Land of Smiles:

The immigration officers looked grim, so did other airport officials. No smiles! I had thought that I will feel like a village-idiot-going-first-time-to-town. But at the Bangkok international airport, it was smooth sailing. My main fear always is not knowing how to operate hi-tech loos. Though friends had reassured me many times, I finally relaxed when I found the systems in the loo to be the same as ours. There onwards I knew I would have a good time.

After a harrowing Air India flight, I was seriously glad that there were no Indians in the flight to Phuket. Roaming around with my friend in her neighbourhood, I felt at ease…not out of place in a foreign country. Later I realized that it was because all Thai people were as short as I was….so I could melt into the crowd. I quickly learnt the traditional Thai greeting (Sawadi Kha) and used it with aplomb even imitating the nasal sing song stretch of the word at the end. I even befriended the local street dog, who initially barked at me and then wanted me to scratch him.

The local market, lanes and by-lanes were filled with street food - pork sausages, fish with variety of sauces, noodles, chicken feet, shrimps, squids – oh how my mouth watered at the sight. Thais love food and I loved that fact about them. Thais also love their food just as spicy as us Indians, which soon became a problem for me. Like in Maharashtra if you insist ‘no mirchi’, they will come back with a dish full of red chilly but no green chilly; so was the case with the Thais. ‘No peppe’ meant less chilly. Strangely these food marts were always filled with people – my god! how much they ate! And yet they were so slim with glowing skin. Soon I understood why. At each local eatery, they give you a side basket filled with raw beans, a wedge of cabbage, some fresh herbs and fresh neem to munch on!

Most Thai houses kept a huge earthen-flat-bottomed vase filled with water just outside their house. Most had water plants like lilies in them while some even kept tiny fishes. This automatically had such a calming effect around. All Buddhist houses also had an intricately designed, beautiful and colorful ‘spirit house’ near the gate. According to beliefs, they were made beautiful so that any bad ‘spirit’ around would get attracted to that and reside there instead of the main house. I didn’t want to question myself when I found myself being so enthralled by their designs that I forgot to look at the main houses.

Transport sucked. Each trip to any part of the district cost a bomb (300 baht or more). I wondered what the cost would be when the tourist season started. A quick and tourist-free trip to Phi-phi (Pee Pee actually), the magnificent green sea which changed to a dull green when the clouds rolled in, lazing around on the white beach and tons of good food later, I finally had to say goodbye to my school friend.

Another harrowing Air India flight later (post coming up soon), I was back at the dusty Mumbai airport breathing slowly in the sounds of the city.

Undefeated:

One of my favourite flowers is aparajita (as called in my native tongue) or shankhpushpi in Hindi. I have seen them mostly in the eastern part of the country, hardly any in the north or west.

So I was really surprised when I found a wall full of these flowers cascading down right here in this city. I had walked that path from Churchgate to office and back some thousand times in the last many months, but never noticed it before. Strangely it was on the last day’s walk from my office to home when I saw them. White and filled with drops of water after the brief shower. I picked one up and put it inside my diary, marking the date.

It seemed like a signal. I smiled….one chapter over.

And waiting for the next one to begin.

Water:

It was one of those days when the rain just fell and fell without a stop. Sometimes heavy and sometimes light, subduing the sound of chaos in the city. My time travelling mind took another trip back to the small town in eastern India where I grew up. Monsoon there meant endless days of grey sky and non-stop drizzle. Like a thin wet sheet that covered everything. It drove people to stay home venturing out only when necessary. Something about that weather made you want to feel snug, huddle close to loved ones and listen to their stories over a nice cup of tea.

Some days the rain used to pick up in the evening and pour throughout the night. By daybreak the sky would be overcast and it would drizzle the whole day. During those days of heavy rain we would get constant updates on the rising level of Ganga on the local radio. There would be a queer sense of anticipation and foreboding all around and the stories shifted to that of floods and near disasters. We listened to them spellbound.

