Today, What are you escaping from?

I walked out of office last night at around 8:30 PM and called for a rickshaw.

“Bhai, we will have heavy traffic on the way. Today, it’s Ganesh Visarjan.”

“No problem. Have to go. Can’t help. Chalo.” I could hear painfully loud music on streets.

A few meters ahead, I saw a troupe with a Ganesh idol. It was a beautiful idol. I love the craftsmanship involved in making of these idols. Yesterday was the fifth day of Ganesh Mahotsav and in Mumbai it’s more than a festival. If I say its madness, It won’t be wrong.

But then madness about what? One case could be that these people are madly in love with this god and its time to rejoice about their love. To justify this I looked a little closer to their faces and listened carefully to sound of music. But I neither could see nor hear love. All I could find was a celebration of our escapist attitude. I felt that the dance was not for Ganesh but for them.

Ever wondered why do we have endless list of festivals in India? Can it be a reason behind us being escapists? Are we the people who need to run away into something else to suppress the boredom of routine life or to fight our sadness?

We celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi or Durga Pooja and dance to the tunes of “Bidi Jalaile jigar se piya… jigar ma badi aag hai”. We celebrate Diwali and loose ourselves in noise pollution from crackers. We celebrate Holi and cover our faces with loads of colors so that for at least one day no one can see our real faces.

I appear cynical about our festivals? Ok then. Lets check out some other mode. Say Bollywood? The biggest hits in our country are movies like Hum Apke Hain Kaun and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge and a Raincoat or Zakhm would be floored on the box office. Why? We love to watch happiness; grand, out of the world happiness. We enjoy this second hand happiness because we not only think but strongly believe that we can’t live that kind of happiness. We are genuinely sad people.

More arenas? Lets talk Cricket. We have proved ourselves as Cricket-crazy nation. The maximum watchers of this game in the world are from our country. But the best players of the world? Beyond a Sachin or Kapil Dev, no we can’t produce such people. That’s not our breed. We are the people who sit back and admire good things in life but are coward enough to try making it happen to our own life.

So the point is – we need a reason to be happy. We don’t think that our very existence in this world is a reason to happy. Our existence is so routine, so unimportant that we seek for some special occasion to be happy. And it has been routed in our society so deeply that if we find some genuinely happy person, we can go to the extent of calling him or her MAD. We need to be told by someone else that when can be happy. A Pundit says that Ganesh Chaturthi is on so and so date. We choose that as our date for happiness. A movie director decides that our country should be happy and makes an ultra stupid movie. We choose that as our medium of happiness. The match fixers decide who will play good in one particular match. We choose that as our reason for happiness.

And it’s not only that we fix our days of happiness. We also fix these days for “Cannot be Unhappy”.

I remember from my childhood days that my sister would always complain about me being sad on every Diwali. I could never understand the reason what used to happen and why. She would tell me, “Today is a day of happiness. Be happy.”

I believe that the festivals have the sole purpose of identifying an event, cause or issue. And it’s upon us how we associate with that day. So when I was told to behave in certain way on a certain day, I would always wonder how one can BE HAPPY if he is actually not feeling so, just because it’s a day that the society assumes it to be a day of happiness? Why can’t the day I choose to be happy be the day of my happiness? Why can’t all days of my life be the days of happiness?

And I still do not understand this.

The bigger pain point is – now I try to escape from the reasoning as, at times, its unavailability makes me sad and at other times, I am not too sure of its availability and authenticity. So from this context, everything that I said above remains an idea or a thought and not a logically or mathematically proved theorem. So, you can go ahead and celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi for the reason you want to. Even if the reason be an escape from something that you desperately want to.

Happy Ganesh Utsav!

रात और भोर

एक काली, स्याह रात
और एक सुनहरे भोर में,
करो अंतर, कहा उसने
मैंने पूछा -
किसी वेश्या के पल्लू
और माँ के आँचल में
कर सकते हो भेद?
तुम रात भर, मंचल कर,
काला कर मुंह उस पल्लू में,
घर लौट सकते हो सुबह
ममतामयी उस गोद में

पर कभी सोचा है,
उस अंधियारी रात को भी
हो सकता है इन्तज़ार उस भोर का?
ठीक वैसे ही
जैसे कोई वेश्या याद कर बचपन के दिन
तिलमिला जाती है माँ से मिलने को;
पर है ये उसके लिए
एक स्वप्न की बात
यूँही रात कितना भी तड़प ले,
भोर को आना है
उसके ख़त्म होने के बाद

...We live in different worlds!

