Thoughts on turning twenty five

A water droplet finds its way through my window, the wind makes its presence felt, the earth slowly surrounds itself with a soothing dusty flavour, and I know even before the droplets fall, that the monsoon is here. The twenty fifth monsoon of my life. Just as the rain starts, I see people hurrying to find shade, shopkeepers putting up rainproof sheets to cover the unauthorised part of their shop on the road, some cautious civilians holding their umbrellas with pride, and a few casual rain lovers stand still in the middle of this pace, smiling silently and enjoying this sudden change in weather. Being born in the month of July, love for rain comes naturally to me I suppose. I can write volumes on my thoughts about monsoon, on kinds of rain, on waterfalls, on freshly filled ponds and the beauty of lazy water buffaloes floating in it, as if, the day would never end. But the real pleasure I believe, is to be out there and feel the serenity that comes with it. If you observe carefully, you can see nature’s response to rain. The plants and the trees that had patiently been waiting for the first shower turns green. The cuckoo birds rejoice with their favourite song. Mountains gleefully bathe themselves with waterfalls. Rivers and lakes comes to life again. Creatures like insects, reptiles and frogs come out of their home to experience this bliss – each of them singing their own son. ‘A natural paradise’ is formed.

Having lived the first twenty-five years of life without much trouble is an achievement in itself, I acclaimed loudly at the dining table. ‘Yes, twenty-five years is a long time son. It’s time for you to settle down.’ quickly replied daadi, who, like our family pandit is eagerly waiting to see me married. Daadi is getting impatient with relatives enquiring about my marriage plans all the time. On the other hand, pandit’s prediction are being interrogated by daadi every morning. ‘Of course daadi, as soon as you find someone who can cook Sabudana khichdi (a Sago recipe) as good as you, I will surrender.’ No one can cook Khichdi like daadi. The secret, she once told me, is to let it cook at its own pace – slow and steady. ‘Why rush, when you have all the time?’ is daadi’s cooking mantra. She cooks it mildly spiced (she knows my taste) and adds extra peanuts to give it a light crunch.

However, our cook – Raju bhai, who for some unknown reasons is always in a hurry, would readily deny daadi’s cooking techniques. He would rather make a meal in minutes to keep up with this fast pace world. Within a few days of his stay with us, it was apparent that our appetite for food would be affected by Raju Bhai’s ‘in a minute’ cooking techniques.

“Raju bhai – I am hungry!” I would claim.

“In a minute.” replies Raju bhai.

“Raju bhai – Is the tiffin ready? Getting late for work!”

“In a minute.”

“Raju bhai – How far is station from here?” I enquired one day.

“It’s very close sir, within a minutes distance.” I decided to take a lousy walk to the station. Giving up after some thirty tiresome minutes, I raised my hand to stop a cab.

No wonder, we’ve seen reduction in our grocery bill, while the world is seeing mass protest against inflation. I wonder, if I should time Raju bhai cook Maggie noodles (a two minute noodle recipe) to test his cooking abilities. Perhaps that too can be cooked in less than a minutes time with Raju bhai’s mantra.

The earliest childhood memory that I can recall of was my hard resilient nature towards school. I was just three years old then. My cousin and I would cry in succession everyday just before the rickshaw arrived (no school bus but cycle-rickshaw during those days - which accommodated fifteen of us at a time; a nest of our bags and water bottles hanging out at the back), but despite all our efforts we were always sent to school. I wonder now, if our crying together on the same day would have made any impact?

Schools started quite early in the morning, so during winters we would spend hours boiling water on the chulha (earthen stove – for no LPG in our town). During late evenings, locals would gather on the road, create bonfire and spend hours talking cricket and politics. Tendulkar was in good form those days, as he still is. And, not a single politician was considered worthy, which they’re still not. I guess, some things never change. I usually joined a noisy gang which busted out with the sound of laughter in every few seconds. I would nod and laugh along, even though I admit now, that most of the discussions were absurd to me. A few years later, I came across a medical term called laughter therapy. I had no doubts in my mind that the noisy gang of my town had a role in its incredible discovery. Sometimes when the discussion was not of my interest, I turned out great help in finding papers and wood sticks to keep the fire alive. As I write about it, the joy of finding a piece that could keep the fire burning, the joy of standing with bunch of adults discussing life, laughing at their sorrows, sometimes laughing at themselves, makes me think that life is not complicated at all. It is as simple and easy as it can be. All we need is good companions to keep the fire alive.

