Fiction: Rose Tinted Glasses

Every evening on her way back home from work she’d cross the house with the red blinds. At this sight, her hurried journey back home would suddenly acquire a different character…forcing her to break out of her preoccupations. Overcome by intrigue she’d let her imagination run. What was that veil concealing?

She had seen such scarlet-lit rooms earlier… fluttering curtains fighting against the breeze to hold their own …standing still long enough to conceal…protect…and then sway mischievously to tease the on-lookers’ imagination.

She’d slow down her steps, trying to steal as many glances at the window and the life within. On many occasions she had seen the shadow of a rather tall man. Going by his stature she had first pegged his age around 30, though his measured…careful walk around the house signalled someone older. Sometimes she had even seen the silhouette of what looked like young woman. What was she doing there? What if he was taking advantage of her…the poor thing? Exploitative B*^4#*d! She would seethe with anger at the very thought.

Then one day…overcome by her self-righteousness…or maybe just plain curiosity – she charged up to that house and knocked! Waiting in front of that door her thoughts ran into a frenzy…is this a mistake…what if he is a serial womanizer…a molester. It was too late to be thinking these thoughts. The door opened and on the other side stood a rather gentle looking middle-aged man. But this looks like a decent man. Half relieved-half surprised she didn’t know what to say.

Er…are you looking for someone…he asked.

She mumbled…I’ve recently moved to the neighbourhood…just thought I should get to know people around here.

He showed her in and shut the door. She heard the clang of the cowbell hung to the doorknob. Following him in - she moved her attention between him and around the house. Nothing about this place seemed unsafe or creepy though there was something weird about the way he walked. Something that suggested that he was strange in his own house. Inside…the house was sparse…little furniture…a lot of white space. Except the blinds…those looked a little blaring and out of sync with the rest of the room.

They spoke for a while…exchanged notes on…where she had come from…what he did for a living. She learnt that he was a piano teacher at the primary school. All through the conversation she couldn’t help but wonder…there was something about this place, which was not usual though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Why hasn’t he turned on the lights in the room…she wondered? Maybe he’s just trying to save on electricity…there’s enough natural light in the room.

Something jumped at her and she stood up in reaction…I must be going before it gets dark.

I am sorry Ms…I haven’t been able to offer you anything. I’ve run of tea and haven’t been able to go to the grocer yet.

Oh no…don’t bother yourself…perhaps another time

It was good that you could stop by. I hardly have any visitors.

Just as she was about to step out of that room…she turned around and remarked…your blinds

Oh aren’t those lovely? They have those little chimes hanging from them...I just heard those and had to buy them. Excuse me if they look dusty…I wouldn’t be able to see. A lady comes to clean every now and then…she hasn’t been coming you know…

All of a sudden the pieces came together in her mind…why the lights weren’t turned on…the number of bells and chimes in the house…his cautious movement.

Shocked at the putridity of her own thinking…she muttered…those blinds…those look really beautiful!

That Light

That light…
Sitting in a lamp
Inside the temple across the road

What does it say to you?

It does not say anything
It is just there
Everyday...It is there!

Fiction - Smoke Screen

He slid his hand into his pocket and lit up a smoke. Had it not been for the acrid smell that hit her all of a sudden, she would not have even noticed! This wasn’t one of his usual moments…she pondered. In the last three days he has only reached for a cigarette after meals. She had found his postprandial pangs unusual even when she saw him light up the very first time. That’s a strange habit! She had felt the urge to ask him about it then, but had held herself back. They had barely known each other and what if he took it wrong?

She stole a glance at him just to confirm that he was actually smoking, and quickly turned away…continuing to watch life outside as visible from the auto rickshaw in which they were travelling. Absorbing the sights and sounds that hit her consciousness, at some level she tried to identify the character of that place. Nothing that could set it apart! They could have been traveling through any other town and it would have still felt the same.

The image of him holding the cigarette elegantly between his fingers wafted before her eyes. Her gaze fixed at the buzzing activity that surrounded them, she wondered …there was something about him that was very unlike what she had imagined of a typical man. The way he moved his slender fingers, the manner in which he sat cross legged at the edge of the bed but most of all his sensibilities. Effeminate was not the right word to describe him. Perhaps a man in touch with his anima.

What was the trigger for that light?....she asked.

