The question tonight - To write or to not write?
Given the remnants of the day that never was and the elements of the night that is still young, I choose and dare to write, to write and to absolutely write.
Having wasted a day in office, I was sure of doing the crazy thing. I mean the crazy thing. No I didn’t run nude, I didn’t woo a girl, I didn’t scream in the middle of the road and neither did I swim alone in a river. Instead I chose to speak less, see more; eventually all the love and hatred around the world turned into metaphors.
Since I had made up my mind to see more, observation had already started seducing me. I chose to walk the entire stretch between my office and home in exile i.e., Pune. The journey lasted for 58 minutes and the observations were truly noteworthy.
So here they are, scoops between woops from my philosophical take - to speak less, see more.
As has become the tradition for the last 45 days, most of us try to avoid the ‘Torture Fluid’ served to us during our office hours. Torture Fluid is the alternative name, I thought of christening our office tea with. Recently we have started dreading it being served in equally dreadful cups. To skip the two time serving of Torture Fluid, we zeroed in on our neighborhood tea stall Lokesh Tea Centre to get our everyday dosage of real tea; served in plastic cups and well-washed glasses. At around 19:05 hours that I ordered for my cup of tea, my eyes fell on an aged man, who seems to be the regular bread supplier to this tea stall. He wore a cap, very typical of the Muslim sect, was dressed in pure white clothes and complemented by an equally white beard. He sat there, eyes closed and his head rested against the wall, which had two contrasting elements to spark a debate between our country being tolerant and intolerant. the wall held the image of an Indian Goddess and a huge Aum being labelled on the wall. At this juncture, I asked myself, who is winning and who is losing? Pat came the reply from within - None. We are all humans, divided not by faith, religion, caste, community, colour, sexuality or creed; but by political vendettas and sick fanatic minds.
My journey had made a good head-start, my feet started moving faster to come across these two kids. They were from the nearby slums. They sat near the feet of their parents, who were badly drunk. Both kids chose to ignore them and seemed to get busy with their cups of tea. The sight of them drinking and enjoying the tea, till the last drop to wet their throats made me feel content; they fueled my inspiration, motivated my thought process and I continued to walk.
The Indian Railways having completed 150+ years and having made Palace on Wheels a famous brand identity served as another inspiration today. Pune being a biker’s paradise and a car owner's nightmare, half of the romance takes place over the seat of two wheelers. I therefore wish to tag this part of my observation as LOVE ON WHEELS. The women, dressed as terrorists will never be recognised; no matter with whom they are tom-toming with. The men, dressed as humans exude the pride of being with someone. So I came across this couple wherein the guy insisted that the girl sit more closer and hold him tight, while not in motion, so that he could feel her; the closer she is, the better hot and 'set-to-go-wet' he is! The girl instantly agreed. In those 5 minutes that I slackened my pace, I feared that they might famously spark a new trend of Oral and Audible Kama Sutra; now playing on a road near you!
All said and done, as I moved, I found myself standing near a signal. Even before it could grow green, the select few daredevils of Pune accelerated the speed of their bikes. A middle aged man, who passed across me, chose to hurl an abuse at me for being fearless and careless. My crime - I was readying to cross the road because I thought the signal was red. His words - Back off you asshole, is this your dad’s street? My words - Apologies you asshole (The last red-lettered word faded out in multiple honks).
I pride myself of being an iPhone owner. As I came across a fruit vendor, I spotted something interesting. I pulled the iPhone out to click a picture and found the screen idle and hung; destiny and its ugly games, I said. I tried sliding the locked screen; but to no avail. I hoped, I wished someone called. In some previous instances, a call helped unlock the screen. But this time, lady luck had ditched me. I kept walking; now not at a slackened pace, but furiously.
My next stop; Sanjog Pure Veg Restaurant in Mahesh Society, Pune. I placed the order for a plate of eggplant and four thin, oil-free chapatis. At the same time, I used the hotel owner’s phone to call on my number and see my iPhone jump back to life. Just then three college goers entered the restaurant and occupied the table, which was closer to mine. Their conversation; the first girl spoke - In today’s changing times, parents are fine with us wanting to move around with our boyfriends. Girl two spoke - I am worried about my weight. The guy between these two girls - Don’t worry, I told my friends, you are a sexy b@#@# or whatever, whatever. Girl one spoke again - Don’t mind, but your weight makes you really look big and let me say...no, maybe next time. Guy between the girls - I bet you will love me. Girl two - My parents are really concerned about my weight. Guy between the girls - So what should we order then? Diet Coke! Girl two - Have you gone mad? Please order for Pav Bhaaji with cheese over it and yes, the Pav should have extra butter in it. Girl one again - But look at your weight? Girl two - Do you think my breasts look bigger than normal. Guy between girls - Ahh, I need to use the loo. See you shortly!
I was nearing the end of my dinner, a mother-daughter duo walked in. The girl sported a wicked smile. The duo positioned themselves, not very far from the table that I was seated at. The girl’s eyes moved to and fro between me and her mother. Since I had asked the waiter to bring the bill, I walked towards the basin, washed my hand and made it back to the table to pay. I must say, I was lucky to have eavesdropped. I heard the mother say, “Once upon a time, your father too sported a handle mustache and I am surprised to see a modern guy sport it today.” The daughter wasted no time to add, “You know mamma, I think he is a pucca Bengali, his kurta is batik, his hair oiled and combed… there, there look at his Jhola, definitely communist.” I paid the bill, smiled over the conversation, walked out of the restaurant and pulled out my phone (let me repeat, I pulled out my iPhone) to speak to my mom. After the conversation got over and my mom blessed me, I turned to walk a little ahead to my home. The same girl of the mother-daughter duo walked out of the restaurant to fetch something from her black colored Honda Activa parked closeby. I had taken my first step and I heard someone call out to me in a soft voice, “Excuse me”. I turned my gaze and saw the same girl actually calling out to me. In a curious tone, I inquired, “Yes?” Excited and apprehensive, she spoke, “If you don’t mind, may I ask you a question” I replied, “Go ahead”. The girl spoke again, “You are a Bengali na and this kurta, this Batik kurta of yours is from Kolkata, right” I concluded, “Yes, you are”. Hardly 90 seconds into the conversation, the mother emerged and before we can reach any conclusion, the daughter yelled, “Look mom, I told you, the Batik kurta is from Kolkata.” So what was the point of this conversation? The Batik kurta is from Kolkata. I bet, it is!
As I look back at my entire day of events, barring the asshole-minded, no do-gooders in the office (except our team of writers); the evening fared better. And I think, I earned some brownie points by reimposing the thought of L.O.L - Listen Observe Learn.
To sum it up - Speak Less, See More; Everything Else is a METAPHOR.
-vociferous
