The first time I ever touched a mobile phone was my friend's at my college hostel. Those were times when incoming calls were being charged; I paid him every time my mother called me on his phone. The phone was big, in fact huge it almost resembled a telephone, I don’t remember the model or the 'make' though.
I almost bought a phone when I was leaving college, a Panasonic, I don’t remember the model, and it had a -then happening- metal finish. It wasn't huge, but was still big. I was convinced I needed a phone, my mom wasn't.
It was one and half years after I had left college when I had my first mobile phone. After months of pestering, my brother brought me a used Ericsson c45, with a bright yellow display. Though basic, the phone had a hands-free kit, so it didn't heat my ears because the phone almost always started burning after only a few minutes of talking.
I used it until my girlfriend wanted a phone; I gifted the used, used phone to her and survived on fixed lines for a few months. I parted ways with her in less than 6 months.
I bought my first phone in May 2005, it was a Nokia 2600 my first color display phone, it lasted a good month because my brother wanted it. I exchanged it for his 2 year old -I don’t know what model- Nokia phone. It only had a B/w display with the keys already worn out. It worked fine but only till I dropped the phone in the Bay of Bengal. While playing with my friends on the East coast road at a Beach, my phone fell in to the salty sea waters. The next two months I could only call numbers that were already stored on the phone and pick calls. Soon the phone went dead.
In the mean while, I also bought a Sony Ericsson j200i for my recently graduated sister, she was going to her first job.
I bought my second phone, a Nokia 2300, I bought it because I had long hours of travel and it had a FM receiver in built. For almost 6 months it served me and served me good. I absent mindedly left the phone on the road after a small accident , while on my way to a marriage. I never saw the phone again.
My sister started to have problems with her Sony Ericsson; the battery was draining way too soon.
I used my friend's old, old phone for a few months before it went dead as well. I got a new Motorola W220, a simple flip phone with only a FM receiver being its big feature.
In six months I met with an accident, my vehicle tripped over a boulder, I saw in vain as my phone slowly flew out of my shirt pocket. The rain didn’t deter me from searching for the parts and when I reassembled them, the back cover of the phone was missing.
My sister's phone went dead.
I bought a phone last week a Motorola with almost all features, it was for my brother.
He called me up yesterday; the phone had gone dead. Shit.
Showing posts with label stir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stir. Show all posts
Somethings wrong
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.
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.
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.
The Police story, part II
My phone rang even as I was rushing to my evening classes from my office. It was my friend Jai, calling me after a while and from an all women police station.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
I quickly got in to an auto-rickshaw, trying to recollect what Jai told me over the phone. He had been picked up at a famous eat-out by police women while he was returning his former girl friend's mobile phone to her brother.
I barked at him for having taken Maha's phone, for only a fortnight before she had ditched him citing family reasons only to be seen with another guy the very next day. The day before he had met her and for some reason snatched her mobile and she had left the place running.
Although this was not the first time I was visiting (or made to??) a police station, my heart beat was so loud I heard it, my legs we shivering and my black shirt didn't help the situation. I was called by my friend as a witness to the fact that Maha had in fact been his girl friend once, interestingly Maha had claimed that she had met Jai only thrice all her life and that Jai was forcing her to marriage. I had to smile, because not very long before she had cried to me, scared that Jai might ditch her!!
I walked very uncomfortably in to the station, and was offered a seat by a stern faced Inspector. The Inspector asked me a string of questions, all of them trying to ascertain the relationship, I barely mouthed words though my head shakes answered her as a smiling Sub-Inspector joined her. I was relieved when they asked me wait in one of the waiting rooms, by then two more of my friends joined me, we sat down.
I could see Maha and her parents in the waiting room, she wasn't looking at me. She was sober yet beautiful as ever but for so many other reasons I wanted to confront her, their 5 year relationship for one. Another older woman in a khaki saree (the others wore shirts and pants) bent towards me and whispered that the commissioner was a relative of Maha's and she suggested Jai be a little more regretful. She also walked two floors to fetch us a bottle of water; police women aren't what the movies portray!!
