A year has passed since i came to Delhi, and so has a year of my DTC/blueline bus travels. I have had all types of co-passengers during this 1 year; most of them forgettable.
the only co-passenger I'll remember for many years to come is the 85 year old woman whose memories still send a chill down my spine. i had never talked to someone so frighteningly overpowered by age before this. each and every thing about her told the tale of her struggle with time and nature.
She hobbled towards me and grabbed hold of the seat, possibly scared to lose balance. her fingers were crooked and deformed probably because of rheumatism. i was overwhelmed with a mixture of shock and fear. i stood up and offered her my seat but apparently the girl sitting next to me was equally scared of her as i was and she insisted that i sit and so i did. thus began my most intriguing bus journey.
She sat quietly near the window. now that she sat beside me i realized how tiny she was..bent down with age. i had never seen a face like that before and it made me uneasy. her skin was folded and wrinkled. . her eyes caught my attention more than anything else. they were white and thick with cataracts and were sunken into folds of red skin. i decided i didn't want to look at her much as it didn't make me feel very good..also, she might find it awkward. but there was something which kept me glancing at her now and then..which made me curios and suspicious of her identity. who at this age would dare to get into a blueline?
The bus started filling up with its passengers and then came that child beggar who started singing in her robot like voice while clicking two pebbles in perfect rhythm. i stole another glance at the woman beside me and couldn't make out whether her eyes had got watery or were they full of tears. i had a strong urge to ask her but i stopped. however she began and my doubt was answered ..."what is this world made of? what kind of human beings? this girl-she has left all her dignity and self respect behind and is singing here in a bus to earn so that she can feed her family..and how many of us are even looking at her? what are we made of? where is our heart? people say that this old woman is crazy! no i am not mad ...i have a heart which still beats and cries for others.." i was taken aback .
All this while she was looking at the floor of the bus while tears trickled down her spotted face.never even once did she look up. she continued speaking like this for the next 20 minutes. and i feared she might make herself sick. but she continued and i tried hard to listen to her tiny but rough voice. i could catch a sentence or two at a time. "why don't people say sorry and thank you anymore? will it belittle them? no one gets hurt by these words.." she went on and i couldn't comprehend any more. the other passengers were looking at her suspiciously. they all thought she was a mad woman talking to herself. but i thought she was an old woman talking after a long time ..taking out all those bottled up feelings. "do you know the Urdu language?" she asked me this time. and i almost jumped. i managed a sheepish "no". she went on-"its a beautiful language the most royal language. you must learn it. the language of the kings who gave us culture and art.." she went on talking and occasionally popped a question for me which i answered with a 'yes' or 'no'.
The other passengers were now looking at her rather distastefully. i suddenly wanted to tell them all to mind their own business. "do you have an Urdu professor in your college?" she asked and before i could answer with a 'no' , she started off again-" there are many questions in my head which i want to sit and answer with a person who is well read in Urdu...."
As my bus stop neared i felt it necessary to tell her that. she immediately started opening her handbag clumsily with her crooked fingers. she was looking for something. she took out a piece of chart paper cut out in a rectangular shape with a triangular head. there were small orange flowers drawn on it and a tiny printed paper cutting stuck on the bottom of it. she drew it close to her eyes and read out slowly "if we spread love and peace around us, the almighty will live within us". She gave it to me and looked at me with those eyes which still make me feel uneasy. i remembered to thank her.
i walked back home looking intently at the piece of paper which i had just been given. it felt like an important document.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
the road not taken...
As i was clearing up my study, i found a piece of paper on which i had written a summary of the famous poem by Robert Frost, "The road not taken"..its one of my favourite poems and I'm sure of many others too ..who at some point of time or other have had to make a choice between two choices ,both of which were close to their hearts.
here goes that summary:
the poet Robert frost imagines a situation where, while traveling in the midst of the woods the path suddenly bifurcates into two. to the poet, both the paths seem equally appealing although unknown. but one of them seemed less frequented than the other as the grass growth on it showed. the poet stood at the fork in the road undecided which path to take. finally he took the one which he assumed was less frequented. he assured himself that he would take the other path some other day. knowing fully well the absurdity of his thought, because he knows he has to proceed along the way he has chosen without looking back.yet even at that point of time the poet imagined that the choice was important, that one day he would lament but console himself at the same time by saying that he had chosen the path less traveled by and that has made all the difference to his life. he would tell himself that it was not only a 'different' road or the right road for him but in fact the only road for him.The poet has taken a slice from the real life scenario and has created a situation which beautifully elucidates this.
