Striking Up a Conversation

They say that traveliing is always good because you get to meet interesting people and learn new things. Well, that was proved beyond doubt when I boarded the bus to Pune from Bengaluru.

Firstly, it was a long day and the bus was, as expected, late by about about half an hour. I should have expected the same and yet I was feeling edgy. I was looking forward to getting into the bus and letting the journey begin. As soon as I get into the bus, I see that my window seat is taken by somone else. I am very possessive about MY window seat and I immediately claim MY window seat. He moves without any fuss and as I am settling in my seat, he shows me his ticket and asks me to check because he is not good at reading. He then goes on to say that if his bag was not already in the overhead compartment (I had to think for about ten seconds to think as to what that space is called before, eventually, replaying in my head, the instructions that you so often hear when the plane is taxiing towards the runway), he would have shown me his adhaar card. I laugh it off and say that there is no need for that.

I am beginning to get ready for my solo time when suddenly he turns to me and asks,
'where are you going?'
'Pune', I say.
'Pune? I am going to Mumbai.'

I nod, hoping that that is the end of it. However, he continues chatting and tells me how he worked as a conductor on a similar bus for about 3 months before quitting and moving to selling fruits. He also tells me how he also worked on trucks along the Goa route and how that was an easy job but didn't pay much. All this while I am nodding my head and hoping that he would stop.

At this juncture, I feel obligated to tell you that I do not mean to be mean. I hold no malice towards anyone and there are times when I have genuinely tried to be a little more excited about striking up a conversation with others (no, not talking about Tinder), but sometimes, especially during bus/train journeys, I really love just being alone.

I guess this is evident on my face, because he stops abruptly and says, 'you aren't feeling bad that I am talking to you, no?' Cornered that I was, I put on a brave face (read, the Pfft Face) and say, 'no, no, not at all!'

'Ah, good. Becuase, you see, bhai, some people like to talk and some don't. You see, I am not able to sleep and you are also not able to sleep. So, I thought I will talk to you'

Ignoring the fact that he decided on my behalf that I was not able to sleep, I feel guilty for not showing enough enthusiasm about his story and I try to repeat some of the things he says so that he knows that I am listening to him (I really was!). And he takes a break for a while and just when I think that the ordeal is over, he begins talking about women and how he once saved the life of a woman who was being molested on the streets of Hubli. I fail to comprehend the chain of events, but I gather enough information to understand that she is still in touch with him. I try to make an appreciative face when he springs his next question which leaves me quite embarrassed.

'have you impressed any girls?'
'what...? Err...? No...'
'What are you saying! You would have obviously...' My brain has gone on red alert mode and it stops registering what he's saying. I am already hyper-aware of the quietness of the bus. What are other passengers going to think? Do I look like a play boy? How do I make him shut up? Why does every conversation among men eventually have to boil down to women? Before I could go off in a tangent of my internal commentary on the social ettiquettes (or the lack of it), I bring myself back to reality and  make a desperate attempt to ward off his question about my ability to impress women.

'Err... I have home...' What I meant to say was that I stay at home with my parents. But then, as I say this, I realise that staying at home has got nothing to do with my ability to impress a girl. How do I bring this back on track? How do I regain control over the conversation? Things were getting too serious, too fast!

'what? Are you married?' Bless his soul. He found me an exit.
'Yes.'
'Oh, sorry bhai.' It was amazing how being married immediately put me out of the competition. Should I have felt bad? I don't know. But at that moment, I was a relieved man.

'No problem.' I make a married man face.

'For how long have you been married?' Interesting question. How long would I like to have ideally been married for? 'Two years', I say. it felt nice to be married for two years.

'Nice, nice(I don't know if he said nice, nice).' He goes quiet for a while before eventually asking, 'kids?' Of course! Why did I not think of that? Okay, do I want kids? Well, I know that I do not want kids. But the reasons for that are something that I did not have to patience to explain it to him.So I just say, 'no, not yet.'

'Right. But, what would you want?'

'I don't know. Whatever comes, i will be fine with it.' (what did my wife want, I wondered)

'No, but if you had to ask the one sitting upstaris, what would you want?'

