This is such a big world; and it is filled with so many people. Every time I travel, I get sucked into a timeless whirlpool of passing images and thoughts. I see so many people of different shapes and sorts that I am dazed in awe and confusion. The sights that unravel themselves when you travel as much as I do, are simply mind-boggling.
I have just reached the end of one such journey, and at the onset, I would like to warn you that this is my journal of sorts and you might not be very much interested in reading it. If that be the case, you might as well discontinue doing it. I have always believed in doing what I am most interested in, and not doing things that fail to attract me. And I encourage you to do the same.
On the 10th of december, 2005, I had set my faithful alarm clock to wake me up at exactly 4:30 AM. The purpose was to not be late for my 7:00 AM train. But overambitious as I was, I failed to remember my initial aim when the alarm set off at the appointed time. It was only at 6 in the morning that I awoke to the persistent ringing of my cell phone. It was the taxi driver whom I had hired the previous day in order to take me to the railway station. He dutifully mentioned that he had already been there for about half an hour and I had to hurry, not so much for the possibility that I might be late as for the fact that I was being charged extra for the waiting he had to do. I packed up rapidly and reported to him within fifteen minutes. And then, the journey began.
My taxi driver was a young, jovial fellow. Most taxi drivers are jovial. I wonder why auto drivers are not the same. They always seem to hold an eternal grudge against passengers, no matter how much you pay them. Life would have been so much more pleasant if we could smile more often than frown all the time. I was glad I was with this taxi guy. I apologized profusely for my being late. He smiled at me started the ignition saying, "Young hostel people.. not getting up early... I always wake them up.. no problem saar."
From the religious artefacts in the car and the cross that was dangling from his neck, I gathered that he was a christian. Not that I cared, but I always end up noticing things that are right in front of my nose. I guess everyone does.
"Too much rain, boss.. I was worried you would not come."
Chennai, of late, has seen a lot of rain_ more than it can handle.
"Yes, saar!! Previous years, we say, 'Rain not coming, we want rain'. Now people saying, 'too much rain'."
Indeed, it was getting tiresome to begin the days under the gloomy shadow of the clouds. Everyone wanted the sun now. It is ironic, because these were the same people who used to curse the sun for being so hot. No wonder, it is said, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"Traffic less saar, morning time... we get there on time"
True enough, we reached the station within twenty minutes. Of course, like most taxi drivers, he drove like a madman to accomplish that. But since I was safe and on time, I thanked him and then paid him. He went off in a hurry. I guess they always have to be going somewhere or the other and so, they have to hurry. Time is of the essence. Time is money. And money seems to be everything nowadays. Everything.
The station was quite crowded for a cold, lazy, winter morning. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere and they definitely looked like they were almost late, like me. But thanks to the my man, I was not late.
I trudged along the platform slowly, shooting a glance or two at some of the better looking faces in the crowd. Chennai is not the place where you would enjoy looking for pretty faces in common places; mainly because there aren't any in such places. But in the station where people from the other states turn up, you will definitely come across one or two nice looking northie babes. In my case, I was travelling by a train where all the best north-eastern chicks are found. So it was a kind of an early morning fiesta for my starved eyes. Chink babes have damn fair skin. They are mostly in jeans or trousers and they look hot. I haven't seen too many of them with much make-up. Maybe because they don't need any. They are born beautiful.
But, hey, don't get into thinking that I was all drooling and going bonkers over a bunch of girls. That's not my style. I seriously believe that most of these girls are beautiful, but only from a distance. The moment they open up for a conversation, the beauty disappears. I wish God had given them the brains that go to making an intelligent conversation. I am not saying that they don't have brains. They do have loads of it inside that small skull and layers of soft, fair skin and flesh. Its just that the stock is not used for entertaining guys like me with a mentally stimulating exchange. There are exceptions, but that's only a pathetic few. But then again, there are only as many dumb girls in this world as there are dopey guys.
