Try it.

Do something that you hate from the bottom of your heart, pit of your lungs and bile of your intestine. And you'll hate yourself for doing it. Curse yourself and the world for existing. Froth on the mouth and feel miserable for the day. Promise yourself never to let yourself go through such punishment. But after sometime you would have realised that you have just accomplished something that you didn't have the heart to do. What an achievment. And the next time you're made to do it again, you would do it without going through the pain you did while doing it the first time. So come to think of it you have just killed two birds with one stone. First you have managed to do something that you thought you were better off avoiding and secondly if circumstances prevail over you to do the same thing again you would most probably go through anguish of lesser degree. Which means you have learned to master that fear that you were hard-pressed not to admit. Right? So on a day when you are feeling miserable and when you think that you'll be better off if the sky were to come crashing down on you, do something you hate doing from the bottom-of-your-heart. So that what you did will override the bad hair day and you'll end up feeling better in some little corner.

What?

Standing on the window sill late in the night he let the dry air run through him. It carried dust, sand, sound and some memories he had salted away. The world around him was sleeping and he was feeling cold, happy and sad. In fact the whole surrounding was reinforcing the fact that he was marooned in a far away land with virtually no human contact. He stood there for sometime till he felt heavy-eyed thinking of the swarm of people he will have to run into the next day. Without delay he hit the sack.

Prime Suspect.

That docile neighbour, who always wears Jamaican Shorts and a friendly smile, perennially on the balcony watering the plants. That taciturn colleague who comes to office only to work. That total stranger on the street who went out of the way to find you an auto rickshaw to make sure you reached your destination safely and on time. That shopkeeper who told you that his product carries a defect and is not worth buying. All prime suspect. They have been too good to be true in this world. It’s not how a normal person of decent is supposed to conduct himself towards others. What is the hidden agenda behind such show of kindness? Must be something utterly malicious. It’s so inhuman to help others.
There aren’t many surviving specimen of that kind though. Thank God! And they are thinning day by day. Going by the trend, a day isn’t far when we will be seeing the last of them. It’s not that mothers have stopped bearing them. But they grow up in an environment that repeatedly hammers them with survival tactics. Every step out of the house means a lesson. A lesson how to live for oneself.
Like, during my preschool days I learned shedding tears or behaving properly in front of guests fulfilled my demand for ice-cream. Then scoring good marks or pretending to study hard did the trick. And after that money supposedly to visit the book fair or buy an important book. And finally, sitting in front of a computer for 9 to 10 hours at a stretch and in between dishing out sermons to pliable juniors and boring them to death. A nice way to earn money. So the more exposed I was to the world the more I leaned to wriggle my way out or manipulate my way in. I became a pro. More learned and wise. More distrusting of people who are upright. While commuting in a bus if a co-passenger picks up a conversation with you for no apparent reason one tends to be a little wary of the conversation starter. And if you don’t then that gives the other a reason to be.

What Is This?

This is my house. This is my room. This is my bathroom. This is my wardrobe inherited from my sister. This is my pair of jean. This is my music system. This is my corner. This in my window. This in my view. This is my sky. This is my share of wind. This is my cycle long abandoned. This is my neighbourhood. This is my favourite facing window. This is my girl by the window. There goes another one by the promenade. And many more. This is not what I meant. This is not what I want from life. This is not me writing. This is me smoking in the loo. This is me lighting an incense stick to douse the smell. This is me sitting idle. This is me hooked to the phone. This is me on the dining table. This is me sleeping till late hours. This is me writing. This is not what you want to read.