From old school days, I distantly recall the face of an arrogant girl in my class. Soon after the mid-term exams, teacher shuffled the seating arrangement and made me sit beside her. I was shy and she has too much pride, so we rarely spoke, but one day just like that we started talking and soon became friends. I taught her Maths and she showed me her tricks for memorizing Social Studies. Before we could start something special, I moved to a boarding school. Even now after over eighteen years, she comes to my mind in her own special ways. I would like to remember her as my first love. Does she remember me after all these years? Perhaps not! But, what we shared must have been special, for me to still think about her.

My stay at boarding school lasted two years, before I realized that it was going to lead me nowhere in life. It would have ended very soon, had I dared to call our six feet chubby history teacher ‘BIGSHOW’ (a nickname given to her by fellow mates). Having no interest in watching WWF (naked men fight), I had no clue that BIGSHOW was the famous wrestler of that time. Every morning Mr. Bundela, our sports in charge, would make us run five rounds of the campus, followed by fifteen minutes of yoga / relaxing exercise. Me and most of my classmates preferred only the first and last round. The others rounds were spent hiding in school building preferably inside the corner washroom, while other athletes worked on building their stamina. One fine morning, Mr Bundela had his nature call and was shocked to see nature’s harness on over ten students at the same time. The very next day wakeup call shifted from 5:30 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. and number of rounds increased to seven. No one dared to hide that morning, but only half the class stood up after yoga practice - the last aasan performed being Shavasana.

Being raised in a small town had its own advantages and disadvantages. Call it ignorance if you wish, but some of the most incredible memories of my childhood were created due to lack of technology in our town. During those days, power cut was very common (it still is), so most of my time was spent playing out with the neighbourhood boys and girls. All the games that we played were not only great fun but each game had an exceptional name. Our list varied from: Gilli-Danda (a game played with pair of a long danda and a short gilli, both wooden sticks. It is taken over by cricket everywhere now); Nadi-Pahad (river–mountain, switching mountains without being caught by crocodile - the seeker, in the river), Saankal (Chain - the seeker goes after other players and those caught forms a chain by holding hands with the seeker and the chain grows until last player is caught); Pittu (a rubber ball is thrown towards the pyramid formed by seven stones – aim is to re-form this pyramid before the ball gets in the hands of opposite teams); Lukka-Chuppi (known as hide and seek, only game I believe that is played in metros); Kanche (a game played with colourful ceramic balls which are aimed with fingers at a small circle to score points); Langdi (jumping and hopping on one leg – still played in my hometown). I recently came across a photograph with some of these games with following caption: ‘Your childhood was awesome, if you can identify these games’. I smiled and instantly agreed to it. May be, I should introduce one of the game as a team building exercise for a corporate outing. How about my favourite Saankal. No one would mind holding hands with pretty colleagues. Only if your boss doesn’t turned out to be the seeker.

Soon after, a technology, the great invention of doorbell filled our life with great adventure. During lunch recess, when neighbours around school enjoyed their afternoon siesta, our restless gang made every effort ringing the doorbells.  Most of the families would open the door to their surprise and soon realised our prank. However, Dada (a short tempered man in his fifties, who loved his afternoon siesta as much as using swear words) on being disturbed one afternoon came running to our classroom with his face turned red and disrupted the surprise history test. The event turned out to be great entertainment for the school, including the principal (who, I later found out, was himself fond of swear words). So, our name was kept under the blanket. As a favour to the class we rang Dada’s doorbell only on the special occasions such as class tests and assignments to save everyone from the burden of preparation.

When relatives visited us during summer vacation, the size of our gang would swell to more than twenty. The games would usually lead to a fight or an argument, but by the evening we would be friends again, and by night would remember only the good part of the day. Forgetting and forgiving the mistakes and quarrels of the previous day, and we eagerly waited for the next day with more excitement.

Nowadays, children learn selfishness and arrogance instead. In the fast, tough world, they need to keep up with the pace. Achievements are measured relative to neighbour’s performance. In the process, innocence is lost, and moreover considered imprudent in this current competitive world.

Daadi, even at an age of eighty, carries her innocence and lives her life with humility and so does our cook Raju bhai. Even though he magically cook meals with his ‘in a minute’ technique, but deep inside he is patient and applies daadi’s matra of ‘letting it cook at its own pace’ in life. With a salary of just over five thousand rupees a month, he is happier and content than many of us.

If there was only one lesson that I was to take from these twenty-five years of my life, it would neither be a religious teaching, nor a rightful philosophy but a powerful tool called patience. Patience can sail you through your broken past, can get you the feeling of contentment for present and can provide you hope for the future. It can make you accept the way life is.

On this landmark of my life, I thank you, my friends, for I have lived my childhood with great adventure and fun. I have memories of people and places, that I will cherish throughout my life, in my own small ways. May you have patience, to let it cook at its own pace.