I loved those grey wet days. The best part was not that the schools would be shut. The best part was to sit by the window, look at the rain falling outside and feel the gusts of wind blowing droplets all over you. My hyper-imaginative mind would re-create all the stories heard before and I would be totally lost to reality. The best part was sneaking into the garden with an umbrella when my mother was asleep and shake the flowers drooping with water. I would be certain that the flowers were happy to be relieved of their burden.
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I was looking out the window at the wet railway tracks. When the muted sound of the locals faded in the distance, the sound of the continuous drizzle took over. Right ahead across the railway tracks was a tall building under construction. I could not see any signs of activity or people there. It seemed isolated, abandoned and forgotten under the grey wet sky. A woman with her son in a raincoat and half pants walked past the tracks, the only sign of humanity around. Strangely desolate.

A gust of wind blew the droplets all over me. I turned around to look at the people inside the house. The TV was on and all were talking about one person’s recent visit to Chicago. Somebody exclaimed about the nuisance of the going out on a rainy day like this. I detected irritation in her voice.

I turned my attention back to the outside world. I longed to hear the stories my father used to tell. I longed to go out and shake the water from the flowers and hear their relief.

I still love grey wet days.

Being:

Growing old is Fun! Firstly I have become more un-social….and I am loving it! Earlier there was always this pressure of going out, meeting friends or basically just doing something. Otherwise it felt as if you were wasting your time. Well now…No More!

I look forward to weekends purely with myself tucked away with so many books (there are so many to read and so little time!), old nostalgic music, movies, cups of tea, some good food and that’s it. There’s absolutely no pressure about meeting people or going out. If you can meet friends….just great….if not, I’m happy anyways.

I don’t really care that much about what I wear or how I look. So many times I have gone to Shoppers’ Stop and Baristas in my home pajamas, chappals and hair un-combed. Really! It’s kind of freeing to just be. I took it to another extreme last month when I joined a martial art class. All other students were dolled up…with perfectly fitted exercise clothes and glassy skin. I wore loose tracks which rode up while doing some stretch exercise with legs up. The hair on my legs resembled that of the guy’s next to me. Well….it doesn’t really bother me. I chose to wax when I chose to wax.

The best part I think is the extreme patience that I have developed….partly for others but mostly for myself. If people understand me, Good! If they don’t….who really cares. I am past the age where I need to explain myself to others. I can look sagely and benevolently at the troubled youngsters and tell them..."This is hardly anything; Grow up!"

Just being…is Good.

Homogeneity:

I have often wondered how would one describe Bangalore, who are the people that make Bangalore the city it is. Like Delhi’s identity are the bureaucrats and the rich snobs, Mumbai is the city for dreamers which makes for a crazy eclectic mix, Calcutta is for the intellectuals (pseudo or otherwise) and Pune is for students. I couldn’t pinpoint Bangalore’s societal make-up until a recent visit.

On one hand there’s the expats – they were everywhere…wherever I went. I might sound xenophobic, but I am not sure I liked seeing so many of them there. They tend to spoil the market, like in Bandra here. Everything becomes un-affordable – from rent to vegetables.

The other group which actually makes up for most of Bangalore, are these ‘young couples in their thirties with a kid between the age of 2 to 9 years’. Societies after society apartments are full of them. Mostly a double-income household with a car, the father is mostly in shorts and a t-shirt and the mother is mostly in three-fourths and a top hovering protectively around her child. Most apartments I could peep into had similar looks – dark wood furniture, flat screen TV, a kids’ room full of toys and fabindia curtains – only the colour changed. In other words, a young professionally successful nuclear family.

Looking at them, I got a distinct feeling that success (and money) comes easily to them. That most would not know or understand a life not like theirs….the struggle of Bomayites, the need for cultural difference for the Calcutta folks or even the snobbery of Delhites.

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Mumbai looks so dazzling and alive from above even at 2 in the night!

Love unconditional:

I laughed when I read Com. Dilip Donde’s comment about his constant companion ‘Mhadei’ (wonder if it’s an Indian name?). He says “Don’t think I’d be too off the mark if I said I am in love with her!” The first rejoinder that instantly popped in my mind was – man and his love for machines…so typically male!!

But then I remembered with a heavy heart how much I loved my car. It still pains me to think about her and I still feel awfully guilty that I sold her off. I often wonder how she is doing…whether her new owner is treating her well or not. Whenever I go to Delhi, one part of mind keeps a watch on the road hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to know that she’s still there. The other part does not want to see her again…..what if she’s in a bad condition, what if she is not being treated well, a rough hand steering her around and driving over bumpers and potholes. I will never be able to forgive myself then. It would pain me too much.