***
There comes in one's life a moment which proves to be a turning point. this is the moment when one has to choose between two options- be it choosing a career, life partner or a place to settle down for example. both the options may look equally good or bad. but one has to pick up one of them knowing fully well that there is no going back. only time can tell whether the decision taken was the best or not. but as there is no end to human desire, everyone laments that the other one might have been the better choice.
here goes that summary:
the poet Robert frost imagines a situation where, while traveling in the midst of the woods the path suddenly bifurcates into two. to the poet, both the paths seem equally appealing although unknown. but one of them seemed less frequented than the other as the grass growth on it showed. the poet stood at the fork in the road undecided which path to take. finally he took the one which he assumed was less frequented. he assured himself that he would take the other path some other day. knowing fully well the absurdity of his thought, because he knows he has to proceed along the way he has chosen without looking back.yet even at that point of time the poet imagined that the choice was important, that one day he would lament but console himself at the same time by saying that he had chosen the path less traveled by and that has made all the difference to his life. he would tell himself that it was not only a 'different' road or the right road for him but in fact the only road for him.The poet has taken a slice from the real life scenario and has created a situation which beautifully elucidates this.
***
There comes in one's life a moment which proves to be a turning point. this is the moment when one has to choose between two options- be it choosing a career, life partner or a place to settle down for example. both the options may look equally good or bad. but one has to pick up one of them knowing fully well that there is no going back. only time can tell whether the decision taken was the best or not. but as there is no end to human desire, everyone laments that the other one might have been the better choice.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Are you afraid of the 'A'?
As i pushed my way into the overflowing blue-line bus, a question popped up in my head-"why? why? why? Why are you doing this to yourself?". instantaneously came the answer- "because I'm afraid of the 'A'."
i spent the next 30 minutes of the life threatening bus ride musing over the fact that how scared i was of the first letter of the English alphabets. an excess of its presence in the attendance sheets had caused a letter to be sent at my local guardian's place. which was followed by frantic calls from my parents and then followed a string of explanations. thats the power of the 'A'. and all this while i knew it as just the first letter of my name.
its this letter which has changed my sleeping pattern. my cousin no longer shouts in my ears in the morning. suddenly i can hear my alarm clock's rings and the ruthless winter can no longer bring a rush of self pity.
it's really amazing when i think of it...
are you afraid of the 'A'? i am!
i spent the next 30 minutes of the life threatening bus ride musing over the fact that how scared i was of the first letter of the English alphabets. an excess of its presence in the attendance sheets had caused a letter to be sent at my local guardian's place. which was followed by frantic calls from my parents and then followed a string of explanations. thats the power of the 'A'. and all this while i knew it as just the first letter of my name.
its this letter which has changed my sleeping pattern. my cousin no longer shouts in my ears in the morning. suddenly i can hear my alarm clock's rings and the ruthless winter can no longer bring a rush of self pity.
it's really amazing when i think of it...
are you afraid of the 'A'? i am!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
My morning struggles
“Its 7o’ clock!!!” my cousin shouted in my ears this morning. She shouted because she was absolutely disgusted with me. Since the last four days I have been asking her to wake me up early. She tries but has never succeeded; not even today.
I woke up at my regular 8.30 with a start- oh no! It’s the first day of your 2nd semester and you’ll be late” I shouted at myself. Then began my race against time - 30 minutes, and a hundred things to do. Finally I managed to get ready by 9:15. I was already late. So, I took an auto thinking it would be faster than the DTC bus. In spite of paying the driver 60 rupees he reached me10 minutes late. I was late to the first class of reporting and editing.