I was about to miss the 7:04 PM fast local for Thane. And if had, I would have to wait for another fifteen minutes. It was 7:03:35 PM in the station clock. I ran. I had to reach the first class compartment. The train was about to catch on speed. That was when I jumped into the train, pushing behind the gentleman who was standing on the door, despite the compartment being decently vacant. I caught my breath and held my knees with both hands. When found myself relaxed a bit, I straightened myself up. In the process of moving up, my eyes met with another pair of eyes who were staring at me. Well it’s not a great idea if you are stared at by a man in a general compartment. But that was a different stare, the kind of those which we throw at people we think we know, but are not able to recollect who they really are. My eyes responded with the same stare.

It took a minute before I realized who that guy was. The ghost from my past was smiling at me. I walked up to him and asked, “Sainik School?”

And we both laughed. He offered me a seat beside.

“How come you are here in Mumbai?” I asked him.

“Am commissioned here for next two years. How about you?”

“Am working with TCS.”

“TCS?”

“Tata Consultancy Services? Haven’t you heard of it?”

He shook his head in a ‘NO’ and smiled. I smiled back. Probably this was the first time when I had introduced my company and had got such a response. But the kind of background he was from, I think that’s ok. We live in different worlds.

“So what rank you are at?”

“Caption.”

“Wooah! Congrats, boy!” I shook his hand.

“Thank you, bhaisaheb.” And it smelled like my school. As juniors, we used to address our seniors that way – Bhaisaheb.

We talked about our teachers, our friends, our school and our childhood; people, places, and lives common to us.

“So, does Singh House still win the Cross Country Race Trophy?”

“Hahaha…” He laughed out. “Well, not sure but I guess it must be. After you left, we won for the next two years. But don’t have such detailed information as I myself have not been to school after that. And moreover, the school has all new teachers. Those we knew have all retired. M.C. Pandey Sir… Joshi sir.. Takla… Varma sir… Dudhdhu sir you name it and most of them are gone.”

“Kapoor Sir?”

“Yes.”

“Ghoda Sir?”

“No, he is still there.”

“Bisht sir.”

“Gone.”

“And Geeta Mam?”

And we both looked at each other and sighed. “She is still there.” There was naughtiness in his response.

“So where are you headed towards?” I asked him.

“I am going to Mulund. Actually this is the first time I am traveling by local train. I have my own vehicle but had to offer that to brigadier who is in town today. I have to meet someone out there. The guy told me this was the fasted mode of transport.”

“Well, that’s true. This is the lifeline of Mumbai.”

“So you travel by local every day?”

“Yeah. My office is in Colaba.”

“So you must be having a pass or something. It paid Rs. 150 for my ticket. How much does it cost otherwise?”

“Well yaa I do have a quarterly pass. And it doesn’t cost more that 15 bucks for a general ticket from here to Mulund. So what work you are on here?”

“I will tell you some other time. Give me your number. I will call you and we will talk.” He looked around in calculated manner. I smelled Army in his behavior. I felt good that he was not carried by the emotions of meeting an old friend but was disciplined.

“9833…..” he keyed it in his phone and dialed. I received a call from his number. I wanted to save, but wasn’t sure what was his name and didn’t wish to let him know that I don’t remember his name, so just let it be. But sometimes, things are very obvious. He asked me, “Do you remember my name, bhaisaheb?”

“Varun, right?” And he smiled. I thanked god hundred times in that split second for saving me from the embarrassment. I had got it right.

“Varun Rathod... Am I typing your name right?” He showed me his phone. It read – ROH.

“If it is going to end with I and T, then yes.” I smiled. He remembered my name.

“It’s all fate, bhaisaheb. Had never thought I would meet you after nine years since your left school, here in Mumbai, in a local train that I had to take as a matter of chance. And on top of it, we both recognized each other. You don’t look much different.” He said, in his childlike smile.

I smiled back, “Yes. Neither do you.”

“So which station will you get down at?”

“I will get down at Ghatkopar.”

“Is Mulund far from there? I am going for the first time.”

“It being a fast train, it will stop at Mulund only, after Ghatkopar. So yours is the next stop after I go. Chal dude, my stop is arriving. Keep in touch.”

“Yaa… sure… bhaisaheb. We will meet someday. I will call you.”

“Sure.”

I went to the door. There was still some time before my stop would arrive. I looked back at him. He was sitting in attention; small hairs, hands closed. He appeared cautious and hesitant, the way we would be on our first day in school. Strange it was – A Caption from Army nervous in a civilian public transport! Well that’s how it is, I guess. We live in different worlds. If it would have been a mission of killing some terrorists, the same train would have been his easy battle field. But today, he was trying to make sense out of a civilian moment that was not his, an environment he was not accustomed of. I smiled to myself. I tried imagining him in the school days, but couldn’t.

My station had arrived. I moved a few steps back to him, and called out, “Varun, yours is the next stop.” I don’t know why, but I felt caring, as I would have towards my younger brother. Now when I think back, I know he would have managed without me telling him, but in that moment, I just wanted to make sure that he does. He was the same guy, I must have ragged and punished in the school. But that was then. Now we live in different worlds.