She was just as temperamental as I was and left me exasperated most of the time with her demands of attention. But I loved her enough to fulfill all her demands and on time. She was simple, without any frills and looked younger than her age and we both shared so many special moments, bad and good together. Whether it was pouring rain and thunderstorm, tyre-deep water, blinding fog, scorching sun, balmy afternoons, or a blue sky with woolly cotton clouds. Whether I was happy, sad, melancholy, angry or just plain bored….she could sense my mood and play along. We would listen to music together driving slowly or just look at the scarlet sunset while I cried my heart out over some long lost memories. I could take my frustrations out after work and she would listen. She never left me stranded in dangerous places neither did I ever leave her unguarded or with strange people.

The last day, I walked with her new owner from the bank to the place where she was parked. Throughout that time, I explained to him all that I used to do for her and what she required. When I finally handed over my keys to the new owner without meeting his eyes, he said “My god….you are really attached to your car.” That did it. I turned away without even glancing back at my car. It was all I could do to stop myself from bawling uncontrollably right there in the middle of CP.

So, it’s not just about the ‘man’ and his machine. There is something indefinably special about the love we have for our machines. Wish we could say the same for all our other relations.

Decoding the future:

It all started off with an argument with A about the motormen going on strike and leaving people stranded. She was livid at the way they just stopped the trains mid track and people had to spend the night on the platform. I, for once sided with the motormen. In a country where mere notice or petitions does not work, what else can you do to make your needs felt? I don’t believe we are a poor nation at all. It’s flush with money as all of us have seen during the IPL fiasco. Plus the fact that (as a colleague once told me), if you put all the monies collected by our politicians since independence in Swiss banks, the country’s debt can be paid 13 times over!

But after I got angry and put the phone down on her, my head started to spin….with thoughts which got morbid by the minute. Exactly where are we heading? Me, others, the society, country as a whole and even Earth? How did we land up in such a terrible mess?
Each of us is living vicariously, for the moment and only for ourselves. Collecting and hoarding mindlessly. There might be 210 friends on your facebook account but how many friends are there with whom you can just sit and not talk at all, or on whose shoulder you can lay your head and cry your heart out without feeling stupid or judged later.

Long time ago, maybe 7-8 years back, a colleague was doing a pranic healing course. She could read auras (yes, I believe in all that) and sense the strength of each chakra in a person. For fun we experimented with other colleagues. Almost everybody’s heart chakra was tiny showing how little we felt through our hearts, how closed we were. At that point, it was fun to see this and we all laughed it off. But now I believe it’s true for everybody including me. We have no heart left.

Maybe we have crossed the point from where we could have righted things and now it’s a steady downhill. Maybe only a big calamity can sweep the plate clean so that a fresh good beginning can take place.

Maybe Mumbai’s chaos is getting to me, maybe I need a break and go to the mountains.

You Know:

You know you are in Delhi – when a person you hear mumbling behind you is passing lewd comments.

You know you are in Mumbai – when a person you hear mumbling behind you (and not talking on a cell phone) is mumbling to himself about his plumbing problem or neighbor problems

You know you are aging – when your (young) colleague tells you that he has seen the ‘Inzamam rushing to the spectators with his bat raised to hit them’ on youtube…while you still remember being aghast when you had seen the incident on TV.

You know something is wrong with the system – when you see a woman police (constable?) in uniform wearing sandal and carrying a purse.

You know you might not be that bad a person – when your friend’s toddler daughter who cries at the mere sight of a stranger gives you a beatific smile and hugs you when you hold her (given the fact that you don’t like kids)

You know you are wanted and loved - when you scold a stray bitch who comes wagging her tail at you but refuses to eat the Parle Gs you force into her mouth because she only eats GoodDay (as told later by the locals there). When you tell her to go away….she meekly sits with her paw on the biscuit, looks at you and then slowly takes a bite of it.

Home Coming:

I have become a monster. Well, my sister, mother and a few close friends will tell you that I was always one. But I now have become the worst type…a cynical, cribbing and nagging type. I can only see the bad part of things. For example,

It’s a good thing that’s there’s a sabzi mandi right outside my building but all that I see especially in the mornings is how bhajiwallahs spit and then lay down the vegetables just next to it. Needless to say, I don’t buy vegetables from there. I walk to another market some 10 minutes away and buy vegetables laid out in carts which are several inches above the ground.