He looked at her bewildered not having a context to what she had been thinking.

That light…she suggested with her eyes….what was the trigger for that?

He mumbled a few indiscernible words before saying… Ummm. Just boredom…and drew in some more nicotine. She was not entirely convinced by his explanation but decided not to pursue the matter any further. Time moved at an unusual pace that evening. It was difficult to judge how many minutes had lapsed though the passage of time was evident by the fact that the auto rickshaw they were travelling in - had covered a certain distance.

Do you smoke?…he inquired of her.

This time she was cornered into silence not knowing what to say. A part of her wanted to reach for the cigarette in his hand and take a drag. Though the last time she had held one to her lips was seven years ago! What if she had forgotten how to smoke….lost the knack of holding it? What if she inhaled and her lungs rejected the fumes? Would that make her seem like a rookie? Though there was something so alluring about the very thought…of experiencing that heady rush…brought about partly by nicotine and partly the sheer act of bonding over a cig.

Why did you ask me that? She answered his question with another - still wondering to herself – had he not noticed in the three days they had spent together that she does not?

Ummm…nothing…he mumbled again - mumbling was the defense he used against confrontation.

She stared outside yet again….thinking whether the reality they would live and experience ahead could have turned out any different had she nonchalantly taken a fag.

He…wondered to himself…whether he did the right thing by resorting to the warmth of a cigarette to break the ice between them.

Rings of smoke filled the air…as she watched him from the corner of her eye – and made a mental note. Must practice smoking…to make the most of moments like these!

The Healer

He listens…compassionately
Reaches out
Touches people’s lives
A wandering nomad
He comforts
Those he finds around him
A sponge…
He absorbs negative energies from the universe
Offering in return
Strength and Solace

He listens…compassionately
And has forgotten how to speak

Reaches out…
Yet travels inwards

Touches people’s lives
But yearns to be touched

A wandering nomad
He comforts those he finds around him
Though is trying to find his way home

A sponge…
He absorbs negative energies from the universe
I wonder...whether he rids himself of those
And how he soaks in more

Offering in return… strength & solace
Though - what do you think keeps him from crumbling inside?

Memoirs of Surat

We land at the airport which is all of 3 luggage trolleys, 1 bus to ferry passengers between the tarmac and the terminal, 1 aircraft (which happens to be the only one that lands and takes off after 30 mins from that place, in the day) and about 50 or more people standing buy the fence watching the aircraft land ! I wonder where these people have come from and what they are doing there - bang in the middle of the day - since the airport is about 4 kms away from the city and at a place which feels like the 'middle of nowhere'. As far as I can gaze in any direction I only see vast empty stretches of land...growing weeds. Weeds that sway with the force of the wind that comes with the aircraft taking off or landing. Outside of that time, everything around that place is still and quiet! Something about this whole place and experience makes me feel I have alighted from a space ship and not an aircraft. Ladies and gentlemen...welcome to Surat ! It has been just about six months that the airport has been operational so its only fair to give them some time to settle down, though what beats me is that the departure lounge - with place for exactly 15 people to sit and little room for expansion from what one can see. How could someone miss something so obvious. Even as of today at anytime there could be more than 15 people at a time in the lounge and we're not even talking about scaling up for the future !

Outside the space station meant for 15, I see the road to the city dotted with grey grim looking buildings, most of them with cracks running through the facade in a criss cross pattern, interspersed by colourful bright new shiny structures...the now ubiquitous malls ! The contrast creates a jarring landscape of sorts. I have often see people pose in front of malls getting themselves clicked with cellphones and have wondered why. Perhaps malls have become tourist destinations of the present day. We spend our weekends not at the park or by the beach but at a mall. In new city, when i ask people for recommendation on which places to visit, 3 out of the 5 on the list are malls. Its a sad reflection of how times have changed.

