31st December was
definitely not going to be a memorable day, I was desperately lonely in the
company of strangers. Standing in a motley queue impatiently waiting to get a
Tatkal, my ticket to the paradise, they call Pantnagar. But you can't enjoy
Nirvana without having to face the trials and tribulations of Justin
Bieber(He's hot) and Rebecca Black(She's cool)(please lock them up together and
save us from misery ) ; and so the Tatkal window closed and along with it the
possibility of me having a peaceful passage to paradise.
With the possibility
of Nirvana negated, I decided to settle for RHCP( 'Red Hot Chili Peppers' for
the uninitiated ). I took out my phone, enabled the Wi-Fi in a hope to catch
some free data packets courtesy the Indian Railways and a few gullible passengers
with open hotspots but to no avail( Yes, I am that miser :P ; can even give a
traditional baniya a run for his money ;)
). Saddened, I grudgingly switched on my data pack. Went to the
Uttarakhand Transport Corporations website to book a Volvo ticket reluctantly
ready to shell out a bomb. Filled in the details and moved to the internet
banking and shoot !!!!!
"You have
reached your data limit"
Popped up the
ominous warning.
I cussed Kayden
Kross and Sasha Grey under my breath. I had 69 Mb till yesterday evening.
And there went off
the Volvo plans with RHCP bidding adieus.
Now only Greenday
could be a saviour. I rushed to the ISBT in a desperate attempt to secure a
seat via the brick and mortar counter but 21 guns blazed on me when the last
ticket for the immediately next Volvo bus leisurely ramp walked, swaying from side to side neatly tucked into the back
pocket of a well-endowed woman.
There were two
choices now either wait for the next Deluxe/Volvo or hop on to an already
half-filled rickety roadways bus which promised to leave in the next 10
minutes. The Spartan inside me won over the Hedonist.
On being sloshed
into the bus with a deluge of prospective passengers from the hind door, I was not fast enough to
occupy the prime seats or pushy enough to get one by ubiquitous Indian
adjustment trick.
There were 3 rows
each having an official capacity of 3. Out of these 9, I stood a chance at 4,
which were also diminishing at a rate faster than Rahul Gandhi's political
prospects.
But out of the 3 rows, my heart was immediately set on the one farthest
away.
It had 2 occupants ,
the window seat was occupied by a fair lass and adjacent to him sat a guy whose
features I am unable to recollect, but he must have been awesome to have such a
fine companion, if he was not then God has been cruel to my tribe of 'single
ready to mingle' perpetual bachelors.
I went to them and politely asked the guy with
my eyes glued at the girl trying to get even a minuscule fraction of an eye
contact ,"Dude, May I ?" not even now looking at either the seat or
the guy.
"It's taken bro ."
Came the curt reply,
his voice must have been laced with contempt and haughtiness but my brain
failed to analyze this, it was busy feasting on the probably imaginary
melodious sound of the chiming of her ear pendant.
I was jolted out of my
reverie, by a not so gentle tapping on my shoulder, I read it as a celestial
cue - *बेटा, तुमसे ना हो पाएगा ||*. Forget eye contact, the girl had
not even noticed my presence and I had thought maybe not bathing for the past 2
weeks straight might draw some eyeballs even though with grimaced faces.
*प्यार मोहोबत धोखा
है, कुर्सी घेरले मौका है ||*
and thus spake the inner sagacious voice.
I heeded it immediately and
lunged for the next row. This one had 2 vacant seats, the sole occupant was a
spectacled guy with a smile pasted on his face which seemed evergreen. His
hairs were parted from the middle with a generous helping of Dabur Amla Hair
oil or so it smelled. His brown Nike sweatshirt revolted against his नाडा वाला सफैद पिजामा, to un-compliment this all he wore brown
leather boots carrying a mail satchel bag.
The reason of my
longer than usual glance was the thick, bulky and hardcover book which he was
reading with orgasmic interest until I broke his flow.
"Kafka on the shore" the title
proclaimed. The word Kafka was enough for me to shun the pull of having a seat.
The least I wanted was an intimate experience of having an intellectual
masturbation on my face under full public glare additionally while I was
contemplating these thoughts a man had already claimed one of the seats and had
reserved the other for his better half
by placing her handkerchief in her stead.