It’s so nice to see the ladies compartment full at 10 in the night. In fact, at certain stations there’s still a mad rush to get in and get a seat. I don’t take the first class at that hour, so a couple of days ago I got in the general ladies compartment while traveling back from Thane. As I hurried to an empty seat, another woman came and sat next to me (kindly adjust variety). I almost choked to death. Both the women sitting on both my sides were stinking of dried sweat. With so much of money flowing in this city, I wonder why people can’t buy even a cheap Rs.50 deo.

Last week, I hailed a taxi. There was a small puddle where it stopped and the driver told me “aage karta hoon, wahan kachra hain”. Considerate! At the next ‘singal’ (as they say), I saw that the driver who was chewing gutkha probably, open his side of the door and spit out. Then he proceeded to gargle some 3-4 times and spit the content out….as if the road was his own private toilet. You might think people who are a bit educated will not do any of the above. But people in my office do similar stuff in the cafeteria area. They will eat and not clean the table, they will wash their plates in the sink and leave it dirty. I keep wondering will they do the same at home.

Ok enough now. It’s a good thing I didn’t get married. I am such a serial nagger.
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It was a short mad dash to Delhi and then to Uttranchal…on work. I can’t forgive my boss for calling me back for an important meeting, cutting my visit by almost a week. But those few days in the vicinity of the mountains and the perfect spring weather of Delhi was such a welcome respite. It was clear, bright and cold with a perfect view of the snow-covered Nanda Devi. For those few days, I was totally free. I was home.

To a Brother:

I have often wondered
If you are there somewhere
If we will ever cross paths
In this life

I have often wondered
That if we do
Will you still be a brother to me
Or just another general acquaintance
Who we meet and forget

I have often wondered
If you know that I remember you
When I am happy
When I am melancholic
And when I am just me

But something tells me
That you know
You have always known

My bit on Avatar:

To come straight to the point, I loved it. Yes, the graphic, visual effects and imagination was great but that’s not the real reason why I liked it. There are 2 reasons. I am sucker for these human-like alien stories (I cried copious tears at Steven Spielberg’s ET even as an adult and loved the TV serial Roswell). I tend to get really carried away into these extraordinarily imaginative worlds and Avatar’s world was far more vivid than the others.

Second and The primary reason (which surprisingly, not many have talked about) is the way they have portrayed Nature and it’s connect with the people there. How true when S Weaver says that everything’s inter-connected in nature and that there’s an exchange of energy that happens between nature and the people there. It’s not just some figment of somebody’s imagination about Pandora and bio-chemical reactions, but true of Earth as well. It’s just that we have stopped believing in it or even recognizing it. I loved the way they showed how the Na’vi people loved and respected nature. If the theatre was empty, I would have bawled openly and loudly when they showed Earthlings blowing up the big tree….I was so engrossed in their story and their pain.

I was planning to give the movie a miss (recession still)….but now am glad I got a chance to see it (thank god for good friends!).

The long road to December:

December is a month when even nature seems to be in a holiday mood. With the sun baking the earth and then the monsoon melodrama, winter is like a balm to the tired soul. I and my friends drove down to the Konkan coast along roads lined with happy shiny trees. The grass had turned yellow but it wasn’t dry yet, the sun was golden and light on the skin and the sky, a bright blue. And then came the azure sea against the white sand. We forgot our past and future. This was it. Joy!

December seems to envelop everybody in a strange happiness. In Delhi it is the excitement of the impending cold. In Bombay, the air turns nippy and the sky shines. Then there are the festivities – of the year coming to an end. And always always a strong hope for the best ever days in the coming year.

In Jan the euphoria slowly fades and a seriousness comes back into everybody’s life. I love December. I love the cold winter month. Wish it could stay longer. It’s going to be another long wait.

Statutory Warning: (This post is highly opinionated)

I have stopped sympathizing with the ‘poor’ – the city ‘poor’ at least. Over the past few months I have been to places and interacted with their lots. Firstly I fail to understand how these people can leave the wide open space of their village to come and live in such filth. Secondly I wonder how they can be satisfied with living in such condition. You give them opportunities but they will not take it until it’s for free. They are happy where they are.

