Strangers on a Bus.....

Yeah, so where was I, yes I was talking about this random person who had been sending me random messages, in case u don’t remember or what is more likely, haven’t read, refer back to ‘tharki and proud’, though I would strongly suggest doing something meaningful with your life, instead of wasting it reading this stupid blog. So a couple of days back I receive this message, by far one of the lamest one of the lot till then, but it strangely made a lot of sense. I was reminded of my last night in Bangalore. I had been travelling quite a bit during the vacation, a couple of days in Hyderabad, a couple in Bhubaneshwar( dads posted here, I feel sorry for him), a couple in Delhi, and a month in Bangalore. My ‘friends’, who were supposed to work with me in Bangalore unceremoniously ditched me, so I was kindof all alone. I used to leave for my lawyers chamber at around 8 in the morning, get back usually at around 9 30 at night, Saturday Sundays were off, which I spent comatose on my bed or drunk at Pecos. Wasn’t as bad as it sounds, there wasn’t much work, as any fellow 2nd year law intern would know. And at the end of the day it helped me kill time, and time I had plenty.
Strangers in a strange place make great friends, as I was soon to find out. On my way back from the chamber one day I bumped into this chap, who seeing my plight with bus routes, took pity and decided to intervene. He gave me a list of buses that I could take to my requisite terminus, from where I had to board another bus; turns out we took the same bus route. I bumped into him a couple of more times, and our circumstances acted as a catalyst, I overlooked the fact that he was a Delhite, and that he cracked lawyer liar jokes and we ended up being pretty good friends, over the course of four five such bus rides. His name was Tarik Feroz, he was from Noida, was a software engineer, who was presently looking for a job that would pay. From the looks of it he came from a very humble background. He was paying a firm to let him work there, in lieu of a certificate that would show his work experience to be a year while it was actually say 6 months, and maybe a job if they like his work. He had to get to office by 8 30, work till 9 at night on most days, the few days he got let off early he bumped into me. He works weekends, gets one sick leave and one casual leave every month, which he never took, for he wanted them to accumulate, for a trip home, and look for a job there. We sometimes take it for granted how privileged we are. Well I had the good fortune to bump into him on my last day at work. I had gotten kind of late; saying goodbye can be a rather long process. He was ending his shift a bit after 9 as usual. He seemed a bit disheartened at the news of my departure, as if he looked forward to our fortuitous bus stop encounters as much as I did. By the time his stop arrived it had gotten pretty late, but he didn’t get off and we kept on talking, quite a few stops afterwards, he looked at his watch and said, “ab chalta hu bhai, iske baad adha ghante se uper chalne mei lag jayega.”(I have gotta go now brother, any further and it will take me over half an hour to walk back.) I knew he wouldn’t get a bus back that late, I am certain he knew that too. Some how those few stops he lingered on for was one of the most touching gestures I have ever been subject to. People I have know for years now, people for whom I have done everything possible, reasonably and unreasonably, wouldn’t have done as much. No wonder the random message made so much sense. “Never get tired of doing little things for others, bcoz sumtimes those little things of urs may occupy the biggest part in their heart.”

Under the bridge.....

If I were to be asked what it is, that I love about dear old Cal, the yellow Cabs, the red slogans and flags, the red minibuses, the tana/hand pulled rickshaw that border on human rights violation, the people, the smell of ‘bhar eh cha’ and coal on balmy winter mornings, which seems to reverberate throughout the city, amongst a motley of other smells, so unique, that you could call it the smell of the city itself, the sinking feeling I get while crossing the Howrah bridge to the station, and the inexplicable bliss I experience while doing the same on the way back, the maze of familiar streets I can call home, the maze of familiar streets where I can relive memories of moments long lost, the longing I feel for all of this while I am away, would have been amongst the many things I might have said, if only I had been articulate enough. Two days back I realized that there is one other thing I need to add to this not so exhaustive list; ‘bandh’, ‘strike’ or ‘chakka bandh’, call it whatever you choose to, love it or hate it, we will still have one every second week or so for no apparent rhyme or reason(we have had two so far this week itself), apart from maybe an extended weekend, which some of us would use to slip a holiday to say Puri or Raichack maybe; that is, if you are lucky enough to get yourself a reservation somewhere in the ephemeral ‘holiday season’.

But then if the whole point of your holiday is a change in surroundings, I suggest staying put in cal is the best thing to do. Why go to a new surrounding if it comes to you? Try taking a walk down the lanes, and it’s almost as if you have been transported to a surreal ghost town, not many places today where you can feel you are all alone in this world, well India’s most densely populated city doesn’t seem to disappoint on that count!!

A word of caution, if it’s a TMC called band, try avoiding the Rashbehari stretch, where didi reigns supreme, and needless to say wearing anything red would be as prudent as a black man walking into a Ku Klux Clan meeting.

Another thing, the song under the bridge,RHCP, though written about San Francisco, somehow seems to suit cal just as well.

THARKI AND PROUD !!

for the last few days, weeks actually, i have been getting random messages, of little or no significance (useless fwds generally), from an unknown number, but somehow my curiosity has not yet managed to get the best of my stoic laziness, which refuses to budge, and if ever my laziness has shown any signs of waning, my non existent phone balance has come to the rescue. Happens to the best of us I guess. Plus there is this other thing about knowing and not knowing. You see, as long as I don’t know who this person is, somebody as tharki (see NB 1) as I am, will by default assume that it is a girl at the other end. The ‘fact’ that there are now two women who have something to do with my phone, in whatever capacity, is somehow strangely comforting (of course, my mom is included). I guess whoever said that ignorance is bliss, must have had his own good reason for it. Well, now I have mine.

NB – 1) tharki (adjective) – Hindi slang, which means being horny and desperate. For example – “I am tharki and proud”. :)

2) this post doesn’t end here, I completely digressed from what I actually wanted to mention, which was kindof deep !!, never mind, will put it up in the nxt one, don’t feel like it right now, stoic laziness is a medical condition in my case.

3) dear reader, if your number is 9230839048, and you are not a girl, pls do not intimate me on the same. thank you.