We were called back to the Inspector's room; Maha was inside. Only after, a few Photographs of Jai and Maha together and some letters she had written to Jai, were produced did the Inspector's face lose its wrinkles. Maha was only looking at the police woman, the woman was unforgiving now, telling Jai precisely and men in general to be careful about girls, I didn't like the generalising but sat tight, Maha's face was turning red while jai tried to be at least verbally regretful.
The Sub-Inspector gave us a piece of paper for a statement that we/Jai wouldn't disturb Maha, she smiled when I asked her for a pen, though she lent one.
Respected madam,
We are not/will not be responsible/ the reason for the troubles that have been/may be caused to the concerned person.
Signed.
I didn't know how correct was the sentence actually/grammatically, but we signed.
Even as we were leaving the station barking and howling at Jai, we heard some one shout my name hard, I turned back it was the sub Inspector. I slowly walked to her, she got her hands towards me hard, on my instincts I had a hand on my face in defense, my friends laughed with her while she slowly pulled her pen out of my shirt pocket.
Long long ago..
There were only two kinds of people in my school, the famous and the infamous, others were almost nonexistent or were considered so. Since books and playfields rarely interested me, I quickly graduated to the infamous list although it needed some extraordinary courage and shamelessness.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
Defiance of the rules, muddling the uniform, frequenting the TV hall in wee hours (just to prove) and marking my absence at every gathering pushed me to the ranks, but I was not complete, not without an escapade to the next town.
A residential public school with a military back drop that rarely allowed real world expoure wasn't the only thing that stood in my way and the next town. It also included,
1. Dodging the security, that involved changing in to civilian clothes inside one of those dense wild shrubs.
2. Stopping a bus, raising no alarms and not giving away the identity with my crew cut for the next half hour of the journey.
3. Watching a movie or hanging around the town very often infested by the school staff.
4. Reversal of steps one and two. For Javed too it was a virgin act.
Javed was a rich man, meaning he had a hundred rupee note and I was worth only a quarter of it.
Scene 1
I was changing clothes in broad day light and inside a shrub with one of my best friends; a surprise visitor would have doubted our orientation. Javed was dirtying his face with sand, must be some tips from the older guys I thought and I followed suit. The tallest shrub protected our uniforms.
We spent an hour behind a tree before a bus stopped; we found the last seat empty and ducked our heads for the next half hour. When we reached the movie hall running and gasping for breath, the ticket sales had already closed down.
Having no other option other than to roam around the town, the first thing I did was call my mother at her office. I was talking to my mother after three long months and I pretended I was talking to her during an official trip.
The telephone bill was an exorbitant forty rupees; visibly angry Javed reluctantly slipped his hands inside his pant pockets. I was pawned at the phone booth and Javed said he would return in an hour, he had forgotten his 100 rupee note inside his uniform.
Scene 2
Javed is nervous and is sweating overtly, grabbing the attention of the vicinity. Some stranger strikes a conversation with Javed trying to make him comfortable, Javed is relaxed but almost crying. The stranger helps him with some money after hearing a rather bizarre story.
Although the guy at the booth was trying his best to comfort me, I continued sweating. To my relief, Javed returned in twenty minutes I was traded back, phew.
Scene 3
Only stage four was remaining but our heads were already drooping. Lady luck must have been taking a real long break, for when were about to board the bus, we were met right on face by the big mustached English teacher Mr. Jeyaraj. With no valid reasons for us being in the town, we had the right to remain silent.
We were again at the last row and it was showbiz for us. We had the undivided attention of the almost all passengers, hearing our histories and watching him play with our ears (he was known for his long finger nails and his fondness for ears).
I was afraid, the tragedy could prolong if we were handed over at the school gates. It meant public humiliation and a complete Khaki outfit with leather shoes at all places (play field included) for another week. Mr. Jeyaraj stopped the bus exactly where we had boarded only a few hours before, and said "run, you stupid buggers" with a smirk on his face. We lived the expression, "running for lives" till we reached the tree where we had started it all. The uniforms were missing.
Scene 4
We walked inside the hostel, making up faces that brimmed with pride.
Voila! we had done it, well almost.
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.
Ever felt like..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.
At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.
After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.
"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.
All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.
The next Instant I too was..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.
"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.
I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.
Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.
Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.