Wasted

Wake up. Brush your teeth. Take a shower if you have to. Put on the first thing you lay your hands on and rush. Skip your breakfast and comb your hair with your fingers on a rear view mirror of a vehicle parked irresponsibly. You are late for work as usual. Damn the snooze button. Never realized what 10 more minutes of indulgence could cost.
Board the first bus and jostle with the crowd. Everyone it seems is running late. Scamper for a seat but there’s none. After some pushing and elbowing you find your place to land your feet. Hold on to anything nearby to keep from falling. Keep one hand free to hold the bag. But the fact is the crown wouldn’t allow you to tumble down completely. You had bathed sometime back but now you’re bathing in sweat. Squirm lest you accidentally feel a lady passenger. You have struggled to get up the bus, now struggle to get down.
After you have brushed against so my things in the bus, your clothes takes a beating including your morale.
After another such round, equally harried as the first you finally enter the sanctum sanctorum. Plush and sprawling. All correctly dressed and always running against time. But that’s ok (I mean the dress part). After you have entered that you begin to realise you have entered a place which is not worth half the hassle you have taken. You were better off, all naked under the scorching sun, with the dust, grime and crowd than inside a place done up by expensive interior designers with air conditioners and coffee machines. What are they trying to hide here? Who are they trying to scare or impress. All the glitterati is only to fool you into believing that you’re in for something big. Something meaningful. Something, if it they didn’t do, the world would be poorer. What hogwash. Loot at you. What purpose are they serving? Do they really think they deserve the richness? They think that the glass cabin, the laptop, the expensive car, the golf clubs at the car dickey, the English will hide the inefficiencies. All smug in their incompetence.

Because they are doing it right what is generally accepted as right. Because they have a rule book which says this is how it’s supposed to be done. Because that’s not what the rule book said. Because that’s the correct way. Because that’s the safe way. Because someone else has already done it and it has been fruitful. Go out of whack and you’re at fault. Now wouldn’t it be foolish to do it another way. Not because it’s not correct, but because it’s not how it’s expected. Never mind the brilliance, unless a book says it is.

Now, step out, not only from the place but also from the mould. It’ll make you one of them. Instead, take another bus back home and don’t show up again.

Work Ethics

Be the insufferable brat in the group. Refuse to budge. Defy logic and talk nonsense but take none. Be late for the important meeting, or don’t turn up at all. Promise everything and fail to live up to it. Commit to a deadline and forget about it. Be late when you have to reach early. Be the last to enter the office and be the first to leave. Make mistakes and find fault in others. Stand up for the small fry. And fight with the big ones. Break all rules. Create some and break them again. Wrangle with your boss. Quit.

That's His Day

Who is He?
He works in an office for a salary, He has friends, He has enemies, He has dreams and He has inconsequential people to answer back. Now, He is biting his nails over the last point.

Timidly He walks in. The time is 9.45 am. Authoritatively, He punches the card. A beep. Satisfied that his one day’s salary guaranteed He marches straight, glances right, walks straight again, takes a left and reaches his destination. He does all this with German precision, as if He has been programmed for it. In fact, He has been preparing himself for the day since yesterday, when he reached home from office. And after office he would prepare himself to go to the desolate home. Which even after 2 years of inhabitance feels alien. It’s a vicious circle and He’s always running away from something.

He unloads his bag and slumps down in the chair. A cast-iron frame with black resin upholstery, to give it a leather feel. He couldn’t have cared less. Then He switches on the computer and switches off his mind. He leans dangerously on the chair with his head resting on the brow. He gently closes his eyes and an opportunistic fly lands on his cheeks. He lazily swats on it and ends up swatting himself. The fly is fast. Then he digs his nose, scratches at objectionable places, yawns, make funny noises and many such things which will soon have to be clamped on. At 10.20 am people start trickling in herds. They giggle, crack a joke, laugh vociferously, whine; everything to make their presence felt. He on the other looses himself. He Prunes his hair, tugs in carelessly loose ends of the shirt, sits straight, hides the frayed shoe with the other (pointless, because both are tattered) and tries to look like a seasoned professional. He fails miserably.

Someone wants him dead.

At least that what He feels in Someone’s presence. At 11am Someone enters the room. Sooner Someone shows up, than He pretends as if the entire load of work in this world is dumped on him. He buries himself in the computer screen, concentrating hard on a word file (though he doesn’t know what it contains). All the time dreading to be called by Someone. The air becomes heavy.
Soon the summon comes. And by hoarseness of the voice He knows what was coming.
With He standing besides, Someone rattles out, “didn’t I tell you…..are you brain dead……were you dreaming……do I speak Martian……” He looks down at his toes, and sees an ant carrying something twice his size. He felt sorry. Not for the ant.
If someone was observing He for a period of time, he would have thought that he must have become thick skinned by now. But He is thin and so is his skin.