An exact life

“Have you had your dinner or shall I fix a plate for you?” she asked from the kitchen when he got home, opening the door with his own keys, and was on his way to his room.

“Mom, I had my dinner. And how many times do I need to tell you that you don’t have to wait for me. I get late these days and hope you will understand. These are my last few days at college. And I have to go out with friends... You know how these last few days be, right?” he replied, kissed her forehead and walked to his room without waiting for a reply to his question.

“This is not a hotel that you walk in and out anytime you wish to. And I am not your attendant but your mother! You have to give a decent attention to my existence in this house. You can’t ignore me like this,” She wanted to shout aloud but she restrained and just said “Right.”

It was thirty minutes past midnight. Her husband was not home, her daughter had called up to inform that she will not be coming tonight and her son, though returned, was not bothered to spend a minute with her. She put a plate of food for herself in the oven. She didn’t remember when was the last time she had her food with any of her family members.

For her, it had been twenty years of marriage with Shailendra Vajpai, a highly reputed businessman, who was always short of time in life. At times she used to wonder – Did he take off to produce our children for the very purpose of having children or he do under a plan to make me busy enough with them so that I don’t need him much of his time? And her children, Nilesh and Neha, too had somehow inherited from their dad the quality of being busy. She was not sure if it was the quality of being busy or the attitude of not bothering her presence around.

Sometimes it’s not about being lonely; rather it’s more a matter of being neglected, intentionally or unintentionally. “May be they are not wrong. May be it’s about their age, it’s about the way they are growing up.” She used to tell herself when her daughter would keep herself locked inside her room or would not talk to her for days except the routine discussions but be busy talking to her friends over the phone for hours. Or when her son would not be home for days and whenever be, would engage himself in some kind of sport on television or computer. About her husband? She had lost all hopes of having his attention, long time back.

“But for long someone can keep cooking food which is not being eaten? Or make calls which are not being answered? For how long?” One day she questioned this to herself, and introspected. “Do I really deserve this?”

She had forgotten when was the last time she woke up happy about being alive. She had forgotten if she had a hobby. She didn’t know if she enjoyed watching television or cooking or dancing or singing. She didn’t know what kind of person she was and what kind of person she had become. In the crowd that she wanted to live in, she had lost her own self. So she decided one evening over the cup of lonely tea that she had to move on. She packed her a small bag of most essential things that she thought she would need. And sat on the desk to write a note –

My dear family,

Yes. You all are very dear to me. I have spent my twenty years to develop a life around you all. And I must say it is not wasted. I say it is not wasted because I find I have a few learning from it. The most important one is – never to waste any moment of your life on waiting for others.

I am sorry, if it sounds as if I am regretting my moments of wait for you all. I don’t mean it that way. I don’t know if you all are nice people for the simple reason that I don’t know you all enough to make an opinion on your type, but I am sure you people have been good teachers to me; my teachers for the subject called life. In fact, when I look back those were some beautiful moments. I grew up in those moments; I became more patient with you and with my own self. I would, probably, have never appreciated the beauty of the vase on the dinner table as well as I do now, if I had not to wait there for you all. It was wasteful from the food’s point of view to cook your food which was not to be eaten but it was a lesson as I bettered my cooking skills, by every meal I cooked. I am sure that almost all the shopping I did for you, none was worth your consideration, but I learnt a lot about the kinds of clothing materials, different brands and the sense of fashion.

However I think I have learnt enough; enough for this life, from what all the domesticity of this house could teach me. And I thank you all for the same.

Now, I need to move out. I don’t know to where and for what. But I guess I will figure out on the way.

And on the same way, I will miss you; if I choose to live. Though they will be called good habits but I will not enjoy cooking the exact amount of food that I would require. I will miss throwing food down into the dustbin. I will miss going back to shopping center and exchanging the dress I bought for you all for curtains, bed sheets and towels.

Life would definitely not be the same but that is what I want it to be – Not same at all. Not for the reason that I don’t like what it was but simply for the reason that I want it to be what it is. When I was here, I was alone but it didn’t appear to me that way and I would spend my days to prove what it appeared. Now I want to spend my life for what it actually is; with no pretense, no regret and no remorse. ‘Lonely’ in the sense that it is; exactly and completely.

With love,
Ashmita

Before leaving the place she called home before this very moment, she folded the paper carefully; ensuring that her signature was visible, though she wasn’t sure if that meant anything to anybody. After all, when she didn’t mean much in person, what value would she hold in her name? By the way, her anonymity in her own stories was so profound that, while narrating her, I forgot to tell you all her name. She was named Ashmita. It’s a different story that not many people knew it.