A Small World

As I boarded route No. 85 from my house to go to Mandi House (where Doordarshan, India's national broadcaster's headquarters are located) and then on to my ex-employer's office in Patel Nagar by Métro, I settled in a shabby looking seat in the third row from the front. I purchased a ticket for Barakhamba Road from where I would get a Metro to my destination. A near two or three stops later I was deep in my thoughts, as I always am when I take public transport, they always give you a sense of loneliness which in the midst of the most pathetic rush. You just have to purchase a ticket and you are left alone with your thoughts (though not always with your wallet). Still in thoughts I observe the doorway. A clean looking gentleman with a tidy pair of blazer and trousers rise up from the staircase of the doorway. He makes his way towards me and before I could observe his face clearly he comes and sits by me. I move, towards the window, I do not want him to feel unwelcome. He is at odds with the majority of gentry which uses public transport in Delhi. He is well groomed, middle aged and most importantly he's with a hard covered book. Had he been with a moustache and a pipe I could have easily mistook him for military colonel. I try to glance at the cover while trying my best not to make him conscious. He was reading English Cricket Collections while in the middle pages of the book. As time passed my curiosity increased. Why would a gentleman from a well to do family take the shabby public transport? If he can afford a tidy blazer, trousers and a hard cover book he must have a car too? Sitting adjacent I even had trouble seeing his face, but he was cleanly shaved and wore a pair of three piece glasses. While I was thinking the bus took a right turn. Any one who has even once traveled in Delhi's buses knows that they are nothing less that a roller coaster ride. The gentleman grabbed the next seat's handle to remain intact in his space least he could fall down on the aisle. The hand therefore remained there permanently, for he knew he'll have to use it more frequently from now on. By now I had almost lost my curiosity just when I realized that his watch with the white dial had The Hindu written on it. "Does he work for The Hindu?”I asked myself. No, but it could also be a gift or a prize he could have won from the newspaper, the 'other' inside me shrugged. But then he is also reading...that too in a bus, is there a connection? I tried to ask but I was inhibited. I started to look through the grainy glass window of my seat. Few moments passed and the spark of curiosity had grown much stronger this time. But I was still inhibited. Even if he does works in the Hindu and I do ask him the question, what if he just answers me with a "hmmm" and keeps reading his book. I shall be so ashamed of myself; I can't even induce a person into a conversation. I was down and out again. The outer world again seemed better than a failed conversation. Moments passed and I did nothing. After a while I glanced at his watch again and asked "Sir, do you work with the Hindu?". "Huh", the gentleman replied. "Do you work for the Hindu, Sir?". "Yes", he said while looking perplexed. “How he knows that by the book I'm reading”, he must have thought to himself. I gave an obvious glance towards his watch. "Oh, yes, I work with The Hindu", he repeated, this time with a sign of relief and an obvious smile. "Why are you a journalist too?", he asked. "Not right now, Sir but I studied journalism.", I replied.
- "From Where?
-"From University of Poona, Sir"
-"Ooooo"
-" And are you working here now?"
-"Not at the moment Sir, but I did earlier"
-"Which section do you work for?", I asked after a brief pause.
"I work in the sports section", he replied. I greeted him with an obvious smile while looking at his book. In the mean while, the driver did what Delhi's drivers are best at doing- overtaking. "What the hell is he doing? How is he driving?", the gentleman said in disgust. "Look how he overtook the other bus and stopped right in front of his face." I was not really interested to talk about how big of a maniacs Delhi's bus drivers are with a guy from Hindu. I was greedy, I wanted to know more about the newspaper. "Though it's not the first newspaper the masses pick up but I'm regular reader of you newspaper", I said trying to augment the conversation. "I find Hindu's editorials quite interesting", I said out of common perception of his newspaper rather than my own intellectual gauging of the same. He nodded in style. "It caters to a certain class", I continued. For a while we talked about common perceptions of some of India's prominent daily newspapers. But the driver was not far from our conversation, he applied the brakes, to the bus and to our stream of conversation too. "The Government is replacing this fleet of 'Dabbas' in a few years; all this will be replaced by high capacity buses in 2 years, before the common wealth games. We can't get these goons drive our public transport, who knows he might even have a criminal record", he fumed. I was curious if he was from Delhi so I asked him for how long has he worked for the Hindu? "Oh! it's been 22 years now", he said with a sense of nostalgia... I lost all my desire to ask him if he's from Delhi or not. Later on the topic moved to anything from location of Hindu's office to how they recruit people. "All the newspapers have their own schools these days, the Times has Times school of journalism in Delhi, the Hindu has Asian School of journalism in Chennai and so on... that is where they recruit the new entrants from. Even India Today is coming with a Tabloid now, you must apply for that".
-"I will, Sir, but does the Hindu takes interns or recruits from outside?", I asked
-"Yes sure, you can always send in your résumé to the editor."
My stop was near now, but I was not done with my interview session. Should or shouldn't I ask for his contact address. I was gripped in a state of confusion. After all how much should a veteran like him trust a guy he has just met in a 16 km bus journey? I took out cell phone in order to find a way to ask his e-mail address but I was too hesitant. I didn't had much time, my stop was now a minute away.
-"Sir can I have your e-mail address please?", I asked in an utter dilemma.
"Oh sure...but wait... I'll rather give you my card. Here is my e-mail and my cell phone number, both." he said, offering his card.
I was flabbergasted, but I didn't had much time to react, "Nice meeting you Sir but my stop is here, I must go..." I said in a haste and whisked off.