I finally got the
row which was nearest to my erstwhile entry point. It had an old couple, their
toothless smile was an indication that they were fine with me occupying the
third seat. Passing a thankful smile, I took the seat.
But the wheels of
the bus were not ready to budge so easily, not without testing my patience at
least. The conductors' 10 minutes were far from over. It seemed his clock moved
at a pace akin to Dravid's' strike rate. The idle time at hand combined with the
Kafka guy on my front seat and the love-smitten couple on his front drifted my
thoughts into a direction where you wonder about your worthless wasted life. An
engineer who perhaps knew more engineering before entering the hallowed portals
of college. You start believing in your head that yours is the most hopeless
case and to put red hot chili pepper on your wounds you get reinforcing signals
from the surroundings. You don't know engineering and have no idea where your
career is heading and you meet IIT-D
grads discussing microprocessors and machines and whining at Intel's' lowly 7
digit package in the same breadth. You feel morose about not having that
chiseled body, that razor-sharp jawline, that alpha male smile, those rock
solid abs and there parades off a Greek god
in front of you completely making you believe that you are a lesser man.
To add a cherry to the pie, you see the most winsome girl walking with her palm
cupped into the palm of the most unattractive guy, her head resting on his
feeble shoulders and you are left alone with your palm consoling yourself.
Right from your branch to your best friends, you force yourself to believe that
all the choices you made, turned out to be wrong. Life is vicious and the Supreme is a sadist
you reach your Sherlockian conclusion.
Mercifully the
engine rumbled, liberating me from the mental guilt torture. The wheels started
to roll and so did my head, trying to discern my position in this mini
universe.
The guy who was
accompanying the ravishing girl with that musical ear pendant stood up. Offered
his seat to a lady who had a 5-6-year-old boy with her, an immaculate gentleman
the guy was. Surely the girl had made the right decision. How first impressions
are so deceiving.
But the story had
just begun. The lady without a second thought obliged the offer. Give them what
little you have and they will take the rest too. She demanded the girl to
vacant the window seat brandishing the vomit warning in her face. She
reluctantly moved dragging herself to the adjacent seat. The kid occupied the
other . I was wondering where was the person who had ruined my chances of
sitting at the coveted seat which the kid has owned so effortlessly.
It took me a while
to realize "It's taken bro." was a sham. Not only was there no taker
of that seat but the guy himself was not going to travel. It was all done to
get the girl female journey mates and a peaceful voyage. I was sure now even my
face reeked of unbridled desperation. I looked out of the window in disgust and
there stood the guy waving a bye to her, his other hand giving a thumbs up. The
thumb must surely have been for me.
The bus thankfully
moved out of ISBT leaving the sinister guy behind.
The fly-posters
caught my attention which have been generously pasted on every possible place
inside the bus.
बाबा कबीर शाह बंगाल वाले ( 7579*****3 )
अनबन, करा-कराया, वशीकरण, नौकरी में रुकावट ,आक्टिंग व
मॉडेलिंग में काम ना मिलना इत्यादि समस्याओं का 12 घंटे के अंदर घर बैठे
फोन पर समाधान |
परिणाम ना मिलने पर पैसे वापिस !!
नोट : प्यार में धोखा खाए प्रेमी / प्रेमिका एक बार अवश्य मिलें |
[ if any troubled
soul needs the number, drop me a message or mail :P ]
Astounded by the
Guerilla marketing and such precise product placement, I was sure you do not
need an MBA to be a marketer. Acting and modelling were indicators that the
market was surely expanding. I was wondering how would he be able to conjure up
something as tangible as a Job or a modelling/acting contract and whether with
some more loosening of the purse strings would he be able to give an assignment
with Nolan, a name in all likeliness, he would not have heard. I couldn't help
escape a grin when I mused would he be having a panacea for persistent
bachelors.
Meanwhile, the old
couple on my adjacent seat had fallen into a noiseless slumber. The old lady
had put her head in the man's lap and he was caressing her head when he had
fallen asleep. They were at peace, it seemed nothing in the world worried them.
They had built their own universe, the cosmos filled by their selfless love,
their two souls, the only shining stars. Travelling in Roadways for an 8 hour
journey at that age, obviously they were not very rich. But shame on my
definition of richness , the term failed to capture their limitless wealth.
