkar, we made our way towards Ajmer, the place where you pay your homage to the almighty and ask for his blessings. I had to reach Delhi the same day by the evening. That left us only about half an hour for Ajmer.
To put things in perspective, I am an agnostic when it comes to religion. I believe in Karma and spiritual energy. I think when it comes to god, I believe in all of them, and then, I don't believe in any. When it came to Ajmer, I did not know why I was going there, but something inside me told me that I should go there as I had the chance.
I had a habit of collecting 5 rupee gold coins and not spending them as I consider them to be special. I would always keep them in my wallet thinking that my energy would be passed on to them after staying in contact with me for so long, and hope that one day, I would give them away in a special way to get all my wishes fulfilled. When I planned to go to Ajmer, I counted all my coins that I had collected so far. there were nine.
I thought of giving away these coins there and make a silent prayer to whoever is listening.
The road from Pushkar to Ajmer was more scenic than I had imagined. Passing through a valley of spirally curving roads, we reached Ajmer. The place near the main shrine was heavily crowded and we were asked to park our car at an allotted place.
Handeshwar had known of people having bad experiences in the place. He warned me of talking any belongings to the place. We dumped all our belongings, including our mobiles and camera in the car and made our way to the Majaar, a decision which I still question myself for. Leaving my camera and my mobile there did not allow me to take any pictures of the shrine or its near-abouts. I just took my 9 gold 5 rupee coins with me and made my way towards the big white gate I could see from far away.
We took our shoes off at the main gate and suddenly realized that we do not have a single paisa to pay the guy who was taking the shoes except for my coins. I did not want to give my precious coins to this guy just for keeping the shoes. But I had no other option. thinking we would pay the guy in the end, we kept our shoes there and made our way inside the big gate.
Inside, there was a whole marketplace with people selling flowers, rose petals, cloth to put on shrine, big degchis in which people throw in stuff to give as sacrifice for the almighty. There was all sort of stuff inside the degchi right from gold watches to burned 1000 rupee notes. A guy later told me of a story when someone had put in her baby as a sacrifice to god. I could not hear anymore and moved away from there.
We had only 45 bucks in the form of 9 gold coins to spend there, which forbade us to get anything. I finally decided to give the coins in their physical form itself to the shrine. While Handa went in empty handed, I went in with gold!
In front of the shrine, I made my first offering. Two of my gold coins. I was greeted with a strange look by the guy who was taking the offering, as if he was questioning me with the eyes. “only this much?”
“there will be more” I said as I made my way towards the place to bow my head to the main shrine. I gave three of my golden coins to the next guy who was collecting the offerings there. Same look greeted me.
I had spent an year collecting these coins. It was not for the monetary value that I was doing it, but for the belief that these coins were the ones which had spent the maximum time with me, more than anything in this world. I would not spend them even in urgency because I believed they were a part of me, and someday, I would give them away at the rightful time and the rightful place where it would matter the most. And now, when I was doing it now, and all I was being greeted were empty looks.
For the first time, I felt sad. Because maybe, for the first time, I was feeling what a poor guy would feel if he comes to get blessings in a holy place. Though no one would ask him to leave, he would be glared at and and told in the language of the eyes that you do not deserve to be here because you are not rich enough.
In an act of bizarre judgement, I felt a strange anger inside of me then. I don’t know what took me over, I threw two of my coins over the shrine where people were throwing flowers. Yes, it was something which no one would do. I don’t even know whether it was allowed or not, but I did it. I paid my homage to the shrine, touched my head on its feet, made a prayer, and put a single coin there.
I was left with one coin when I came out of the place. I used that last five rupee coin to get our shoes back from the gate.
As we walked back, I suddenly realized that I don't remember what I wished for. In fact, I didn't even remember wishing for anything. I looked around, and everywhere, I could see a rush for getting money out of the visitors. Beggars with no hands, no legs, amputated body parts were sitting near the streets begging for money, People would keep our shoes safe for money, some would give us a ride to the shrine and back for money, the parking lot guy wanted money, even the people who prayed, prayed for money.
Handeshwar, walking beside me, was telling me about his uncle’s experience in Ajmer when his wallet was thrown into the Degchi when he had come to offer the prayers. I was lost in my own thoughts.
Even in a holy place like Ajmer, everything was commercialized. I know it was a silly thought because in today’s times, only an idiot would not to try making profit in a place frequented by thousands a day, but still, I did not find a single soul who was not looking for money there.