आस

बतलाती नही तू खामोश रहती

पर पुकार लेता मुझे ये मॅन तेरा

पहचानता नही, ना ही समझ पता

क्या करे मजबूर ये दिल मेरा

महसूस करता तेरी आँखों को

मुस्कान में दबी उस मायूसी को

हंस देती तू बातें बना कर

मुस्कुरा देता में भी

यूही अपनी नज़रें छुपा कर

आज बादलों में छुपी तक़दीर तेरी

दिखता तुझे बस अंधियारा है

पर जान ले ये भी तू

ज़िंदगी सिर्फ़ तक़दीर का खेल नही

ये तो वक़्त का पिटारा है

आज जैसे रात है काली 

तो कल मौसम सुहाना है

है एक अंजान सफ़र ये

जिसपर हमें बस चलते जाना है

और,

दुनिया सिर्फ़ ज़ख़्मों का बंधन नही

ये तो एहसासों का एक तहखाना है

जी ले इसे जी भर के

मायूस होकर भी तुझे क्या पाना है

वादा कर खुदसे, मुझसे

और बढ़ा आगे एक कदम तेरा

हूँ आज साथ में तेरे

थाम ले तू हाथ मेरा

भूल जा बीते कल को 

एक पल के लिए ही सही

और महसूस कर 

मेरी हथेलियाअपने हंतों से 

जो कह रही बातें अनकही

सोच कर को देख एक दफ़ा

आने वाला कल आज का दर्पण होगा

खुशियाँ भी होंगी हज़ारों

और दिल तेरा खोव्हिसों से रंगीन होगा

Sapna

सांझ ढलते ही आती महक तुम्हारी

कभी रात के सन्नाटे में मुस्कुराती तुम

गुल्मोहर की तरह रंग बदलती 

दर्द, प्यार, तो कभी एहसास हो तुम

ख़याल हो तुम मेरी हक़ीक़त का

कभी उन ख़यालों में उलझा एक ख्वाब हो तुम

तमन्नाओं की गोद में जो खेलती 

कभी खुद ही में छुपा एक राज़ हो तुम

My Dreams

I dream to be a painter. Playing with colors, painting aliveness.

I dream to be a musician who buries pain under his music.

I dream to be a dancer who elucidates how beautiful life is.

I dream to be a student forever.

I dream to be a teacher who enlightens his students with every aspect of life.

I dream to be a friend who is around, at the least in times of gloominess, if not in happiness.

I dream to be a lover who loves the way she is and her changeability.

I dream to be a philosopher with his rightful philosophy.

I dream to celebrate life even if each day is stressful.

I dream to be a simple man with simple thoughts.

I wish people remember me after I set apart or die.

I hope to smile constantly even if on a death bed I lie.

Above all, I dream to fulfill all my dreams unwaveringly.

And even if I fail, my dreams - they will never be hindered and never be shattered.

They will be carried out by someone alike me.

My dreams they are everlasting and will continue forever indefinitely.

Memories

Like the cold wind near the ocean,

Life flows forever,

Heading somewhere, going nowhere

Chasing dreams, following none

Live every moment, coz moments hold memories

And memories?

They are like fading salt in a glass of water

Once stirred, they disappear

But what is life without this salty flavor?

Life

Days are still the same

The unforced battle upholds

Emersion of honest thoughts

Wassailing sorrows and regrets

Beauteous life, uncertain it is

Diffident I am, I fear life

Self anointed thrilling task

Bring home the bacon! Win!

Am I here to combat or to celebrate life?

I foresee the portrayal of self, 

Recalling life, recollecting memories

Seeking for the most beautiful memory

I question myself! Befuddled!

Sprang into my mind, the story of two lifers

One agonized, the other relished the flavor

The answer I realize is in the journey that I traverse

It is merely how you celebrate, each day is special

At times, wining has no significance 

Even defeat sometimes acquires

Raaz

क्या राज़ है तेरे चेहरे का

अंजान होकर भी अंजाना ना लगे

कश्ती को किनारा मिला हो जैसे

मुसाफिरों का ठिकाना सा लगे

आँखों में मासूमियत, सादगी हो जैसे

एक खाव्ब पहचाना सा लगे

राज़ हज़ारों छुपे हो जिनमे

हर राज़ एक आईना सा लगे

होटो पर कशिश, एक चाह हो जैसे

तपती धूप में, बारिश की बूँद हो जैसे

जिनके स्पर्श से कोयला भी चाँद सा लगे

कर दे अमर जिसे छू ले तू

असर ऐसा, कोई जादू टोना सा लगे

रोक लिया खुदको ये सोचकर

दूर ना चले जाओ तुम

कहीं ये इज़हार दीवानापन सा ना लगे

एक गीली तस्वीर जो तुम

जिसकी एक झलक भर में

हर रंग सतरंगी सा लगे

राज़ जैसे राज़ ना हो कोई

तेरा चेहरा मुझे

बस एक सुलझा हुआ जवाब सा लगे

Words

No, these are not words

But wishes and dreams

You see them, you feel them

Unreal may it seem

You plan

And hold tight

But deep inside 

You already know 

It's an eternal fight

So what?