We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.
After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.
I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?
We must have started from Chennai at about 7.15 pm that day. Muru and Param were on a Yamaha RX 135 and I was on the pillion of Vicky's black Pulsar 150 cc, it was our friend’s marriage the next day. The traffic kept a check on the speedometer until we were on the national highway. We filled gas at about 10 kms from the start and had the Yamaha checked for air.
At about 25 kms the Yamaha had a flat tyre and we had to push it a good distance till we found a repair shop. While the vehicle was attended to I found a shop that sold cold beer. I bought two bottles for just the pillion riders, Param and me; the two beers were divided in to 4 equal parts.
After some distance the highway was looking clean and tempting, we were soon touching the 80 kmph mark. There was a gentle drizzle, I lifted my hands up, let the cool air strike my face, mmm... bliss. In a few minutes the dial was showing 85 kmph.
"On a dark desert highway, Cool wind in my hair..." I was whistling the Eagles number with my hands still in the air when we touched 90 Kmph, ever felt like God? I did.
All through this we were trailing the Yamaha and Vicky on his first long ride was enjoying every moment. The Dial now read 95kmph.
I thought I saw a 'take diversion --->' sign a few feet away and when I turned straight, I heard Param shout "shit ..", the Yamaha was in the air.
The next Instant I too was..
I was lying on a pile of fine gravel looking at the dark starless sky. My legs hurt and I felt something big inside my pant pockets.
I was on the speedometer, the rear view mirror of the Pulsar inside my pant pocket. I couldn't move for a long time, my heart was racing and my mind was crowded with thoughts. I desperately tried to move, I couldn't. After sometime all three of my friends were standing around me, I smiled and Vicky helped me stand.
"Cigarettes please " It was me..
"Can I call the ambulance ?" it was Param
"ungo... ", an obscenity, Muru. We laughed and heartily.
I had fallen on the Pulsar, Vicky a little away and Param on Muru. Only Muru had a helmet on, the helmet had cracked. The fine gravel had cushioned us to only a few bruises. The Pulsar was half inside the pile of gravel, its blinkers gone, scratched all over and the gear lever bent to an awkward angle. The Yamaha's blinkers too were missing, the break pedal was shaky and the helmet had to be disposed.
Vicky was struggling to ride when we started, my legs hurt and we sat down on one side of the highway. Param was giving my legs a massage when I heard my mobile ring. It was my friend in Chennai, after a minute of my silence he disconnected. I kept the phone beside me and continued to wince.
Five minutes later we were on the road again, the speedometer read 45kmph, Param was riding the Pulsar. After a while I thought I heard my phone ring, I searched for the phone and we turned back. Just about a kilometer on the way back, it started to rain. An hour of searching my mobile only drenched us.
We reached the Marriage hall at about 12.15 am, the next day. When Vicky woke us up in the morning, it was 7.30; my friend had been married for two hours. It was a Thursday and I was supposed to be at my office, we spent the day at Muru's home. We started back in the evening, with the speedometer reading 65kmph, it was warm and sunny.
After a while, dark clouds cast the sky, there was a gentle breeze and the traffic seemed thinner than the previous night.
I looked at the dial it read 80 kmph, ever felt like God?
Another night, another place, another journey
Stranded drunk in a railway station in the middle of the night was not a new thing for me. I tried ‘India today’, Sidney Sheldon, coffee and grapes for company. That night I had neither the choice of trains nor the class I was supposed to travel, all I had was a general ticket to Bangalore in my shirt pocket. The Nizamuddin express that was supposed to come in at 10.30 to the Miraj Junction was, like the ticket vendor said, ‘as usual late by about two hours’.
When the train came in at last one general compartment was looking like a gas chamber of the nazi period, packed to the maximum. People were everywhere, on the benches, on the luggage rails, on the floor and at the door. Another compartment was already latched from inside, knocks and bangs on the door evoked little response from the mostly Muslim, burka clad inmates who went on with their squabble.
The compartment I had to get in had some space for only my legs just beside an old woman who was comfortably lying on the way to the washroom also in a torn old brown burka. I looked in to the compartment to see so many burkas and kufies (white caps) that, for a moment I thought if Muslims were really a minority in India.