Sehma Sehma, Dara Sa Rehta Hai,
Jaane Kyun Dil Bara Sa Rehta Hai,
Ek Baar Dekh Loon To Uthta Hoon,
Jal Gaya Sabb, Zara Sa Rehta Hai...

- Gulzar

Poona: Day 1 and 2

As I arrived on Platform number 7 of New Delhi Railway Station a chilly stroke of breeze greeted me. It was cold and I was wearing only one jacket. I had anticipated that Poona won't be "that" cold. Mum pulled me to the other side, on Platform Number 8 a much sunnier side where Jhelum Express would arrive, albeit hour an hour late from Jammu.
While still on the station Mum introduced me to my female neighbour for the next 27 hours. She's going to Poona too. I shruged her for making aqutainces with little or unknown people, she shrugs me - uuhhhhhh. The train starts, Mom's eyes becomes wet, I almost kiss her ear and a goodbye to Dad. Not that this was the first journey I had taken to Poona but the difference with this one was that I was returing very soon. Spending a few sleepy hours on the upper birth I was told to vacate for the original occupant. I came down. It was almost dark outside. I tried to be quiet but end up asking the "female neighbour" if she's from Poona. "No" she said. "I'm doing my Masters in Sociology from University of Poona". It came as a little delight, atleast I can trust a University of Poona student wouldn't be as dumb or rather parocial. The Lady turned out to be from Assam. She had studied Sociology from Miranda House of Delhi University. And well the best part she's very intelligent and courteous. For the most part we were talking. The Lady had worked in a centre serving retarted youth. Our talks ranged from the attitude of Maharashtrians towards North Indians to the attitudes of Delhites towards North-Easterners. Though Assamese, she looked hardly like one. The remaining Indians recognise North-Easterners by their "chinck" features, a rather pejorative term. The hostility from both the sides towards the other is therefore understandable. The North-Easterners look at Delhiites with accusations of Masuline Libido and Barbarianism or the treating them as Foreigners (which is true). The only way I could make out she was Assamese was her hindi pronunciations.
Within an hour we were "friendly". I offered Lays which she scrupulously accepted. I suggested her some places to visit in and around Poona and also the Tekdi (a small hill from where you get a bird's eye view of the city) unknown to many outsiders. She confessed that studies occupies most of her time and she doesn't have a vehicle (a must in Poona). The journey seemed easier with a person you could relate to. 27 hours this time didn't seem that long as my previous journeys, some even with my classmates.

Somewhere in North Maharastra, I always observe this "hill". It stands amongst all the plain surrounding it

The morning got us bitter omellette with hard slices of bread with a hint of butter. Soon arrived Daund, a small junction. It's only an hour from here. The train will now start to run in the opposite direction.

One hour to Go...

Time to part with the lady. She greeted me with a cheerful smile and bid adios. Somehow I have always liked longer train journeys rather than the shorter but uneasier flights I have taken. The hours I spend in a train almost gives me a feeling of "home". I sleep, I eat, I drink and I even make "relationships" if not friends. And they are an experience in itself. A feeling of having achieved or have arrived somewhere after hours of hardship (or maybe not).
Outside the Railways Station, I looked for the Bus Stand. I has moved. I take an Auto and reach Saket's house and get fresh, excited to meet friends I have had some of my life's best laughs with.
I meet Paul and Ruju in the Department. They have arrived on the 4th after 5 days of partying in Goa. Later it's Roopali time. One of Poona's landmark reaturant. I drool over Rava Masala Dosa which I have longed for 4 months to have. I laugh as much as I have not for 4 months. Smiles are apparently all around...
After our rendevous, I walk with Manasi towards Ranade. She asks me if I still miss Poona. I tell her that the transition period is over. But its a strange feeling, I've never felt as happy as I have in Poona, but when I'm here I think about Delhi, the people I know there, what they might be doing, the events I'm missing, and when I'm there I think about Poona and the people and events goin on here, it's the existence of parallel cities that exist only in the mind. A term I read on a blog.