Well, this is what happens quite frequently. I have a soft corner for my ‘subah ki neend’. It’s the best during the 5-8 am period. At 7am usually I’m done with my sleep but I extend it to another hour. During that hour I curse the very idea of getting up early in the morning. I keep my eyes tightly shut and try to go back to that generous but unfinished dream. I don’t know why, but every time I get to the climax, the sequence of pictures, gets disrupted. As if some one tries to tease me! Finally, frustrated and disappointed and also with the hope of finishing the dream with ‘a happy ending’ the next time, I enter the daily routine.
Winter mornings are exceptionally ruthless. Sometimes I wonder why nature didn’t make human beings capable of hibernating.
It’s such a shame- I being a journalism student just cannot afford to be so fond of my extended sleeping hours. I’m trying hard to include ‘17. Wake up early’ to my year 2008 resolutions. Believe me; I’m struggling very hard to add the 17th entry to the list.
I don’t even remember how many years have been spent struggling over this issue. When I was in school, I was the famous ‘late comer’ to the bus stop. 9 out of 10 days, I would catch the bus only by running after it for about 50 metres. The remaining one day when I would be on time, it used to surprise my friends. They would immediately look out for the sun “just to make sure whether it was out from the right direction” while I stood and looked around with an embarrassed expression on my face.
On my everyday sprint to the bus stop (and beyond) I used to cross these two aunties who are regular morning walkers. They would invariably give me bright smiles. I used to smile back in spite of the great hurry.
The best sprint happened this time when I was back home for the winter break. Some of us (the ex-students) decided to go to school and meet our teachers and spend some time in the beautiful school campus which we were so fond of. I suggested that we go by the 7.30am bus. Every body wanted to go by the 2nd bus i.e., the 9am bus. But I insisted that we go by the first bus. As I was keen to get the ‘feel of going to school’. And, I did get the ‘feel’!
I had just taken a bath when I heard the screeching noise made by the bus. Suddenly I remembered how I had always feared this sound, which usually signalled towards the prospect of my having missed the bus. I darted to the balcony to check. Indeed there stood the white ‘Maan Travels’ bus getting loaded with kids of all sizes.
Then, started the storm inside my house. I violently tried to comb my hair while mummy tried to stuff a huge water bottle (which she insisted was small) inside my handbag. Papa just stood there smiling. My grandmother called out from the balcony “meet the new principal. I know you haven’t met him...but go and talk to him…touch his feet…he will like to know what the ex-students of the school are doing…and remember…” rest of the words I couldn’t catch as I had already started my race. I almost jumped down the 72 steps – three at a time.
After that, began my 50 metre sprint. I turned my head and waved at my mother who stood at the balcony waving at me (like she has always done).
I crossed those aunties who flashed their brilliant smiles. I smiled back while running with all my might. I heard one of them say “she will not break her record even if she goes to school once a year!”
I boarded the bus which was waiting for me (thanks to my friend)…and my smile broadened.
I woke up at my regular 8.30 with a start- oh no! It’s the first day of your 2nd semester and you’ll be late” I shouted at myself. Then began my race against time - 30 minutes, and a hundred things to do. Finally I managed to get ready by 9:15. I was already late. So, I took an auto thinking it would be faster than the DTC bus. In spite of paying the driver 60 rupees he reached me10 minutes late. I was late to the first class of reporting and editing.
Well, this is what happens quite frequently. I have a soft corner for my ‘subah ki neend’. It’s the best during the 5-8 am period. At 7am usually I’m done with my sleep but I extend it to another hour. During that hour I curse the very idea of getting up early in the morning. I keep my eyes tightly shut and try to go back to that generous but unfinished dream. I don’t know why, but every time I get to the climax, the sequence of pictures, gets disrupted. As if some one tries to tease me! Finally, frustrated and disappointed and also with the hope of finishing the dream with ‘a happy ending’ the next time, I enter the daily routine.
Winter mornings are exceptionally ruthless. Sometimes I wonder why nature didn’t make human beings capable of hibernating.
It’s such a shame- I being a journalism student just cannot afford to be so fond of my extended sleeping hours. I’m trying hard to include ‘17. Wake up early’ to my year 2008 resolutions. Believe me; I’m struggling very hard to add the 17th entry to the list.