I must have stood in the same posture for about an hour until I felt my bag was weighing me down. A thirty looking man, with a black baseball cap, helped me stuff the bag under a bench. By now some boys looking no older than teens and sitting at the door started sharing a pack of tobacco, I wanted to say something, but then I remembered I was drunk. The boys were now speaking in Urdu, and their names said they were all Muslims. I muttered “Muslims”, it must have been loud because the black cap was smiling at me.
The black cap asked me something in Kannada, I replied him back in the broken Kannada I knew. We spoke in Kannada for some time of which the only thing that I understood was I never knew Kannada. The winds were too cold now and the doors had to be bolted and almost the whole compartment was sleeping except the few of us who were standing. My new friend made some place for me so that I could crouch while he stood. I was dead tired and I must have slept for over an hour in that position.
I felt someone waking me up, my friend was sitting on the upper berth (can it be called one??). He was calling me from there, while I was still crouching. We were in some station and more importantly some of the burkas were getting down. I climbed on to the seat and sat down with him. Thirsty I took my half-full water bottle and was looking at it when something on the label stuck me. The label read “Durga – distilled water”- for battery use only”, I felt sick in my stomach.
There was another man sitting to my right holding a small, may be a few months old baby girl. I bent down to look at the girl and his watch, it read 3.00 am. I slept and woke up again to something pulling my hands and I did not sleep again. The baby was almost out of her father’s hands precariously moving and trying to hold on to my fingers. I tried waking him and he was sleeping like he hadn’t slept for years. I picked up the girl and started playing with her. She was beautiful and didn’t mind playing with me, while I lost all my sleep falling in love with her charms.
After about an hour of playing she probably was tired of me and she started wailing waking up everyone except her father. Her mother who too was in a black burka was surprised and quickly apologized before taking my sweet heart away. My friend beside me was also awake and I started complaining about the way the Muslims were, he seemed like he was very intently listening to me but never said anything. Not that I had anything against Muslims, I told him, it was just the day and he was seeing it all. At about 5.20 he silently closed his eyes and I think he prayed while some others in the compartment began their Namaz, facing east.
Nothing eventual happened until the morning when I had to catch another train to Bangalore from Hubli. When the train stopped at Hubli, my friend simply said, “run” and started running with his baggage. I had to find my bag, my sneakers before I could run and when I reached the other train it was already half full. I walked the length of the train and a hand from one of the bogies startled me to a stop, my friend was sitting inside grinning; there was an empty seat for me in front of him.
This train wasn’t as crowded as the first and I could even lie down for a nap. I woke up, brushed and had my breakfast and went to sleep while my friend was sleeping through all these. My friend woke me up with two fresh packets in his hand for breakfast; ashamed to admit I had had breakfast, I had to eat again. I must have looked like I was starving before I met him because through out the journey he fed me with anything palatable. For a moment I even had a fear, if he was tricking me in to something. When the ticket checker came in, I found a Muslim family traveling free because one of the guys was a railway employee. We again had a topic and I did most of the talking while he listened with the same intent.
Before long it was afternoon and we were in Bangalore and had to part ways. Although we had spoken a lot, I knew nothing of him personally except he was from some place called Chinthamani road. I didn’t want another anecdote of mine with a stranger and no name. I asked him his name and he did not reply untill we had reached the entrance of the Bangalore junction.
He smiled, shook my hands and said, “My name is Abdul Razzaq and Jasche, it was nice knowing you”, before joining the crowd and fading away.
For the second time that day, I felt sick in my stomach.
NH4
Two hours had passed when my friend tired of showing up his hands asked me do it. With the traffic dwindling and every passing vehicle considering us another lamppost, I lost all hope. On a highway of an unknown town at 11.00 pm with a heavy baggage and a little knowledge of the local language I somehow was convinced I was going to spend the night under moonlight. We were stranded on the Bangalore-Kohlapur highway NH4 as we had missed the last Bus to Bangalore from Kohlapur. I half-heartedly lifted up my hands waiting for a miracle to happen when a vehicle slowly came to a halt in front of us.