Grabbing a coffee from a nearby stall, I boarded the train. My co-passengers were already there. I placed my luggage in a suitable corner and took my seat next to a Tam guy who was already there. I knew he was Tam because, while I was placing my luggage, I overheard him saying a few words over the phone like, "Sollu".. "Sare".."enna". From my extremely limited Tam vocabulary, I figured that he must be either a tam or a mallu. But mallus have a very accented way of speaking. They kinda, roll their tongue or something when they speak. So, I guessed that he was a tam. The guy sitting opposite to him started speaking to him as soon as he had disconnected. So the other guy must also have been a tam. As I found out later, both my guesses were correct.
There was a girl sitting opposite to me. She must not have been more than about fifteen. She was wearing dark sunglasses. I thought she must have had an operation or something. I kinda felt sorry for her. People all over the world undergo so much pain and suffering that it becomes painful for even those who are not actually in pain_ peaceful, painless, jobless bastards like me.
She was with her father or something. I never bothered to ask. I am a man who likes to be left alone. Rowdy, nosey perverts poking their heads into my room too frequently, are a pain in the ass. If I were in place of Alexander Selkirk, I would have been happy.
"I am the monarch of all I survey,
My right here is none to dispute;
From the centre all around to the sea,
I am the lord of fowl and brute."
That was by William Cowper, just in case you thought a hare-brained person like me could come up with such nice rhyming poetry. The first four lines are my favourite. The rest of it is all crap about how solitude seems charming initially, but becomes horrible in stark reality. I'd say, it is way better to be alone than to be in the company of rowdy, boorish, fake, superficial, envious, chaos loving and flesh eating hypocrites. Therefore, I don't talk much to people I don't know much about. Making new acquaintances was the last thing I had on my mind.
I did not even think of making myself known to an Assamese family that was sitting close by. I am from Assam, but I do not much like our people. Not that I hate them, but it is certainly not pleasant to be talking to most of them. Most of my people seem very sweet on the outside. But the truth is that most of them are sycophants. Knowing the truth about them, I could not let myself get into an dull exchange of fake pleasantries with them. Of course, there are good apples in every barrel, just as there are the rotten ones. So, I did not hate them at all. I just stayed aloof just in case, the apples there were rotten.
Trains bound for Assam inevitably start late. They always have inexplicable delays. Some people are pretty good in explaining the inexplicable. For instance there was this pompous guy with whom I had once travelled. He had absolute confidence in his knowledge and superiority to the others around him. If the train is delayed, it would be due to the lazy officials who sleep during their duty hours and the whole train has to wait till they wake up and let us go. Or because the rest of India blatantly neglects the North-Eastern region. Therefore, they do not give a damn for the hundreds of people suffering in the train. Reflecting back upon it, I seriously wonder if these are the kind of people who's unsought for opinions give rise to regionalism.
The train finally started off. I have already mentioned that I found nobody in my compartment, interesting enough to talk to. So, I took out the novel I had planned to read, "Prey", by Michael Crichton. Crichton is a good writer. None of his books I have read are boring. The book I was now reading was regarding some nanotechnology and computer programing stuff that sounded very much possible. I was impressed. I like books which inspire imagination_ books about the future, the past, or some weird sort of fantasy material like "The Lord of the Rings".
Travelling about sixty hours at a stretch does not sound like an easy thing to do. But in fact, I would have loved it; only, if the compartment were left all to myself. I hate human company. Human relationships are superficial and brittle, and therefore, are temporary. This kinda reminds me of funny relationships like love and marriage. At first, the lovers would be swearing eternal love, being all mushy and soft. And then later when they end up in a petty fight, they would reveal how gross and monstrous they can be. And after all the pleasantries, they break up saying they can't take anymore of each other. It sure sounds rather silly. It is like everyone has a saturation point. Until the saturation point is reached, nobody complains. But oversaturation causes crankiness_ even in the most normal person. So, I'd say, give each other some space. They should not indulge themselves too much into loving each other. The more they indulge, the faster the saturation. It is kinda paradoxical, I know. It is like saying, "Love each other less, in order to love each other more". But then most of the things we really want to know about in this world are way too complicated and paradoxical; like that God created man or man created God thing. So I guess, it can't be helped and therefore, I stick to my word.