Till 15 years back, you could find many children and parents who did not believe in education. That definitely has changed….now everybody thinks education is a must which ideally sounds good. But given the quality of education that these students get, I think it was better off remaining un-educated. Literacy without real education is worse…actually I think it’s deadly. Especially in a country like ours where the politicians have ludicrous ideologies and people don’t have the capacity to think logically.

Most families of this ‘class’ still have 4 to 5 children. I have seen families who have 9 to 10 children even now. Imagine the population in the times to come.

Now combine all these 3 factors and all that I can see in the future is utter chaos.

I once read an essay by a boy of 14years from a slum community in Mumbai. The topic was simple…what you want to become when you grow up. This boy started in a sweet but predictable manner of earning more money and getting his family out of poverty. He then went on to say how his ‘desh’ was being taken over by outsiders and “mujhe desh ko azaad karna hain.” Initially I had laughed it off but speaking to others it seemed even the parents thought so. And this is just one instance.

The Great Indian Train Journey:

Bombay to Delhi:

Uncle dressed like a politician, Aunty dressed like a politician’s wife – in all white. I look at them apprehensively. After an hour or so I relax.

Well-dressed religious old man who instead of saying hello would greet everybody with ‘radhe radhe’. Was on his way to Mathura for a wedding, he informed me later.

Local ‘chalti-kya-khandala’ type of guy who showed his machismo by chewing guthka constantly. His newly wed bride was also the ‘kareena-kapoor-in-films character’ type with all the adas and jhatkas in place. Snippets of conversation caught…“tumne mujhe itna rulaya…” “akele chorh ke kahan gaye the…”

Dinner time: Religious uncle shares his parathas and acchar with everybody saying ‘Gujrati mirchi hain, bilkul teekhi nahin”.
Post dinner: He tells me the story of his two daughters and then helps me make my bed.

He shook hands with everybody before getting down at Mathura.


Delhi to Bombay:

Gabru jawan from sada Dalhi worked for a small publishing house.
Sweet married boy from ‘New Dalhi’ was from a pharma company. They hit it off in no time.

The first part of the conversation was interesting when Sweet Boy describes the relation between pharma companies and the docs or hospitals.
The second part of the conversation was even more interesting. GJ told this guy that he came to Bombay often and knew the city well. He convinced SB not to stay in an expensive place in Andheri (though his meetings were there) but to stay in a cheaper hotel near VT. Some snippets

GJ: (extremely confidently) Saari locals VT se jaati hain. Andheri adhe ghante mein pahuch jaoge.
SB: Achha? Koi problem toh nahin hoga?
GJ: Main itni baar gaya hoon, mujhe local mein koi problem nahin hua hain.
I cringe.

SB: Bombay mein yeh fast or slow trains kuch hote hain na?
GJ: Nahin, wahan lines hota hain. Ek harbour ki taraf jati hain aur doosri seedhi. Ek aur line hain…woh Marine Lines se Juhu jati hain.
SB: Aur locals mein maine first class bhi dekha hain. Woh kya hain?
GJ: First class mein sitting hota hain. General mein khade hoke jate hain.
SB: Accha, Film City kahan hain?
GJ: Andheri mein. Wahan bahut saare studio hain.
SB: Andheri side mein dekhne ke liye kya hain?
GJ: (coming straight to the point) wahan bahut saaren night clubs hain.
SB: Theek hain, mera kaam ho jaane ke baad main tumhe phone karoonga….(already become thick pals)

Dinner Time: GJ tells SB… 'Aao main tumhe pantry le jata hoon’…obviously hinting to little swigs.

I giggle when I get down at Mumbai Central. Now I’m dying to know what they did in this city.