'No preference', I say (unlike while booking IRCTC Tickets. There I aways want a Side Lower. Never get it, though).

'Right. Whatever He wishes to give, you will take.' I nod. And with that bit, the conversation ends.

I see that the conductor is switching on the TV and with that I see a possible full stop to the conversation. Akshay Kumar enters the bus as Mr Tichkule (Khatta Meetha) allowing me to exit into my world of thoughts.

Belonged!

     If I were to ask you to make a list of acts that you would consider to be very intimate, what all would you put down in the list? You would, perhaps, most definitely put down sex. Well, sex might make it sound crude, and so let us say the act of making love. You would also, perhaps, put down the kiss. Then, perhaps, the warm hug. For a lot of us, the list would, more or less, end there. But, would you laugh at me if I said that the act of someone running their fingers through my hair would be an act of intimacy for me? Probably. Probably not. Eitherway, it does not matter, because the list is mine.

     It has been over a month and a half since I got my hair cut (In fact, it's just a week short of two months). They've grown too much and now its difficult for me to handle them. The last time I had gotten it cut, she had said, "why are you so obsessed with cutting non-existent hair?" Ans so I had said, "okay, next time i'll get it cut only when you ask me to." Funnily enough, that will never happen. But, that is a different story for a different time. So, yeah, they've grown so much that I find it hard to handle them. And so, here I am now, in the barber's shop.

     The barber is a young fellow. Probably of my age or a little older. I like him. I've got my hair cut by him a couple of times, earlier.. I don't know his name, though. Why do I like him? maybe because he is almost of my age and therefore will know the kind of hairstyle that would suit me. Also, I like him for a fact that he is quite sarcastic and on-the-face types. But, still I do not know his name.

     Anyway, I sit on the 'hot-seat' and tell him how I want my hair cut. He sets about his business and starts off with the spray of cold water. As he starts cutting my hair, I realise that he is struggling with a bad case of the common cold. He coughs intermittently and. grossly enough, without bothering to cover his mouth. The Lifebuoy ad starts playing in my head everytime he coughs (I can picture the animated germs flying out of his mouth).  But I do not say anything. I never say anything, anyway. After a while, someone brings a packed of friend fish wrapped in a sheet of newspaper. But before I could see what was brought in, I saw, in the mirror, the boy's face light up in pure joy. It would not be exaggeration if I said that I haven't seen such pure joy on anybody's face in a long, long time. He immediately reaches for the packet and I cringe in my seat. First the cough, and now the hands full of meat traces. Luckily, before he could completely bury his hands into the fish fry, the boss barber shouts at him and asks him to get back to work. Disappointment replaces joy as he returns to groom my hair. What also returns is his cough. Every 2 minutes or so, he coughs and I instantaneously cringe. I try hard to not make it evident, lest i hurt his feelings. 

     While he went about his business of cutting my hair (and coughing), I realised that the way the comb felt, when it brushed my hair, felt very good! Heights of desperation, you say? Guilty as charged, i'll say (I have tried combing my hair hoping to feel good, but it just never worked). I say it again-it felt really good. And that is when the light bulb flashed in my head. I pitied and hated myself simultaneously for thinking that way. I thought, "why not get a head massage?" If the comb running though my hair could feel this good, imagine how good human fingers could feel!

     And so, I go on to ask him to give me a head massage. I think he is pissed a little because he says, "itna kaafi hoga na? Paise bahut lagega." (Inn't this much enough? It is going to cost you more) I pretend like I have a bad headache and say, "chalega." (That is okay) He then goes and gets packets of Navratna Thanda, Thanda, Cool, Cool oil. By now, I have, like always and with everything, mentally imagined how relaxing it is going to be. He starts off. The starting isn't anywhere close to what I had imagined. As always. And within a few seconds into the massage, I've realised that he sucks at it. Sigh. Disappointment here also. 

