Saturday, September 21, 2013

Accidentally ran into something i wrote 5 years back


On the busy roads of Delhi, there are some who spur along the flyovers like the chilly wind making its way through sparse clothing of the less fortunate ones. If one notices carefully there could be a few souls walking through those demanding paths daunted by the majesty of the buildings and mocking at their splendour at the same time. It’s these conflicting and loony souls that time decides to teach a lesson.

The scorching heat of the season is beyond tolerance, and a DTC bus ride makes matters worse. Survival is the name of the game in them, but the beauty of it is that you would enter it smelling of your own sweat but would definitely get off smelling like ten different people around you. On a philosophical and maybe a crazy way you take a fraction of their subsistence with you.

It was a usual day for most of the people. The customary laziness in waking up after an indulgent night and managing the daily chores, the honking of school buses with heads sticking out of windows, the noisy shutters of shops, the aroma of early chants along with the stench of morning rituals of many.............it seemed everything was just the way it ought to be. But two lives were to be changed for ever .......two lives oblivious of each other’s existence.....immersed in the futility of their providence and lost dreaming in an abyss of hope and despair. Two lives who lived the day by themselves...but the night had an encounter in stored for them.

Siddhantha climbed carving his way effortlessly through the maddening crowd, his regular 567 which took him back to Lajpat Nagar. Wearing a khaadi kurta and a torn jean, with curly locks covering his forehead and glasses which could not hide the intensity of his big grey eyes, he made way to the window seat that was always vacant for him. An unusual sight awaited in the form of an occupant of “his” seat. A distraught face staring hard at the nothingness covered with hair was the encroacher. It would have annoyed him otherwise but today it seemed to make no effect. His eyes met a few familiar passengers who gave him tired and phony glances of recognition. He sat next to the encroacher and heaved a deep sigh. Placing his head on the seat he closed his eyes. 567 has always been the place where he had come to terms with everything.

“Your story is too surreal and bizarre, we are sorry”.............the words echoed in his ears as soon as he comfortably seated himself in the seat. “Well this is a new one”, he murmured to himself, with a cynical smile festooning his face, exposing aligned depressions on both his cheeks. It was 8 in the night and the bus was making its way on a snail’s pace honking at every other moment. The wind was gushing inside from the window which to his relief the encroacher decided to keep open.

The first thing that Ragini always did on boarding a bus back home was grasp a window seat and open her tightly tied bun. It gave her the sense of letting go, an exhilarating feeling of being herself for those few comforting hours which seemed torturous to most. The wind blew her hair in all directions, and she liked the flapping sound of them on her face and the feel of it on her skin. Today she missed her bus and had to board a longer route one, which never bothered her because no one was ever waiting for her. Ragini had taught herself to be independent and strong, as she assumed it to be the best way to live. Her rigidity was her weapon by which she speared her way ahead, only to realize that she lost on living in her strife for a mouthful of sky.

Completely unaware of each other’s rhythmic sighs Siddhantha and Ragini kept sitting without moving. “Beta lo tumhara das ka ticket .....aur apko kitne ka doon madam”, the shivering voice of the old conductor, got the two back to their senses. After taking their tickets with one gaze they both looked through but looked right at each other at the same time and simultaneously turned there faces away.

“No one had ever done that to me before”, Ragini said without even looking at him. Shocked by her guts and sudden verbalization of the subtle undercurrent experienced, Siddhantha looked at her, smiled and replied, “Getting a taste of my own medicine was quite an experience in itself, I’m Siddhantha ....and you are...?” “Ragini”, she replied quickly turning and facing him, astonished at her own urgency to talk to a stranger. “Nice name, maybe I would name my character in the next story after you...”  “So you are a writer?” she asked, “Yah both by choice and by profession, a lethal continuum to live up to”, he chuckled so hard that almost gasped for breath.

Both of them were quiet for a very long time. The scene was getting more chaotic, the bus driver had vowed not to move until his pal the conductor wouldn’t go and give personal invites to every one walking on the street. Suddenly a crisp sound of fluttering papers got both Siddhantha and Ragini back to their present life space.



“In their eyes She gave up on every one....but only she knew that......’’.Ragini almost strained her neck to read the whole sentence. Looking at her skewed posture, Siddhantha smiled and softly murmured “that’s too much attention for my words...i guess they wont be able to take it.” Ragini looked at him and retorted back, “Don’t be too sure maybe i would fail your words, rather than the other way round.”



It seemed that a chord of distraught had struck between them long time ago . The bus reached Sarai kalan khan- the usual long halt. There were people jostling and entering the bus, women coming and demanding for their quota seats resulting in the annoyance of their male counterparts. “Moonfali, Chana le lo”, “10 rupayah main do light vale pen”, the bus echoed with these chants along with the rhythmic murmurs of the passengers and not to forget the blaring radio.

Along with all the cacophony, everyone in that bus had a corner, a corner where they were quiet, lost and living their day ...some moments of happiness, some disappointments, seconds of despair, sudden twirls of hope.......Two of these corners were meeting, much to their disapproval.

“ So it must be well paying to be a writer”...... Ragini couldn’t resist her cynicism that inherently got her disliked by most. She always liked the tension and distress that her mean retorts caused people.  To her disappointment but not surprise she met with a smile showcasing dimples contouring a chiseled face...’ sure it does...pays me well enough to keep writing about eccentricities...” ...‘Hmmm ...its good to see someone so desperate to keep his will alive against the worldliness’ Ragini intentionally whispered loud enough to be heard by her busmate. Hahahahaha, guffawed Siddhantha ...‘ that’s ironical my protagonist’s defense is what you profess... and let me tell you the world doesn’t really like people like you...’ Sidhhantha said pointing towards his file.

What defense are you talking about? Said Ragini....almost dying to hear her truth from this absolutely strange soul. Sid kept looking straight, and in an absolutely placid tone added....the camouflaging act of ones passion by spanking the humble bearings of others ...which in short most of us call sarcasm....how does that sound?

Engulfed with a tranquil gush of soothing hot air down her lungs...Ragini felt the rush of a drag of filtered tobacco ...suspending her with the lightness that she had forgotten. ‘ So what happened to your heroin....where did her defence take her?’ Asked Ragini...looking pleadingly into his eyes as if her fate had already been written in those pages.

Kotla....Kotla......madam jaldi utaro...red light hai abhi .....the realities of life got her back...she tied her hair quickly in a ritualistic fashion....gave him a last look....he moved to give her way. Ragini’s head was still racing she needed to hear something from him...she had a strange faith that today his words would cure her from many things....She was carving her way through the crowd to the gate. She was almost there and before disembarking, turned back only to find Siddhantha behind her. “She befriends her passion’’...he whispers in her ears.

Sometimes life’s biggest lessons stay with one in very serendipitous ways. Ragini went off the bus .....smiling from one end to the other.‘ bhaishaab agar utarana nahi hai to rasta kyun roka hai...’ hearing the complaints...siddhantha moved to the window and peered outside, only to find Ragini looking at the full moon night with her hair open and flapping against her face.
He could almost hear her sighs...sighs of respite, redemption. Today he could understand what his mentor meant when he used to say ...‘fasane ke asli jashn ko to ek insaan hi anjaam deta hai...kirdaar nahi....aur jab apne kirdaar se insani tarruf ho jaye tab kahin tumhara fasana mukammal hota hai’... ‘ and that’s precisely what pays me well enough to keep reciting eccentricities.....he murmured to himself smiling.

                                       -Inspired by a painting by Gurjot Mamik (Celebration of Art)  

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