In the south of India, the railway officials are quite strict. They are greedy, strict bastards, waiting for rule breakers in their domain so that they can extract large amounts of money from them. I did not dare smoke without someone to watch my back. After quite a few dreary hours of travelling, I could not take it anymore. I had to have a fag. So I went out.
I haven't mentioned this before, but it is quite obvious that, apart from girls, there also are guys like me on the train. Most of them are students. Guys from Bangalore are pretty cool. At least they think they are cool. My opinion about them does not matter much, as I, myself, am quite dull and I really don't know much about what kind of guys look good or cool. That's for a girl to think about. The only thing that mattered to me was that most Bangalore guys smoke and dope. There is a famous quote among us_ "Nicotine promotes common brotherhood". I don’t remember who used to say that. But its damn true in most cases. Most guys who look high and mighty initially, actually turn out to be quite docile and friendly if you talk to them and share a fag with them. It was not that I wanted to make some cool friends. I like my friends for what they are; being cool never figures in. I didn’t want to get caught smoking on the train. So, I smoked with them. That is exactly what co-existing in a society is all about. Symbiosis.
The food you get on the train is quite tasteless. But one doesn’t have too many options. You can order once a while at some stations. But even then you might not be satisfied. But still, for a change I usually make it a point to buy biryani in Vishakapatnam. In the other stations, you get the same old roti-subzee, or puree subzee or idli-vada. I’d suggest that if you want to go for some station food, go for idli-vada. It is filling and you won’t have much to complain as they are not cooked in oil. It is upto you to decide what is best for you. As for me, I have almost everything edible that comes my way. I am quite a skinny glutton.
As you go across different states you will see a distinct change in the lines of vendors that keep ambling up and down the train. The southern vendors sell fruits, raisins, nuts and sweets like "chikki". It is a mould of sugar and peanuts or groundnuts, or any nut. I don’t know if they have any more ingredients. They also sell tiny statuettes of the Gods for about ten rupees or even less, if you can bargain. It must be quite comforting for a poor, religious dopey guy to know that he can actually buy God on the train for such a small amount. "Look ma! I have God in my pocket for just ten bucks. We are blessed." Pah! gimme a break. Why are people crazy about things so immaterial? One of Moses’s ten commandments said not to worship statues representing God. But still Christians worship statues and the cross. I bet nobody alive knows how Jesus or Mary looked like. The same goes for other religions. There goes another paradox. God made man. Now man is making God. I wonder if God too used to make man and sell him for ten bucks or so.
When you come way up to the north, the hawkers carrying electronic goods start appearing. They sell those cheap toys and stuff made in China, from scrap metal or thermoplastic. I had once attended a lecture by Arun Shourie. He mentioned about the Chinese economy being stronger than the Indian, because of such minute details. What the hell, they are providing employment to hundreds of Indians too. And besides, the thing about these stuff is that if they last, they last for years. If they don’t, they break down in a few days or even hours. I never buy it. But once someone in the compartment stops a hawker to check the goods, the others, out of curiosity, also start looking and bargaining. I am sure the hawkers really enjoy it ‘coz it happens every time. Many simpletons get fooled and end up paying more than thrice as much as the thing would have actually cost him anywhere else. Unfortunate idiots.
India is mainly dependent on agriculture. The acres and acres of paddy fields beside the railway tracks almost everywhere lie as a witness to this fact. The greenery of these fields depends on the time of the year. It, being winter, the fields were covered by faded yellowish straws and heaps of reaped paddy. You will see a lot of scarecrows everywhere. They are kinda funny. They come in all shapes and sizes. Maybe it gives an opportunity to the busy farmers to give vent to their creativity. I swear I once saw a scarecrow in a tattered old suit, holding a cigar or something close to the pot that was supposed to be its head. The neighboring field had a scarecrow that resembled a lady. I wonder if they were supposed to be man and wife. I almost expected the next field I came across would have kids. But I was wrong. I guess the next plot was someone else’s. Or maybe the farmer thought that the scarecrows were not yet married. Or maybe it was just that he had not had the time to make more of them. I still wonder.