Don't give up!

Coz life is bittersweet

It's substance, it's real

Love it

With great passion 

And zeal

Chase your dreams

Dance in sync

Not to win 

Not to lose

As the end is unchanged

Whatever path you choose

Wander my friend

Untie the knot

Things might fall in place

If you simply follow your heart

Izhaar

कह ना पाता अपने दिल की बात,

जाने किससे में डरता था

सोचता, आज़माता कई तरक़ीबें,

हर लम्हा एक इंतेहाँ सा लगता था,

क्या ज़रूरी है दिल की बात बयान करना?

क्या ज़रूरी है लफ़्ज़ों में इन्हे इज़हार करना?

इन खामोशियों में भी तो सच्चाई है,

जो मेरी आँखों ने जाने कितनी बार दोहराई है,

जिन्हे बतलता में भी नही,

और समझते तुम भी नही

Ehsaas

आँखों में बसा खाव्ब था जो

ज़ुबान पे ठहरा लफ्ज़ था जो

दिल में छुपा प्यार था जो

मेरी आरज़ू का बयान था जो

आज मेरे करीब, 

मेरे पास आया है

हर सांस हर धड़कन में,

एक एहसास बनकर समाया है

रोशनी कहूँ उसे

या खवहीसों का टुकड़ा

आसमान में बिखरी धूप की तरह

मेरे रग रग में समाया है

खुद के होने पर 

यकीन है आज मुझको

नयी सुबह, नये रास्तों की तरह

ज़िंदगी का ये पल 

एक एहसास बनकर

मेरे ज़हेन में समाया है

Waqt ke Musafir

वक़्त के मुसाफिर 

एक दूजे से अंजान 

बस एक ही मुस्कान 

फिर क्या 

थोड़ी सी गुफ्तगू 

थोड़ी सी हँसी 

चाँद ख्वाहिशें 

थोड़ी सी आरज़ू 

भूल कर सारी दुनिया कहाँ खो गये 

कुछ ही लम्हों में सच्चे यार हो गये 

एक दूजे से अंजान थे जो पहले 

इस छोटे से सफ़र में सांझेदार हो गये 

क्यूँ लगता है मुझे अपनी कहानी मिलती है 

जैसे रास्ते हो अलग लेकिन मंज़िल एक ही है 

क्या आईना है तू मेरी दास्तान का? 

या है तुझसे मेरा कोई वास्ता सा? 

शायद खुदा ने भेजा था तुझे 

मेरी तक़दीर बनाकर 

जिसमें पढ़ सकता अपनी कहानी 

ऐसी तस्वीर बनाकर 

मूक़दर ने जिन्हे मिलवाया 

और वक़्त ने संत निभाया 

हमें मिलना ही था 

ए वक़्त के मुसाफिर 

वरना यूँ ना मिलते हम 

जिन्हे कभी ना मिलना था 

जल्द ही आएगी मंज़िल तेरी 

मुझे तो अभी दूर जाना है 

ज़िंदगी की अंजान राहों पर चलते जाना है 

और कैसे भुला दूं में, 

तू फारिसता है तो क्या 

पास नही तू मेरे 

सांत नही तू मेरे 

ज़िंदगी के इस सफ़र में 

में अकेला हूँ और अकेला था 

पर सोचता हूँ आज भी कभी, 

हम मिले ही क्यूँ 

फिर अगर बिछड़ना था 

ए वक़्त के मुसाफिर 

हम मिले ही क्यूँ 

जिन्हे कभी ना मिलना था

Light through my window

Late, when the night is dark

And the world is asleep

You find your way

Through the corner of my window

Carelessly, you lay beside me

As if I can't see you or touch you

And you answer

With reflection of my shadow

Leave a friend behind,
Walk over his soul,
Always make wish for self,
Kill your desired ambition for a silly goal,

Put on mask of false emotions,
Pull in false sympathy,
Pretend that you desire,
Pretend that you dream,

Have no mercy on poor,
Leave no landmark for juniors,
Do, whatever suits you best,
Make your own world, purple and fake,

Make irrational decisions,
And never take trouble to justify your deeds,
Oh! My self serving friend,
You’re no superhuman indeed!

December is here

The night is dim and the days real

Get on the road pal, December is here!