Extrapolating from their present visages, they must not have been THE COUPLE
during their prime. No girl would have swooned on seeing the man neither would
have many heads turned for a second look at the girl. But that was immaterial
to them, Whoever advised us that the aim of life is to leave a mark on the
world did not know that we can create our own worlds. The worlds which would
remain long after its creators are gone, existing in words such as these, in
the souls of those for whom they created the world.
"कंडक्टर अंकल
मेरे तीन रुपिये तो दे दो ",
the croaky voice of our Kafka snapped me out. This was the third time he was
asking the condutor albeit quiet impatiently and loudly this time.
"दे दूँगा छोरे,
कछे में डालके थोड़ी ना ले जौंगा !!!" retorted the visibly vexed conductor who was having a tough
time dealing with some of the unruly standing passengers.
The bus had completed half of its journey, after a brief hiatus at
"हिल्टन भोजनालय - बेस्ट
शाकाहारी खाना " the journey resumed. I thanked my stars for
stopping me from entering purportedly Paris Hilton's hotel. Not only the
standing passengers having lost their patience have captured the seats of
passengers who have got down to eat but also those who have eaten were now
having an upset stomach which was accompanied by the most melodious farts which
could make even Beethoven hang his head in shame. If fart is so near, can smell
be far behind ?
And behold you could
smell the most exotic salts, the heady concoction made me dizzy.
Cacophony reigned,
as passengers started quibbling over seats. The seat next to our beautiful lass
was now occupied by an obese man whose farts were the most fierce additionally
he also had the most foul burps. She had to adjust the kid too, as his mother
was in a fit of nausea. Puking every now and then. I terribly wanted to see the
expressions on her Lakme lit, Maybelline marked face but I had to save my ass
resting place too. Then something happened which completed my reinvigoration in
canons of divine justice which has started with the girls misery. Perhaps
I have become a sadist myself.
The kid was looking visibly upset seeing his mother in a lamentable
state, he closed his eyes, I am now sure
he had communicated telepathically with बाबा कबीर शाह बंगाल वाले who were sitting cross
legged on the advertisement right in front of his seat.
His mother's nausea
subsided immediately.
I took out my pen
and noted Babaji's number with new found reverence.
But at the end, I
think even Babaji can't turn the fact that the world is a zero sum game.
It seemed the
mothers nausea was transferred to his child. Having no time to get to the
window, the child puked all over our beautiful girl. A ear bursting shriek
escaped from the girls throat followed by two cheek warming slaps on the poor
kids face. A commotion followed. But the damage had been done. Karma is a bitch
after all. I sadistic smile curved my lips.
The girl was still
wiping herself, when the bus stopped at a stop which the conductor has warned
us, was a den of pickpockets. I put my wallet in my Jacket's inside pocket as
the door opened. At least 10 beings swamped
in from the back door only. But fortuitously there was not even a scope of
getting a fourth person adjusted in my row thanks to my size.
Strangely, the Kafka guy was all by himself. He had closed his
'Kafka on the shores' presumably he tanked before reaching the shores.
Naturally somebody asked him to slide into the corner window seat. "Can't
you see the seat's condition" he ejaculated. I tried to look at what he
was alluding to and there I saw the cause of his misery. The seat was full of
vomit which has flown from the innocuously open window delivered straight from
the gut of the kid's mother, courtesy 'हिल्टन भोजनालय' .
The quizzer shrugged and walked away.
But as The Dark
Knight had reminded us so eloquently that the night is darkest just before the
dawn. The sun on our Kafka's miserable
journey was about to rise. Oblivious to my trained eyes, a seductive
maiden has surreptitiously crawled her
way through the crowd completely bypassing my radar and now she was walking to
our Kafka's seat .
"खाली है ?" she said
pointing to the window chair.
Kafka chided on the teenager ,the other occupant of his row, "देख नही रहे हो लड़की खड़ी है और तुम मज़े से
पैर फैलाए बैठे हो !",
his voice carried a stern moral authority. The teenager strangely drank the
humiliation and instead of having a banter got up.