At many places close to the stations, you will come across the slums of India. It is quite a depressing sight. I do not want to dwell much on that. It is depressing.
Reading books, newspapers, magazines, I spent two days on the train. I didn’t bother to talk much to the other guys around. I did, of course talk a little bit once a while, introduction and stuff like that. I am not that big a snob. On the third day, I felt elated. It was the last day and I felt good about reaching home. That is the kind of mood in which I am best to be talked to. So, I opened up a bit to the little girl’s father who was sitting in front of me. I kinda regret I did that, ‘coz it messed up my mood big time. I learnt from him that his daughter was blind. It left me kinda miserable that I had ignored her like a proud asshole till now. I imagined what it would be like for me to be left in darkness. I always go high and mighty about how I like solitude and stuff like that. But not to be able to see what’s around you must be kinda suffocating to the mind. All the things I had experienced till then would mean nothing to her; so much for the scarecrows and slums; so much for the toys and the hot babes and cool hunks. I sometimes feel that nothing really matters in this world. Love, hate, money, success are illusions that bind us to a vast unreality called earth. I really felt miserable. That is why I really hate myself. I feel miserable for the most pathetic reasons. Anyway, that was about the last thing that happened to me before I got down.
Why do all things come to an end and leave us sad? I have never found an answer to that. And I do not think it is possible for anyone to answer me. So I let it hang. I got off the train and walked upto my parents who were waiting eagerly for their prodigal son. No matter wasteful I am, no matter how much I hurt them, they still love me. That's something about parents really out of the world and astonishingly admirable. I thank God for them; no matter how much he sold us for.
The engineering of this world is perfect. It doesn’t matter how the others are behaving or acting. Like the parts of a machinery, everyone has to play one’s part for the machine to function smoothly. There might be intolerable friction; but it has to be tolerated. One may be blind, but one is still a part of the machine and everyone must understand that and accept it. Love, hate, and other emotions are just lubricants to be used with care. This is living. Just do it.
I have just reached the end of one such journey, and at the onset, I would like to warn you that this is my journal of sorts and you might not be very much interested in reading it. If that be the case, you might as well discontinue doing it. I have always believed in doing what I am most interested in, and not doing things that fail to attract me. And I encourage you to do the same.
On the 10th of december, 2005, I had set my faithful alarm clock to wake me up at exactly 4:30 AM. The purpose was to not be late for my 7:00 AM train. But overambitious as I was, I failed to remember my initial aim when the alarm set off at the appointed time. It was only at 6 in the morning that I awoke to the persistent ringing of my cell phone. It was the taxi driver whom I had hired the previous day in order to take me to the railway station. He dutifully mentioned that he had already been there for about half an hour and I had to hurry, not so much for the possibility that I might be late as for the fact that I was being charged extra for the waiting he had to do. I packed up rapidly and reported to him within fifteen minutes. And then, the journey began.
My taxi driver was a young, jovial fellow. Most taxi drivers are jovial. I wonder why auto drivers are not the same. They always seem to hold an eternal grudge against passengers, no matter how much you pay them. Life would have been so much more pleasant if we could smile more often than frown all the time. I was glad I was with this taxi guy. I apologized profusely for my being late. He smiled at me started the ignition saying, "Young hostel people.. not getting up early... I always wake them up.. no problem saar."
From the religious artefacts in the car and the cross that was dangling from his neck, I gathered that he was a christian. Not that I cared, but I always end up noticing things that are right in front of my nose. I guess everyone does.
"Too much rain, boss.. I was worried you would not come."
Chennai, of late, has seen a lot of rain_ more than it can handle.
"Yes, saar!! Previous years, we say, 'Rain not coming, we want rain'. Now people saying, 'too much rain'."