The month of celebrations,

the month of joy,

Perfect time to step forward, and say

Alvida 2011!  Goodbye!

But some things you must remember,

To drag with you,

Good memories, old friends

And the pending leave still in-lieu

Close your eyes, relax

Have you planed your vacation?

If you haven't yet

Better give your boss, a notification!

All is well that ends well, so

celebrate and move up a notch

Call up your friends and if they are out

Open that 12 years old damn scotch!

Who knows, the world might end in 2012,

Get on the road pals, celebrate this year!

Stay alive until Tsunami is here!

Those were the days

I remember my childhood as seasons passing by. Winter – for hot baths (mostly afternoon baths) and studies; summers – for cricket and field trips; and monsoon - monsoon was my favourite. The scent of earth just before the first shower, bringing a sensational feeling, as if something new and exciting is about to happen. And it did excite me. I switched from one school to another and the monsoon would follow. It was always exciting to make new friends but I was no good with other aspects. Sometimes, I would be punished for calling teachers with wrong name. How was a 5th grade student supposed to know that all Maths teachers are not to be called Miss Jauncy? Especially, when their name begun with Mr.

My stay at boarding school lasted two years. It would have been very short, had I dared to call our six feet history teacher ‘BIGSHOW’ (a nick name given to her). How was a 9th grade student supposed to know that BIGSHOW was a famous WWF wrestler of that time?

Every morning, Mr Bundela, our sports in charge, would make us run five rounds of the campus, followed by fifteen minutes of yoga / relaxing exercise. I and most of my classmates preferred only the first and last round. The others rounds were spent hiding in school building, preferably inside the corner washroom, while other athletes worked on building their stamina. One fine morning Mr Bundela heard his nature call but was shocked to see nature’s harness on over ten students at the same time. The very next day wakeup call shifted from 5:30 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. and number of rounds increased to seven. No one dared to hide that day, but only half the class stood up after yoga practice. (Last aasan performed was Shavasana)

Don’t get me wrong, I love cows and would bring no personal harm to them. But, I’ve enjoyed riding carts as much as riding a boat. The only villager quality, I would readily admit. We would hop on and hop off every bullock cart on our way back from school. Sometimes, the rider would use his riding stick to throw us off his fully loaded vehicle. During picnics to farm house, uncle would make us sit on cows and buffaloes but never bulls (bulls can get really angry), while they rested on pile of hay. Our twenty-thirty kilos of weight always went unnoticed.

We had several dogs at farmhouse that I feared the most. So, I was introduced to little monkey named Chameli. I had no intension to ride her, but when I asked her for a hand shake (which is very common form on introduction with dogs), she took it by surprise and smacked me. I started crying and decided not to go near her. I slept under the shade of a giant tree and instead became friends with dogs using the same handshake trick. In search of vengeance, I ate the whole banana myself in-front of Chameli, depriving her of afternoon snack.

Unplanned rides

Once every month or so, I like to go for unplanned bus rides. I just carry a book in my hand and walk away. To where, I don’t care and decide only when I reach a bus stop.

I've always enjoyed travelling in buses. My only criteria are window seat, where I can put my elbow outside and feel the air. Earlier, I used to go to school in a matador, which had a very few windows. I never got a chance to sit on my favourite seat. So, when the matador was replaced by a bigger bus, my father agreed to pay the increased fare only if I was given a window seat.

I remember my first unplanned bus ride in Mumbai. I was listening to music, and was so lost in thoughts that I travelled all the way until the conductor demanded everyone to get down at the “last stop”! I never paid for the extra distance.

Once, my flatmate, Badal, as lazy he is, slept in a local train on his way back home and crossed three extra stations. Hurryingly, he got down on the next station to catch a train back home. After some forty odd minutes, he opened his eyes realizing that he has again fallen asleep and missed his station. Finally settling on a train completely packed, which had no room for his eyes to relax, he reached home. He as well, never paid for the extra distance.

My unplanned trip would start with, looking for an empty bus, on which I see chances to secure a window seat. The destination or the route didn't matter. For the first few times, it would upset me when bus conductor demanded a destination but later I discovered the best way to avoid such awkwardness is to ask for a ticket to “last stop”.

Through these unplanned trips, I’ve seen most of Mumbai. From the most beautiful, to the ugliest part of it; the most expensive, to the cheapest part of it; the red light areas, to the sacred temples; dirtiest slums to the most sophisticated bungalows; rocky mountains to the sandy beaches. Some of the places I remember, some I don’t. Although, with time I've started to recognize places. I remember going to Borivali, the other day to Bandra, to Marnie Drive, to New Bombay, to Goregaon. It’s true that each place seems like a complete different city in itself. But all these places have one thing in common, the rush! It flows through every boulevard of Mumbai, I suppose.