"आप बैईठये |" said Kafka
looking directly into the eyes of the maiden offering the newly vacated seat as
the vanquished teenager looked on. " अरे नही नही , तुम बैठो बच्चे " she said, I will take the window seat, ignorant of the seat's
condition. " मैं बच्चा
नहीं हूँ आंटी !! "
fumed the teenager with an extra emphasis on the last word, "और मेरा स्टॉप आ गया है " he said as he hopped off the bus.
The red faced maiden gave a disapproving look and commented "आज कल के बच्चे भी ना !" ; regaining her composure as she
sat. In the meantime a burly man having a flowing beard came to them and said
in a deep baritone voice,"भाईजान
ज़रा अंदर होना | ".
Kafka had sized up the man, "भाईजान आप अंदर चलें जाए" ,said Kafka with an extra polite voice. The burly guy seemed
puzzled, he made his way to the window seat only to be greeted with pukish
liquid. "पहले नही बता सकता
था !! " thundered the
giant. Kafka in a matter of factly way stated,"भाईजान जब आधी जनता खड़ी है और एक सीट खाली
है, तो मेने सोचा आप समझ जाएँगे |". I couldn't see the man's reaction as I was enchanted by
the maiden's smile which has surfaced realizing Kafka's trickery. Our Kafka has
scored his first point. The bearded man shrugged his shoulders as he walked off
hopelessly to look for another place to sit.
"अभी देता हूँ
हाँ, तुम्हारे तीन रूपीए बेटा |" came a feeble voice from the
other end of the bus. The conductor has started
doling out the balance amount to the passengers. "कोई बात नही अंकल, कोई जल्दी नही है | आप आराम से दे दीजिएगा | " was the so un-Kafkan reply from Kafka. Although his voice
must have drowned out in the brouhaha which has started with the dole out. I am
sure if the counductor would have heard those inaudible words, he would have
been nonplussed,holding his head in sheer disbelief.
Our maiden has taken out her phone, as ठरकी as this writer is, I could not help peeping from the backseat, the
notches between adjacent seats gave me just enough leeway to steal glances
hopefully without being caught.The old couple was still imbued in their own
world.
The maiden must have
been around 25-26, fair as milk, no blemishes, no tan marks on any visible part
of her body. She wore her shining hairs long and loose. The lavender cologne
was a welcome respite from the surrounding farts, sweat and vomit. Her pink pouty lips seamlessly melted into
the most effortless smile. Her voice was deep, sultry and sonorous.
She was checking her
FB, my interest heightened, hoping to catch her name and thus get a lifetime
access. Once done with all the notifications, she moved to her profile
pictures, intermittently looking expectantly at our Kafka, who I was sure, was
faking reading the book he has long ditched. Alas, even he couldn't control his
excitement, he put the book down and took out his MotoG with a back cover which
read :
Things I hate :
1.Lists
2.Phone
cases
3.Irony
I was really happy
that I did not spend the last 6 hours sitting next to an intellectual,
narcissist man. He started fiddling with
his phone, his eyes furiously moving from his mobile screen to hers. He rotated
his head round his shoulders as if it had got stiffened and he wanted some
relief, but I knew he wanted to feast his eyes. The girl, I think knowingly,
allowed him to. He indulged literally for a full minute in the eye feast. His
testosterone level now must have shot up to the depths unfathomed for now he
did a chutzpah which belittled the one by Haider to the level which is only
achieved when Akash Chopra starts giving cricketing advice to A.B.Devillers
with shameless poise and panache.
He had, a little
while ago, too opened his FB and WhatsApp, zooming in both times on his name
and number. But not getting the desired responses. He thought these were too
sublime signals.
He opened a text
editor on his phone, I think it was Evernote, and started typing.
And then as they
say, history was made.
The girl was also
now giving longer than usual glances on his phone.
" The man
is Kafka ( I have his real name and
number too :P ), chief mentor at TIME ……" It was followed by the most
insane level of English and Vocabulary which seemed gibberish to mortals like
me. But I could sense that he was telling her about his awesomeness. The girl
was now hooked on to his 4.5 inch.
A call interrupted
his self-narration of his personal awesomeness. It was in all likelihood a
student anxious about the impending CAT result asking for backup options and
GRE. Now our Kafka is such a stud that he converts every problem into a
possibility where he can show his awesomeness and so started the exercise of
elucidation in an accent which even Priyanka Chopra salutes. He barfed the
complete Barron's word list, I could sympathize with the student on other end.