Indeed, it was getting tiresome to begin the days under the gloomy shadow of the clouds. Everyone wanted the sun now. It is ironic, because these were the same people who used to curse the sun for being so hot. No wonder, it is said, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
"Traffic less saar, morning time... we get there on time"
True enough, we reached the station within twenty minutes. Of course, like most taxi drivers, he drove like a madman to accomplish that. But since I was safe and on time, I thanked him and then paid him. He went off in a hurry. I guess they always have to be going somewhere or the other and so, they have to hurry. Time is of the essence. Time is money. And money seems to be everything nowadays. Everything.
The station was quite crowded for a cold, lazy, winter morning. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere and they definitely looked like they were almost late, like me. But thanks to the my man, I was not late.
I trudged along the platform slowly, shooting a glance or two at some of the better looking faces in the crowd. Chennai is not the place where you would enjoy looking for pretty faces in common places; mainly because there aren't any in such places. But in the station where people from the other states turn up, you will definitely come across one or two nice looking northie babes. In my case, I was travelling by a train where all the best north-eastern chicks are found. So it was a kind of an early morning fiesta for my starved eyes. Chink babes have damn fair skin. They are mostly in jeans or trousers and they look hot. I haven't seen too many of them with much make-up. Maybe because they don't need any. They are born beautiful.
But, hey, don't get into thinking that I was all drooling and going bonkers over a bunch of girls. That's not my style. I seriously believe that most of these girls are beautiful, but only from a distance. The moment they open up for a conversation, the beauty disappears. I wish God had given them the brains that go to making an intelligent conversation. I am not saying that they don't have brains. They do have loads of it inside that small skull and layers of soft, fair skin and flesh. Its just that the stock is not used for entertaining guys like me with a mentally stimulating exchange. There are exceptions, but that's only a pathetic few. But then again, there are only as many dumb girls in this world as there are dopey guys.
Grabbing a coffee from a nearby stall, I boarded the train. My co-passengers were already there. I placed my luggage in a suitable corner and took my seat next to a Tam guy who was already there. I knew he was Tam because, while I was placing my luggage, I overheard him saying a few words over the phone like, "Sollu".. "Sare".."enna". From my extremely limited Tam vocabulary, I figured that he must be either a tam or a mallu. But mallus have a very accented way of speaking. They kinda, roll their tongue or something when they speak. So, I guessed that he was a tam. The guy sitting opposite to him started speaking to him as soon as he had disconnected. So the other guy must also have been a tam. As I found out later, both my guesses were correct.
There was a girl sitting opposite to me. She must not have been more than about fifteen. She was wearing dark sunglasses. I thought she must have had an operation or something. I kinda felt sorry for her. People all over the world undergo so much pain and suffering that it becomes painful for even those who are not actually in pain_ peaceful, painless, jobless bastards like me.
She was with her father or something. I never bothered to ask. I am a man who likes to be left alone. Rowdy, nosey perverts poking their heads into my room too frequently, are a pain in the ass. If I were in place of Alexander Selkirk, I would have been happy.
"I am the monarch of all I survey,
My right here is none to dispute;
From the centre all around to the sea,
I am the lord of fowl and brute."
That was by William Cowper, just in case you thought a hare-brained person like me could come up with such nice rhyming poetry. The first four lines are my favourite. The rest of it is all crap about how solitude seems charming initially, but becomes horrible in stark reality. I'd say, it is way better to be alone than to be in the company of rowdy, boorish, fake, superficial, envious, chaos loving and flesh eating hypocrites. Therefore, I don't talk much to people I don't know much about. Making new acquaintances was the last thing I had on my mind.
I did not even think of making myself known to an Assamese family that was sitting close by. I am from Assam, but I do not much like our people. Not that I hate them, but it is certainly not pleasant to be talking to most of them. Most of my people seem very sweet on the outside. But the truth is that most of them are sycophants. Knowing the truth about them, I could not let myself get into an dull exchange of fake pleasantries with them. Of course, there are good apples in every barrel, just as there are the rotten ones. So, I did not hate them at all. I just stayed aloof just in case, the apples there were rotten.
