The alarm crowed. A lusty king of the farmyard cock-a-doodle-do. He shut the mobile up. One hour and five minutes was all he had before his day began. He would steal five minutes from that. Look the other way he told that frowning creature in his soul. I do it all the time- a little corruption, a little bribery. I negotiate with the world 24/7. So why not an extra 5 minutes of sleep, he told himself and buried his head under the pillow. And so began another day in the life of an Indian…
Life lately had been very melodramatic for this thirty something with a hairline that seemed to recede at a rate more alarming than that of his stocks- a life more mediocre than his job, a job more demanding than his wife, a wife more cranky than his kids, his kids more ill-mannered than the dog next door, the dog more ill-tempered than his mistress and it’s mistress…Love thy neighbor!
Today’s date was suggestive of something that was as difficult to recollect as the last time he had had a breakfast on the table. So off he rushed, tucking the newspaper under his arm, a slice of bread in his mouth as if to assure the canine next door of brotherhood in the neighborhood, polishing his shoes by brushing them against his trousers, as his mobile guffawed at him with attractive alerts about tarots and hitting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow amidst a host of reminders, meetings, memos and anniversaries. And what he had been trying to recollect for so long suddenly mushroomed in his mind that was fertile with a thousand unwanted, undesired but nevertheless unavoidable thoughts – It was time he bought a new season ticket for his daily commute! The penguin on his happy feet was close enough not to be evaded and though our hero’s scruples warned him, his hand involuntarily reached out for a crisp note as the paragon of truth smiled almost ironically on it and it was slipped with great dexterity and ease to the right person to instigate a nod of acceptance.
The other three quarters of the hour were peaceful amidst the gang enjoying over their daily game of cards, in dire straits dealing the deck with the forlorn hope that the tables would turn one day, the peeking toms, the zealots who tried to bridge the gap between the Heaven and earth with their operatic performances as pleasant as rubbing your nails against the blackboard, the blind man crying his wares, the ragged urchins with their delicate dirty hands tapping feebly only to be offered a deaf ear, blind eye, a scorn or worse - apathy, the white-collared people juggling their business papers and their phone calls, the college goers- the grown-up kids, people who haven’t met before and will probably never see each other again but still have more in common in that half an hour jaunt than any propinquity could boast of, with the railways bringing people closer literally, as they elbow, push, hustle and bustle their way, discussing why things are the way they are, with a feeling of being in the middle of every controversy strongly rooted in their guts, of being a victim of crimes they haven’t done and living a life they don’t deserve…a motif of variegated thoughts, beliefs and conversations to serve as an excess baggage to his workplace.
You have 13 unread messages…that is how he’s greeted there! He quickly scans his inbox to find a mail from a dear friend, who’d left in search of greener pastures. It speaks of missing the life he’d once run away from, of wanting to have conversations beyond the rigmaroles of the e-mail, with people you can accidentally bump into while strolling on the road, of wanting his kids to imbibe values that cannot be taught, of wanting to curse the system and yet be completely in love with it, to feel rejuvenated by the glow of the sweat on sultry days, to be at a place called home and feel at home for home is where the heart is! Our hero silently accepted the fact that you never know what you’ve got until it’s missing…so much so about a day in the life of India!
Life lately had been very melodramatic for this thirty something with a hairline that seemed to recede at a rate more alarming than that of his stocks- a life more mediocre than his job, a job more demanding than his wife, a wife more cranky than his kids, his kids more ill-mannered than the dog next door, the dog more ill-tempered than his mistress and it’s mistress…Love thy neighbor!
Today’s date was suggestive of something that was as difficult to recollect as the last time he had had a breakfast on the table. So off he rushed, tucking the newspaper under his arm, a slice of bread in his mouth as if to assure the canine next door of brotherhood in the neighborhood, polishing his shoes by brushing them against his trousers, as his mobile guffawed at him with attractive alerts about tarots and hitting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow amidst a host of reminders, meetings, memos and anniversaries. And what he had been trying to recollect for so long suddenly mushroomed in his mind that was fertile with a thousand unwanted, undesired but nevertheless unavoidable thoughts – It was time he bought a new season ticket for his daily commute! The penguin on his happy feet was close enough not to be evaded and though our hero’s scruples warned him, his hand involuntarily reached out for a crisp note as the paragon of truth smiled almost ironically on it and it was slipped with great dexterity and ease to the right person to instigate a nod of acceptance.
The other three quarters of the hour were peaceful amidst the gang enjoying over their daily game of cards, in dire straits dealing the deck with the forlorn hope that the tables would turn one day, the peeking toms, the zealots who tried to bridge the gap between the Heaven and earth with their operatic performances as pleasant as rubbing your nails against the blackboard, the blind man crying his wares, the ragged urchins with their delicate dirty hands tapping feebly only to be offered a deaf ear, blind eye, a scorn or worse - apathy, the white-collared people juggling their business papers and their phone calls, the college goers- the grown-up kids, people who haven’t met before and will probably never see each other again but still have more in common in that half an hour jaunt than any propinquity could boast of, with the railways bringing people closer literally, as they elbow, push, hustle and bustle their way, discussing why things are the way they are, with a feeling of being in the middle of every controversy strongly rooted in their guts, of being a victim of crimes they haven’t done and living a life they don’t deserve…a motif of variegated thoughts, beliefs and conversations to serve as an excess baggage to his workplace.
You have 13 unread messages…that is how he’s greeted there! He quickly scans his inbox to find a mail from a dear friend, who’d left in search of greener pastures. It speaks of missing the life he’d once run away from, of wanting to have conversations beyond the rigmaroles of the e-mail, with people you can accidentally bump into while strolling on the road, of wanting his kids to imbibe values that cannot be taught, of wanting to curse the system and yet be completely in love with it, to feel rejuvenated by the glow of the sweat on sultry days, to be at a place called home and feel at home for home is where the heart is! Our hero silently accepted the fact that you never know what you’ve got until it’s missing…so much so about a day in the life of India!
0 comments: