I had to miss my evening classes that day as one of my friend's friend was coming to Chennai. It was her first time to Chennai; she was coming for her visa processing at the US Consulate. I was also asked by my good friend to accompany her to the Consulate the next day because she was new to the city. It was my first time to the airport to wait for a girl and I had not heard of Tamanna before the evening.
When I reached the airport after having convinced one of my friends out of the classroom for company and of course for his bike, I was a tad too early, 30 minutes to be precise. We aimlessly roamed the airport, for another 45 minutes.
She promptly described her dress and her location, when she had picked her luggage. I couldn’t believe she was 24, I still cant, she was too small for her age, or her supposed age. I ditched my friend who had driven me through the night traffic to the airport, he left even before I started talking to her.
I hired a cab and to make her feel more comfortable or something of that sort I pleaded a late 40s man waiting for a cab join us. I was sitting between the two of them. As always, I had little to talk and the older man and the girl were soon in conversation. I was almost an intrusion to their talk that ranged from her mainframes to his chartered accountancy and from Chennai to Hyderabad. For some reason I started to feel queasy but I did not let my face emote. He also offered to take her to the Consulate the next day, I smiled to myself when she said a ‘no, thanks’ to him.
But all along I was mute, very mute.
When we reached the hotel where she had to stay the night, we had to bid the older man farewell, they exchanged numbers. She had her room ready but her company at Hyderabad was still to send some document that was a necessity for the visa process. I was told I couldn't leave her at her room’s door; like I wanted to.
She thanked me with a nice tap on my shoulder with a scarf she had. The smile was still on my face when I reached home even as the clock was ticking to 1.00 am. She woke me up at 2.00 am to tell me that the fax had arrived and promised to call me the next day. I rose at 6.00 am and to the surprise of my room mates was ready by 7.00 waiting for her call.
It was 10.30 when I reached my office, she hadn't called me and neither was she answering my calls.
She called me up at 7.00 pm, when I had almost forgotten her, to tell me she was at the airport. She was excited that her visa was granted. I was more worried about how she got the Consulate and the airport. She had asked the older man lead her to the Consulate in the morning. After her interview she had simply hired a cab to the airport.
Tamanna thanked me and promised me she would call me once she reached Hyderabad. I guessed it right, she didn't.
Showing posts with label City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label City. Show all posts
Bizarre
How would you REACT if
A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?
You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?
An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?
A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?
A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?
It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?
Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?
You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?
You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?
I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these
I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.
A child probably not more than 8 yrs in her soiled school uniform on her way to school stops in front of you and asks you for money?
You are on the silent evening beach with friends and beer, a few feet away a guy is being beaten up by some thugs and the guy being beaten up is crying for help. These hoodlums then confront you and ask you to leave?
An old lady seeking alms at the bus stop asks you aloud if you don’t eat every day, because you told her you gave her money only the previous night?
A software engineer working for one of the software giants, his identity card around his neck tells you so, is totally drunk and lying on a platform on your walk home?
A girl who proposed you recently, was once in your room with your room mate?
It is raining heavily and a girl is walking in the rain. Her dress is drenched to a very awkward proportion, with only a plastic folder that she’s holding close to her bosom, she is visibly very queasy, you offer her your friend's leather jacket and she gives you a cold stare?
Inside a crowded bus you see a man may be in his early 20s pushing himself against a girl, her face is turning angles but she’s silent, a lot of people around you are looking at it, but are silent?
You recently made friends with a tart; she feels so close to you that she cries to you. One fine night at 11.00pm she calls you up and asks you start to a place 3 hours away, that very moment because she was leaving home once and for all?
You simply told your friend that you would be passing by her town while on a train to another place and she turns up at the station at the wee of the night waking you up?
I smiled and walked off most of the situations, except for these
I got the software engineer inside an auto-rickshaw, saw him walk by me the next day with no hint of recognition.
I stood between the girl and the guy inside the bus for the next half hour.
I did not travel the three hours that night, she hasn't spoken to me in 8 months and I do not know where she is.
Mary Ebenezer
The frail old man on the next bed passed away despite the last-ditch efforts of at least four doctors and even more nurses. It was hall 201, the emergency ward,
The next day morning, the doctor on duty prescribed a flurry of tests which included blood tests at three different places, a cranial CT scan and a bladder scan. The blood tests took a lot of time, there were at least 25 people at each counter, and I was almost alone amongst the mostly female queue, each of them holding at least two tubes of brick red blood.
When I reached the counter for the CT scan, the man at the counter was deep asleep on his PC's black keyboard. At least 10 minutes passed before he woke up with a yawn and asked me check out the timings for the scan with the lab. The lab is the last room inside a building that resembles a haunted house, with hanging wires, battered walls and a half lit verandah, I could hear my heart beat every time I walked to the lab alone.
A middle aged woman was lying on the floor in a night gown in front of the lab; another woman sat crouching on the floor beside her. A dark Lab attendant was howling “If you talk rules once again, you will never have your scan done". The crouching woman mumbled she had been waiting for over an hour beside her sister who needed a pelvic CT scan. A younger woman was holding a few months old child in her hands, the child's head was completely dressed on one side. Two more middle aged women sat with their teen aged children. We were asked to be at the Lab at 07.30pm that evening.
The next day morning, the post graduate student-duty doctor wanted the CT scan results, but the results were only to be available in the evening. My brother was refused the report by the same dark attendant. Armed with a written request from the doctor he went to the lab again for the scan and the reports, this time he was offered both but the report was priced at 100 rupees. When he came back he only had the scan in hand.
On the sixth day my cousin was discharged from the hospital as his legs had found some movement and more importantly there was a dearth of the available beds. I wished our neighbors a fast recovery and as I was leaving, I saw the ever smiling Ebenezer walk inside the ward for her night shift. For some reason I said "See you Madam".
"Don't ever say 'see you' when you leave a hospital, always say goodbye, Now good bye, I have people to look after" she retorted.
Before I could bid her bye she was already walking away trying to silence the noise inside the ward. For the first time in almost a week I had a smile on my face.
May be It was..
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I was never so frustrated at least in the recent times. I pay, never mind if my friend does, 3000 bucks for a New Year bash and what was I supposed to do? Watch some wowow babe dance with some one who made me feel I was a handsome prince. That was not all, we had to watch them from a balcony standing all the while, not minding the trampling legs (some moron had combat boots on), because the place couldn’t seat more than 25 people and we had 100 single men for the bash. Although the number of single men around helped me resurrect my confidence levels, some how I thought I needed blood pressure pills.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
It was supposed to be 'the night', with my school buddies around some of them after almost a decade, I could only grumble. We had already swigged two rounds of a drink that I had only heard of, from people used to shopping at the airports and holidaying in tax free zones. My friends aren't grumblers; soon I was outside silently watching an animated conversation between my friends and some official looking butterball. A faint smile was beginning to appear on all their faces.
We marched in to another place all the while being watched by people who seemed so interested in my white T-shirt and jeans. Was I hallucinating? I am not sure. Not that it bothered me, but being in a dimly lit hall again seemed to increase my comfort levels. The music inside was loud and blaring, obvious indications of 'this was not a room made for a dance floor'. It was a conference hall, which we soon found out from a plaque carelessly covered with a blind. Not one inside looked like he/she has ever danced in his life before. Throw your hands up in the air, jump move around, don’t even bother about the beat and yes bump someone, and what do we have?? A new year's dance floor, yuck.
One fat girl/ lady was looking like a total freak shaking her long hair like Shakira doing her pelvis. The other guy must be living in a joint family for he was doing things with his wife (I suppose) my father would have called lewd, given the situation and vicinity. We tried dancing a little in the one corner that seemed empty, only to be pushed off the dance floor in a few minutes by a gang of four girls and one 'I am rich and dumb' looking guy. So much for the arguments and the dance floor, we were only gulping up the foreign brand, breaking our previous records and trying to make up for the paid sum the next half hour. One of my friends even shrugged of an interested dancer of the opposite gender.
A drink, a bit of dance, anothar dirnk and soime more or dlance, a litkle mire drijnk and likkee nore dsance (alright, alright I copied it from a joke!!). It went on until all our previous records were broken, our clothes drenched, the old year gone, my friends out of their jackets and I saw this cute small girl dancing all to herself. Very often I had chased children away from my vicinity, even my brother's daughter stays a foot away when she talks to me. For some godforsaken reason this girl in black pants, rose tops and a black jacket was moving towards me smiling or was she laughing? I moved my limbs as if to dance, she mimicked my movements and we started to dance. Very soon she ditched me for my friends all of them playing her pair in tandem.
At her age, I would have most probably been tripping on my toes and here she was dancing like a ballerina (doesn't the word mean a beautiful dancer?), in sync with the beat and movements that made me go wow. I was kneeling most of the time to match my little girl's height; I still stood a few inches tall. We even played the movements we used a decade before at high school, a moment of nostalgia took over. Whenever we took a break for a breather she hugged me tight (because I was her height) and asked us come back soon. I wonder if I never smelt of the drink all the while because in the morning I had a breath a skunk would have frowned upon. Some more kids were starting to dance, her parents were so wonderfully enjoying the moment and in all the noise one of my friends bent closer and told me “May be it was worth all of it or was it more?”
The music was fading away and as I sat down, Sai-preetha leapt on to my lap and started to sleep, I am not very sure what I felt at that moment, I think it felt good probably very good patting the girl to sleep. We had danced close to two hours, it was soon time to go and Sai was awake, I got my first kiss this year and a long one. Though I talked to her parents a lot that night mostly to tell them they had the most beautiful daughter on earth, for some reason I did not take a number, or leave one. Even after two days we were still talking about her and my friend kept telling us “May be it was worth all of it and more eh?”.
Hyundai Accent
That day I saw one of the new Hyundai cars commissioned to the Chennai city Police department, it was a welcome change from the stale Blue-black jeeps, I thought. What I didn't know at that time was, I would, the very day be intercepted by one of those shiny white vehicles.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
3.00 am that night: I am not sure if having a cup of tea at this hour of the night is a crime under the Indian penal code But When I and my friend were just about leaving the shop on a Pulsar, I heard a siren whine loud and clear.
"Pondy registration Pulsar, vandiya niruthunge " blared a megaphone, along with the whine. simply meaning " You morons on the Black pulsar stop the vehicle".
I, at first did not remember that the bike's registration number started PY 01 and continued working the accelerator. My friend's hands gripped my shoulders but it was sometime before I realized the graveness of the situation and came to a screeching halt a feet away from the new shiny white Hyundai. The car was perpendicular to the road. The police man's face inside was redder than the indicator on the top of his car. He came out with a scrap pad and a pen in his hand and so did his driver.
The cop: what is your name?
Me: Kumar.
The cop: and yours?
My friend: Ram
The cop: didn't you guys hear the siren?
My friend: yes we did, but...
The cop: at least the yelling over the megaphone?? What do you guys do? Software Engineers? Call centre?
Me: Sir, I am a Power electronics Engineer, with...
The cop: you are a what??
Me: I am an Electronics (He was lost...) I am a software Engineer..
The cop: and you?
My friend: I am running a consultancy.
The cop: running a what??
My friend: Business consultancy, staffing and setting up of BPOs(Obvious reaction of I did not understand a thing on the cops face!!!) er.. I am running a call centre.
Even as the driver was adding more scribbles on his pad, his walky went out loud. “Control room, Control room calling, (number and name of the station were pronounced )"
Control room: “Sir, one more on the list sir”
The cop: yes.
control room : " Male, wheatish, acne marks on face, alleged name Sekhar, mole on mid forehead, left chest, last seen with long hair(couldn't get a few words because of the noisy walky) wanted for theft and extortion, over.
The cop: okay. I only have a Kumar and Ram here, anyone’s on wanted list with these names??
(I and my friend simply looked at each other suppressing a smile)
Control room: Not anyone I know of let me check sir, over.
The cop: over.
I felt I almost fit in Sekhar's shoes whoever the hell he was. My reason of being on the road at 3.00 am was probably not convincing, we were asked to empty our pockets, checked for drunken driving, and were asked to hand over the bike's keys. We were soon inside a Toyota Qualis on the way to the police station, while some Policeman rode the Pulsar.
That was the first time I ever went inside a police station. There were at least five half-uniformed men, only one of them was awake. After another 15 minutes of answering another set of questions which included audacious ones like "if I had my underwear on and if I was in to drugs" and serious ones like "If I had my license and an NOC for the vehicle " (I neither had a license nor a NOC, I simply shook my head in the negative), we were allotted a wooden bench on one corner of the room. .
The station was neat, the big binders and papers, the weapons, tables everything was in order. Pictures of yesteryear leaders adorned the walls in symmetry. The wandering of my eyes stopped when I saw two young men in only their boxers crouching inside one of the cells, I started to sweat. After sometime we were offered tea by a boy of probably 15-16, which I gleefully accepted while my friend preferred to sleep sitting upright on the bench.
It was almost 5.00am and a good one and half hours of looking at the wall, when one of the older uniforms summoned us. The cop who had brought us to the station was sleeping on his table with a snore. The old man jotted down only our names and asked us to collect the vehicle at 8.00 am sharp in the morning. We walked almost a mile to my house.
When I woke up it was 8.00 am already. I woke up my friend and we were on another bike very soon in rumpled clothes, half brushed and half made up. The old man was almost leaving his table when we rushed in. He simply gave us the keys and more importantly with no questions. The two men inside the cell were still crouching as they were 3 hours before.
As I got out I saw the Hyundai Accent parked in front of the station, like an angry kid I wanted to break at least one of those shiny glasses.
I love you Dad
The first day I saw him he was in his starched white clothes, very odd for that dingy, cramped place. He kept looking at me anxiously while I drank at the local wine shop, I thought he was one of those drunkards who have a few rupees less for their second drink. When I was just about leaving, I gave him a few coins. He asked me what I wanted and I blinked. It was actually the first day at work for him.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
I sat down and I suggested him change to some less clean clothes. He came back after a few minutes, in a black but clean shirt and soon found people seeking him. His job is to clean the ever-dirty tables, collect the empty bottles and of course wait on drunken people for a tip. That day I had very little money left in my pocket; I emptied it and walked back home.
The shop is on the way to my house and I saw him often. For some one who once owned a grocery shop in Tuticorin, he shows no signs of discomfort working there although I had seen him wiping his eyes sometimes. Every time I see his eyes wet, he pretends and with a beautiful smile.
He is 52 yrs old, married and has a son and a daughter, both at college. I am not sure if his family knows about his whereabouts or the nature of his job but by the first week of every month he sends them all the money he had carefully saved the previous month.
When I first saw him, it had been almost five months since he had come to Chennai. A new super market in the same street as his shop had put him out of business and soon in a pool of debts. When the moneylenders had started to frequent his house, his son and daughter had gone against him, blaming him for everything and one night he finds himself a seat inside a train to Chennai.
Nothing seems to have changed for him though; his beautiful daughter (I forgot her name), his ever-angry son Muthu, his faithful wife Aandaal, the house that he once owned, the shop he dreams of running again someday, everything is on his head and all the time. He even carries around a photograph of the four of them together at Ooty, in good times.
I still go to the wine shop, albeit rarely and sometimes just to see him. I see Arogiyaraj running around with bottles, helping people and cleaning the tables. He is thinking of a day job now and is already working as a security (part time) in one of those big apartments in Thiruvanmiyur. He makes sure I am being taken care, even when he is not available, but for some reason doesn’t accept my tip these days.
I don’t know why, but everytime I leave the shop after seeing him, I find myself saying, “I love you dad”.
Cigarettes
It was around 10.00 pm when we got out of the bar. Alex wanted cigarettes; I waited beside his black Pulsar while he went to fetch some.
At the other side of the road there was this pretty girl in black, with an obvious reaction of waiting for someone.
Triplicane shelters almost half the bachelor population of Chennai, predominantly men. There are lodging houses everywhere cheap, unsafe, unclean, and cramped but people live, well at least.
A young girl in a flowery green dress was walking with two boys, laughing and playing. That thing around her neck told me she was married, too young I thought.
Alex was already puffing up a cigarette.
Professionals, Working men, Tourists, Students, Businessmen, Job seekers, tarts (find the meaning on your dictionary), and the original residents keep the lamps burning until after midnight and get to life before even the sun does. Languages, Ethnicity, origins, profession don't matter, life moves on.
I felt someone hug me from behind; I turned around to see not a man, not a woman, a transsexual (I don't even know if the word is derogatory). She left me, giggled and walked away.
She should have taken only moved a little away when, someone kicked her on her groin and She crouched in pain. I didn't move, I stood there blinking and helpless. Finally I found the courage to go towards her. She got up holding my hands and slapped me on my face. She walked away nursing her groin, it didn't hurt my face.
My friend smiled at me and lit another cigarette.
Just beside the shop there was this unkempt guy in rags eating from beside a litterbin. I saw someone get off his car and give him a fresh packet of food but he continued eating. I went near him; he looked at me, wiped his hands on his already murky clothing and ran away clutching the food packet.
I saw the girl in green slapped by someone. He must be her husband and he must have been drunk, for he was trying to hug her on the road. She was avoiding him and he slapped her once more.
I asked my friend about the girl in black on the other side of the road, she had been there for almost ten minutes now. He told me she was a tart and lit another cigarette.
She was cute damn it, she can't be a tart, I mean, we can't just imagine, she could even be waiting for her friend, thoughts were filling up my head may be because I had never seen one.
This time the guy's hands found her stomach and she screamed in pain, Alex was getting restless. He stubbed his cigarette with his shoes and kick started his auto start Pulsar, I sat behind him. He stopped the bike beside the girl and her husband. The guy backed off a little, when we both got off the vehicle, the guy moved away.
He lit up another cigarette. I borrowed one.
I saw the girl in black talking to an older man, Alex looked at me smiling, I still was not convinced. The guy in rags was crouching beside the litterbin again. We stood there until the cigarettes were over.
We reached his lodging house a little away from where we had stood. I turned around, I was just seeing shadows, but I was sure the girl in flowery green got slapped again.
I lit up the last cigarette.
At the other side of the road there was this pretty girl in black, with an obvious reaction of waiting for someone.
Triplicane shelters almost half the bachelor population of Chennai, predominantly men. There are lodging houses everywhere cheap, unsafe, unclean, and cramped but people live, well at least.
A young girl in a flowery green dress was walking with two boys, laughing and playing. That thing around her neck told me she was married, too young I thought.
Alex was already puffing up a cigarette.
Professionals, Working men, Tourists, Students, Businessmen, Job seekers, tarts (find the meaning on your dictionary), and the original residents keep the lamps burning until after midnight and get to life before even the sun does. Languages, Ethnicity, origins, profession don't matter, life moves on.
I felt someone hug me from behind; I turned around to see not a man, not a woman, a transsexual (I don't even know if the word is derogatory). She left me, giggled and walked away.
She should have taken only moved a little away when, someone kicked her on her groin and She crouched in pain. I didn't move, I stood there blinking and helpless. Finally I found the courage to go towards her. She got up holding my hands and slapped me on my face. She walked away nursing her groin, it didn't hurt my face.
My friend smiled at me and lit another cigarette.
Just beside the shop there was this unkempt guy in rags eating from beside a litterbin. I saw someone get off his car and give him a fresh packet of food but he continued eating. I went near him; he looked at me, wiped his hands on his already murky clothing and ran away clutching the food packet.
I saw the girl in green slapped by someone. He must be her husband and he must have been drunk, for he was trying to hug her on the road. She was avoiding him and he slapped her once more.
I asked my friend about the girl in black on the other side of the road, she had been there for almost ten minutes now. He told me she was a tart and lit another cigarette.
She was cute damn it, she can't be a tart, I mean, we can't just imagine, she could even be waiting for her friend, thoughts were filling up my head may be because I had never seen one.
This time the guy's hands found her stomach and she screamed in pain, Alex was getting restless. He stubbed his cigarette with his shoes and kick started his auto start Pulsar, I sat behind him. He stopped the bike beside the girl and her husband. The guy backed off a little, when we both got off the vehicle, the guy moved away.
He lit up another cigarette. I borrowed one.
I saw the girl in black talking to an older man, Alex looked at me smiling, I still was not convinced. The guy in rags was crouching beside the litterbin again. We stood there until the cigarettes were over.
We reached his lodging house a little away from where we had stood. I turned around, I was just seeing shadows, but I was sure the girl in flowery green got slapped again.
I lit up the last cigarette.
Uniform
I walk to find my way to office everyday through the dusty, uneven roads of Thiruvanmiyur, (Chennai aka Madras) alongside a horde of tag sporting Software Engineers. The walk and the vicinity everyday is almost the same, except when I am late and running. With an almost silent, green stretch and only tall buildings rising up, the walk is serene in the beginning.
Today again in the very next block to mine, the small beautiful boy is waiting for his "billabong high" (a crèche) cab unwilling to let go his mom's hand. Two blocks down I do not miss the pony-tailed girl in her green uniform (alongside a German shepherd) as she passes by me on a chauffer driven Hyundai Sonata.
Two boys playing on some hand held gadget in neatly pressed white shirts and half pants, are waiting for their school bus. A cute girl dressed in green and white clings on to her mom even as she is taken on a Kinetic Honda and a scary ride with her mom's timid driving and an ever-honking horn. A small, dark but cute bespectacled girl waits alone at the last building of the road, frowning impatiently, just as the geography seems to abruptly change.
The buildings are not taller anymore and it isn't silent anymore.
This father as always is in time taking four children (on some days five) and their overweight bags on a bicycle. The man who runs the roadside hotel around the corner is as usual taking at least ten children on his fish cart / tricycle to school. Groups of children in uniform, many of them barefooted, walk happily talking of things ranging from their maths teacher to M S Dhoni. Uniforms don’t look like uniforms on them, as most of them are torn, button less, patched and murky. A large part of this crowd carries UNICEF sponsored bags, dirty and filled with graffiti of their own kind. Some older guys wear better clothes, carry better bags and are on their bicycles, although it is mostly three guys to one bicycle.
Just in front of a big temple some street urchins in soiled clothes are playing cricket with a paper ball and a wooden plank, seemingly worried of their game being disturbed by the passing school children and the audience in me. A school boy coming out of the temple is talking on his black mobile phone even as an old man waits holding his car door open. I walk slowly till I lose sight of the game and the old man stands waiting, holding the door.
I am now at the bus terminus and amongst a different colour. The bus as usual is packed with bags occupying more space that the children. Some bags I think can even pull the children with them, good heavens, I never had to carry books all my life. As the bus spurts to life and drudges labouriously a lot more of the uniforms fly in from nowhere and cling on to the doors and windows like spider men.
On the other side of the road the cab for the 'Clark's school for the deaf' waits for the children. The children inside wear no uniforms, but something else is common - they invariably are smiling, staring at the windows and are wearing their hearing aids.
Just as the bus is moving out of the terminus I see a familiar sight at the cycle shop. The dark schoolgirl is at her father’s (I suppose) shop with her little sister as usual mending to her vehicles tyres. When it is over, the smaller girl gives the vehicle a push with all her might and as it gains momentum, jumps on to her handicapped sister’s tricycle waving wildly at their father.
The bus is now on the road and moving with clowds of smoke gushing out of the old vehicle .
Today again in the very next block to mine, the small beautiful boy is waiting for his "billabong high" (a crèche) cab unwilling to let go his mom's hand. Two blocks down I do not miss the pony-tailed girl in her green uniform (alongside a German shepherd) as she passes by me on a chauffer driven Hyundai Sonata.
Two boys playing on some hand held gadget in neatly pressed white shirts and half pants, are waiting for their school bus. A cute girl dressed in green and white clings on to her mom even as she is taken on a Kinetic Honda and a scary ride with her mom's timid driving and an ever-honking horn. A small, dark but cute bespectacled girl waits alone at the last building of the road, frowning impatiently, just as the geography seems to abruptly change.
The buildings are not taller anymore and it isn't silent anymore.
This father as always is in time taking four children (on some days five) and their overweight bags on a bicycle. The man who runs the roadside hotel around the corner is as usual taking at least ten children on his fish cart / tricycle to school. Groups of children in uniform, many of them barefooted, walk happily talking of things ranging from their maths teacher to M S Dhoni. Uniforms don’t look like uniforms on them, as most of them are torn, button less, patched and murky. A large part of this crowd carries UNICEF sponsored bags, dirty and filled with graffiti of their own kind. Some older guys wear better clothes, carry better bags and are on their bicycles, although it is mostly three guys to one bicycle.
Just in front of a big temple some street urchins in soiled clothes are playing cricket with a paper ball and a wooden plank, seemingly worried of their game being disturbed by the passing school children and the audience in me. A school boy coming out of the temple is talking on his black mobile phone even as an old man waits holding his car door open. I walk slowly till I lose sight of the game and the old man stands waiting, holding the door.
I am now at the bus terminus and amongst a different colour. The bus as usual is packed with bags occupying more space that the children. Some bags I think can even pull the children with them, good heavens, I never had to carry books all my life. As the bus spurts to life and drudges labouriously a lot more of the uniforms fly in from nowhere and cling on to the doors and windows like spider men.
On the other side of the road the cab for the 'Clark's school for the deaf' waits for the children. The children inside wear no uniforms, but something else is common - they invariably are smiling, staring at the windows and are wearing their hearing aids.
Just as the bus is moving out of the terminus I see a familiar sight at the cycle shop. The dark schoolgirl is at her father’s (I suppose) shop with her little sister as usual mending to her vehicles tyres. When it is over, the smaller girl gives the vehicle a push with all her might and as it gains momentum, jumps on to her handicapped sister’s tricycle waving wildly at their father.
The bus is now on the road and moving with clowds of smoke gushing out of the old vehicle .