On my last unplanned ride, to Versova beach, I ended up riding a horse named “Badal”. Having heard the local train experience of my flatmate, I only wished for the horse to stay awake during the ride. Horses can sleep while standing, you see.

Mysterious Life

Mysterious life,

Let me close my eyes again,

For long I've travelled,

For the places I remember,

Mysterious life,

Make me young again,

For the years I’ve spent,

And the childhood that has drained,

Mysterious life,

Let me fall in love again

With people I’ve met,

And the friends I’ve made,

Mysterious life,

Let me feel those sparks again,

For once,

Let me see your face again

Sometimes at night by my window,

I find it snow,

I hear an owl hooting,

and see a star shooting,

I make a wish and find myself abliss, then suddenly I'm ashore,

I'm called afar by a lore,

I don't know if I should respond,

I feel like a bond,

It's call from the wind,

and it awakes my inner child,

I want to answer that call,

but, I'm afraid of the fall,

A fall from the present life,

that will take me to a strife,

a strife from this birth,

but is it worth?

~p.a.

kneel and disconnected

He came like a light into her eyes

Blinding her with his thousand lies

Anesthetized by his sound

She could only feel him around

Like the music, he captured her mood

Often confusing,

with emotions she barely understood

When she needed him to stay

He quietly drifted far away

Slowly and slowly, he faded

Leaving her,

kneel and disconnected

He

In the lap of inner Himalaya,

The wild forest covered with snow,

A single wrong step,

He goes down with the flow,

Inside he’s sweating,

Outside numb with cold,

Breathing gets difficult,

Every step turns bold,

But this wilderness of the journey,

Spells such magic upon him,

Risk is now a part of his life,

And Everest desirable dream,

The summit, unimaginable once,

Slowly turns into an achievable goal,

His body full of pain,

But his mind well connects to the soul,

Far from this materialist world,

Away from the seductive charm,

He experience silence and serenity,

Careless of the dawn.

- Dedicated to a friend, who fulfilled his promise of being a guide on a himalayan trek!

Amritsar

Golden temple is so beautiful that every new picture makes you want click another. There will always be something missing in the picture which your eyes wont agree to and to be in presence of such beautiful holy place is totally an extraordinary feeling.

Amritsar, is a packed city where rickshaw pullers are still preferred over taxis. Traffic is low, but jams are usual. People are loud, rude but equally joyful & friendly. The rickshaw puller, an old man, gave us handful tips on city, on our way to hotel. I still cannot figure out the presence of truck in a boulevard where even Maruti-800 is difficult to drive. The road was jammed because it was faced by a Mercedes in the opposite direction. It was amusing to see the rich man guiding the truck driver to make a way out. I wonder if the rich man had been a truck driver. While looking for shoe shop, an uncle walked us 200 mts to make sure we don't miss the correct turn, although the suggested shop was found closed, is a different matter of fact.

Every one out of five men wears pagdi, preferably dark colored, but inside temple saffron is the most common choice. Men are tall with strong build, specially the one who wears pagdi, with beard & mustache as most common look. Where as women are tall, thin with long hair (tied together by two ponytails) and always found bargaining with the shopkeepers.

People respond mostly in local language. Sometimes when we would try to talk in Hindi, they would nod their head but speak only in Punjabi. On our way to Waga border (which was another great experience), the drive kept talking about the city and its people, we couldn't understand a word, and the only response he got from us was 'ohh achcha?' followed by confused look on our faces.

Food here is extraordinarily delicious and cheap. People here like to have heavy meal during all the courses. We had Alu de parothe with Amrisari chai at breakfast. During lunch we had famous Amritsari khulchas loaded with Alu and Gobi at 'Kushwant Singh Kulchewala' just for Rs. 17each, followed by dinner at 'Brothers Dhaba', No. 1 in Amritsar as they claim. At both places we couldn't resist ourselves from overeating. I’m sure my tailor would be benefited by this trip.

Being a northern city of India, temperature here falls to near-zero. During our visit in December, the sun would set around 6pm and it would be absolutely cold and dark by seven. At night, shopkeepers would leave their shop and gather at the bonfire created on street.
Market usually closes by 7:30pm except the milkwala shop remains open till late night. People here loves to drink milk as much they love whiskey, which is made thick (by overheating) and served in a full large glass, with a layer of cream on top. Gajar ka halwa is another favorite choice.

Amritsar is not a city to pass by. It is a city where one should stay, for not just a day, but for at-least a week to observe and learn. It is a city where people wake up for morning prayers, where people stand in line at Golden temple everyday, work hard and gather for functions and bonfire during night. It is a place where people find pride in themselves and still manage to crack jokes on each other. Amritsar is indeed heart of Punjab.