My Truths and some Observations:

I have a strange dilemma now. I live to travel but I don’t want others to travel. Now-a-days I go to places and don’t tell people about it. Reason? I had gone to Ladakh some 6 years back when there were very few tourists and no Indians. Blown over by its beauty, I recommended it to all my friends and other strangers as well. Now look what has happened. It’s becoming a mini Manali…tourists pouring over in that ecologically fragile zone destroying it slowly. Somewhere I believe it’s my fault. So these days I keep quiet.
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I have been in a reflective mode these past few days….wondering as to where we all are headed. If wheel (I personally would add tissue papers and safety pins!) was the best thing that has happened to mankind, then I believe the www is possibly the worst. Too much info and easy access to everything leads to people not valuing anything. I mean, it does make life easier….but we did live happily before that happened, didn’t we. Technology is supposed to get you closer…that’s what all the ads say. But people, friends and families are moving away. All the magical untouched corners of the earth are getting infected with humans. Too many people are demanding too many things. In the end, it’s just you and a super busy life so that you don’t get the time to think how alienated you actually are.
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Earlier I used to love aesthetically decorated houses. Now I like houses that are a bit cluttered and filled in. They feel warm, lived in. I get better sleep in these homes than clean sanitized ones. But when I get my own home, it will be neither. I am a minimalist. I don’t buy things because I don’t really need them. Maybe that’s why I like the houses in villages. Clean, white washed, bare minimum and yet so livable. Many people find it difficult to understand given that in these over materialistic times, not wanting seems like a crime.
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I don’t know how to deal with rich people. They have a different style of talking, of doing things. They have a confidence which comes only with money. Maybe that’s why we as a nation deal with the westerners like the way we do. Maybe it’s not really about the colour of the skin but about money. I wonder if we were a rich nation, would we still be in so much awe of the white skin as we are now?

Just Another Day: Festivities

The speakers started piling up a week in advance and being tested from different angles. I cringed. It meant 9 days of loud music at prime relaxing time. From day one to day eight the same music played out on these speakers….bad garba-style remixes of old bollywood songs. People would collect slowly in drab dresses and dance about in a circle right in the middle of the road…doing the same steps every day. My extreme annoyance at the chaos did not let me understand the fact that these festivals are the only way for the basti folks to relax, enjoy and shake a leg. I waited feverishly each day with cotton in my ears for the music to stop.

On the ninth day, the music started late and went on till the wee hours of the night….the law giving them concession for a day I think. To my surprise, the whole place erupted in colours and excitement. Little kids were prancing around dressed like little fisherwomen, goddess Kali, Durga and even an angel. Girls, guys, men, women….all had come out in their best attire….bright red, pink, orange sequined saris, sequined tops with jeans, colourful kurtas. Surprisingly, none of them looked like they belonged to a basti. I mentally went through my wardrobe and realized that I do not have a single dress to rival even the drabbest one of theirs.

Suddenly the same drab music sounded full of fun and masti. And all danced with gusto….the girls with colourful dupattas (who won the best group award), the guys in t-shirts, neck-tie and a white glove, two eunuchs in jeans, a muslim guy swaying to the tune of ‘Nagin’, a man in a golden coat and a long black wig (he won the best dressed dancer award), a mother with a baby in her arms, a drunken guy who came dressed in leaves, a woman who held her sari up a little and let her hair flow down her right shoulder seductively and the organizers in yellow kurtas and turbans. Towards the end, the circle broke. The music changed to pub numbers and the whole scene turned into a veritable open-air discotheque. The girls’ group jumped with the tune, a guys’ group did hip-hop and b-boing, one of the eunuchs danced around with a group of guys and throwing her hair about….there was a strange underline of sexuality between them….something which I did not want to think about.

Naturally the girl dressed like goddess Durga won the fancy dress competition. I watched them till the time the music stopped and everybody slowly went back home. I have never seen such a harmless (saying so due to my deeply ingrained Delhi sensibilities) and fun community celebration and loved every moment of this show.

But now all I want is a quiet and peaceful place to heal my extremely painful ears.

Itchy Feet:

The washed air sparkled in the dead of night
A half moon looked at me and whispered
The melancholic wind tossed the whispered words around
And blew it on my face, unaware of my reaction
I felt the moon’s whisper rather than hear it
Somewhere the hibernating senses rustled
It crawled slowly over my skin
And settled deep in every pore

The moon spoke of a word which smelt of Freedom
Of roads that led to forever
Of frosty mountain air and simmering dessert sun
A rain soaked earth and sun-kissed empty sand
Of freshly cut grass and drying chillies
Of red roses against a white wall
A calling magpie high in the sky
A window looking over a vale
Of playful mist whirling about
A golden sun over a rolling meadow
And of a road that never arrived

The distant horizon is luring
And the feet’s begun to itch
For a journey to forever
And a road that becomes the home

Grey Areas:

M’s wife did her higher education from a university in the US. She told me about how the American economy used to promote consumerism by being in debt. ‘Credit worthiness’ is what they called it. One couldn’t get a loan until he (or she) had a good history of his credit card usage. Which meant that one was forced to do all shopping through credit cards….which in turn meant being in debt perpetually.