I don’t even remember how many years have been spent struggling over this issue. When I was in school, I was the famous ‘late comer’ to the bus stop. 9 out of 10 days, I would catch the bus only by running after it for about 50 metres. The remaining one day when I would be on time, it used to surprise my friends. They would immediately look out for the sun “just to make sure whether it was out from the right direction” while I stood and looked around with an embarrassed expression on my face.
On my everyday sprint to the bus stop (and beyond) I used to cross these two aunties who are regular morning walkers. They would invariably give me bright smiles. I used to smile back in spite of the great hurry.
The best sprint happened this time when I was back home for the winter break. Some of us (the ex-students) decided to go to school and meet our teachers and spend some time in the beautiful school campus which we were so fond of. I suggested that we go by the 7.30am bus. Every body wanted to go by the 2nd bus i.e., the 9am bus. But I insisted that we go by the first bus. As I was keen to get the ‘feel of going to school’. And, I did get the ‘feel’!
I had just taken a bath when I heard the screeching noise made by the bus. Suddenly I remembered how I had always feared this sound, which usually signalled towards the prospect of my having missed the bus. I darted to the balcony to check. Indeed there stood the white ‘Maan Travels’ bus getting loaded with kids of all sizes.
Then, started the storm inside my house. I violently tried to comb my hair while mummy tried to stuff a huge water bottle (which she insisted was small) inside my handbag. Papa just stood there smiling. My grandmother called out from the balcony “meet the new principal. I know you haven’t met him...but go and talk to him…touch his feet…he will like to know what the ex-students of the school are doing…and remember…” rest of the words I couldn’t catch as I had already started my race. I almost jumped down the 72 steps – three at a time.
After that, began my 50 metre sprint. I turned my head and waved at my mother who stood at the balcony waving at me (like she has always done).
I crossed those aunties who flashed their brilliant smiles. I smiled back while running with all my might. I heard one of them say “she will not break her record even if she goes to school once a year!”
I boarded the bus which was waiting for me (thanks to my friend)…and my smile broadened.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Meeting Guru Nanak
My grandmother once returned from ‘Aashirwaad’ (the senior citizen’s club) and told us about an old Punjabi woman …Parmindar Kaur. Apparently she was a new member of the club. My grandmother was extremely excited because she had just heard Parminder Kaur’s ‘real life story’. This was her story:
Paraminder Kaur was only 15 years old when she was married into a large Punjabi household. Her husband was the eldest among the 10 brothers and sisters.
Immediately after her wedding she was introduced to the kitchen work. In the beginning her mother-in–law and sisters –in-law guided her through the process. But soon, the baton was quietly passed on to her.
Thus, began Parminder’s struggle to serve a hungry family of 10 young members, a quiet father-in-law and a demanding mother-in-law. They all liked their rotis served hot with a layer of ghee on top. The loud demands for the second and third helpings made her nervous. Soon, began a shower of verbal abuses on her; mainly by her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. She was accused of being inefficient and incompetent. Her husband never interfered.
One day when the verbal abuses turned physical, Parminder decided that she would not tolerate any more and declared that she would leave home. This brought only a sarcastic smile from her mother-in-law.
That night Parminder wept and packed her belongings into her small bag. At the crack of dawn she took her bag and quietly went towards the back door and was dumbstruck!
There in front of her stood a tall man with a white beard. He wore white and immaculate clothes. There was an aura about him and, he held a long stick. Parminder stared at this huge figure for a few seconds…awestruck. She ran towards the front door to find the same man right in front of her. Parminder was shocked. She went back into her room.
The next day saw Parminder working in the kitchen. Her mother-in-law just said, “I thought you were gone!” followed by a wicked laugh.
That evening while rolling out the chapattis, Parminder quietly narrated her experiences of the morning. There was a sudden silence in the dinning room.
Parminder’s father-in-law, who had been listening to the narration all this while, called her , held her hands and said, “puttar, please don’t go! It was Guruji whom you saw this morning….he tried to stop you! Tell me what you want …anything…but please don’t go!”
“A bigger tawa”, said Parminder.
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