Later I went around FC Road where I mourned the death of Barista. It was a beautiful cafe with some open area for smokers and those who want to enjoy the fresh (?) air. My memories of this cafe gripped me. I have seen some of the most gorgeous people sipping coffee in this cafe. One was Anna, a spanish teacher who used to sit her for a fag with her notebook trying to learn Hindi letters. Then there was Alice, Anna's French friend, also a teacher at the Foreign languages department who left unscrupulously after a tiff with the department, it was splashed all over the newspapaers. Then there were usual smokers, young boys and girls some perhaps even tried smoking for the first time. Also, there were the regs and the not so regs visiting this part of the city. While coming to Ranade today I spotted the same Barista board on a new, still to be open mall exactly opposite my department... but I wonder if it will be the same... my guess is rather negative...

(Happy?) New Year

Happy New Year to all those reading this. I hope you had a wonderful start to the New Year. To know how I celebrated by (Happy) New Year read on...

• 9:00 PM : Thinks I'll celebrate the new year in the quilt with family.
  
• 9:25 PM : Calls Kunal to know what he's up to.
  
• 9:30 PM : Kunal invites me to Charcoal at Metropolitain Mall, Gurgaon. Mom objects. Almost fight to go out. It's late and foggy
  
• 9:45 PM : Leave for Kunal's house by car. Low visibility.
  
• 10:00 PM : Gets a call from Kunal, now going straight to Gurgaon.
  
• 10:20 PM : Enter National Highway No. 8, traffic jam with drunk guys drinking around. Visibilty 10 Meters.


• 10:45 : Stuck in the traffic jam, 5 drunk guys ram their car's door into mine. Ask them to be careful, they apologize. Visibility : Not known: Surrounded by cars all around.
• 11:00 PM : Still stuck in the jam, have no clue of my where abouts. Visibility : Fog sheds a little.


• 11:15 PM : Jam opens, I speed up and pray to reach before 12. Visibility : 5 Meters


• 11: 30 PM : Lost my way on the highway, think I've gone further than where I was supposed to take the turn. Not a soul in sight to ask for directions. Visibility :3 Meters


• 11:40 PM : Ask a fellow motorist for directions, he says I've come ahead of the turn, I need to go back 3 kilometers. Visibility: 3 meters


• 11: 45 PM : Finds a U-Turn, come back 3 kilometers, takes a U-turn again, ask for directions. The turn is 3 kilometers ahead. Visilbility: 0


• 11:55 PM : Turn found, huge traffic jam before the mall, drunk jatts from Haryana dancing in the middle of the road to blaring car stereos.


• 12:00 Midnight : Celebrate the new year stuck in the jam. Calls up home telling Mom I'm in the middle of a fabulous party.


• 12:05 AM : Found the car parking. The area is illuminated with white light on the fog.


• 12.10 AM : Outside Metropolitian Mall : Mall closed. No entry unless somebody from inside comes to take me. Calling Kunal, Cellphone network dead.


• 12. 15 AM : Ask a gentleman if I may use his cellphone to call Kunal.


• 12:20 AM : Kunal arrives, takes me Charcoal.


• 12: 25 AM : Drunk guys dancing like maniacs. Some sleeping on the sides.
  
• 12:45 AM : Cops arrives, asks the owner to close the club as its well past the usual closing time.
  
• 01:00 AM : Kunal and I go to McDonalds to eat.
  
• 01:30 AM : Lost our way to Vasant Kunj, I realised I drove half a kilometer in the wrong lane. (Why are they all coming towards me? I asked myself)
  
• 02:00 AM : Reach Kunal's home. Played Bussiness world for 2 hours along with some Vodka and stale McDonalds burger and fries...

Moral of the Story: MOM IS ALWAYS RIGHT.

...and this is how it looked at 12 noon the next day...

While at Lodhi road I saw a lil traffic jam... going further inside the Sai Baba's Mandir I found this...

Well I've always argued that Delhi USP doesn't lies in its expensive resturants but rather in the street food, I stopped by one to have some... The thing being fried is Kulchas and and the balls are called "Laddos" made out of fermented lentil floor and served with spicy mint chutney and grated reddish.