When i get older

Close your eyes, for just once and

Imagine that you are sixty four

A table and chair arranged for you

Near the lake, on a beautiful shore

The sun set view from your garden

Leaving behind an amazing afterglow,

Books kept in an orderly manner

Plants covered with a layer of snow

A perfect evening, as you can imagine

With the company of woman you love

Mug of hot coffee and cookies

Just waiting to be served

The breeze makes you feel cold,

The page turns to your favorite chapter

A glass of wine on the side table

While the radio plays an old memorable number

Your friends just arrived at the doorstep,

Looking all ugly and funnier

Everyone sipping wine in the moonlight

As the night turns colder

This is how I want life to be,

When I get older

Peace of mind,

summer rain,

Surrounded by nature

Travelling the road of my dreams,

on the way getting happier

and

older

The unforgettable journey

I placed my bag under the seat and despite of being sure to fall asleep, I took out the novel and iPod to keep myself occupied. The lights went off soon, and thoughts started flooding my mind.

I positioned myself comfortably and opened the bookmarked page of the book. Soon I was lost in the story. The air conditioned compartment was getting colder. I fell asleep with in no time.

I woke up listening to voice of 6 year old boy. He was trying to perform the gymnastic act of climbing the middle birth from the lower birth. He pulled my pillow and quickly shifted to blanket for support when it slipped from his tiny fingers. I could see him crushing his teeth while pulling himself up.

“Would you mind shifting to the upper birth?” His dad suggested. I quickly checked time on my cell phone. It was 8a.m. The whole damn family was awake and wanted to sit comfortably on the lower birth. I had no option but to move.

I shifted to the upper birth, preparing to sleep again. But, my eyes caught glimpse of an attractive face on the opposite berth. She was blissfully asleep. Her face had this mischievous glow as if she has been tired after being active all day long doing her mischievous acts. I started staring at her.

Her long silk-like hair, all over her face; her thick eye lashes – deep black reflecting white glow just like a star shining in darkness; part of her face covered under the blanket and other half revealing her perfectly shaped lips; chunks of hair spread carelessly on her body like a sand portray spread on a beach. I stared at her perfect body. She looked lovely. For that moment, I wished to just watch her sleeping. Forever.

I finally woke up at 10:30am, I had fallen asleep, dreaming about home, Mumbai, work, friends with fractions of her presence in every part. I slowly turned my eyes on her side. She was absent. My heart started beating with the thought that she was gone. I gave myself some more time and climbed down to put my shoes on. As I walked forward, I saw her coming back. She still looked no less than perfect. Her strange eyes looked at me for a very short moment and turned away. My eyes seemed easy on her, as if I had known her since a long time. She climbed back to her seat on the upper birth, just beside mine.

I went out to stand at the door. The scenery seemed familiar. The train was about to reach Timarni, the town where I spent 15 years of my life. Although my destination was still 4 hours away, I got down when train stopped to have a quick look at the place I loved the most, even more than Mumbai. Everything looked just the same. I climbed back before the signal went green.

She was reading a book by Paolo Coelho. I should talk to her; thoughts started popping in my head. I wanted to talk to her; wanted to know her, but more than anything I wanted to look at her. I opened the book to divert myself but couldn’t focus. I turned around to put weight on my chest and put my face on my palm, facing her. She turned her eyes towards me and smiled. My heart started beating faster. I quickly closed my eyes to avoid the eye contact. Turning my head away, I started listening to the music. I blamed myself for not responding to her smile and shut my eyes tightly to force into sleep again.

After a while I heard the same voice which woke me this morning. I looked at him with half my eyes open, the kid had climbed to sit beside her. He troubled her, with his silly questions but his voice had innocent expression. “What’s your good name?” She asked him in a musical voice. “Rohan!” he responded quickly followed by “My name is Rohan, My fathers name is mohan. My mothers name is Sangeeta” Giving details about his family and finished with “I study at Carment high school, Indore”

“Very good Rohan” She encouraged him.

Soon after when they finished their discussion, the kid started firing his questions at me. He wanted to know everything. My name; my father’s name; where I was heading to; about my school. She looked at me and giggled. I smiled back.

The kid got down and started yelling her name when she stopped him from asking questions.

”R pagal hai” R is mad. ”R pagal hai” R is mad. ”R pagal hai” R is mad.

“I am sure everyone in this train will know your name by the end of this journey”, I said to her when she looked towards me.

“You are lucky that your name is a bit difficult to pronounce, I m sure it’s you who he wanted to target”, she responded.