“Did you notice there was not a single foreigner there?” Handa exclaimed while he was getting inside the car. “ Do you think it was because of the 9/11 thing?”
I switched on the AC without saying anything.
Of Delhi and Beyond
We reached Jaipur at around 2 in the afternoon. After having a light lunch in Handesh’s house, I boarded a bus to Delhi at 3:15 PM. I remember the time because I DO remember the exact time.
According to my calculations, I was to reach Delhi at around 9:15 PM, or to be on the more realistic side. 9:45 PM.
It was a simple non AC bus which was taken by regular commuters everyday for their daily commute. Two conductors sat beside me smoking bidies which they threw away as soon as the bus started. Talk about following rules.
DD had been calling for quite some time asking me when I would reach Delhi. When I asked the conductor duo about the time we would be reaching Delhi, they both started debating amongst themselves. One said 9:30, while the other said 10:30. Their debate went on for some time and finally concluded on “saadhe 9 aur saadhe 10 ke beech mein pahunchenge.”
The bus kept moving on and on and on, so much so that the 100 years of solitude seemed short enough for the whole trip. Reaching the Half way mark, I had to abandon the reading because of bad light. Repeated calls from a concerned sister made me even more frustrated as every time I asked the people around me about when we would reach Delhi, I was be greeted with a different answer.
Looking outside the window watching the sand, the mountains and the trees passing by, I was lost in my own thoughts. Wehn you have nothing to do, your mind goes in an overspin and turns into a devils workshop. Mine was in a similar state of mind as my habit of questioning all my past decisions started taking toll on me. The decision of not going into the coveted IIMs, the decision to stick by my dreams not going down the usual path of an IITian, all came back in a haze. Yes, I could have been those white coller guys, infact, I still could, but then the guilty conscience of killing my dreams was too much to handle. Looking back, there was nothing to go back to, nothing to stand by, nothing to laugh at, nothing to cry for.
As I always do in my hours of need, I turned to my little namesake sis who, incidentally, could not meet me in Delhi because she was having –AHEM- problems with herself then. Her solution was simple. “Look out of the window. Is there any car moving? Good. Now look at its headlights, or tail lights whichever you can see. Now keep looking at it. are you doing it? good. That would keep you from thinking too much.”
Maybe I do think too much. And while in the process, assume, rather mis-assume a lot of things about a lot of things and eventually end up reaching to a conclusion without even doing anything. Its like running a simulation in the head with only one condition and reaching a conclusion on the basis of that. Maybe she is right. Assumption is the mother of all Fuck-ups.
Finally, at around 10, we entered Gurgaon. ISBT still seemed far away. I got down at Pul-Bangesh and made my way to Dilshad Garden where JJ was waiting for me. I entered DDs Home at 11PM, around an hour and a half late than what I had thought I would reach.
The only good thing happening that day was right in front of me on the dinner table. JJ and DD had prepared these humongous Prawns for me, something which I had not tasted ever before. And they were exquisite to say the least.
All the tiredness, pain and sad thoughts went out the window talking to them. Maybe, there was something more to it than just the present and the past. Maybe the future had something special for me. Maybe that was the reason I had come for this trip, this journey of self realization, a coming of age for a lost soul who was still looking for the answers lost in the sand.
The next day, we had the most amazing at Karim's near Jama Masjid, one of the most famous Non-Veg restaurant in Asia before I boarded the train for home sweet home.
As I lay on my berth in a random berth in a random compartment of a random rajdhani moving km. by km. towards Kolkata, and jot these words down, I still have Gabriel Garcia Marquez to give me company, and there is a girl siting in a pink suit right in front of me. but it is a different girl, it is a different train, it is a different day, and maybe, it is a different me.
Mama, I'm coming home.
P.S: the blog covers only the first 4 days of the trip. the rest of it was spent in Kolkata. I met my mother after a gap of an year, met some old friends, and above all, met myself. The one who had left home an year back was not the one who had come back. Maybe for the better too. Maybe, everything does happen for a reason.
P.P.S: I had initially intended this to be a photo blog, but could not click the right pictures at the right time, not because I did not have the camera, but because whenever I wanted to click the picture, the batteries always used to run out. Always at the wrong time. Whatever pictures you see here are just some of the selected ones I had clicked. the rest will be uploaded in a picture gallery and the link will be posted here soon.