The call cut abruptly, or so he thought, the phone did not ring again.
He sneaked another
look at the girl ; his body language similar to an Everest conqueror or which Neil Armstrong must have had when he
set foot on the moon. The girl blushed. Our Kafka is on a roll.
Motivated, he set
out more boldly for these uncharted territories (at least for me ).
Was it his
satisfaction with his display of intellectualism and prowess in language or the
fear that the girl might get down at the next stop or the fear that whatever he
has written might have gone over her head or merely his desperation. I do not
know.
But now he started
typing in Hinglish.
" Meine aaj tak itni khoobsurat ladki nahi dekhi…..(followed by
some clichéd Peans about her beauty that I don't remember ) …. Mujhe aaj tak bahut ladkiyon ne approach
kiya lekin meine kisi ko yes nahi kaha (* slow claps *)…Mujhe unke liye kabhi
aisi feeling nahi aayi jaisi tumhare liye aa ri hein (* Bhai vo feel tujhe hi
ni bus mein har dusre insaan ko aa ri hei, courtesy- हिल्टन भोजनालय *)…….mera number
9758****63 hei (* dude you have already given that -_-*).
He stopped.
I think he wanted a
signal to continue also he must have realized the grave risk that he had taken.
One shout out from the girl and I was sure he would be beaten black and blue by
the passengers who were just looking for a place to vent out their frustration
with this dilapidated bus. He turned his head, the girl was typing something.
The burly bearded guy was now sitting in the adjacent row, his eyes met with
our Kafka's. I fantasized the giant punching Kafka all over, tearing his
clothes, pulling his hair. I laughed at the vividness of my imagination, but
perhaps the laugh was a little too loud. The girl and Kafka turned their head
towards me, collided mid-way, again blushes, this time from both sides.
Both of them quickly
erased whatever they have typed.
The bus stopped, the
maiden was readying to get up.
Kafka's heart came
to his mouth. Would I ever see her again
?, would she have saved my number ? And a zillion other questions flooded his
mind.
He did not even knew
her name.
Of love I do not
know much but infatuation seems a huge driving force. It can make you conquer
mountains, dive deep into the unknown depths, do things that you never imagined
you could do. Or is this the power of love ? The boundary between the two is blurry
to me. Maybe it’s the same for everyone else too. Maybe you can never tell when your
infatuation has turned into love or you have fallen out of love into
infatuation.
The maiden turned to
Kafka to say something, which was going to be, perhaps or perhaps not, there
last conversation.
"
Haldwani" said Kafka.
"अच्छा, ओके !
मुझे यहीं उतरना है |
Bye
सीट के लिए, Thank
You " These were here parting words.
Kafka somehow
managed a smile on his face and bid farewell.
The girl stepped out
of the bus.
Kafka's eyes drifted swiftly to and fro from
his FB request tab to the girl walking away until only her silhouette was
visible.
The conductor
signaled the driver to move. By now the bus was half empty, the old couple too
have deboarded along with the maiden and a major chunk of passengers. I
stretched myself after being cramped for so long.
The bus had stopped
wobbling, the potholes had vanished. We bid goodbye to Uttar Pradesh .
The conductor came to Kafka,"अर्रे छोरे, तेरे रूपए देना तो मैं भूल ही गया, ऐ पकड़ अपने तीन
रुपए ! ". Kafka
mindlessly took the coins and shoved them in his pocket, still lost in his (or
perhaps her) thoughts.
"Arrey BC
!!!!!!!! "
"G**D Mar Gayi
!!"
And thus
followed an incessant rant of
quite imaginative expletives.
The cuss words were
emanating from the holy mouth of our super awesome Kafka who was frantically
searching for something.
Till now I had heard
people like Mira and Kabir created hymns for their lover. It was interesting to
see Kafka throwing curses at our maiden.
It took me some time
to contemplate what had transpired.
Our cute, innocent
maiden had effortlessly robbed Kafka of his purse.
I guffawed.
Everybody turned their head towards me, but now I was on a laughing spree.
Kafka's face had
turned red, of anger or of shame, I do not know.