Trains bound for Assam inevitably start late. They always have inexplicable delays. Some people are pretty good in explaining the inexplicable. For instance there was this pompous guy with whom I had once travelled. He had absolute confidence in his knowledge and superiority to the others around him. If the train is delayed, it would be due to the lazy officials who sleep during their duty hours and the whole train has to wait till they wake up and let us go. Or because the rest of India blatantly neglects the North-Eastern region. Therefore, they do not give a damn for the hundreds of people suffering in the train. Reflecting back upon it, I seriously wonder if these are the kind of people who's unsought for opinions give rise to regionalism.
The train finally started off. I have already mentioned that I found nobody in my compartment, interesting enough to talk to. So, I took out the novel I had planned to read, "Prey", by Michael Crichton. Crichton is a good writer. None of his books I have read are boring. The book I was now reading was regarding some nanotechnology and computer programing stuff that sounded very much possible. I was impressed. I like books which inspire imagination_ books about the future, the past, or some weird sort of fantasy material like "The Lord of the Rings".
Travelling about sixty hours at a stretch does not sound like an easy thing to do. But in fact, I would have loved it; only, if the compartment were left all to myself. I hate human company. Human relationships are superficial and brittle, and therefore, are temporary. This kinda reminds me of funny relationships like love and marriage. At first, the lovers would be swearing eternal love, being all mushy and soft. And then later when they end up in a petty fight, they would reveal how gross and monstrous they can be. And after all the pleasantries, they break up saying they can't take anymore of each other. It sure sounds rather silly. It is like everyone has a saturation point. Until the saturation point is reached, nobody complains. But oversaturation causes crankiness_ even in the most normal person. So, I'd say, give each other some space. They should not indulge themselves too much into loving each other. The more they indulge, the faster the saturation. It is kinda paradoxical, I know. It is like saying, "Love each other less, in order to love each other more". But then most of the things we really want to know about in this world are way too complicated and paradoxical; like that God created man or man created God thing. So I guess, it can't be helped and therefore, I stick to my word.
In the south of India, the railway officials are quite strict. They are greedy, strict bastards, waiting for rule breakers in their domain so that they can extract large amounts of money from them. I did not dare smoke without someone to watch my back. After quite a few dreary hours of travelling, I could not take it anymore. I had to have a fag. So I went out.
I haven't mentioned this before, but it is quite obvious that, apart from girls, there also are guys like me on the train. Most of them are students. Guys from Bangalore are pretty cool. At least they think they are cool. My opinion about them does not matter much, as I, myself, am quite dull and I really don't know much about what kind of guys look good or cool. That's for a girl to think about. The only thing that mattered to me was that most Bangalore guys smoke and dope. There is a famous quote among us_ "Nicotine promotes common brotherhood". I don’t remember who used to say that. But its damn true in most cases. Most guys who look high and mighty initially, actually turn out to be quite docile and friendly if you talk to them and share a fag with them. It was not that I wanted to make some cool friends. I like my friends for what they are; being cool never figures in. I didn’t want to get caught smoking on the train. So, I smoked with them. That is exactly what co-existing in a society is all about. Symbiosis.
The food you get on the train is quite tasteless. But one doesn’t have too many options. You can order once a while at some stations. But even then you might not be satisfied. But still, for a change I usually make it a point to buy biryani in Vishakapatnam. In the other stations, you get the same old roti-subzee, or puree subzee or idli-vada. I’d suggest that if you want to go for some station food, go for idli-vada. It is filling and you won’t have much to complain as they are not cooked in oil. It is upto you to decide what is best for you. As for me, I have almost everything edible that comes my way. I am quite a skinny glutton.