Going further I happen to spot a hoarding, with a woman bending backwards on what looks like gigantic puri, with the tag line in gujrati that says 'har bite mein wellness'. The product in question - Trupti...a local brand of oil I guess. Though what is striking is how English words have infiltrated everyday lingo even in smaller cities. On an earlier trip to Lucknow, I came across women from a relatively lower socio-economic strata using words like coaching, diet, solid during the course of conversation

My last memory of Surat is walking into the house of the couple I am supposed to interview. A well spoken, seemingly well off couple, though living in a house that bears the same muddy grey look as what I found in the rest of the city. Something quite does not feel right ! At the end of my interview, we accidentally get talking about the floods in Surat a year ago. The lady of the house recounts her experience....of the water gushing into the house with just 2 hours of rain.....of not being able to save anything nor prepare for this situation....of running on the upper floor of her house with just a pressure cooker and a bag of potatoes from the kitchen...of living up there for 4 days eating just boiled potatoes cooked with newspaper as fuel. She points to the mark on the wall, the mark that runs throughout the house dividing each wall into two shades of grey...remains there as a reminder of how much water had collected in there. Silt that has settled itself into nooks and corners of the house and obstinately refuses to go! Her story interrupted by sudden burst of crackers and street celebrations as India defeats Pakistan and takes home the world cup. Next morning the newspaper headlines...Surat celebrates an early Garba !

Canvas 2

The only color I saw on the canvas was white
The lines I drew did not a picture make
And a silence filled up the empty spaces
The canvas lay still un-spoilt!

Amritsar Diary

The SUV town
The first thing that struck me in Amritsar was the contradictory worlds that co-exist in that one place. When saw a hip 20 something in her tight three quarter jeans greet someone who looked like a stereotypical punjabi middle aged village woman, with an anglicized 'sat sri akaal'. Outside the airport, one can't help but notice the sheer number of SUVs plying on the road. Even if you were less attentive to vehicular traffic the loud punjabi music barring from inside these fuel guzzling monsters would catch your attention. The shiny new Taveras & Boleros share their road space with dusty, run down cycle rickshaws, the bajaj scooter from yesteryears and sometimes even tractors !

Push v/s Pull
Once inside, the town follows a circular path. To go from any point in the town to any other, one has to cross a short over bridge, or so it seems! It is easy to separate the outsiders from the native crowd at this point. They'd be the ones who'd give the cycle rickshaw driver a breather as he trudges with his vehicle up the bridge, walking behind him and sometimes even offering to help with a nudge, while the local punjabi women sit firmly atop - unaffected by his plight. With a smug look across their face they stare at the un-informed traveler who has offered to walk.

Golden temple at midnight !
I am not sure whether this is the only temple in India that is open all 24 hours. It certainly is the only one I know of! The crowd inside even as late as 10 pm is unimaginable. One would have to see it to believe it. There were easily a few 1000 people in there and that was not a festive day crowd. Langar (free food at the Gurdwara) is served to anyone who walks in. One of the locals there tells us - in big cities there would be many people sleeping hungry but in Amritsar I doubt anyone would go to bed on an empty stomach. People eat and even sleep inside the temple. Sitting alongside the sarovar (the water body that surrounds the sanctum) and watching the golden hues that reflect on pitch dark ripples, with the sounds of the gurbani reverberating in the background is a truly elevating experience !

A D-shaped well
Jallianwala Bagh does not reflect the character of place which once made history! It is more like a public park that one would find in an average Indian city with huge signboards at the entrance forbidding people from plucking flowers! The only reminders of the massacre - is the narrow lane at the entrance that prevented people from running out and the Well at one corner of the bagh which people jumped into, to protect themselves. Strangely the well is D-shaped unlike any others that I have seen. Covered with a rusty mesh an all sides it is difficult to look too deep into its gaping mouth. Though when cheeks pressed firmly against the mesh when one peeps in - you see at the bottom some shallow green water with coins glistening from beneath. I wonder what makes people throw coins in water bodies - and it is not just an Indian trait.

Marwari Dhaba
I had perceptions about Amritsar before visiting. I imagined a place with people having a strong gustatory orientation sipping thick lassi and eating tikkas at local dhabbas alongside the road. These are conspicuous by their absence. The only reflection of what might be people's food preferences here - is a sign board that announces - 'daily needs - kulcha and sweets'. We settle for a marwari dhaba for want of an alternative. Inside I see a predominantly south-Indian looking crowd. It is a disorienting feeling to be in the punjab heartland, at a marwari dhaba and see a south Indian populace! One look at the thaali and that explains it - for people visiting from the other end of the country a place that serves them rice, pickle, papad - would be a delight. Not to mention it is pure vegetarian ! The only thing missing was in their meal was the thair !