     But then, out of nowhere, he asks, "bahut darad kar raha hai kya?" (Is it hurting a lot?) I nod. And, with my eyes closed, i try fooling my mind into believing that the massage felt awesome. That it was someone whom I loved and who loved me back who was running her fingers through my hair telling me, "it's okay, I am here for you." I try fooling my mind into believing that I am perfectly fine and happy, and not lonely at all. All this while he beat my head with the cliched massage techniques. 

Okay, this is where you either gross out or have a tear in your eye. 

     Anyway, after about 10 minutes, he stops and I am relieved. I am, by now, disgusted with my desperation (and not to mention, the sucky massage).He takes some newspaper and wipes it on my face! And id all the gross-ity wasn't enough, my face now looks oily and smudged with black sooty colour from the newspaper. But, as ever, I say nothing. 

     There is more to come. One week later, I was going to find out that I have been contaminated and am down with a bad cold. Was that because of him or was it a co-incidence, I will never know. Also, I will have to visit another barber very soon because he hadn't cut it right.

     Oh what the heck! Who cares? I felt belonged. So, it's okay, I guess. 

     

Bowled!

     I was walking down the stairs when I first caught a glimpse of her. And for the first time, I was not the only one. She too looked at me as she was walking past the pillar. It was sudden and the pull was so strong that we both were not able to pull away from looking at each other. I kept walking and so did she. We were both heading towards one another. It was then that I realised that her dad was walking with her. She did not seem to mind that her dad was there, but all of a sudden, I pulled away my gaze and looked at her dad who was looking at me. I gave a quick smile that was intended at nobody in particular and walked away. I have always had a bad experience when it comes to parents. Dads especially.
     I was not sure as to what was it that got her so hooked to me. She stayed on my mind for a while before other thoughts took over. There was a lot to be done and I had just woken up. I headed to the grocery shop. I finished making the purchase and was heading out when bang, she walked in! And this time she was so stupefied seeing me that her legs froze and inertia made her lose her balance. If it were not for her father, she would have fallen down. It all happened in one swift motion. I kept walking and she kept staring at me. She did not blink. Should I have stopped? Should I have braved her dad and done something?
     Nah. I have better things to do in life, I thought to myself. There was hardly any chance of anything coming out of it. For the first time in my life, I had managed to get a girl to freeze looking at me. It was good feeling. Let it remain that way, I told myself. I managed to bowl a girl over (with my looks?).

So what if it was just a 2 year old? Today was my day and nothing could change that.

I walk away looking smug.

YOLO

And so she wished me a good afternoon...

     I enter class 6 in one of my schools. Generally, in all the classes, in all the schools, kids are taught to say, "Good moooorniiiiiiing siiiiiirrrr...." and, when they are asked to sit down, "thaaaank youuuuu siiiiirrr..." What it interesting is that in most classes, in most schools, the kids are not aware of what it actually means. picture this: in several classes, i ask the kids, "Good morning ka kya matlab hota hai?"  (what is the meaning of good morning?)

"Uthna, sir." (to stand up, sir)

"Aur, thank you ka?" (and, thank you means?)

"Baithna, sir." (to sit, sir)

This is not a case of one or two classes, in one or two schools. This response is almost universal. Well, so much for the right of every kid to be 'Educated'.

     Anyway, coming back... Yes, so, i enter class 6 in one of my schools. As i enter, the kids stand up and wish me good afternoon. But, amidst the united babbling, i hear something funny. It is evident that the kids are not yet accustomed to saying 'good afternoon' (you see, the school timings have just changed and now the classes extend beyond noon. Earlier the classes would get over by 1 and there was no real need for the kids to know that afternoon meant...).

     I ask them to repeat what they just said and they do. Again, i hear something funny. It came from a girl to my right, in the front row. Just to make absolutely sure that i heard the right thing, i go to her and ask her, "kya kaha tumne?" (what did you say?)

"Good item, sir," she says. With confidence.