It was a Truck and I actually felt myself smiling for the first time on that fateful day. After some negotiations with the Truck driver who wore a black shirt, we finally got inside the truck only to hear them talking in my own language. I was elated to take over from my Hindi speaking friend who had helped me all the way. We were happy but a little scared because it was all happening so easily and the truck carrying onions, my friend and me had already started. A heavy wallet with both of us did not help the cause either. I jotted down the truck number on my mobile and we planned to keep vigil in turns.
It was my turn and I was trying to keep myself awake when just about a kilometer down I saw a board that read ' Bangalore -> 620 Kms ', I lost all sleep. Life definitely is a cycle or why would I, who had traveled to Pune by a flight, on the way back be sitting on a wooden plank inside an old truck that carried onions? In the three hours that followed I saw my sleeping friend hitting his head about on almost all the walls of the cramped cabin. We had to speak loudly in the cabin, to beat the old engine's roar, which not only helped us hear but also seem to keep the driver awake. He kept talking all the way of his boss-the man with the black shirt, his recent marriage and of his Mother.
Traveling in the dark at 40kms/hr, which I later learnt helped them keep up the mileage I thought I was seeing the moon and the beautiful star-studded night sky after a very very long time. We stopped after about 75 kms for what was just the first one of the several tea flavours that I had to taste in the 24 hours that followed. It got colder through the night and the pit stops increased as the driver stopped frequently to keep himself awake with tobacco, cigerettes, water and tea. I woke up after having hit myself to an Iron bar and I realized I must have dozed off after having spent five hours on the wooden plank. I crouched to a corner of the already occupied bed and slept for about an hour before a terribly cold breeze woke me up. The visibility was near zero, with thick fog filling up the road and the truck moving at less than 10 Kms/ hr.
I fell asleep again and woke up only when the driver called me for another cup of tea and another round of his boosters. My friend who was supposed to keep awake was leaning on to the drivers seat and sleeping. When we got back to the truck, I could see the horizon clearing up a little and the sun was slowly coming up. I don’t remember a time when I had watched the sun come up, I was not going to miss it, I kept myself awake with one of the driver's possessions. The Truck was traveling southeast facing the sun, the scene looked like a picture postcard and I was missing my camera.
I fell asleep on the unkempt bed with my friend keeping up the vigil now and the other driver taking the wheel. Traveling on road definitely has its own vantages, I woke up after about two hours to see the beautiful green landscapes of North Karnataka and I was sorely missing my camera now.
We stopped to freshen up and I had the breakfast of my life, in a hotel that looked like it was directly taken out of the sets of Black hawk down. Nothing special was on the menu and everyone seemed to be eating the same dish. Unkempt hair, stained teeth, soiled shirts and pants and smiling faces – is all you will need to describe a truck driver. Talking to a few of them in the broken Hindi I knew I sensed Irony; they ferried apples from Himachal, granites from Gujarat, onions and cashew from Pune, vanilla and pepper from Kerala and many other things that only fall in the budget of the shiny part of India.
The lone telephone booth was crowded with anxious husbands, fathers and sons (our truck driver included) wanting to let their family know they were safe. When we were leaving I slipped and hurt my cheek trying to climb the truck, may be I wanted to stay a little longer in that cramped, dirty place.
The day journey was a lot different; I was now able to see the scenic landscapes as we drudged still on the 50-kms/hr mark. I lost count of the number of crushed, burnt out, mangled trucks on the way, of which both the drivers never talked about or seemed to pretend they had never seen. On the way we tasted some fruits, which I had not even seen or heard of, drank murky water, which surprisingly tasted good and did every other thing that for long I had considered unhygienic.
After having traveled 622 kilometers inside a 3m X 1m cabin for 18 hours and 34 minutes, we got down at Bangalore tired, dirty and cramped. One of the drivers was sleeping; we did not wake him up, for he had driven for most of the journey. The black shirt pocketed the money I gave him without counting. We just said a bye and the truck slowly started as we stood and waved at just the onions. When the truck was around the corner the black shirt – we never asked his name and we just called him Bhai (meaning brother)- stopped for a split second before he went on his way. The last thing I saw of the truck was the words National-Permit painted in black on the back of the truck.