As you go across different states you will see a distinct change in the lines of vendors that keep ambling up and down the train. The southern vendors sell fruits, raisins, nuts and sweets like "chikki". It is a mould of sugar and peanuts or groundnuts, or any nut. I don’t know if they have any more ingredients. They also sell tiny statuettes of the Gods for about ten rupees or even less, if you can bargain. It must be quite comforting for a poor, religious dopey guy to know that he can actually buy God on the train for such a small amount. "Look ma! I have God in my pocket for just ten bucks. We are blessed." Pah! gimme a break. Why are people crazy about things so immaterial? One of Moses’s ten commandments said not to worship statues representing God. But still Christians worship statues and the cross. I bet nobody alive knows how Jesus or Mary looked like. The same goes for other religions. There goes another paradox. God made man. Now man is making God. I wonder if God too used to make man and sell him for ten bucks or so.
When you come way up to the north, the hawkers carrying electronic goods start appearing. They sell those cheap toys and stuff made in China, from scrap metal or thermoplastic. I had once attended a lecture by Arun Shourie. He mentioned about the Chinese economy being stronger than the Indian, because of such minute details. What the hell, they are providing employment to hundreds of Indians too. And besides, the thing about these stuff is that if they last, they last for years. If they don’t, they break down in a few days or even hours. I never buy it. But once someone in the compartment stops a hawker to check the goods, the others, out of curiosity, also start looking and bargaining. I am sure the hawkers really enjoy it ‘coz it happens every time. Many simpletons get fooled and end up paying more than thrice as much as the thing would have actually cost him anywhere else. Unfortunate idiots.
India is mainly dependent on agriculture. The acres and acres of paddy fields beside the railway tracks almost everywhere lie as a witness to this fact. The greenery of these fields depends on the time of the year. It, being winter, the fields were covered by faded yellowish straws and heaps of reaped paddy. You will see a lot of scarecrows everywhere. They are kinda funny. They come in all shapes and sizes. Maybe it gives an opportunity to the busy farmers to give vent to their creativity. I swear I once saw a scarecrow in a tattered old suit, holding a cigar or something close to the pot that was supposed to be its head. The neighboring field had a scarecrow that resembled a lady. I wonder if they were supposed to be man and wife. I almost expected the next field I came across would have kids. But I was wrong. I guess the next plot was someone else’s. Or maybe the farmer thought that the scarecrows were not yet married. Or maybe it was just that he had not had the time to make more of them. I still wonder.
At many places close to the stations, you will come across the slums of India. It is quite a depressing sight. I do not want to dwell much on that. It is depressing.
Reading books, newspapers, magazines, I spent two days on the train. I didn’t bother to talk much to the other guys around. I did, of course talk a little bit once a while, introduction and stuff like that. I am not that big a snob. On the third day, I felt elated. It was the last day and I felt good about reaching home. That is the kind of mood in which I am best to be talked to. So, I opened up a bit to the little girl’s father who was sitting in front of me. I kinda regret I did that, ‘coz it messed up my mood big time. I learnt from him that his daughter was blind. It left me kinda miserable that I had ignored her like a proud asshole till now. I imagined what it would be like for me to be left in darkness. I always go high and mighty about how I like solitude and stuff like that. But not to be able to see what’s around you must be kinda suffocating to the mind. All the things I had experienced till then would mean nothing to her; so much for the scarecrows and slums; so much for the toys and the hot babes and cool hunks. I sometimes feel that nothing really matters in this world. Love, hate, money, success are illusions that bind us to a vast unreality called earth. I really felt miserable. That is why I really hate myself. I feel miserable for the most pathetic reasons. Anyway, that was about the last thing that happened to me before I got down.
Why do all things come to an end and leave us sad? I have never found an answer to that. And I do not think it is possible for anyone to answer me. So I let it hang. I got off the train and walked upto my parents who were waiting eagerly for their prodigal son. No matter wasteful I am, no matter how much I hurt them, they still love me. That's something about parents really out of the world and astonishingly admirable. I thank God for them; no matter how much he sold us for.
The engineering of this world is perfect. It doesn’t matter how the others are behaving or acting. Like the parts of a machinery, everyone has to play one’s part for the machine to function smoothly. There might be intolerable friction; but it has to be tolerated. One may be blind, but one is still a part of the machine and everyone must understand that and accept it. Love, hate, and other emotions are just lubricants to be used with care. This is living. Just do it.
No comments:
Post a Comment