At 1 pm. He is sitting idle. And someone barks, “Why are you not doing anything?”
At 1.15 pm. He is reading a newspaper and Someone barks, “Why are you reading a newspaper?” At around 2 pm He escapes to the loo. Not to poop but to spend some quality time. 10 minutes later He emerges only to come face to face with Someone. But this time Someone didn’t have anything to say. May be he ran out of words or he had something more pressing to attend to in the loo. Phew!

He’s a habitual cribber. An inborn thing, which runs in the genes. He picks up the phone, dials a number which he’s so used to dialing and starts doing what He’s so good at doing. Crib, crib and crib. He gives every reason to feel sorry. For the other person in the line.

It’s 6.20 pm by his watch and this time He picks up a book and not a newspaper. Someone is reading a magazine, and occasionally looks at the mobile phone. Usually when the phone rings around this time, Someone would pack his bags and leave for home ( to torment his wife). He knows it and so is as eagerly waiting for the phone to ring. Finally the phone rings. Someone gets up from the chair, packs his bag and leaves the room. But at the door he pauses and says politely, “Hey! I want the work finished today.” He wanted to say ‘no’ but said ‘ok’.
He Thinks.
Someone hated him and the feeling was mutual. He is sad and cursing the place. He wants to jump off a cliff and have a freefall, but doesn’t want to land. But like every mortal, He’s greedy. He needs money to blow on fancy foods, wants to wear fashionable clothes, hit the pubs and movie theatres and show off. If only he could control his materialistic urges, his problem could have solved. The solution is so obvious, that it misses almost everyone. Though He plans to do it someday, he knows very well that there’s no day called someday. But the line has to be drawn. He understands the futility of running after glitzy things. Realization dawns on him that salvation lies is austerity. In giving up and not holding things tight. It’s now or never. He has to be bold and take the step.

At 9.45 am, the next day, He shows up at office again.

Train Drain

With portly luggage and heavy emotions, I reached the New Delhi railway station. Immediately, just like how flies get attracted to uncovered sweets, coolies in all shapes and sizes thronged me, offering me their service. I politely declined, at times not so politely. Going by my gangly demeanor, they probably sensed that I won’t be able to carry the baggage of my own. And I was determined to prove them wrong. A bull-headed person I am; I swayed, swerved, and bumped into people, in fact anything to keep myself from falling down. I was in no doubt that I looked like a dipsomaniac, who is always on a bun. With much ado I reached the platform, with my luggage and my bones intact.

Finally, at 2. Pm, the much awaited green flag fluttered, from a disembodied hand, so it seemed. The train blew an ear shattering whistle, until I thought that my ear drums could take it no longer. Finally the train chugged along leaving behind people coming to see off relatives, the chaiwala, the posts, the vendors, the other stationary trains and everything that’s Delhi, at least that’s what I liked to see things as. I was coming home.

Now that the 2424, Rajdhani had left the NDLS, things started falling into place. The once overcrowded compartment looked pretty spacious. With luggage tugged underneath the seats, differences settled, people busied themselves with playing cards, reading newspaper, chatting up with co-travelers, gawking at lady passengers, and anything that could be done within the confines of the train. It always surprises me how so many people could have decided to travel at the same time, day and place, everyday. I was traveling alone, as usual, with a novel to keep me company. I started taking in what’s around, studying people hoping to find a pretty girl to start a conversation with. Though in reality, I like to keep to myself. So much so that as soon as I board a train I am at my taciturn best.