It was a Truck and I actually felt myself smiling for the first time on that fateful day. After some negotiations with the Truck driver who wore a black shirt, we finally got inside the truck only to hear them talking in my own language. I was elated to take over from my Hindi speaking friend who had helped me all the way. We were happy but a little scared because it was all happening so easily and the truck carrying onions, my friend and me had already started. A heavy wallet with both of us did not help the cause either. I jotted down the truck number on my mobile and we planned to keep vigil in turns.
It was my turn and I was trying to keep myself awake when just about a kilometer down I saw a board that read ' Bangalore -> 620 Kms ', I lost all sleep. Life definitely is a cycle or why would I, who had traveled to Pune by a flight, on the way back be sitting on a wooden plank inside an old truck that carried onions? In the three hours that followed I saw my sleeping friend hitting his head about on almost all the walls of the cramped cabin. We had to speak loudly in the cabin, to beat the old engine's roar, which not only helped us hear but also seem to keep the driver awake. He kept talking all the way of his boss-the man with the black shirt, his recent marriage and of his Mother.
Traveling in the dark at 40kms/hr, which I later learnt helped them keep up the mileage I thought I was seeing the moon and the beautiful star-studded night sky after a very very long time. We stopped after about 75 kms for what was just the first one of the several tea flavours that I had to taste in the 24 hours that followed. It got colder through the night and the pit stops increased as the driver stopped frequently to keep himself awake with tobacco, cigerettes, water and tea. I woke up after having hit myself to an Iron bar and I realized I must have dozed off after having spent five hours on the wooden plank. I crouched to a corner of the already occupied bed and slept for about an hour before a terribly cold breeze woke me up. The visibility was near zero, with thick fog filling up the road and the truck moving at less than 10 Kms/ hr.
I fell asleep again and woke up only when the driver called me for another cup of tea and another round of his boosters. My friend who was supposed to keep awake was leaning on to the drivers seat and sleeping. When we got back to the truck, I could see the horizon clearing up a little and the sun was slowly coming up. I don’t remember a time when I had watched the sun come up, I was not going to miss it, I kept myself awake with one of the driver's possessions. The Truck was traveling southeast facing the sun, the scene looked like a picture postcard and I was missing my camera.
I fell asleep on the unkempt bed with my friend keeping up the vigil now and the other driver taking the wheel. Traveling on road definitely has its own vantages, I woke up after about two hours to see the beautiful green landscapes of North Karnataka and I was sorely missing my camera now.
We stopped to freshen up and I had the breakfast of my life, in a hotel that looked like it was directly taken out of the sets of Black hawk down. Nothing special was on the menu and everyone seemed to be eating the same dish. Unkempt hair, stained teeth, soiled shirts and pants and smiling faces – is all you will need to describe a truck driver. Talking to a few of them in the broken Hindi I knew I sensed Irony; they ferried apples from Himachal, granites from Gujarat, onions and cashew from Pune, vanilla and pepper from Kerala and many other things that only fall in the budget of the shiny part of India.
The lone telephone booth was crowded with anxious husbands, fathers and sons (our truck driver included) wanting to let their family know they were safe. When we were leaving I slipped and hurt my cheek trying to climb the truck, may be I wanted to stay a little longer in that cramped, dirty place.
The day journey was a lot different; I was now able to see the scenic landscapes as we drudged still on the 50-kms/hr mark. I lost count of the number of crushed, burnt out, mangled trucks on the way, of which both the drivers never talked about or seemed to pretend they had never seen. On the way we tasted some fruits, which I had not even seen or heard of, drank murky water, which surprisingly tasted good and did every other thing that for long I had considered unhygienic.
After having traveled 622 kilometers inside a 3m X 1m cabin for 18 hours and 34 minutes, we got down at Bangalore tired, dirty and cramped. One of the drivers was sleeping; we did not wake him up, for he had driven for most of the journey. The black shirt pocketed the money I gave him without counting. We just said a bye and the truck slowly started as we stood and waved at just the onions. When the truck was around the corner the black shirt – we never asked his name and we just called him Bhai (meaning brother)- stopped for a split second before he went on his way. The last thing I saw of the truck was the words National-Permit painted in black on the back of the truck.
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