“hehhe..” I laughed… “I think you are right!” I continued the conversation. “So you are R!”

“Yeah! And you are ummm…” She tried guessing.

“It’s Suyash, come on it’s not that difficult to pronounce”

“Well it’s a nice name”, she decleared.

“Thanks, yours is very common though”, I said in a mischievous way. “But you see, it helps, as there might be many R(s) in this train and no one would figure out exactly which R, Rohan is pointing to”

She took few seconds, “How rude, Anyways I’ll take it as a joke” she answered quickly.

“How long will it take to reach Bhopal?”

I looked at the time and said “Should take another 2-3 hours”

“Oh! That long?” She asked in a hurry.

“Yeah, I don’t want to disappoint you but it may get delayed if any express train is coming this way. They will let it pass first. That’s what they do, you know, make the slow train even slower” I explained. 

“Yeah may be you are right, but I want to reach Bhopal as soon as possible” She said excitedly.

“What’s the hurry?” I asked.

“I am going to meet my cousins after a very long time. We used to have lot of fun when I was in Bhopal” She replied.

“Ohh…Nice!” I said after a pause. “What do you do? “ I quickly asked back.

“I am working for a software company in Mumbai and you?”

“I work for a finance company based in Thane”

“Okay, so how is everything?” she kept quite and waited for my response.

“Well life is good, but things are very hectic at work. Crazy life! Weekends are fun though! What about you?”

“Well I am on bench from last few months, just holding up” She answered disappointedly.

“hmm…Where do you stay in Mumbai?”

“Kandivali” She responded, “You?”

“Thane, HN, You know, I am loving it there. The apartment is huge and affordable. No furniture. No TV and it’s on 17^th floor.”

“How is Kandivali like?” I later realized that it was made up answer followed by a stupid question.

“Its good ya!” She looked at the time after every short interval.

We kept talking for a while, with silent invervals to fill the conversation.

I tried to glance outside but the window was blocked by curtains. I noticed the time and said,” We have some more time to kill. Achcha, do you have a pen?”

“What, did you ask for pen?” She looked puzzled.

“Yeah!”

She checked her bag and passed the pen to me. I started scrubbing something in my book, but instantly changed my mind knowing that she was looking over and returned her pen by adding silent Thanks.

We talked for some more time. She was from a small place “Khurai” and had studied in Kota. She did her graduation in computer science from Bhopal, where through her placements she ended up in Mumbai.

I told her about my life, avoiding the Kota part and that I got through IIT to not make her feel bad. I only told her that I too was from a very small town. Just like her.

We went to stand near the door when the destination was near. I helped her carry her bag to the door. We stood there silent for sometime, staring out. I told her about how much I loved Bombay. She just kept quite, smiling in between to hint me that she was listening.

After a while silence filled the air. The train had stopped abruptly. Her eyes looked puzzled. I stared at her. Just like when I saw her for the first time. She looked beautiful.

“You like reading?” I asked her with my heartbeat double the rate.

“Yeah”

“I want you to have this” I offered her the book I had in my hand. She smiled again with a hint of blush on her lips.

“Are you sure? You haven’t finished it yet” She replied.

“I have read it many times” I exaggerated. “It’s a great book. You will really enjoy reading it” I continued.

“Actually, I made my mind the very first time we spoke, to gift you this book. That’s why I asked you for a pen, to write a note for you” I finished with my heartbeat trice the rate.

”Ahh! I see. Okay!” She opened her bag and offered me to leave a note for her.

“When is your birthday?” I quickly asked.

“14^th May”

I wrote a note on her book:

To R,

Many Happy Returns of the Day!

Suyash (from the train)

I couldn’t write what I had in mind and I knew I was going to regret this. I gave her the book. She smiled and thanked me again.

The destination was near. She seemed happy and I could only wish for an express to delay this train. Like every perfect story, I wanted to keep in touch with her. But I didn’t have courage to ask her phone number. NO. You already gave her a gift. It wouldn’t be nice. Thoughts kept flushing my every attempt to dare. She must be on Orkut or Facebook. Finally compromising, I asked her if she comes online.

She instead asked me my phone number and said, “I keep in touch with friends through phone” and asked me to save her number. I was on seventh heaven. My friends would be so jealous.

Finally the train stopped and we got down. I purchased chocolates for my cousins at the station and offered her one. She mysteriously took and said, “You can get me more chocolates when we meet next time”.

“When is your birthday?” I asked.

“14^th May”

“Yeah! 14^th May, okay I will wish you” I said with a smile on my face and saved it on my phone as a reminder.

“When you your’s?” She asked.

“4^th of July”

“I will wish you too” She nodded and left.

I stood at the station for a while and moved on.