Another beautiful day
The recent rains had ravaged Chennai so much that nothing was in place or in time. One of those days my sister was coming back to Chennai from my home on a train and I was inside a bar drinking with my friends. It was almost 9 pm and I, almost drunk when my sister called me up to tell me that the train was 3 hours late and that she needed me to pick her up as it was getting late.
Even as I was thinking of ways to get to the railway station, someone who had drunk a little too much had hit my -a little too much drunk- friend. Before I could make out what had really happened my five friends were fighting out a gang of eight, I for my part ended up with more than a couple of bashes and all the excitement up my head had drained with my sweat but the smell stayed. Only after a patrol vehicle siren was heard the place became calmer. Scared of the sirens and cops, I stayed inside shivering and draining down what ever was left on my now rampaged table. After about an hour and a few anxious moments we left the bar silently in the pelting rain.
One of my generous friends dropped me at about a mile from the station. I had to walk the remaining distance in the rain and with a stupid fear that the brawl at the bar wasn't over yet. I called up one of my friends to keep myself from getting scared. A graveyard and the central jail on the way did not help the cause and I walked like an Olympian. I only breathed when I saw the glaring lights of the Central Railway station, my breath told me I was drunk and the station told me I was meeting my sister.
Waiting in a Station that was already cramped with thousands of people around in a wet pair of dress isn't something that makes you comfortable. Four coffees and a pack of Wrigley’s later I still felt I wasn't ready to meet my sister. With no empty chair in sight I couched in front of Higginbotham’s the book shop, waiting to hear about the train that was already 3 hours late. 'Tap tap' I was woken up by a man in khakis and black shoes asking for my platform tickets, it took sometime for me to realize I was lying on the floor at the central railway station waiting for my sister and the man in front of me was a cop. I did not understand his Hindi and neither did he understand my slurred English. A porter helped me - god knows why - telling the police man that I was his friend.
Three more coffees, a baby, a brawl with some one on whom I had spilt the fourth coffee, a game of cards with the porter and a magazine, managed to keep me awake till the train slowly nudged inside. I caught up with my sister who was tired from a seven hour-long journey that actually takes three hours. I stayed at least a meter away from her for the fear of letting her know that I was drunk. After waiting outside the station for about half an hour we managed to find an auto rickshaw at thrice the actual rate. I spoke very little all through the way, very uncharacteristic of me, she should have thought.
I managed to find my way to my house after dropping my sister at her house only to find knee-deep cold water covering up the whole road to my house. I actually waded to my house puffing up the cigarette I had borrowed from the auto driver and it was 2.00 am the next day when I wearily walked in to my bed happy atleast my sister wouldn't be hurt.
I woke up to my cell phone ringing to find my dear sister on the line. We spoke for sometime about my home, father, my mother and her journey as we had not spoken much the day before . Slowly we ran out of topics and she suddenly asked me if I was drunk the previous day and before I could muster an answer she hung up.
Wide awake and not knowing what to do, I looked at my watch for the start of another day. It was 9.05 am and I remembered lying on my bed that it was monday and I was already late by five minutes for a meeting at my office. and yes another beautiful day had started....
Even as I was thinking of ways to get to the railway station, someone who had drunk a little too much had hit my -a little too much drunk- friend. Before I could make out what had really happened my five friends were fighting out a gang of eight, I for my part ended up with more than a couple of bashes and all the excitement up my head had drained with my sweat but the smell stayed. Only after a patrol vehicle siren was heard the place became calmer. Scared of the sirens and cops, I stayed inside shivering and draining down what ever was left on my now rampaged table. After about an hour and a few anxious moments we left the bar silently in the pelting rain.
One of my generous friends dropped me at about a mile from the station. I had to walk the remaining distance in the rain and with a stupid fear that the brawl at the bar wasn't over yet. I called up one of my friends to keep myself from getting scared. A graveyard and the central jail on the way did not help the cause and I walked like an Olympian. I only breathed when I saw the glaring lights of the Central Railway station, my breath told me I was drunk and the station told me I was meeting my sister.
Waiting in a Station that was already cramped with thousands of people around in a wet pair of dress isn't something that makes you comfortable. Four coffees and a pack of Wrigley’s later I still felt I wasn't ready to meet my sister. With no empty chair in sight I couched in front of Higginbotham’s the book shop, waiting to hear about the train that was already 3 hours late. 'Tap tap' I was woken up by a man in khakis and black shoes asking for my platform tickets, it took sometime for me to realize I was lying on the floor at the central railway station waiting for my sister and the man in front of me was a cop. I did not understand his Hindi and neither did he understand my slurred English. A porter helped me - god knows why - telling the police man that I was his friend.
Three more coffees, a baby, a brawl with some one on whom I had spilt the fourth coffee, a game of cards with the porter and a magazine, managed to keep me awake till the train slowly nudged inside. I caught up with my sister who was tired from a seven hour-long journey that actually takes three hours. I stayed at least a meter away from her for the fear of letting her know that I was drunk. After waiting outside the station for about half an hour we managed to find an auto rickshaw at thrice the actual rate. I spoke very little all through the way, very uncharacteristic of me, she should have thought.
I managed to find my way to my house after dropping my sister at her house only to find knee-deep cold water covering up the whole road to my house. I actually waded to my house puffing up the cigarette I had borrowed from the auto driver and it was 2.00 am the next day when I wearily walked in to my bed happy atleast my sister wouldn't be hurt.
I woke up to my cell phone ringing to find my dear sister on the line. We spoke for sometime about my home, father, my mother and her journey as we had not spoken much the day before . Slowly we ran out of topics and she suddenly asked me if I was drunk the previous day and before I could muster an answer she hung up.
Wide awake and not knowing what to do, I looked at my watch for the start of another day. It was 9.05 am and I remembered lying on my bed that it was monday and I was already late by five minutes for a meeting at my office. and yes another beautiful day had started....
11g, west mambalam
To travel in a Bus in chennai is in itself an experience.. and if you are caught in the peak hours, man!! you are really in for something. Many a times you pay the ticket for just one leg and one hand of yours travelling inside the bus. One good thing about the Busses in chennai is that the last row is exclusively for women, and for those who travel on the footboard you can simply drool through your journey.
That thursday morning I had my colleague's 'Pulp fiction' Cd(a 1994 blockbuster movie) to carry back to office. As usual I found a place for my left leg inside the bus and my 'Pulp Fiction' found its place on this girls's lap who was at the window as I couldn't hold it with me hanging. Two stops away the girl got down giving me my CD and a smile, that I thought I had seen somewhere.
The next day again, I had Tom hank's 'Philedelphia' (a wonderfully made movie.. take my word its sensitive and beautiful) with me and found just enough place for my left shoe on God knows who's right shoe and a place for my Cd at the window seat. Two stops down, the Bus is a little less crampier and then I get the CD from a familiar hand. Wait!! hadn't I seen this bracelet somewhere? that familiar smile confirmed it. And guess what? she even bid me a 'Bye'.
After long I thought I had seen a face that stuck to my head, she looked - may be 'Pretty'? just out of teens, not very fair, a little short, not a face that grabs your attention, but a face that lingers on..and it did with me through the day.
On Saturday morning I had Marlon Brando's 'God father' in my hands and this time I didn't forget to look at the now familiar window seat. She was there smiling as usual even as she took the CD from me. I understood I must have stamped someone more than once looking at the last row when I heard him howl at me. I thought damn! and went on as she kept giving me the smile at definite intervals. Two stops down, she squeezes out of the bus, hands over the Cd and says "Excuse me!! why dont you ever travel inside a bus? why dont you be a little more careful about yourself? " with a mock anger on her face. I was like Bah!! Nothing came out my mouth except what I thought was a stupid grin. And then she sports her trademark smile, bids me a bye, walks away..Believe me if only I wasn't late for my work i swear I would have walked her way.
Monday came and this time I took my planner (which had my visiting card on it!!) with 'Godfather III', spent more time on my dress and my hair than usual, went to the bus stop earlier than usual and waited for my (her)bus. The first bus I thought was too early for her timing. She wasn't there on the second one, the third either, and the fourth one had everyone staring at me as I went one end to the other searching for that lost smile.
It was 10.30 when I reached my office an hour late than usual tired and draining . The day was busy but still the smile managed to find gaps and barge my head. The whole week had my colleagues asking me If something was wrong and why I was late. I had no answer, except what I thought was stupid grin. Its been a fortnite since but I still miss a bus or two with that stupid hope of seeing that smile again for God knows why.
"unnai adigam ninaipathillai, anal moochu vidum tharunam mattum eno ninaivukku vanthuvidugirai" ethuvum kadan vangina kavithai than.. enge padichennu nyabagam valrale... rendu naal parthathukku enthe effectannu kekatheenge.. chumma oru kodu podamnule athukkuthan..
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