This just opened up the Pandora’s Box for me. I began my diatribe about how irresponsible the world power was. How it’s senseless ‘I, me & myself’ policies have ruined the world economy, ecology, climate, political ties, destroyed countries and made the whole world such an unsafe place to live in. Their bad points far out weigh the good. Why can’t everybody be more like the European countries…..culturally sound, economically stable, politically neutral and ecologically in a better situation than the rest?

I hate to admit but what M’s wife said made some sense – where else can you get that personal freedom, the basic right to life, the choices as an individual and equality among human beings which lacks in so many ways in other countries. Being a fancy free person myself, I would love to live in a country like that only for this reason.

But then even I can’t justify thinking about oneself without thinking about the rest. I, the individual, my life, my family, my caste, my religion, my state, my community, my country! Sometimes I think there should have been life in other planets, only then we could have risen above these petty issues and said my Earth.

It’s easier to follow bad examples than good and given the state of the world, I think we are way past that line where we could have pulled ourselves back to the good.
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In the last couple of months, I have realized that there is so much of goodwill that exists in the society. Everybody wants to do something, even a little, if it helps somebody else or makes the world a better place. And there are so many organizations that have been working diligently for years to make some sort of a change.

But why is it that the deeper I look, the grimmer the situation seems…be it environment, children, education, women, human rights or wildlife. Sometimes I feel that the people we want to help are so used to external support that they don’t want to get out of their situation. Or perhaps we don’t know what ultimately the cause will end up doing. There’s always this….. ‘then what?’ question that remains.

Like education for all children. Once you fulfill it, then what? Are we capable of handling giving all these educated kids a dignified life, a decent job? Chances are lots will be frustrated at the lack of it….so they will go back to doing things to get quick money.

Like community development and infrastructure in the hills. Roads bring people, development brings money. With money comes consumerism, branded clothes, tv, car, tourists. Beautiful locations see mushrooming of grotesque buildings…then there’s pressure on availability of water, pollution and the list goes on.

Seems like a vicious circle to me….with no real time solution for it.
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Near Mumbai Central, I saw a cat sleeping curled around a dog. At Nariman Point I saw 2 cats and 3 hens feeding from the same dish containing fish and rice.

Why can’t we be more like them?

Lost World:

Aankhon mein jiske koi toh khwab hain
Khush hain wohi jo thoda betaab hain
Zindagi mein koi, aarzoo kijiye
Phir Dekhiye…..

I am happy to find my perspective back….
It’s been a long journey.

Just Another Day: Train

Most of the girls have their ear-phones plugged in, with the wires disappearing inside the purse, and staring blankly ahead perhaps lost in their own thoughts or just the music.

One girl is standing and reading Sidney Sheldon’s Rage of Angels which she had picked up from a library. She’s a college student. I was in school when I had read that. Nice novel….nostalgia floods in remembering those days.

The girl next to me dials a number and starts talking to a Yogesh in the typical fashion which clients uses to screw their vendors. She didn’t care how, but she wanted her work done Now. I remember the number of times I had used that particular tone and shuddered. Poor Yogesh, his week is going to go really bad.

A woman-hawker gets up selling hairclips, rubber-bands and other stuff which she distributes amongst the passengers. The stickers sell like hot cake….most girls pick up the ones with cute little hearts in various designs and colours. Romantic fools! I look up at the second class compartment. The hawkers there had more interesting things to sell. They don't come to our section…..I wonder why.

I find a seat near a girl who’s talking seriously on the phone. I catch snippets of her conversation. “This is the last chance I’m giving you” “Listen, I have told you that I can’t do it”. There goes another love story all the way downhill. It seems to be happening way too often.

I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. A fast train rushes past….how I love that sound of speed and urgency, the sound of long journeys. Vaguely I sense a girl leaning to take her bag from the overhead rung.

Soon, the movement lulls my senses and I’m lost to the world.