Smelling Book

     I am sitting with Shourya, son of the didi who feeds us, in my room. He is fidgeting with my books and has picked up Linda Goodman's Sun Signs (what!? Are you judging me? i don't like that smirk on your face! Fine, smirk). He asks me, "Nitesh bhaiyya, ye padne ki kitaab hai?" (Nitesh bro, is this a book to be read?) For me it is a silly question and so, i answer sarcastically, "Arrey, nahi! Yeh toh sungne ki kitaab hai. ek-ek page kholke isko sunga jaata hai." (oh, no! This is a smelling book. we must open the pages one by one and smell them) What happens next is unexpected:

     He begins to open the pages, one by one, smell the page and turn over to the next one! He has been doing it for two pages when i add to the rather sadistic humour and say to him, "jin jin page mein jyaada likha ho, un page ko zyaada sungna padta hai." 

     Just as innocently he believed that it was indeed a book to be smelled, he now opens a page with full text and sticks his nose to the page for a couple of extra seconds. It is a very cute moment (why are you smirking again? Can i NOT find stuff cute? or is it that i can NOT use the word cute?). But i realise that i am making fun of his innocence (or, his trust in my knowledge of things?). I quickly tell him that i am kidding and it to be read, like all other books, and not smelled. Despite the innocence while smelling the last 3-4 pages, he quickly realises his foolishness and slams the book shut and pastes a sheepish grin on his face.

     "Ullu ban gaya re babaaaa," i say, Paresh Rawal style. (Oh, you got fooled!)

His smile remains.

PS- i am Nitish bhaiyya, not Nitesh bhaiyya. Just saying.

   

The Uncle-Aunty Theory

I think i have finally figured the reason why we, in India, call every adult Uncle/Aunty. The logic is pretty simple, actually.

 See

The pledge says that, "All Indians are my brothers and sisters." So, supposing that the stranger that we meet has a kid. That kid is my brother/sister. So, my sister/brother's father is my uncle. Similarly, my sister/brother's mother is my Aunty.

That is why only those who are (or those who look old enough to have been) married are Uncles/Aunties.

Resolved. 

Shitty Times...

quite literally, these are shitty times! 

     I am not sure if i must applaud the entrepreneurial skills of the owner of this road side tea stall, or if i must be appalled by the fact that tourism has penetrated so much in the tiny town of Pushkar that toilet paper (something that we Indians don't use) is being sold at a tea stall.

Guess i'd like to go with applause.

Wait, i think i am appalled.

Or am i?

Ps- The stall reads "Coffee", in Hindi.

Globally Local

Even the background colour is close to the original colour of The Body Shop!
Clever chap(s)!

Its a pity, but i think i am a sadist.

     It was in the news that two Britons of Indian origin had been arrested for keeping three women as slaves. One of them was a Briton, one an Irish and the third was a Malaysian. (http://www.standard.co.uk/news/crime/brixton-slavery-case-couple-accused-of-keeping-women-captive-ran-maoist-sect-in-the-1970s-8962163.html)

   Okay, now for the sad bit. It is not that i was happy that there were 'women' who were taken in as slaves. It is not that i was happy that 'people' were taken in as slaves, either. What i was (secretly) happy for was to see that WE Indians can keep Whites as slaves, too!

     I know, I know i must be ashamed of myself. But, what am i to do? its not like i generated the feelings at will. It was just born inside me! Maybe it is the result of years of reading (and being taught) that the English enslaved us. So, its almost like my unconscious was saying: take that!

     Its all psychological.

PS- If you EVER see me in person and if EVER you bring up this topic, i will deny having EVER said anything like that!


 

I, Finally, Can Now Grow Old

Good News!!!!

If all goes well, the government will increase the pension for old people by 10 fold!!!! WOOHOO! It will make sure that 10% of CSR Funds is used to make the 10 fold increase possible. Also, old people will given free Mid Day Meal!

The government wants to look at old people (who are becoming old, in our country, rather rapidly: 35% increase rate with around 10.4crore people above the age of 60 and expected to increase by 700% by 2050) as a valuable resource and not a dependent crowd!

I am so thankful to the little initiatives of the government. I mean a TEN FOLD increment in the pension! So magnanimous!

From Rs. 200 a month to Rs. 1000!

Life will be SO luxurious! 

Wealthy Milk Man

He's Italian, i bet!