Now let me introduce you to the immediate neighbour to my left. A middle aged gentleman, wearing thick rimmed spectacles, supposedly lost in the newspaper. Supposedly because, he was more interested in what the girl, sitting right opposite me, was reading. Above me was his accomplice, because he seemed one step ahead. He didn’t even need the newspaper as a garb to ogle at the pretty thing. I guess her mother didn’t take too kindly to this, and as if by telepathy there came another middle-aged man to her or rather her daughter's rescue. No offence meant to the new arrival, but his size measured poorly to take on two full grown, Delhi-bred males high on libido. Well soon after, a baby started wailing furiously, that reminded me of one of my colleagues, who can produce such noise without so much an effort. You just need to tell her to open her mouth. Now, coming back to where I left, the baby I later realized was upset with the baritone voice of the announcer, who from time and again tells us where our train has reached. There was a newly married couple some berths away from me. They stuck to each other, like a nail to a magnet. The bride exuded joy and I only hoped that she doesn't become another victim of a tyrannical mother-in-law.
A train journey could be a fascinating one, if you keep your eyes and ears open (though I never seem to enjoy it). You can see people dozing off in awkward positions, with their mouth wide open, oblivious to the flies and insects getting a freeway. It also amazes me to see how two to three full grown people cramp themselves in one single seat, entangled with each other and sleeping as if there’s no tomorrow. It’s a comical sight. If you have nothing better to do, you can also kill time by listening to people’s conversation. There will always be one character who will occasionally throw shafts of mordant wit. Like when one peanut vendor was roaming in the platform and his sales pitch was, ‘Time Pass, Time Pass”. One unassuming gentleman called the vendor and asked him in a pretty nonchalant way how much time a packet will pass. The poor vendor replied five minutes. The gentleman bought the packet and made the vendor wait beside him, as he started having the nuts from the packet, keeping and eye on his watch at the same time. The rest is history. I remember another incident where an old man made a pass on a college girl. The girl politely turned back and said, “Keep your mouth shut, if your rotten teeth are dear to you”. That shut his mouth for good and everyone burst out laughing. There are far too many like this to fit into this much of print space.

As for my journey, I always felt the train took a detour while I am homeward bound. Hours seemed like days, and the train inevitably runs late, for some reason or the other. This time it was no different. Thanks to Indian Railways, the train, as I learnt, was running three hours late. And that meant three hours less from the already depleted 10 days leave and escape from deadlines, clients, computers, creative briefs and everything that is synonymous with stress.
At around half past two in the evening, the train reached NJP ( New Jalpaiguri ) and which meant I had covered 2/3rd of the journey, about 1000 km. This was the first time I alighted the train, to soak in some fresh air and give my posterior some breathing space. I saw vendors selling cheap Chinese electronic gadgets, ranging from battery to hi-end cameras. I guess they smuggle it from across the border, which is not so much a bad thing to do considering we poor souls get to buy a Casio watch, supposedly for friends, for as less as hundred bucks. I was tempted to buy some colourful watches, more so because a girl was haggling with one vendor about a particular watch. Well! Good sense prevailed and I dropped the idea, but not before the girl had asked me my name. Which I was pleased to oblige. The girl, who was also traveling alone somehow figured out that I was also an Assamese, going home on a vacation. She must have empathized with me, who was also, as I later learned, working in Delhi, away from home. Though the acquaintance came late in the day, I couldn't have been happier. The boring, lonesome journey suddenly became exciting and worth traveling. She joined me in my compartment and we chatted till I dozed off and she unremittingly continued with her verbal volley. I knew girls are talkative by nature, and I was willing to take the risk. But I never imagined that it could be of such intensity and I realised 'Girls will be Girls'. And every time she spoke, it seemed her eyes spoke a language too. Dancing and glowing with every statement she made. Sooner than I had imagined, the train was crossing the mighty Saraighat Bridge and the mightier Brahmaputra. I always loved the spectacle. Spectacle because, I always feel that nothing can cross the Brahmaputra unless the mighty river grants permission, and a train crossing the river looked like the river giving way to it to slide past its lap. Many of my co-travelers threw coins to pay their reverence. So did my friend. Who religiously genuflected and with all her strength threw two coins (one on my behalf, as I didn't want to get up and risk losing my window seat). That was the only time she kept her mouth shut. Thank God!
But not for long, as she started talking again and the next thing I knew, the train approaching the Guwahati Railway station at around 8.30 in the evening. I was greeted by a labyrinth of dilapidated thatched makeshift huts, foul smells and heaps of garbage, which flanked the railway track. I couldn't have been happier as it meant I was reaching the station. I was desperate to reach home and it seemed as if the train had had enough too as it started to squeak and grunt while struggling to come to a grinding halt. A sense of unhurried lassitude had descended on the train and one gets the impression that it wants the passengers to go get off its back as soon as possible, so that it can relax too.
I wasn't expecting anyone at the station neither was she. I helped her lug her belongings, which weighed more than me. No wonder I had a hard time carrying them when it was getting difficult just to carry myself. Though it was offset by her lovely company. We exchanged our contact numbers, and I was clumsy enough to lose it. But some things are better off for a short time, like the train journey.